I'm named after Helen of Troy. I knew that before I knew anything else. My mom claims I was named such because of the original Helen's beauty and grace, but also because the name means "a shining light". My mom has always been convinced I'm going to do something epic with my life, that the story of Helen Lee Armstrong will be told to my great-grandchildren, that there will be actual stories written about me. She's always said it too hopefully for me to shut her down. But the truth is, I'm not special. I'm not a hero. And this isn't a fairytale.
...
I'm ten when I first meet my grandfather. His hair is wiry at the ends and there's a light in his eyes too bright for him to be completely sane, and yet something about him makes me calm anyways.
My mom makes me and my siblings—Jake, the older brother that's perfect at everything; and Lana and Lexi, the mischievous twins—come downstairs to greet him. Then she has my siblings go set the table for dinner. My mom takes a seat to me on the couch. My grandfather sits across from me. I get the feeling that they're about to tell me something.
"What do you know about Greek mythology, Helen?" My grandfather asks.
I look between them. Is this a trick question? Every summer since I've been in school, my mom makes me read a book on different Greek heroes and the conflicts they face with the gods. "It'll make you well-rounded," she always assured me. But I only do it to please her.
"More than the average person," I admit, which gets a laugh out of my mom.
"So you know of the gods and goddesses like Zeus and Aphrodite?" My grandfather presses.
I nod. "Amongst others."
"Who's your favorite?" He ponders. "Out of all the Olympians?"
I glance at my mom. Is my grandfather really here to swap opinions on the greek deities? "Artemis, I guess. If I had to choose one."
"Why her?" He wonders.
I shrug. "Because she doesn't let the world take advantage of her. Take the mortal Orion for instance. He wanted to take something from her that she saw as sacred, but she didn't let him throw her around. She sticks up for herself."
An approving smile ghosts my grandfather's face. "Interesting viewpoint, Helen."
"El," I correct automatically. "I go by El."
"Alright, El," he says. "And what of your knowledge of the greek heroes?"
"What about it?"
"Would you say it's sufficient?"
"I would say it's excellent." I don't brag about myself, but I'd been taught so much about the greek myths that I refuse to belittle myself about it for the sake of being humble.
"Favorite hero?" He wonders, then adds, "or heroine, of course."
"Theseus," I answer quickly, not having to think long.
His amused smile grows. "Why him?"
"He was brilliant," I say. "The Minotaur hadn't been killed before Theseus. It was an unstoppable monster--until him. He used his instincts and brain to help him survive the Minotaur and get out of the labyrinth."
"He used a ball of thread," my grandfather points out.
"So simple, right?" I wonder. "Then why hadn't anyone else thought of it?"
My grandfather is silent.
"Theseus was simpleminded, yes, but no one had yet to think of something like that. He was brilliant for being the first."
"You know your myths," my grandfather admits, then exchanges a glance with my mom. "What would you say if I told you they weren't myths at all? That they were real?"
I don't bother laughing at the joke. "I would say you've read too many books."
My grandfather chuckles softly. "You have a fierce spirit, El."
I don't know what to say.
"What makes you think they're myths?" He wonders.
My family isn't religious. We don't believe in anything. Which is probably why I have such difficulty even pondering the idea of multiple gods and goddesses existing. "Because it's ridiculous."
My grandfather shrugs. "Some truths are."
I look at my mom. She didn't mention that my grandfather is crazy. But I can tell from the way she's looking at him that she doesn't think so. She believes him. She agrees with him.
"No," I say with a shake of my head. "They're called myths for a reason."
"Maybe," my grandfather agrees, his gaze moving to my mom. "Maybe she'll just have to see it for herself to believe it."
"She doesn't have to go until she's twelve," my mom protests.
"Go where?" I wonder, but they forget I exist.
"Some have come to the camp before then," my grandfather says. "The moment she knows the truth she'll need protection."
"She doesn't know the truth," my mom argues.
"I just told--"
"She doesn't believe you. And she won't believe you."
I look between both of them, but this conversation is just for the two of them.
"I get my daughter for three more years," my mom says. "Three more years, and then she can do what she wants."
"What are you talking about?" I interrupt. "What camp?"
They both look at me finally. My grandfather opens his mouth to explain, but Jake enters the room before anyone can saying anything.
"Jake," my mom sighs, like he's her saving grace. "Do you need something?"
"I was going to see if El wanted to go to the park with me," he says.
Jake is four years older than me. But even at thirteen he still likes hanging out with his little sister. We're closer than most siblings. We spend most weekends at the park together, him running laps in the grass to get in shape for the football season and me swinging on the swing set or climbing the rock wall.
"We were having a conversation," my grandfather says at the same time my mom tells Jake, "of course."
They glare at each other.
"El," my mom says, "why don't you go to the park with your brother? We'll continue this conversation later."
I look back at my grandfather, but his gaze is locked on my mom. Whatever just happened between them won't continue until I'm gone. So I follow Jake out the front door and head to the park.
...
My dream is strange that night.
I'm standing in a big throne room. Twelve giant thrones make a U-shape around a huge fireplace. The room makes me feel minuscule, like this really is a place for giants. There's a man standing in front of the fireplace, looking at me. He's tall, with bronze skin and sun-kissed hair. The rest of his features are difficult to make out. There's a bright glow around him, like a halo. His eyes glow a bright yellow.
"Daughter of Poseidon," he says, calling out to me. His voice echoes throughout the room, bouncing off the walls and the marble floor. "I have been looking for you."
"Who are you?" I want to ask, but I can't open my mouth. I can't move. I can't do anything but stare at him.
"For several millennia I have waited to come back to power." His voice is still booming. "And now that you're here, I can destroy the gods once and for all. You'll make an excellent vessel."
I try to scream. I can't. I try to run. I can't.
"Of course, once I'm done with the gods, I'll be done with you, too. You'll have died for a good cause." He reaches out for me. The moment he touches me, I wake up.
I bolt upright in bed, covered in sweat. He had burned me where his hand met my skin. I look at my arm, right where he touched me, to find a scar in the shape of an 'X' there. This isn't just a dream. I can't explain it, but I know that that man was real. I know that he sentenced me to die. And I know that it's going to happen soon.
I jump out of bed and grab my backpack. Dumping out all of my notebooks and folders, I stuff a clean pair of clothes inside. I run to my mom's room, tiptoeing past her bed to get to her closet. She has a safe there. I shouldn't know the code. She thinks I don't. But I'm smarter than most people give me credit for. I turn the dial until it clicks open. Stacks of money are inside. I grab one stack, which I'm pretty sure is two thousand dollars, and close the safe. I'm out of the room just as fast as I had entered. I stuff the money into the bottom of my backpack and head to the kitchen. I grab three water bottles and a handful of energy bars. Then I throw my backpack over my shoulders and head out the front door.
That man is real. I know it like I know my own name, like I know the details of every greek myth. I also know that he's going to kill me, and he'll do whatever it takes to do that. If my family knows I'm in trouble, they'll try to stop him. He'll hurt them, too. I know it. And I can't let that happen.
So I give one last look at my house--my family, my childhood, my safety--before running away from it all.