Read Eternal Spring A Young Adult Short Story Collection Online
Authors: Various
"The letter," I say.
"That was only a convenient excuse."
Such hatred is burning in my belly, that I dare to ask,
"Then why did you spare me? Because my father is the Pharaoh of
Egypt?"
"That is the main reason," the king admits.
He does not want to cause a war with my father, so he will
not kill me. It's an advantage I will not forget again.
"But there's one more reason, Arsinoë."
"What is it?"
"I spared you because you worry Prince
Agathocles," the king says, merrily. "So long as you're my wife,
he'll plot against you. And better you than me."
It's clear to me now. He is
happy
that I lashed out at those who
might harm him. He
want
s me to become like his horrible dog.
I plead with him. "But Cassander isn't a threat to
anyone. Please, have mercy--"
"Cassander has embarrassed me," he says, bluntly.
"He has also confessed. And he must die."
I stifle my sounds of anguish. Inside my head, I am
screaming.
No,
no, no!
The king tilts his head. "Cassander did not ask for his
life. He only asked to see you once before he dies. That was the price of his
confession, and we made our bargain. So go to him tonight, because he dies at
dawn."
Cassander is a
prisoner in a small room with bars that keep us from rushing together. I don't
wait to see if the guards watch me. I don't care if this might be a trap to
test my loyalty. I don't care about anything but seeing him again. Rising from
a palate in the corner, Cassander comes to the bars, his eyes murky with
emotion.
A guard puts a burning oil lamp on the floor near my feet,
then withdraws to the hallway.
And we are alone.
"Why, Cassander?" I ask, my voice high and shrill.
"
Why
did you confess?"
"To save you," he says simply. "I told the
king that I loved you but that you had nothing for me but scorn."
"A lie," I whisper, tears flowing freely down my
cheeks. "That's a lie. I love you. I
love
you."
He lays a finger over his lips to hush me. "I knew they
would find your letter, Arsinoë."
"Why didn't you burn it?" I cry, wringing my
hands.
Cassander's lips tilt into a smile. "It smelled like
you. I didn't know if I would ever see you again, so I kept your letter. I
traced the words, imagining you writing it. I couldn't burn it; it was the only
thing you ever gave me."
Oh, how that pains me. I would have given him so much
more...
"Arsinoë, I'm not afraid," he says, reaching
through the bars to twine his fingers with mine. "I said that we have no
choice about how we're born, but we have some say over everything else. I have
a say over how I'll die."
"Then I want to die with you!" I cry.
He shakes his head. "No, Arsinoë. You have to live. You
have to live for both of us."
I won't believe anything he says now. I'm sobbing. I'm going
mad.
"Remember your dream that you'd be Pharaoh of Egypt?
Live for that..."
He must know that I can't ever return to Egypt. "It was
a silly dream of a silly girl."
He brushes the tears from my cheeks. "Arsinoë, when I
die, I will blow my last breath to you. Take it in, and I'll be with you all
the days of your life. We'll be one person, one soul. Everywhere you go, I'll
go. Everything you see, I'll see. Every time you laugh, I'll laugh. Every time
you ride Styx, I'll feel the wind on my face. You must survive, above
all."
"No," I say, shaking my head. "He can't kill
you. He can't kill his own son. This isn't happening."
"He can," Cassander says calmly. "And he
will."
He's so brave, but I feel his fingers trembling. I clutch at
him. He pulls me as close as he can, though the metal keeps us apart. His
breath warms my face and I look into his beautiful eyes. These eyes, filled
with fear. Filled with love. Love for me. And I'm breaking.
We kiss. It is soft. It is sweet. I breathe him in.
And when we break apart, he says, "Thank you for that.
Now, nothing can hurt me. You're already breathing for me, Arsinoë. I'm already
half gone."
King Lysimachus is solemn. This is his fault, I think. Men
like him. Men like my father. Men who marry so many wives and make so many
children that we must compete for attention, for power, and for survival. But
it isn't
only
his fault. Prince Agathocles played his part. So did his sister. Now they sit
here to watch the murder of their own brother.
The soldiers lead Cassander onto the wooden platform. His
hands are tied behind his back. When the executioner places a knotted rope
around his neck, Cassander doesn't move. He stares straight at me--and my heart
batters against my ribcage. I should run to him, even if it means my own death.
But his eyes beseech me to live for him; it is a horrible choice.
The king nods to the executioner and Cassander blows out his
last breath.
The springtime breeze carries it my way and I gasp, filling
my lungs. I hold it inside me as the executioner twists the rope, cutting off
Cassander's air.
My beloved begins to strangle. As I watch, I squeeze my
hands into fists, wanting nothing more than to batter at the executioner and
make him stop. I want to save Cassander. I'm desperate for him to live. Then,
as Cassander's lips begin to turn blue and his eyes bulge in agony, I want
nothing more than for him to die.
Die. Die swiftly. Be free of these pains! Be free of this world and its
betrayals.
But if Cassander lives inside me now, he'll never die. For
as I watch them murder him, I make this solemn vow.
I will have revenge.
I will have revenge on King Lysimachus. I will have revenge
upon Prince Agathocles and his sister. I will destroy each and every one of
them. From this day forward, no one—not even Lysandra, wherever she is
now—will ever hurt
me or anyone I love without paying a
price
. And I will make it steep. My enemies will pay in blood. For I
have Cassander's breath inside me. To hurt me now is to hurt him and I'll
defend him with the ferocity of a hippopotamus.
Until now, I've been only that
soft-hearted
Princess of Egypt who did not want to listen to my mother's warnings.
That fool
of a girl who did not want to see rivals or learn
to play political games.
That girl, that princess, dies with Cassander. She
must
die.
For today I'm born anew.
Today I'm born a
true
queen...and an avenger. My rivals will
learn to fear me. And when I've destroyed them, I'll take those dreams I had on
the banks of the Nile and make them true.
Somehow
, I'll make them true.
For Cassander, I will return to Egypt.
I
will
become Pharaoh.
And we will both live forever.
Based on the life of Queen Arsinoë II who was born into the
Greek-Macedonian Ptolemaic Dynasty that ruled Egypt, this story imagines an explanation
for the ruthless woman who would become one of history's greatest survivors.
Except for Cassander, I based all the characters upon known historical figures.
King Lysimachus would go on to lose the support of his people--in part--for
murdering a son. That's what gave me the germ of my story idea.
It took Arsinoë years, but she eventually
destroyed
the
royal family of Thrace. She eventually returned to Egypt, became queen, and was
anointed Pharaoh in her own right. She planned victorious wars. She won an
Olympic medal for horse harnessing. And she was deified as an incarnation of
the goddess Isis, whom the Greeks believed was the eternal goddess of spring.
***
Stephanie Dray writes historical fiction, fantasy and
magical realism. Using the transformative power of magic realism, Stephanie
Dray illuminates the stories of women in history so as to inspire the young
women of today. She remains fascinated by all things Egyptian and has–to
the consternation of her devoted husband–collected a house full of cats
and ancient artifacts. Her critically acclaimed debut novel
, Lily of the Nile
, begins the epic
story of Cleopatra's daughter. The sequel,
Song of the Nile
, has been nominated for a
RITA® Award. The third book in the trilogy is expected to release in 2013.
Back to Table of Contents
Spring Perfection
By
Leslie
Dubois
I love the smell of springtime. To me, it smells like hot
dogs, linseed oil, and the tight stitching on a new baseball. Spring brings my favorite
pastime, the happiest time of my life. But not today.
It’s the top of the fifth inning. We, Charleston Preparatory
School, are ahead one to zero. I’m pitching a perfect game. It’ll be my first
perfect game since joining the baseball team last year as a freshman. A perfect
game is the dream of any pitcher.
I
mean, in Major
League Baseball there have only been
twenty perfect games
ever!
Ever
!
And I was on my way to getting one as a sophomore in high school. A perfect
game means no one gets on base—no walks, no errors,
no
mistakes. Unfortunately, I don't know if this is possible.
My head is not in the game. It’s somewhere else completely.
With Reyna. I made a promise to her and because of this stupid game, I don't
know if I’ll be able to keep it or not. Of course, the game isn't stupid.
Baseball is the greatest game on the planet. And if you ask my mother, she'll
say it’s the most important game of my life. But then again, she'll say every
game is the most important game of my life. That's just the way she is. It will
take too much time to explain my mother. And this isn't a story about her.
In her defense, this is a special game. It isn't every day
that a high school team gets to have a spring training game with a college
team. And it certainly isn't every day that the high school team beats the
college team. But winning will mean nothing without Reyna by my side.
I look over at her normal place in the dugout, where she
usually sits next to Doc. She wants to be a doctor one day, so he lets her tag
along to all the games and watch how to take care of different sports injuries.
It’s free medical training for her future career.
Today she isn't there and I know why. The reason tears at my
heart. I momentarily step off the mound in order to get my emotions in check.
Most people think nerves are kicking in. They think I realize that it's been
five innings and I haven’t allowed a single batter to reach first base. But
that’s not what is eating away at me like termite in a tree house. I’m a bad
friend. I should be by her side instead of worrying about my baseball stats.
I stick my face into my glove and inhale the scent of the
linseed oil. It calms me for a moment and I step back on the mound.
How did I ever get to this point? How did Reyna grow to be
so important in my life that I find myself thinking about her instead of
pitching my perfect game?
I shake thoughts of her from my mind and throw out a pitch.
Strike three.
I’ve survived another inning. Finally, I can retreat to the
dugout and get my head together. I try to purge thoughts of her. I try to
concentrate. I try to focus on Carson at bat, but I can't. Instead, I think of
how Reyna and I first met.
The Day that Changed my Life
The day my life changed was November 13th, 2002. It was a Tuesday
in English class, which meant reading time. But to sixth grade boys, reading
time was a synonym for a little game we called Flame it and Blame it. It was a
highly intellectual game in which a winner was anyone who could fart in class
and successfully blame it on someone else. I was a "Flame it and Blame
it" champion three weeks running.
The nation had just celebrated the one-year memorial of the
September 11th terrorists attacks, yet at that time, the most serious thing I
thought of was how to keep my fart game-winning streak alive. What can I say; I
was a pretty superficial kid.
That was the day Reyna Lewis breezed into my life. I
couldn't take my eyes off of her from the moment she walked into the door and
handed her schedule to Mr. Eckhart. Then her eyes scanned the room, looking for
an empty seat.
She had a big, dark, curly Afro that seemed like it bounced
in slow motion. She had an arm full of shiny bracelets that played music with
each step she took. I had never seen anyone wear so many bracelets on one arm
at one time in my life.
At the wise old age of 12, the girls and boys of Charleston
Preparatory School were convinced of only of two things:
Boys were gross.
Girls were as boring as watching paint dry on grass.
I was pretty sure both of those facts were engraved on
bathroom doors somewhere. It was almost sacrilege for the two groups to mix at
that age.
As Reyna made her way through the classroom, stuck-up blond
girl after stuck-up blond girl refused to let her sit down. Not because she was
black, but because she was new. She hadn't yet proven what social group she
belonged. No one wanted to take a chance by including her and later figuring
out she didn't so they’d made a mistake. Most people thought it was best to
adopt a wait-and-see attitude.