When we’re almost there, she says that Achilles still has Hector’s body. “But Father will get it back in a few days. He doesn’t know that he will.”

  I don’t think he will, either. Achilles seems to want to wound the Trojans however he may.

  “Father will bring him precious gifts in exchange.”

  I doubt we’ll get any spoils from this war. As soon as I slaughter Achilles, we’ll leave. If Cassandra wants to come with us, she’ll be welcome.

  As our guest at the camp, she’s no trouble. She eats Lannip’s food and lets us remove her torn robe and dress her in a tunic and leggings. She even smiles when I put a tall hat on her head. When she stands, the tip comes to the top of my head.

  After three days, she announces that Hector’s body has been recovered. The next night, she leaves us to attend his funeral, but she promises to come back.

  I’m not sure she will, though, so I wait half the night at the east gate for the funeral procession to return. Cassandra comes to me, walking like a wooden doll. In the procession’s torchlight, I see her expression is wooden too.

  The next day, she sits motionless near Lannip’s cooking tripod. Her face shows nothing, while tears roll down her cheeks. That night, she doesn’t move to lie down, so I sit with her.

  “When I was little, Rin, he carried me on his shoulders as he used to carry Nax. I went to my first festival for Apollo that way. I was the youngest child there. When I was old enough to play in the streets, I used to go to the gymnasium to watch him wrestle. I think he liked for me to be there. When he finished a bout, win or lose, he looked to see me and grinned.”

  She lapses into silence.

  I say through a tight throat, “I never saw him be anything but good. And he had a light heart.” I wouldn’t be Cassandra’s friend if not for him.

  “You understand. I wish everyone in the world could know what we lost.” She pats my knee. “I’ll try to sleep now.”

  Her health improves over the next week. She eats whatever we put in her lap and sleeps near me at night. She rarely speaks.

  Meanwhile, Lannip and the others work with me on my swordplay and my handling of the battle-ax. My ribs hardly complain.

  Once they approve my skill with the weapons, they set up pretend skirmishes and all come at me at once. Whenever one of them gains the advantage, they stop and tell me what I did wrong.

  I learn that I have to look everywhere at once. While I’m battling one foe, I have to watch for the next. The battle will be deafening. I can’t rely on my ears to warn me. Greek armor is thick. I should imagine I’m felling a tree.

  “A tree that can jump away from you,” Lannip adds.

  Gradually, I improve. I use the speed that youth gives me. Accidentally, I deliver a terrible blow to Serag’s thigh, though she laughs away the pain.

  Lannip makes a lesson out of this too. “No unintended strikes! Hit where and when you mean to. Don’t waste your strength.”

  She tells me the band’s strategy before Pen died, and we decide to adopt it again. It’s a way to continue to shoot as long as possible, since we’re superior to the Greeks with our bows and arrows.

  But Lannip says again and again that we don’t know how Greeks think. “Fighting us isn’t like fighting them. We can’t prepare you for what they may do.”

  “Achilles’ shield seems charmed,” Zelke says. “There may be more like it. Be careful!” She adds, “All of us!”

  I decide that I’ll aim at Achilles’ thighs. His shield seemed to pull arrows down, not lift them up. I have to just nick him, and the poisoned arrow will do the rest.

  Cassandra says, “Achilles will die, but not in the coming battle and not at Amazon hands. Rin, you’ll die soon after the fighting begins, and Achilles won’t be your killer. He’ll be an ordinary soldier, not especially strong or skilled, merely lucky.”

  Her ignorance makes us laugh and gives us the confidence we need.

  She adds, “Your loss will deprive me of my only friend.”

  9

  Cassandra returns to Troy the night before fighting resumes. In the morning, Aeneas, now the city’s foremost warrior, leads us and the Trojans. Surprisingly, he’s Cassandra’s cousin, not a brother. He isn’t worth much since he didn’t help Hector and Pen.

  We walk our horses to meet the Greeks, our pace slowed by the Trojan foot soldiers on our flanks. Aeneas has granted my request that the band and I ride at the center of his line. I reason that’s where Achilles will be among the Greeks.

  The Trojans are silent. I turn to wave to Cassandra on the ramparts, but I don’t see her. Disappointed, I drop my hand. I’d have liked my friend to be there for my first departure for battle.

  I’m more cheerful than I’ve been since before Pen died, glad for the chance to kill her killer.

  But I told the band to strike him if they can. I want him dead most of all. I remember Pen’s words about regret after killing an enemy. I’ll be sad for the others I slay, but not for him.

  Cassandra once recited a verse that she said came from her imaginary crows. I memorized it, changed one word, and made up a tune, which I sing:

  “As sun sparkles on snowcap

  and blood-red poppies line a river,

  warriors ride to battle,

  singing their rousing songs.”

  In Cassandra’s song, instead of rousing, the word was foolish. The band hums along.

  The sun pours endless heat. At least we aren’t wearing iron helmets, as the Trojans are. Across my left shoulder hangs my gorytos that holds my bow and my poison-tipped arrows. My sword in its sheath and my battle-ax poke out of my belt. My crescent-shaped oak shield sways from leather loops on my left arm.

  The morning advances. Finally, we see a band of gray and tan along the horizon—the sun glinting on Greek bronze and iron shields.

  The Trojans howl their strange war cry: “Ya aya aya!” We shout, “Kiikiikaa!” When we stop our noise, the Greeks’ “Alala alalay” reaches us faintly.

  We don’t spur our horses. The foot soldiers don’t run at the Greek line. I’m reminded of evenings with the band, waiting for a meal to finish cooking.

  The Greek front line mirrors ours: riders in the middle, foot soldiers on each side. The air above the Greeks is blurred by their long spears, which Trojans carry too. Behind us are sixty rows of Trojan fighters. Behind the Greeks, as I know from Pen, are four times that number.

  Amazons shoot farther than anyone. Though I can’t make out a specific target, I know I can reach the Greek line now. I nock an arrow to my bow. The war cries stop. I hear the thuds of our horses’ hooves. I loose my arrow at the mass of Greeks. In the band, we all do. The Trojans wait.

  I shoot again and again as we move forward. The Trojans too begin to shoot. Arrows come at us from the Greeks, but so far we’re untouched.

  A few minutes pass. The Greeks take shape in my keen eyes. I make out an exposed thigh. I shoot and see blood spurt. Later, I’ll regret him. Now I see a golden crest, not in the front line—the coward, a few rows back.

  Training and good sense keep me from rushing toward him.

  After a few more yards, I pull a fresh handful of arrows from my gorytos and nock one. Lannip and I exchange glances. Yelling “Kiikiikaa!” we kick our horses. The band joins in. We divide and gallop along the Greek line, loosing arrow after arrow as only we can.

  Tall Brown outstrips the others. Since I’m galloping along the mass of warriors hiding Achilles, I send an arrow higher than the others and hope that justice will guide it.

  By the time I reach the end of the Greek line and turn Tall Brown, the Greeks and Trojans are rushing each other. The band is caught up in the fighting. I ride along the Greek flank, shooting and not stopping to see if warriors fall. I’m looking for an opening to Achilles.

  Cybele appears before me. I hear an arrow whine. I’m about to die.

  I scream, “Noooo!”

  Someone or something shoves me off Tall Brown.

  Cybele vanishes.

  I land surprisingly lightly. For a moment, Cassandra’s anxious face hangs over me. Then a man’s arms pick me up. I struggle to get free and return to the battle.

  A blast of wind picks us up. I go limp.

  The two of us—no, the three of us—are borne above the ground. Cassandra’s chin digs into the man’s shoulder. She’s holding him from behind, smiling and weeping. Terrified, I squeeze my eyes shut.

  Cybele, what happened? Did I die? Why is Cassandra here? Am I being carried to your battlefield and to Pen?

  Air whirs by.

  Thank you, Cybele, for my life and for my death if it has come.

  We slow. The wind weakens. The man lowers me onto grass.

  Eyes still closed, I roll onto my stomach, afraid of what will happen next. I wiggle my toes and wriggle my shoulders. Nothing hurts.

  Hands pat my hair and stroke my back. Whose hands?

  “We did it!” Cassandra says. “She’s alive. I touch her, and she really is!” She adds, “Eurus, I’m dizzy.”

  They’re Cassandra’s hands, still petting me. She goes on. “We did something. A sardine thing, but we did it. She can spoil it, but we did it.”

  She said I’m alive, but am I? I roll over and dare to open my eyes.

  Cassandra and the man kneel over me. We’re on a small lawn ringed by bushes and dwarf pines, but where are we?

  I raise myself on one elbow. A stone digs into my skin, which I doubt I would feel if I were dead. I move my elbow off the stone. My bow is on the grass next to me.

  Cassandra sits back on her haunches. “I told you you’d die.” She grins at the man. “I’ve never been able to say that to anyone before. I’m less dizzy.” She tells me, “I’m dizzy when I change the future more than a tiny bit.”

  I think her face will split if she smiles any wider.

  He smiles back at her, a brawny man with a round nose and round cheeks, wearing a worn red himation although the weather is warm for a cloak.

  There’s an altar here, such as I saw in Priam’s palace, but this one is made of granite rather than marble.

  “Did I die?”

  She lifts her chin, still grinning. “We saved you.” To the man: “I could never say that before, either!”

  “If I didn’t die, then I wasn’t going to.” Even though I saw Cybele. I stand and put my bow in my gorytos. I still have plenty of arrows. “How far am I from the battle?” I have to kill Achilles, and the band may need me.

  Cassandra jumps up. Her smile vanishes. She grabs my hand and starts to pull me.

  I break loose. I’m far stronger than she is.

  “If you return to the battle, Eurus and I may not be able to rescue you again.”

  The man—Eurus—says, “When I fail to save you, I’ll blame myself.” A hot wind blows across us. “But it will be your fault. And she”—he tilts his head at Cassandra—“won’t visit me again.”

  I don’t know what he’s talking about.

  He adds, to my wonderment, “Your Cybele has the advantage in her battle. She doesn’t need you now.”

  Who is he?

  He sees my confusion and announces that he’s the god of the east wind. “A minor god,” he adds.

  Too much is happening. But it doesn’t matter. What I have to do is clear.

  “Rin,” Cassandra begs, “please come with me. If you agree we’re friends, come. It isn’t far, and it won’t take long, and if I fail at this, we’ll bring you back to the Greeks, and Eurus will put you close to Achilles. I promise.” She waves a hand at the sky. “In a moment, a hawk will fly by.”

  No, it won’t. “It’s too early in the day for a hawk to be hunting.”

  “Nonetheless.”

  A hawk flies over us, high in the sky.

  “Don’t you notice I’m always right?”

  “By chance. You were wrong when you said I’d die.” Ha! I have her there. “I’ll go with you.”

  She takes my hand, then lets it go and hurries to the altar. On top, a big bowl and platter are littered with stems and pits, but a small bowl brims with walnuts. “Eurus, may I?”

  He looks annoyed.

  “Twice as many tomorrow. I promise.”

  He nods.

  We start off down a path, Eurus following. A light breeze brushes us.

  Anemones and bellflowers line our way. A lark sings. I smell laurel and glimpse other altars through the bushes. Cassandra veers left. We emerge into a larger clearing, where the altar is marble. The statue is made of black marble shot through with pink streaks. It represents a beautiful woman, taller than any of us. At her side are statues of a cow, a lion, and a peacock, standing in unlikely harmony.

  Cassandra puts the bowl of walnuts on the altar then raises her arms as the Trojans do when they beg something of their gods. “Most beautiful goddess, you promised me a gift and said I could wait to ask for it. The time has come.”

  The wind stills.

  The statue’s pink streaks fade. Its eyes blink. Goose bumps stand out on my arms. The statue has become the goddess!

  Her voice echoes, as Cybele’s does, but her pitch is higher. “You think the time has come. What is the gift?”

  Cassandra hesitates. “Er . . . This is Rin, an Amazon girl.” She says in a rush, “Before, you wouldn’t go against Apollo to lift my curse. But I ask you to lift it just on her, no one else, so that she can believe my prophecies. She isn’t one of us. Apollo will lose nothing.”

  “If you please”—my voice squeaks—“lift whatever curse on the other Amazons who are here too. We’re just twelve women.” Whatever this is, I want us all to be part of it.

  “If she isn’t a worshipper, I can do noth—” Her face takes on a listening look. “Ah. I can.” She turns to me. “Your Cybele doesn’t mind if I give this gift. It’s done.” She vanishes.

  My head hurts. My eyes burn. My ears ring.

  Running through my aching mind is every prediction Cassandra has made and the truth of each, the likely ones and the far-fetched ones, from the hawk a few minutes ago to Pen’s death—and mine.

  The pain subsides. Cassandra can see the future. How could I not have realized?

  If I had believed her, Pen would still be alive. I collapse on the ground, sobbing.

  10

  Cassandra rubs my back. A breeze plays around my head.

  While I weep, questions pile up, but I can’t stop crying.

  At last, I do stop. I sit up and ask the most important one: “Do you know if the band is all right?”

  “They will all survive today’s battle, which will end soon. One is bruised but nothing worse. They won’t last long, though.”

  They will! We’re superb warriors.

  But now I believe her.

  “The Greeks are too numerous. You all should leave. Zelke will die tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow! I’m their queen. I must take them home.

  Or send them. Achilles is still alive.

  “What will happen to me if I fight tomorrow?”

  “You’ll probably die, but I don’t know. Now that you believe me, I can tell you what I see, and you can do something else. You’ll probably die anyway.”

  “Will I kill Achilles first?”

  “I doubt it. Paris will kill him.”

  “Paris!”

  Eurus says, sounding just as surprised, “Paris?”

  She laughs. “I suspect a god will guide his arrow.”

  My next question comes out angrily: “Why didn’t you save Hector and Pen the way you saved me?” She adored her brother. I loved Pen.

  Eurus crouches, his face an inch from mine. His eyes are bulging. “She saved you. Have you thanked her?”

  I didn’t! I thank her and apologize. “But why didn’t you save Hector?”

  “I couldn’t save either of them. Some god or goddess was there, helping Achilles, keeping him alive. I could tell because of what happened to your arrows.” She’s weeping.

  Oh. His shield wasn’t magical. One of their deities was at his side. Unfair either way!

  Eurus pats Cassandra’s arm.

  “I hope Hector saw your mother. Otherwise, he died thinking no one came to his aid.” She wipes her eyes. “Even if you and I weren’t friends, I’d be grateful to the Amazons forever for what she did.”

  Eurus says he’s hungry. He points his chin at Hera’s altar. “Greedy goddess.”

  The walnuts have disappeared, though the bowl remains.

  Cassandra takes the bowl and we follow him back to his altar. As my guide, he points whenever the path forks toward a clearing and calls out the name of the immortal worshipped there. “In case you don’t know, you’re in the sacred grove.”

  When we reach his altar, he and Cassandra sit on it, their feet dangling. They smile at each other. She looks happy.

  I stand in front of them and ask her, my heart fluttering, “Are you part goddess? Is he your half brother?” I’ve heard of such beings.

  “No.” She swivels her smile to me. “We’re just friends.”

  “Just?” He sounds irritated. “Mere friends?”

  I murmur, afraid to speak up to contradict a god: “There are no mere friends.” I’ve learned that.

  “Correct!” Eurus’s vehemence makes a gust that tilts my hat on my head.

  Cassandra blushes and changes the subject. “I’m so glad you’re alive, Rin. I wonder if you’ll see the crows now.”

  “There really are crows?” I wave my hand in the air to erase my words. “I’m sure there are crows.”

  Eurus says, “We must eat.”

  I notice my hunger. But there’s no food.

  The gentle wind that has been with us quiets.

  Eurus and Cassandra jump off the altar. They watch me, their expressions merry.

  I’d seen Hector and Andromache look cheerful together, much as these two do.

  Cassandra says, “I don’t approve of theft.” Grinning, she adds, “Don’t tell my mother what’s about to happen, Rin.”

  A few minutes pass. My stomach rumbles.

  The wind rises. Clusters of grapes soar to us and land on the altar. A walnut whirs by my ear. Ai! I raise my arms to protect my head as the air fills with flying food. Nuts click on the altar.