Read Online Dark of the Moon by Tracy Barrett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tracy Barrett
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forget us."
This speech is so unexpected that I have nothing to say beyond, "I never will." A swift embrace, and he thrusts a small pouch into my hand, and then I'm on the road.
The day is chilly, and I know that as I near the sea it will only grow colder. In the weeks I've had to wait for the winter storms to end, the spring has drawn closer but warmth has proven elusive. I'm glad for the cloak that Konnidas bought me, even though my mother pouted when she saw it and accused him of thinking that her weaving wasn't good enough for me (she was right).
I carry the rotten sandals in my pack. My father's sword is belted to my waist, the side with the gold figures toward me so that their gleam won't attract the eye, and the greed, of anyone I might encounter on the road. It slaps against my thigh at each step with a reassuring sound. I'm not expecting trouble, but you never know.
"Why don't you take a boat?" Arkas asked me when I said that I was going to Athens. "It's so much faster."
"Safer, too," said one of his dull-witted friends, unwittingly showing me the honorable way out.
"Do you think I'm a coward?" I asked, feigning astonishment. "Of course I'm going by the overland route. More adventure that way." So, although they must have known that the real reason was that I had no money for boat passage, they had nothing to say.
I haven't gone very far when I hear a soft, high sound behind me. My hand flies to the hilt of my sword, and then I lower it, feeling foolish. It sounds like a baby.
How cruel,
I think.
If someone exposes an unwanted child, they should leave it where someone might find it and care for it, not out here in this wasteland.
The odds of a passerby finding an exposed child are slim, and the hope that someone might adopt such a child slimmer yet, but it's nothing short of murder to leave it where no one is likely to pass for weeks. I poke around in the brush. No baby. I'm about to look further, when I hear a rustling, and the dog that my mother has been caring for these last weeks bounds out of a thicket.
She runs to me on her long legs, her ears streaming behind her, and jumps up, her paws scraping at my waist, her mouth open in what looks like a smile, her tail wagging. If anyone were present I would be embarrassed at how glad I am to see her. I squat and rub her head, scratching her behind the ears, then cup her face in my hands and gaze into her eyes.
"What am I to do with you?" Her tail wags even faster. I consider. My mother has made no effort to train her, and even if she had, I don't know if the dog would obey if I told her to go home. I can't take her back myself; the last thing I want to do is turn around and go slinking into Troizena as though I've changed my mind. Some are expecting that, and the thought of the satisfaction on Arkas's ugly face as he sees me enter the village mere hours after my departure turns my stomach.
I wonder if the dog can keep up with me. She's large but young, and she already appears tired. She'll probably manage for a while and then will lag behind. I can't stand the thought of leaving her alone on the road, hearing her whine grow fainter as I continue on my way. Besides, I have barely enough food for myself, much less a large dog, and I don't carry any hunting weapons. I'm not much of a hunter anyway, and I don't think that she is any better.
I know what Arkas would do. He'd slit the dog's throat without thinking twice and leave her body there for the crows. But I'm not Arkas, and I look into the brown eyes and know that I can't do it. I straighten.
"Come on, then, dog," I say, and take to the road again, accompanied by the sound of her panting and her footsteps.
"I can't keep calling you 'dog.'" We walk for a while as I think. I've heard of a moon goddess called Artemis, a patron deity of the hunt. This Artemis supposedly once asked her father, Zeus, for six lop-eared hunting hounds. I glance down at the cream-colored dog whose ears flap as she paces next to
This speech is so unexpected that I have nothing to say beyond, "I never will." A swift embrace, and he thrusts a small pouch into my hand, and then I'm on the road.
The day is chilly, and I know that as I near the sea it will only grow colder. In the weeks I've had to wait for the winter storms to end, the spring has drawn closer but warmth has proven elusive. I'm glad for the cloak that Konnidas bought me, even though my mother pouted when she saw it and accused him of thinking that her weaving wasn't good enough for me (she was right).
I carry the rotten sandals in my pack. My father's sword is belted to my waist, the side with the gold figures toward me so that their gleam won't attract the eye, and the greed, of anyone I might encounter on the road. It slaps against my thigh at each step with a reassuring sound. I'm not expecting trouble, but you never know.
"Why don't you take a boat?" Arkas asked me when I said that I was going to Athens. "It's so much faster."
"Safer, too," said one of his dull-witted friends, unwittingly showing me the honorable way out.
"Do you think I'm a coward?" I asked, feigning astonishment. "Of course I'm going by the overland route. More adventure that way." So, although they must have known that the real reason was that I had no money for boat passage, they had nothing to say.
I haven't gone very far when I hear a soft, high sound behind me. My hand flies to the hilt of my sword, and then I lower it, feeling foolish. It sounds like a baby.
How cruel,
I think.
If someone exposes an unwanted child, they should leave it where someone might find it and care for it, not out here in this wasteland.
The odds of a passerby finding an exposed child are slim, and the hope that someone might adopt such a child slimmer yet, but it's nothing short of murder to leave it where no one is likely to pass for weeks. I poke around in the brush. No baby. I'm about to look further, when I hear a rustling, and the dog that my mother has been caring for these last weeks bounds out of a thicket.
She runs to me on her long legs, her ears streaming behind her, and jumps up, her paws scraping at my waist, her mouth open in what looks like a smile, her tail wagging. If anyone were present I would be embarrassed at how glad I am to see her. I squat and rub her head, scratching her behind the ears, then cup her face in my hands and gaze into her eyes.
"What am I to do with you?" Her tail wags even faster. I consider. My mother has made no effort to train her, and even if she had, I don't know if the dog would obey if I told her to go home. I can't take her back myself; the last thing I want to do is turn around and go slinking into Troizena as though I've changed my mind. Some are expecting that, and the thought of the satisfaction on Arkas's ugly face as he sees me enter the village mere hours after my departure turns my stomach.
I wonder if the dog can keep up with me. She's large but young, and she already appears tired. She'll probably manage for a while and then will lag behind. I can't stand the thought of leaving her alone on the road, hearing her whine grow fainter as I continue on my way. Besides, I have barely enough food for myself, much less a large dog, and I don't carry any hunting weapons. I'm not much of a hunter anyway, and I don't think that she is any better.
I know what Arkas would do. He'd slit the dog's throat without thinking twice and leave her body there for the crows. But I'm not Arkas, and I look into the brown eyes and know that I can't do it. I straighten.
"Come on, then, dog," I say, and take to the road again, accompanied by the sound of her panting and her footsteps.
"I can't keep calling you 'dog.'" We walk for a while as I think. I've heard of a moon goddess called Artemis, a patron deity of the hunt. This Artemis supposedly once asked her father, Zeus, for six lop-eared hunting hounds. I glance down at the cream-colored dog whose ears flap as she paces next to
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