Page 3 of Eryx

Glares bore into my back and vile words reached my ears.

Son of a coward.

The son of Damos will never amount to anything.

It was then I knew I’d become the man my father couldn’t. I’d prove myself as a true warrior of Sparta. Take every challenge thrown my way and overcome them. But more importantly, I came to realize the only person I could rely on was myself.

I was alone in the world. And always would be.

Chapter One

Three years later – 396 BC in Sparta

The very first time I laid eyes on him, it was as if the earth shifted beneath me. One moment, I was alone—numb to the world and everything in it—and then there he was, breathing life back into me.

Dark hair hung in his face, but I still saw the softness reflected in his eyes. More than anything, I saw his vulnerability; not one derived from fear, but one shown through his gentle actions.

The boy was beaten. We all were. And yet, his gentle spirit never left him. He fascinated me—the way he refused to surrender to the hardships of our lives, how he kept his humanity in a life that tried to beat it out of him every day.

Three years had passed since we began theagoge, the training to prepare us for the Spartan army. The training that turned boys into men. Soldiers who would fight and die for Sparta. Theagogechallenged us, pushed us to our limits and passed them.

I watched as the boy was called to the center of the small arena. Felix was the man training us, and he took no mercy. With good reason. Wehadto be strong and withstand any and all pain given to us.

As the fighting began and the boy was beaten to the dirt again and again, it took everything I had not to interfere. I wished to help him.

“To your feet! The weak do not survive here, boy!” Felix roared.

The boy was barely hanging on. His actions were sluggish as he placed his hand upon the earth and attempted to push himself up. Sweat glistened on his shaking body. Felix raised the wooden rod and sent it crashing down onto the boy’s back.

Do not yield,I silently implored the boy.

“You are a disgrace!” The rod struck his back once more. “Do you surrender?”

To a Spartan, surrendering was for cowards. Better to die on your feet than die cowering like a babe.

I tightened my hand into a fist and stared at the boy, willing him to move. To stand.

He did not. His eyes opened and he looked over at us. I stood in a group of other boys, most of whom had already had their session with Felix. I tore my gaze from him to look at the surrounding youths.

Each age group was separated into what we called herds. Like cattle. That’s all we were, really. Raised for slaughter. The boys in my herd were bloodied and caked in both dirt and sweat, but they were standing. The ones who hadn’t trained yet anxiously shuffled from foot to foot. They all stared at the boy, some with wide eyes and others with indifference. And then there were those who cocked their heads with interest, as if placing silent wagers on whether the boy would surrender to the pain and be killed.

I’d seen it many times. If Felix felt a boy was useless, he’d put them out of their misery.

When the boy’s gaze settled on me, it was as if the world spun. His pleading look nearly undid me right then.

He was giving up. Once Felix saw it, he would be killed.

No. I will not allow it.

“Stand,” I mouthed to him.

The boy was gentle and kind, and yet, I knew he possessed strength inside him. If not a physical one, then one of resolve.

Something changed in his eyes in that moment. With his gaze locked on mine, his brow furrowed and he pulled himself to his feet.

Felix nodded and motioned for him to stand with the rest of us.

On the outside, I remained indifferent. On the inside, I cheered. He’d been only moments from his death, and he’d shown me once again how strong he truly was.