A Brother’s Vow Chapter 13

The sun looked beautiful to Eleni, a bonfire in the sky, against a purple backdrop.

For the first time since she escaped the hospital, she let out a deep sigh. Every step of the horse jarred her injuries, and her head throbbed.

There was greater beauty than her eyes could take in, something to behold in awe, yet unworthy of seeing it. She felt that it needed her to clasp it tightly in her hands, and preserve it somehow. But what could she do with it in all this violence and confusion and blood?

It seemed to her that normalcy died the moment the first bomb fell on her beloved island, that there was no longer the sound of songbirds, and the scent of wildflowers filling the air.

Only smoke, the thuds of explosions, and the whir of German planes filled her memories of the last few days.

Days?

Years.

Every moment lingering on like a day, one long daymare that she could not awake from.

She trembled on the horse’s back, fearing this was her new life forever.

What struck her most was the incessant whir of the German planes. All day long, and often at night, the sound of oversized mosquitoes buzzing on and on.

Even now they could be heard all around her.

A plane flew overhead, so low she could make out the Balkenkreuz painted on the underbelly. She stopped the horse in the middle of the road. Why is there a German plane there?

Have they already advanced so far?

It disappeared from sight, though its buzzing never stopped.

In that moment, Eleni felt the same lump in her throat she had felt on the beach when Dimitrios pushed her into the rocks. A lump she couldn’t clear, a fear that she might die alone on the road with a stolen horse and Germans nearby. That she wished to see her mother. Nikos’s mother. And that the war had not come to Crete, that the murdering, blood-thirsty Germans could be decimated or that they had been destroyed on the mainland.

There was a terrible feeling of inadequacy in being a child without parents in a war-consumed world that threatened to stamp her out. That was how she felt, she thought as she turned the horse down the road, and the dust rose with its steps.

She had Nikos still to think about.

If the world disintegrated and only Nikos remained, she would be happy. But no. That wasn’t true. She needed the satchel. The story of herself that she didn’t know but wanted to know. Yes, Nikos and the satchel would make her happy. If she could survive this war, if there was anything left of life and the world, she would go find her father. Find her brother. The brother with no name.

Something moved between her feet.

A Cretan Festoon butterfly rested on the horse’s leg. Beauty in the throes of war. The war was miles away. Or maybe already here. Eleni bent down and lifted the butterfly on her fingers, thinking that she would save it. But a noise in the trees made her look up. She felt the butterfly flap and leave her hand. The noise was close.

Then she saw him.

In terror she drove her knees into the horse’s ribs, and together they bolted down the road as a gunshot rang through the air.

The bullet whizzed past her ear, and she was still alive.

The horse became frenzied by the blast, running faster than Eleni had ever thought possible. Before, she had merely swayed with the horse’s movement, but now she felt as though she were out at sea in a raging storm.

Her head flew forward while her body went the other way, then her head snapped back as her body lurched forward. She was dizzy from her injuries, and here and there the wounds had opened afresh, blots of fresh red spreading across her bandages.

Another shot followed, then three more in quick succession.

She leaned into the horse’s neck the way Father had taught her. Nikos’s father. The only father her life had known. But the Germans had taken him away too.

Poor Nikos.

“Feuer! Feuer!” she heard over the thunder of the hooves.

Three more shots rang out in quick succession, but they missed.

The horse turned abruptly off the road and ran into the woods and rocky countryside. Branches tangled in her hair, nearly dragging her from the saddle, while brush lashed her face and arms into a bloody mess.

Her fingers turned white as she struggled to hold the reins, keep her seat, wondering if the blows would ever stop.

The sun dropped below the horizon. Once again she was in the dark, in danger. But this time, Nikos wasn’t there to protect her. And that was what frightened her.

Her father was dead. Nikos’s father that is. Nikos’s mother. Dead. But Nikos’s mother didn’t just die. She died horribly. She died in Florence. Her father’s home city. Her father’s, not Nikos’s.

Was she about to die?

The branches were still beating her. Her grasp on the reins weakened. Her nose was bleeding. Her hands and arms were covered in cuts.

“Nikos!” she screamed desperately. A large branch struck her in the face. The horse was gone, and she could feel her body falling through the dancing shadows and silver moonlight. She needed her satchel. She wanted Nikos. She landed on the ground with a thud. For the second time in the past few days, her breath was knocked out of her. She lay there gasping and choking, knowing she was dying or that she would be found by the Germans and killed.

She lay still for a moment before she staggered to her feet.

She looked around her, meaning to keep going.

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