Page 69 of Eryx

Axios stood beneath the awning and stared at the rain with a peaceful expression. He didn’t see me approaching. No, he was lost in his mind again. He stepped forward into the open, letting the rain soak in his dark hair and stream down his muscled body. He tilted his head and closed his eyes, a soft smile on his face.

I envied the way he found comfort in the smallest of things. Never once would I have stood in the rain and cherished the way it fell on my skin. Not in the way Axios did.

“I know a story about the rain,” I said from behind him. He opened his eyes and turned to me. “If you wish to hear it.”

I left the cover of the awning and approached him. Rain lightly thudded on my bare skin, a little cold but not terribly so. Once I was close enough, Axios touched the side of my face and moved his thumb across my bottom lip, as if he was admiring me just as I was admiring him. His honey eyes appeared darker that day.

“Tell me,” he said, dropping his hand from my face.

“Follow me.” I grazed my fingers across his before turning from him.

As I found the path on the right, he strolled behind me. Silent but always there. Many times we’d walked this same path; sometimes racing each other to the valley and other times moving leisurely as we were now. The path held countless memories—two youths laughing as they ran, the same boys years later still running, still laughing.

And one day when we were no longer here, others would follow our footsteps and take the same trail. Would they laugh as we did? Would they stop to share a quick, forbidden kiss?

I led Axios to our tree. Much like the path, the tree held memories as well. As boys, we’d climbed up into it and hidden from Haden. We’d challenged each other to a game of who could climb highest and then laughed when one of us fell, the other not far behind him.

It was also the place where I’d realized what he meant to me.

We climbed into the tree where the rain could no longer touch us. It hit the leaves and fell to the earth, falling heavier now. I sat against the trunk of the tree and Axios straddled the branch, facing me. His eager expression made me smile.

“Once, there was a sisterhood of nymphs called the Hyades,” I said, lightly swinging my foot as it dangled in the air. “They were the daughters of Atlas, a Titan who rebelled against the gods and was cursed with bearing the weight of the sky on his shoulders for all eternity. He had many children, and one of them was a son called Hyas, who was a great archer. His sisters, the nymphs, adored him.”

Father had told me this story so long ago. It had been one night when a great storm waged outside our walls. As thunder boomed and lightning cracked in the sky, I had hidden beneath my blanket. He had then sat beside me and ruffled my blond curls, telling me the story to distract my mind.

Axios placed his hand on my thigh, lazily moving his fingers against my skin. I stared at his slender fingers and the curve of his wrist before meeting his gaze again.

“One day, Hyas was hunting a large boar, when he was killed by the beast,” I continued, shaking my head at the irony. “A hunter gored by his intended prey. It was a tragedy. Such talent gone from this world. His sisters mourned his death. They grieved for days. Weeks. And as time passed, their tears were only shed more vehemently. Their grief became too much for them to bear, and they died.”

“That’s awful,” Axios said, curling his nose as a deep line formed in his brow. “Why would you tell me such a story?”

“Always such an impulsive one you are, dear Ax.” I chuckled and gently swung my leg forward to brush his. “You did not allow me to finish.”

He pursed his lips, waiting for me to continue. I suspected if I kept him waiting for too long, he’d probably push me from the tree.

“Zeus, who had seen the sisters grieve for their brother, pitied them. He may be a ferocious thunder god and king, but he sympathized with their love of family and therefore transformed them into stars, so that they may live on and light the night sky.”

I paused in the story and looked up. The leaves and branches shielded our view of the sky, but I caught glimpses of the dark clouds as a breeze swept through the tree.

“They continue to weep for their lost brother, and their tears turn to rain,” I spoke, returning my attention to him. “However, rain waters the plants and trees, and it provides sustenance for the soil for our crops. It fills our streams and enriches our pastures.”

His frown deepened. It wasn’t the reaction I had expected. Did he not understand the beauty of the story?

I grabbed his hand and linked our fingers. “You see, they lost a beloved sibling, but their grief brings new life.”

“Do you not think that cruel?” Axios asked. “The sisters were finally at peace. Their sorrow had passed and they’d welcomed the sweet nothingness of death. Yet, Zeus forced them from the cloak of shadow, from numbness, and froze them in the sky to forever weep upon the land. He did not pity them. It is an eternal punishment for a wrong they did not do.”

I blinked at him in surprise.

“I had not considered that,” I said, trying to make sense of his statement. “To me, it is a story of how good can stem from tragedy.”

“And to me, it is a story of how unjust the gods can be.”

I nodded and dropped my gaze to the branch we sat upon. The story had given me hope when Father told it to me. As Spartans, our lives were difficult and rough. Men very rarely lived to see age fifty. But it had comforted me to think that no matter how dark things seemed, good would eventually rise from them. Somehow.

Now Axios questioned the very thing I had built my life around.

Where I believed in the gods, he questioned their existence. Where I saw hope, he saw cruelty.