19

The shield changes my plan. With its help I believe I can reach the mainland. I don’t know how I can save my friend, but at least I’ll be with her again.

The woods on the island are too thick for me to make my way through, so I go around on the stony beach. If I were to list what I hate, first would be the memory of Achilles, second Agamemnon, and third these Greek sandals. The island is small, but my feet smart by the time I reach the other side.

Troy is four miles from the sea. My feet will be bloody by the time I get there—if I get there.

The water feels sweet on my feet when I wade in. The sky is graying toward dawn. I hold the arrows I saved between my teeth and grip the shield more comfortably. The swells are gentler on this side. I’m an experienced sea kicker now anyway. If I have the chance, I will learn to swim and make the band learn too.

Five Greek warriors went with the oxen that pulled the wooden horse. I reason that a skiff would have been left for them and they’ll be headed this way. We may pass each other on my way to Troy. I wish I hadn’t left my spear behind.

But when I reach the shore, no skiff waits. I decide that the five have hidden themselves and the oxen somewhere near Troy. Why travel the distance twice if they don’t have to?

I tuck the arrows into my waist and set out at a trot, but after only a few minutes I have to loosen the sandals’ straps. My ankles are bleeding. The soles of my feet are blistered. I set off again, but the rubbing is worse. I take off the sandals and hurl them as far as I can. Barefoot, I have to pick my way carefully, and I’m limping. Still, it’s better. The sky is turning pink.

Finally, I see Troy. Not much farther, the horse takes shape, standing almost as high as the city wall. A few minutes later, I hear voices in the distance.

When I limp to the wall, a crowd is gathering between the horse and the gate. Cassandra and Eurus stand apart from the others. His hand rests on her shoulder. She must have already shouted to me and heard no response.

If not for the horse and the Greek man Cassandra said would be here, I’d be noticed: a girl with cropped hair, bloody feet, wearing a Greek tunic. But no one turns my way, except Cassandra and Eurus.

I’ve grown so used to her knowing what will happen that I forget she can’t foretell my future anymore, or Helenus’s. When she sees me, she smiles as widely as she did after she saved me.

She runs to me. “I was sure the Greeks had killed you.”

She’s happy for me, though her own end is assured.

She adds, “We were doomed anyway.”

I can’t think of anything hopeful, so I hug her. Then I look around.

Helen stands under the horse and smiles up at its belly.

The Greek man—the liar—is speaking to Priam. He’s a slight young man with a wispy beard. “. . . that’s how they treat me! King, you’re known for your kindness. Will you take me in?”

Priam nods. “You’ve suffered enough.”

An elderly man, leaning on a walking stick, approaches the king. Two young men follow him.

“Sire?”

Priam turns. “Yes, Laocoön?”

I remember what Cassandra said. The old man must be Apollo’s priest. My heart flutters. Cassandra squeezes my arm.

“My sons and I doubt this man’s tale.”

People nod.

The old man goes on. “I feel Apollo at my elbow, urging us not to trust him.”

One of the sons says, “What harm can come from leaving the horse outside for a single night? It won’t rot that quickly.”

In a moment will come the event that Cassandra couldn’t foresee, that she believes will be sent by a god or accomplished by Helenus, that will terrify everyone.

Priam nods. “Caution is always wise. Let your sons—”

The earth beneath us rolls as if we were on the sea. Cassandra, Eurus, and I back up against Troy’s wall. My heart feels about to burst out of my chest.

People run wildly—toward the horse, away from it, into Troy’s gate. A man picks Helen up and runs with her away from Troy. Last of those racing to the city are the priest in the arms of one son and the other at their side.

Ai! A chasm opens a few yards from our feet. Oh no! Two serpents rise from it. I jump up and down with fear. Each is as long as a Greek ship, purple-scaled, with a mane of fire and spears for teeth. Side by side, they surge after the Trojans dashing to the gate.

Laocoön shouts, “Poseidon!”

One serpent swallows the priest and the son holding him. The other gulps down the second son.

The serpents dive. The earth closes. The grass is undisturbed, as if there had never been a cleft.

Those outside Troy shout and shriek. I struggle to catch my breath.

Cassandra is holding her head and swaying. Eurus’s dark face is ashy.

Frantically, the Trojans push the horse toward the gate. Dozens of men are needed. Their muscles swell with effort. At the gate, the horse’s head clears the stone ceiling by only a few inches.

Helen runs toward Troy, holding the hand of the man who had her.

Cassandra lowers her arms and stops swaying. “Rin, I think that was Poseidon’s doing. Sea serpents are his, and he loves the Greeks.”

And kills for them!

“Go to your band. When I’m on the ship with my captor, I want to think of your freedom.”

“Soon.” I’m lying. Between now and tonight when the Greek army comes, I’ll fetch my gorytos and more arrows so I can fight.

The three of us lag behind the crowd entering Troy. I hear distant drumming. I wonder if the Greek and Trojan immortals are starting something else. What’s left for them to ruin?

Inside the city, Maera races to Cassandra. The horse fills the narrow street. How close can I get to it? Silently, I curse the Greek bow.

The Trojans wheel the horse to the plaza outside Priam’s palace. A brazier is brought out. Incense is burned. A man shouts a prayer, begging Athena to forgive them for hesitating. Three men hurry into the palace and return with drums, a lyre, and a flute.

I start away from Cassandra and Eurus, but she sees me and follows. Eurus and Maera come after her.

“Rin!”

I wait for her.

“Don’t!”

“Hector told me to be your friend.”

“He didn’t mean for you to die for me.”

“I hope to save us.” I edge nearer to the horse. My bare feet sense faint tremors. After I take a few steps, I stop to see if anyone is watching me. No one is. They’re all concentrating on the horse or their prayers. I move in. Stop. Step. Stop. Step.

At last, I’m a mere dozen feet from the horse on the side where the hatch is. I draw one of my three arrows from my waist and hold it at my side.

I look around. No one pays me heed.

Slowly, slowly, I raise the Greek bow, nock my arrow, draw back the string against the stiff wood, using all my strength. I release it, knowing my aim is true.

I hope to hit someone through the seam in the hatch. Best if the someone is Helenus.

But Eurus—the dizzard!—sends his wind to speed my arrow and give it power. The wind throws it off its path so that it strikes the middle of the hatch and is buried uselessly in the wood.

Someone shouts, “She attacked the offering!”

Feet thud. Maera barks.

As fast as I can, I pull out another arrow, yelling, “No, Eurus!”

A hand circles my arm.

It’s over. I failed.

But I yank myself free, run in closer, fit the arrow, pull back, release.

A bloody line appears along the seam.

“She wounded it!”

“Forgive us, Athena!”

People surround me and hold me. A terrified silence falls.

Again, I feel a pulsing under the paving stones. A monster sent by the immortals is rising up for me!

A man’s voice comes from inside the horse, “Leave it be. It’s just a scratch.”

“Hush!” Sounds like Helenus.