Chapter 11 - The Arrow That Never Fell
Betsy heard the strings snap.
Felix pulled her and Apollo against the door and curved his body around them. His horns struck the frame. He had no room to turn, no shield to raise, and only the hope that his back would stop what was coming.
Nothing hit him.
A drop of rain slid from his horn to the porch board. Beside it hung an arrow, its iron tip inches from his shoulder.
Felix stared.
More arrows floated over the yard. One hovered above the steps. Another had stopped in front of the open door. Rain still fell around them, though each shaft remained perfectly still.
Apollo’s crying ceased.
Betsy felt him reach out beneath the blanket. A gold symbol shone across his tiny palm. The same lines appeared on Felix’s hand, brighter than they had been in the barn.
The archers lowered their bows.
“What did you do?” Vale whispered.
Felix shook his head. “I don’t know.”
He touched the arrow nearest his shoulder. It turned gently under his finger. He lifted it from the air and laid it on the porch. The others stayed where they were.
Apollo looked toward him. Felix held out his marked hand. When the baby caught his finger, the light softened. Every suspended arrow dropped at once into the mud.
Nobody moved.
Then the young soldier by the gate ran forward and pulled his commander’s bow from Vale’s hands.
“It’s over,” he said.
Vale did not resist. He was looking at the baby. “The prophecy.”
Felix descended one step. “You know it?”
“Only what I was told.” Vale’s voice sounded smaller now. “A horned child with power over the space between one moment and the next. They said he could open a passage no god could control.”
“Who told you?” Betsy asked.
Vale looked at her. “A messenger from the court of Zeus.”
Betsy’s arm tightened around Apollo.
“He knew where we were,” she said.
“He knew enough to send us searching.”
Mrs. Hart came through the gate, followed by two townspeople. She saw the arrows scattered in the yard and the splintered rail beside Betsy.
“Everybody put the weapons down,” she said.
The soldiers looked to Vale. He gave a tired nod. Their bows and spears went into the mud.
Felix wanted to ask a hundred questions, but Apollo sagged against Betsy. The glow had vanished from his hand. He looked exhausted.
“Inside,” Felix said.
Betsy followed him into the kitchen. Mrs. Hart came with them while the townspeople kept watch outside. Felix shut the door against the rain.
Apollo drank a little when Betsy offered to feed him, then fell asleep. Felix remained close enough to touch his blanket.
“He needs rest,” Mrs. Hart said.
“So do they,” Felix answered, looking at Betsy.
She glanced at the fresh splinter in his shoulder. “All three of us.”
Mrs. Hart found a clean cloth and helped Betsy remove the wood. She had delivered children in town for years; her steady hands made the task easier. When Felix thanked her, she waved him quiet.
“I should have come sooner,” she said. “I heard what people were saying about the baby and hoped it was only gossip.”
“It would have been safer for you to stay home,” Felix told her.
“Perhaps. I came because I knew they were wrong about you once. I wanted to see for myself what they were wrong about now.”
Through the window, Felix saw Vale sitting under guard by the gate. Rain darkened the shoulders of his coat. The man had nearly killed them, yet Felix could not forget the fear on his face when Apollo’s power appeared.
Betsy saw where he was looking. “Don’t go out to him yet.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was.”
She touched his hand. The mark had disappeared, leaving only the familiar roughness of his skin.
“Apollo stopped the arrows,” she said. “But he reached for you before he did it.”
Felix looked at their sleeping child.
May you like
In the barn, a touch had calmed his hunger. Here, it had held back death. Felix remembered the carved stone beneath his mother’s hearth and knew he could no longer leave it buried in memory.
“There’s something my mother kept,” he said. “I need to find it.”
