BURDEN

Chapter One

"Alkaios, you are no Spartan."

It was a harsh and rough tone, one that shook Alkaios to his core. The two men dragging him far off from the city walls were larger – much larger than him. Alkaios had tried multiple times to shake their grip, but he was starved, tired, and beaten. All he could do was accept his fate, seeing the city and people who he had learned to love and fight for become more, and more distant. All Alkaios had was nothing more than rags and shoes on his feet. The wind shot out of his lungs as his back suddenly hit the floor, his legs bound so he could not run. A fist came full force into his face, hitting his head off the ground below and knocking him out. The last thing Alkaios heard before falling into the realm of Hypnos was the heckling of the two Hoplites. His dreams were a stir of both memory and falsehood, the stress of losing everything had now caught up to him in the world of sleep. Flashes of what he knew, his time as warrior of Sparta. It was all much darker now; memory had been plagued by nightmares. He was a prisoner of his mind, replaying the battles he had fought in for the glory of Sparta. His ruthlessness, his anger, his battlelust. He fell deep into the twisted memories of his past, there was no waking him now. He was brought by horseback further into the Taygetus valleys, dropped off on a random path in the wilderness. There he laid for hours, the sun beating on his back, turning his skin a pale red. He would have died if not for him being under half shade. He woke and stirred; he tried to lift himself up but could not find the strength – not now.

"Gods... grant me strength."

He spoke through dry, cracked lips. There was a hint of doubt in his voice, everyone had abandoned him, even his mentor. He put his arms underneath him, pushing himself over onto his back, hissing as his burnt back hit the rocks and dirt below him, causing him to roll again onto his side. There he laid, trying to muster up what strength he had left. He was angry, but he didn't have the energy to act on anything. Five months he spent in a cell, five months fighting for his life. The Courts were against him from the very beginning, if they had any say they would've kept him in that cell forever, slowly driving him mad. But the Kings had another idea. Exile. Even if exile was rare for a Spartan warrior, this dishonor was seen as too extreme of a punishment; they did not care. But here was no place to die, certainly for that of a warrior. He finally managed the strength to slowly make his way up onto his knees, and he looked at his surroundings. He did not recognize this place; he couldn't – too deep into the Valleys. He slowly made his way onto his feet; they ached deeply, but he needed to make his way towards water. He stumbled his way down the path, trying his best to spot something that could lead him to a lake. He was thanking the Gods that it was only spring, not hot like the summers, or he wouldn't've made it ten feet. The sandals that he had been given were fragile, and a size too small for his feet. Every step he took only resulted in pain shooting into his heel and ankle, he felt as if he was going to throw up even though nothing was in his stomach. He had lost track of time now; it seemed the sun was only directly above him moments ago but now it was setting. His trudge through darkness not familiar to him was never-ending, all-enveloping, and heartless. He kept pushing despite his body yelling at him to stop and give up, surrender to the elements. But he still had a fight left in him, and so he would go until he found water. He had found no more than a small stream, but it was enough for him to collapse next to it. Even his soul ached now. . What part of him wasn't sore was trying to push him into the water. As Alkaios pushed himself, he saw his reflection in the water and was horrified. His face had sunken deeply, he looked frail and weak. He looked at his chest and saw that his ribcage was almost visible. He was horrified, what had he done to deserve this? His knees seem to lose strength under him as he fell to his side, his body facing the running water. Was this his life now? He was nothing now. Much more a ghost than man. What was once a strong warrior with a restless desire for glory, was now anything but. He brought out a hand to the water, cupping some of it as it pushed past him with much more virility than he himself possessed. Alkaios fought every urge to damn the gods, to wish them doom for his betrayal. He knew that doing so would only result in more suffering, but he did not care; it would take the suffering from him in turn. He was no more than 24 years old, and he was already left for dead. His body now had finally given up on him and he fell onto his back, hissing in pain as the boiled and irritated skin hit the dirt beneath him. As he lay on the ground, he watched the time pass before him, the stars passing above him in the valley. He lay there in pain, unable to move as his muscles ached and tried to regain strength. His feelings were a whirl, he was angry, resentful, embarrassed, and homesick. How could he live out here? Among the animals? The paths he walked looked like they hadn't been cared for in years. He was going to die here, an outis, a nobody.