Chapter X #2
The blond girl grabs another one of my locs, but this time she tugs it, so I’m forced to step even closer to her.
There’s a brief pain in my scalp, and it takes a moment for me to realize what all this reminds me of.
At once, I’m back in that bedchamber with Maheer.
I remember the way he grabbed my locs without asking, the way he’d looked at me like I was something to be devoured.
Like I was a thing, not a person.
I knock the blond girl’s hand away and step back.
“Please don’t touch my hair.” My voice is soft, but the room is small enough that the words carry.
Several of the watching acolytes shift, visibly uncomfortable, but I keep my eyes trained on the blond girl.
She’s now looking at me with both surprise and confusion, as though she can’t quite believe what’s happened.
I have the vague notion that she is not often refused, if ever.
For a second, her hand remains half raised from where I knocked it away.
Then the surprise gives way, and her features twist. She suddenly looks as though she’s tasted something sour.
“It’s just as well.” Her voice is still syrupy sweet, but there’s a new undertone. “I wouldn’t want to touch a metic’s hair anyway.”
I rack my brain, trying to place that word.
Metic. I know it is shorthand for the Greek word “metoikos,” another word for a foreigner.
It isn’t an inherently bad word, but the way the girl spat it makes me bristle.
She steps toward me, sniffs the air, then makes a show of holding her nose. Some of the other acolytes laugh.
“You smell,” she declares. “Do they even bathe where you come from?”
Tears prick my eyes. This morning, Stheno and Euryale had lathered my skin with shea butter and oiled my locs with rose oil. I had thought I smelled good.
“First, they come into our city and take our homes and food,” the blond girl continues, turning to the other girls. “Now even our holiest places aren’t safe from foreigners. Next they’ll want to be citizens.”
There is muttering among the other acolytes, and I note that some of them are eyeing me with new hostility. It is as though some invisible partition were forming, separating me from the rest of them. I swallow, trying to find words to stop it, but the blond girl goes on.
“I don’t know what the high priestess was thinking, inviting you to be an acolyte,” she says, inspecting me. “Were it me, I’d never let you so much as set foot in the—”
“I’d choose my next words carefully, if I were you.”
Several heads—including mine—turn to the back of the room.
I’m surprised to find that the voice belongs to one of the acolytes.
She is tall, with dark curly hair and the slightly golden-brown skin of someone who’s spent ample time under sunshine.
Her eyes are light, though I can’t quite discern their color in the room’s dim.
I notice something else about her. It’s the way she stands, with her shoulders back and her chin slightly raised.
I realize, with a start, that her confidence reminds me a little of Athena.
The blond girl seems less impressed. “You agree with this, Apollonia?” She sounds offended. “You think foreigners should be allowed to serve in the temple?”
The brunette—the one the blond had called Apollonia—shrugs. “I heard that the high priestess selected her because she received a divine vision, from the Goddess herself.”
The room’s atmosphere changes almost instantly.
Several of the acolytes who’ve just been frowning now regard me with renewed interest, while the blond girl’s eyes widen.
I remember what Athena told me on the island.
She said she would organize my transportation to Athens and speak to her high priestess about my arrival. Perhaps this vision is what she meant.
“The high priestess wouldn’t have had a vision about her,” the blond says dismissively. “She’s just a—”
“The high priestess has had other visions,” Apollonia interjects. I notice she’s speaking slightly louder. “She has never been wrong. To openly question a vision’s validity…” She pauses. “One might consider that blasphemy; others might even consider it grounds for an acolyte to be dismissed.”
The acolytes who’ve been standing near the blond girl move away, as though she’s been contaminated.
“No.” The blond girl pales. “No, that’s not what I said. That’s not—”
“I won’t tell the high priestess.” Apollonia’s tone remains light, though I detect a slight teasing in it. “But only if you go, now.”
The blond girl says nothing else as she quickly changes into her chiton and leaves the room. The rest of the acolytes follow suit, all careful not to make eye contact with me. When only Apollonia and I remain, I turn to her.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
Apollonia waves a hand. “Kallisto is a bully. Everyone knows it.”
“You know her?”
“Sure,” says Apollonia. “Most of us know each other. Acolytes are usually selected from the city’s aristocratic families. We’ve all grown up together.”
“Oh.” I think again of that imagined partition I felt before, the one that had made it seem like I was somehow inherently separate from the rest of the acolytes.
As if she can read my thoughts, Apollonia changes the subject. “Your Greek is quite good,” she notes.
“Thank you.”
“But you’re not Greek?” The question isn’t unkind, and I hear earnest curiosity in it.
Up close, I now see that her eyes are an indeterminable color that falls between green and hazel.
There’s an intensity to her gaze, one that makes me feel I have her full and undivided attention, and would have it for as long as I spoke.
That stare reminds me of Athena, too. It takes me a moment to find my words.
“N-no,” I answer. “I’m not Greek.”
“Where are you from?” she asks.
I consider, uncertain. I’ve never given any thought to my island’s name, I’ve never had to before. In the back of my mind, my father’s instructions echo.
You are not to tell anyone in Athens that you are the child of gods. Nor are you to tell them where you are from.
Apollonia is still looking at me expectantly.
“I’m from an island,” I begin. “It’s…far from here. You would not have heard of it.” That, at least, is a partial truth.
For a second, I think Apollonia is going to press me for more.
I’m relieved when she merely nods. “I thought you might be Egyptian, or Aithiopian.” She looks thoughtful for a moment.
“The truth is I overheard Eupraxia talking about you with the other priestesses before the rest of the girls arrived earlier.” She looks at me with real intrigue.
“Is it really true you received an invitation from the Goddess herself?”
“Yes.” I swallow, nervous. “Athena…came to my island.”
“You’ve seen her.” Apollonia’s eyes widen. “What was she like?”
As soon as I’ve spoken, I realize I’ve made a mistake.
I have spent my entire life around gods; seeing Athena was surprising, but it was not the ethereal experience I know Apollonia is probably imagining.
I have to remind myself that mortals like her—like all the acolytes, probably—don’t think of gods as the flawed beings I know they are, but as truly divine beings, worthy of worship and reverence.
I choose my next words more carefully. “She was…like nothing and no one else I’ve ever known,” I say in a small voice.
Apollonia nods sagely. “Your parents must be so proud of you.”
I think of my father’s severe face and nod.
“Don’t listen to anything Kallisto says,” Apollonia continues. “If the high priestess had a vision that says you should be here, then you deserve to be here just as much as anyone else, Greek or not.”
The words are simple but kind. I feel myself warming again. “Thank you.” Something suddenly crosses my mind. “You said that most of the other acolytes already knew each other,” I note, “but how were you selected? Did the high priestess come to your home?”
To my surprise, Apollonia looks distinctly embarrassed.
“That might have been the case for the others,” she says carefully.
“But the women of my family have served terms at the Temple of Athena for the last two hundred years. It’s a bit of a tradition for us.
When I came of age, my father simply informed the high priestess. ”
I blink as her words sink in. I’d learned about Athena’s temple only two weeks prior. In contrast, Apollonia’s family has served it for two centuries.
My face must betray my anxiety, because Apollonia’s brow furrows with concern. “What’s wrong?”
I hesitate, unsure of how to say what I’m thinking.
“The other acolytes didn’t give you any trouble because it’s obvious you belong here.
” I gesture in the direction they went. “But what Kallisto said, the way she and the others looked at me…I don’t know that I’ll be treated that way or ever feel like I belong. ”
Apollonia’s face takes on an expression of calm determination that reminds me of Stheno.
She puts a hand on my shoulder. “If the Goddess invited you to be here, you belong here,” she says.
“Never mind what people like Kallisto say. They try to make you feel like you don’t belong because you intimidate them. ”
I frown. “I do?”
Apollonia nods.
“But…why?”
“You’re not Greek like the rest of us,” she says. “You’re different, which sets you apart.” She holds my gaze. “Here, that’s an advantage. Use it.”
I let her words sink in. If these tests are truly a competition, perhaps sticking out could be useful. When I look to her again, I find myself smiling.
“Thank you.”
Apollonia smiles back, then nods. “We should go. They’re probably waiting for us.”
—