Goddess (Starcrossed 3)

Matt wished them the best and hoped it would turn out differently this time. He really liked Hector. He always had, despite their deep political differences. Hector was the only one who really understood him.

That’s the thing about walls, Matt thought. The men on either side of them sometimes have nearly everything in common—except for the one detail

that they are willing to kill each other over.

Running up the beach to Great Point Lighthouse, Matt could vaguely make out the tents of his army’s camp. Well camouflaged even during the day, they looked like nothing more than sand dunes to the casual observer, but Matt could see them for what they were. Myrmidon nests.

“Master,” Telamon said, appearing soundlessly next to Matt.

Matt smiled at him and clasped him warmly by the forearms in greeting. He was surprised to feel such a deep tie to the captain. Fond memories welled up in Matt, reminding him of the bond they once shared. Telamon peered into Matt’s face.

“I look nothing like him, Telamon,” Matt said with a chuckle.

“It’s not the looks that are important,” he replied sincerely. “It’s your conviction that counts.”

“I know what I believe. I would have believed it even if the dagger never came to me. I realize that now, and I know what I have to do,” Matt said sadly, and released his old friend.

He became aware of a mass of men moving out of the dunes. They gathered around Matt like a thinking fog that bristled with arrows and swords.

“Which is precisely why the dagger chose you.” Telamon stepped back and raised his voice slightly, including the other thirty-two Myrmidons in this reunion. “Master would never force his beliefs on another. That’s why it took so long. He waited until he found a spirit that matched his own.”

The soldiers who seemingly appeared out of thin air passed in front of Matt, each of them searching his face as Telamon had. Some of the faces of his soldiers had monstrous ant-like characteristics, like antennae, shiny all-black eyes, or lobster-red skin that seemed to be made out of shell. Some appeared nearly human on the outside, but Matt knew they weren’t.

Matt recognized them one by one. They must have recognized something familiar about him as well, because as they each looked him over, satisfied looks spread across their faces.

“I know you all, and I notice that many of us have been lost along the way,” Matt said with real emotion.

They had waited for him for so long, and every single one of them had come when they were called. Matt couldn’t live with himself if he wasn’t honest about the doubt that he still felt. “I’m sorry, brothers. I’m not sure this war is just. It’s not our goal I question. I know what is right, and I know I need to do it no matter how hard it is for me. But I still have reservations about who we fight alongside.”

“As you did at Troy,” Telamon said with a knowing half smile, like he was reminding Matt that nothing much had changed. “You fight for no king, and no country, Master. You fight for the right of every man to decide his own fate. As every one of us decided for ourselves when we swore on the blade.”

“Swore on the blade,” the mass of Myrmidons whispered.

“One man, one vote,” Telamon prompted.

“One man, one vote,” the Myrmidons chanted back.

Matt waited for the chorus of believers to settle down before continuing. There was something about their single-mindedness that disturbed him, especially since what they were repeating in unison was the cornerstone of individual thought, and the jewel of Greek philosophy.

The idea of “one man, one vote” was the beginning of democracy. Poor or rich, god or mortal, Matt believed that every being should be counted equally. The weak had just as much right to decide for themselves as the powerful. That belief was something he would die to defend. Matt also knew that when one individual acquired too much power, those without power suffered and usually died. He couldn’t live with himself if he let that happen. Not when he could stop it. But he didn’t want to make the same mistakes he had at Troy.

“The god Hermes has informed me that several Scions wish to join our cause against the Tyrant, but I don’t trust them. What I want each of you to consider is this: Should we go it alone?” Matt asked, stepping back and raising his voice to include all his men in this decision. “What do you say? Should we have Hermes arrange for all of us to meet the Scions? Or can we do this without making alliances with people and with gods who are not much better than the evil we fight?”

“We fight and die for one purpose, Master,” Telamon said. The word Master was whispered through the men in agreement, unsettling Matt again. “Alone or with allies, it matters not. When you fight, those who seek the same goal as you will claim credit for your victories whether you want them to or not. Only one thing really matters.”

Matt nodded, his decision made, despite all he knew it would cost him. “The Tyrant must die.”

Helen lay in the grass, staring at Lucas while he slept. In its first moments, this new world she created was nothing but that—soft grass under her, a sun in the blue sky above her, and Lucas beside her. Then the world grew, because he was suffering.

She willed the sunshine to take his pain away, the air to heal his wounds, and the ground to nourish him so he didn’t need food or water. In seconds, Lucas was healthy and perfect again. His eyes fluttered open and locked with hers, and Helen’s whole world was in him.

“Hi,” he said, a smile spreading across his face.

“Hi,” she replied, smiling back at him.

“Am I dead?”

“Not even a little bit.”