Dragon Horse

Nikolaos, Cadmus, and Ammi wait under the dark, angular wings of the Colchis Academy entrance, its shadow spreading over the clouds cloaking the sky.

“They weren’t late last time.” Ammi glances down at her watch again. Nikolaos doesn’t know why she minds so much. The longer it takes for the lieutenant and the sergeant to arrive, the later his little brother, and her youngest son, will have to leave.

The solid iron security gates open with a low grinding of its gears. Cadmus’s spine straightens immediately. Ammi also stands at attention, shooting a sharp look at Nikolaos, who crosses his empty fist over his chest and sticks out his left arm.

Lieutenant Sekhet’s cloak flaps in the wind, which has mercifully died down. Her crested helmet and respirator conceal most of her face, except for the way the corners of her eyes wrinkle when they settle on Ammi.

As they begin to talk, Nikolaos turns to Cadmus. His little brother signs so clearly and smoothly to their speech that one would think it’s second nature to him. Only Nikolaos remembers all the mistakes he used to make when he first learned it. However, Cadmus was also the first in the family to learn it.

“Sekhet,” Ammi says, still holding her salute.

“Vayu.” Then Lieutenant Sekhet throws her arms around her former comrade. Ammi tenses up at her touch, but then her stance softens and she puts a gentle, gloved hand on Lieutenant Sekhet’s upper arm.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Copy that. How’s Pegasus?”

“Better than me,” Ammi snarks, though the wrinkles in the corners of her own eyes deepen at the sound of Nikolaos’ father’s code name.

“I’m happy to hear it. That Osprey of his saved us more times than I can count. May the sky bear witness to his and your service.”

“And yours. You were a good combat medic, but an even better combatant.” Ammi shook her head. “You sliced through hundreds of Mensa soldiers from the field as easily as Galen’s jet shot them down from above.”

“Yes, I’ll never forget that day. Who knows, maybe your son will give the subquates even more casualties to remember.” The lieutenant takes out a crisp, white envelope from under her cloak and slices it open with her hooked blade with practiced precision. She unfolds the paper and holds it out to Cadmus, who slowly lowers his hands.

The letter crumples in his grip when he reads the report. He hands it to Ammi. She barely looks at it before passing it to Nikolaos. Ice water seems to seep into his knees when he sees the results.

General Chiyou had an average of ninety-eight out of a hundred.

Cadmus has a ninety-four, scoring a ninety-three in Survival and a ninety-five in Weapons Operations. He didn’t pass with flying colors, he soared.

Lieutenant Sekhet slides a dog tag out of the envelope and into the palm of Cadmus’s glove, which now fits perfectly. He turns to Nikolaos and starts to sign again.

“Cadmus, your code name is Achilles, for your strength, loyalty, and courage. You may be our youngest new soldier, but you are far from the weakest. I look forward to seeing you become a new myth.”

Sergeant Wotan marches out from behind her, holding a double-ended spear with a titanium shaft in his right hand.

“X-Y-S-T-O-N,” Cadmus spells to Nikolaos.

On his left arm, he has an octagonal shield reinforced with several steel plates. An inverted V, an homage to the Spartans who first wielded it.

The general had his bayonet. Ammi had her spear. Baba had his Osprey. Now Cadmus has his xyston and shield. Now that he has proved he can soar, he may have his wings.

He trembles as he takes it up the xyston and straps the shield to his forearm, but then his stance steadies and his spine straighten once more. The lieutenant and the sergeant salute him. Ammi stands at attention, shooting another sharp look at Nikolaos. He sticks out his left arm, his right fist clenched tightly over his chest.

Cadmus sprints back into the house, his mouth widened and his teeth bared in a brightly smiling shout.

“Baba, I did it, I did it, I did it!”

Baba lets go of the pipe he’s fixing – or trying to fix all day – and peeks out from under the sputtering sink. He bounds over to Cadmus, slipping and sliding on the water that’s spilled out from the broken metal tube.

“Shabash, why don't you break all we have in the house?” Ammi seethes as she pushes past him and tweaks the pipe back into place in less than a minute. She’s spent her whole day repairing hundreds of pipelines, siphons, and conduits.

“What name? What name did they give you?” Baba interrogates Cadmus, who puffs up and pauses for effect before proclaiming it.

“Achilles.”

Baba’s eyes widen and he whirls around to Ammi.

“Is this real?”

“Yes,” she says curtly, pointing to the puddle under her boots. “And you’re all cleaning this up.”

“Attaboy!” Baba scoops up Cadmus, suffocating him in his arms and digging his knuckles into his son’s already-unkempt hair before hollering at Ammi. “Attention, Vayu!”

“Pegasus.”

He pats a shining Cadmus’s head.

“That’s our boy!”

Ammi shakes her head, but the corner of her mouth curls. She puts a hand on Nikolaos’ shoulder blade.

“Nikolaos, can you–”

He gets the mop.

Nikolaos wipes up the last of the water and wrings it out over a bucket, dumping it down the sink.

“Can we have mutanjan?” asks the first voice he ever heard. His favorite dish. Nikolaos’ stomach wrings itself, and he finds himself feeling quite full.

Nikolaos taps Baba’s shoulder, opens his hand, places it in front of his forehead, and brings it down to his chin. Then he touches his fingers to his thumb.

“You’re going to sleep already? What about your brother’s victory–”

Ammi cuts Baba off, standing between them. Nikolaos braces for another one of her scoldings, since she hasn’t taken her sleeping pills yet.

“If he needs it, let him.” The wrinkles in the corners of her eyes waver.

“Aren’t you happy for me?” Cadmus’ dark eyes shine with worry, then pity.

“You’re twelve and you’re going to the trenches,” Nikolaos signs pointedly. “This is the happiest day of my life!”

Nikolaos slams the door to his room. The Aithon Anguis still lays open on his bed. He stuffs it into his backpack, so he doesn’t have to look at it. Headlines scroll across the bottom of the screen in his mind.

NUCLEAR WINTER LOWERS POPULATION. ARCTOLEAN ALLIANCE LOWERS DRAFTING AGE.

His sternum stings, the screaming of the static even harsher than the northern wind.

THEY CAN’T RISK ANY FURTHER WEAKNESS IN THEIR RANKS. THE ARMIES OF THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO WOULD CALL YOU UNFIT FOR SERVICE, TOO.

Then his voice cuts through the cold.

HE’S ONLY TWELVE YEARS OLD.

Small fingers seize Nikolaos’ wrist, wrenching him from his sleep.

Cadmus crouches beside him.

Nikolaos pulls away and pulls the covers over his head.

Cadmus pulls off the cover and holds out his hearing aid.

Nikolaos doesn’t take it, cold sweat staining the back of his shirt.

Cadmus shoots a shaky thumbs up at him.

Nikolaos shakes his head, swallowing down what feels like feathers of snow filling his windpipe.

Cadmus lets go of his wrist, his fingers lingering for a little longer on his pulse, then he runs out of the room.

A few seconds later, Nikolaos feels a tap on his shoulder.

Cadmus holds a soccer ball under his arm. He makes both of his hands into fists, sticks his thumbs out, and thumps them together.

“Game.”

Their way they play soccer has remained the same since they were old enough to run. No tackling. No hands. First person with three goals wins and gets bragging rights until the next game. The posts are two rocks placed about two steps apart in the snow at each end of the backyard. The score sits at two for Cadmus and one for Nikolaos.

Cadmus ducks to the side as Nikolaos sprints towards his goal. He steals the ball out from under Nikolaos’ feet, dribbling the soccer ball around him, and kicking it towards his rocks. Nikolaos blocks it with his shin, letting it roll up his knee. He balances on one leg and bounces it. Cadmus whacks it away with his elbow.

Nikolaos sticks out his fingers one by one. He taps the pinkie edge of his right hand to his left wrist, then he does it again with the other side.

“No hands!”

Cadmus dodges his white bullet and mirrors his movements.

“No hands.” He points to his elbow.

Nikolaos nudges the soccer ball over to himself with his heel, bumping it off his instep and into Cadmus’ goal. They’re tied, as always, but never for long, as always. Nikolaos lets Cadmus circle the ball around the backyard and punt it between his rocks. That’s three goals.

Nikolaos scoops up a handful of snow and throws it at Cadmus before falling back into the white, fluffy ground. Cadmus runs around him, pumping his fingers into the air, then he sits beside me. They both catch their breath, half-laughing and half-gasping for the warmth that filters through their respirators like a man who has been stranded in the desert inhales his first gulp of water. Even though Nikolaos has let Cadmus win, his cheeks are sore from smiling. They stare up at the sky. The north star stares back at them.

“I win,” Cadmus signs.

“I know, stupid,” Nikolaos signs back.

Cadmus carries Ammi’s old suitcase with him, packed with a portfolio of his medical information, a change of clothes, and his combat gear. He clutches his xyston to his chest and has his shield on his back.

Hundreds of other families head down the staircase and into the turbojet train station. Nikolaos’ parents seem like strangers in their Polaris uniforms. They stand statue-still at the edge of the platform, but Nikolaos shifts in his ice-picked boots. Cadmus tugs at his collar and the cuffs of his sleeves, which fall loosely around his wrists.

Nikolaos turns down his hearing aid when the armored train screeches down the tunnel, the railways tinted blue by the flames spewing from the turbines on its sides.

Ammi squeezes her youngest son’s hand. Baba steps up to rub his knuckles against his boy’s scalp. They both shoot a hard look at Nikolaos.

Nikolaos stands there, silent, letting every feature of Cadmus’ face seep into his memory. His eyes, dark and shining like black ice. His scruffy hair. His obnoxious grin. He almost wraps his arms around him.

Almost.

But Cadmus won’t survive if he doesn’t toughen up. The north can’t risk any further weakness in their ranks.

Nikolaos watches Cadmus catch up with the other recruits. His small silhouette melts into the sea of black, gray, and blue uniforms as they file into their rows. The automatic doors of the last compartment close. His little brother stares at him from his seat, waving to him from the window, then the train speeds away, the wind whipping through the fur on Nikolaos’ hood when it shoots down the tunnel.

“It’s time to go,” Baba says, his voice mechanical.

Ammi’s eyes seem to sink even deeper into her dark circles.

Nikolaos swallows down the snow in his throat.

It should’ve been me on that train.

“Nikolaos,” Ammi scolds softly.

Nikolaos doesn’t know if his little brother is as strong as his namesake. Even Achilles had his heel. And he knows that flicker– not shine – in Cadmus’s black ice-eyes.

Fear.

Nikolaos can still see him waving to him from that window.

I forgot to wave back.