Discord's Apple

She grasped for a deeper answer, but that was all she heard with that odd sense that felt so strong in this room.

How ridiculous was it, to be holding a conversation with a cryptic antique?

She brought the apple to the doorway, to the light from the other room, and showed it to Alex. “Do you recognize this?”

He squinted at it, moving to the doorway, drawn to it though he held himself warily, inching toward her like he didn’t want to come too close.

“It’s a golden apple.”

“Do you know what the inscription means?”

His expression turned leery. “What makes you think I would?”

“You seem to know everything else,” she said.

He stepped back. “I don’t want to touch it.”

She sighed, exasperated. “Then just look at it.”

He held himself aloof, as far away from it as he could and still study it. His gaze passed over the inscription, back and forth, his face still, emotionless. He swallowed.

“The language is ancient Greek in its oldest form. The writing is Mycenaean. It hasn’t been used in over three thousand years. It says, kalisetei. It means, ‘For the fairest.’ This—” He pointed at the apple. “—started the Trojan War.”

She felt like a child who’d been given a grenade without being told what it did. “It’s the language you were speaking to her. To the woman.”

“Yes.”

“I thought Helen started the Trojan War.”

“It goes back much further than that. Out of revenge for not being invited to the marriage of King Peleus and Thetis, the goddess Discord tossed the apple into the banquet hall. Athena, Aphrodite, and Hera argued over who, being the fairest among them, should have it. They chose a mortal man, Paris, to be the judge. And, being goddesses, they bribed him with wealth, fame, power—and love. Aphrodite offered him Helen. He chose her. And for ten years, two great civilizations fought a war over that choice.”

For the fairest. It had fallen out of a story and into her hand. It was just an heirloom her grandfather or someone had picked up somewhere. The marks were just a pretty pattern. That was the trick, wasn’t it? How could she know what this was? How could he tell her this story about a thing that might as well be a movie prop, and how could she believe him?

“Hera still wants it,” Alex said. “It still has power.”

“Who are you?” She kept asking that. Why should he tell her now?

“Cursed.”

From upstairs, Mab started barking fiercely, as if battling demons. Evie jumped and almost dropped the apple. Alex glanced up the stairs.

Rubbing her thumb over the inscription, she returned the apple to the chest of drawers. She closed the Storeroom door firmly behind her when she left.

“Let’s see what’s wrong.” She tugged on his sleeve, and he followed her up the stairs.

The kitchen door slammed shut.

“Don’t close your door on me, Frank Walker! I know who you are and I know you have it!” A man shouted loud enough to hear in the basement, even over Queen Mab’s barking.

When she got to the kitchen, her father had opened the door a crack. He must have been sleeping; he wore a bathrobe and slippers. He was hushing the dog, who was inside, whining and turning circles, her claws clicking on the linoleum.

“Mab, down! What is it you think I have?”

“Open the door. I will not stand here like a beggar or a supplicant.”

Frank sighed, his shoulders slouching. He opened the door wide, cold air or no. Mab started to launch herself, lunging like she would tackle the visitor, but she stopped just inside the doorway, between Evie’s father and the stranger, barking like mad.

The visitor glowered at her. “Quiet! If you please, madam!”