Infinite 01 - Infinite Sacrifice

ride closer, I hear the booming voice of my uncle, Nereus, yelling at his helots. Relieved to see him well, I embrace him.
    “Alcina, you’ve survived! And how so my brother?”
    “Everyone’s dead.” My voice breaks. “Mother, Father, Kharis, and Delia.”
    “Oh Poseidon! What have you done?” he says to the sky. “Alcina, you’ll stay with me for now. We’ll have to forget all we’ve lost and regain our strength to build a shelter before nightfall.”
    We work alongside the helots all day, building back up the walls to one room. We use the sails from Nereus’s sailboat to provide a roof for us that night. Three of his household helots sleep with us on straw, while the others go home to their village outside Sparta. The next day, only some of his helots return.
    “A rebellion’s broken out in Sparta,” one helot informs Nereus.
    “I knew this day would come and may Zeus strike them dead for taking advantage of this disaster!” Nereus says through his teeth. “Where’s the other half of my helots?”
    Another helot says, “They’ve taken up with the rebellion.”
    “I hope the hoplites kill them all,” he says, tight-lipped.
    He marches into the shelter and returns in his armor with sword and shield in hand. After a moment of contemplation, he turns to me. “I have to go into the city to make sure this is under control. Keep a close eye on these helots.” Handing me his large army knife, he adds, “If you use it, use it well.”
    He straddles his horse and rides down toward the city.
    I slip the knife under the leather straps of my sandals and sit under a tree to get a little shade. A girl about my age catches my eye; she has the same misplaced look as me. I walk over to her by the gardens. “My name is Alcina.”
    She glances up and away but replies, “Ophira.”
    We’re quiet for a few moments. I notice she’s quite pretty—for a helot. By her fair skin, I deduce she spends most of her time in the house weaving or doing chores. Even though we are girls of similar age, I could pick her up and carry her. Her frame is short and slight due to the deprivation in which most non-Spartan girls are raised; nutritious food is saved for the males of those households. She averts eye contact and plays with the medallion around her neck as I look her up and down.
    She has large, honey-brown eyes, and the only flaw on her well-formed face is a small scar on her forehead. As she notices the knife tied to my calf, she pulls her skin cloak up over her head, shrinking away from me. Many helots fear Spartans and try to avoid them, but I’m so lonely I’m not going to let her get away.
    “Do you belong to my uncle’s household?”
    She looks down and says, “I came here to talk to your uncle.”
    “I’ve been left in control while he’s away. You can speak to me.”
    She seems hesitant. “My husband, father, and mother were all killed in the revolt. It’s not safe in the city. Seeing that your uncle has lost some of his helots, I’m hoping to be reassigned out here in the country.”
    Surprised she’s already married, I wonder if I’ve misjudged her age but then remember Spartans marry much later.
    “What housework can you do?”
    “I can do anything: cook, clean, care for children, fetch water, weave.”
    “I’ve lost my parents in the earthquake, and my house needs to be rebuilt. Once it’s standing, I’ll need household help, since some of our helots perished.”
    She brightens at this. “There’s no man in the household?”
    I know her concern; household helot women have other uses as well.
    “Not now,” I say, and she breathes easy. “It would be nice to have company.” I smile, and she cracks a weak smile back.
    By nightfall, Ophira and I dig access to the supply house, from which we scrounge up jugs of wine, bags of maza, dried fruit, and salted fish. In the distance, Nereus screams at his horse. Nereus isn’t good with horses. He prefers the water, even the roughest sea, over the most beautiful day on land.
    “No! Back home! Back home!” he fumes while pulling hopelessly at the reins.
    I sprint to help him walk his horse back up.
    “Ah, many thanks, Alcina,” he says as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “I think Zale is much improved, though; I didn’t have any problems on the way there.”
    Showing his age, he’s breathing heavily now and stands back mid-step to catch his breath. Old age is a rarity in Sparta, since most men don’t live long enough to retire