My forehead hit the wooden desk with a thump and I sat up straight in the creaking wooden chair for what must have been the seventh time. I rubbed my head and checked to make sure that no one had seen me.

The Archaeological Museum of Samothrace wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but it was as much a part of my life as the Greek sun. Unfortunately for me, it was also the most boring part of my life. My father had started working here as a boy. With the hope that his son would develop a passion for the stone as he had, my stonemason grandfather had brought my father to sweep up the construction debris while the new north wing was built. Much to my grandfather’s dismay, my father’s passion for stone was translated into an obsession with marble; with statues, archaeology, and the contents of the museum rather than the rough stone that had been used for building the walls of the city he called home.

But that had been fifty-seven years ago, and my father was no longer a young man racing along the hard ground looking for nails and screws. Much like my grandfather, my father brought me to the museum hoping I would develop the same passion for the past as he had. While I had listened intently to my father’s stories and memorized everything he told me about the gods and the sacred mysteries of the island, I realized now that the interest I’d shown was really just an effort to gain my father’s approval. He would much rather I stayed indoors drawing the statue of the Nike that made our island famous than kick a ball with the boys who lived down our street.

All I really wanted to do was kick that ball, swim in the sea, and get burned dark by the sun like every other little boy on the island.

Just like when I was a child, I still didn’t want to be here, and I still would rather be swimming in the sea, fishing, or doing literally anything except sitting in the silent museum waiting for tourists to come through asking the same questions over, and over, again.

“No, that’s not the real statue of Nike. The original is in Paris.”

“No, you can’t take photos with her.”

“No, I can’t explain the Mysteries… that’s why they’re called Mysteries.”

My father always scolded me when he heard my answers, but I was beginning to resent the fact that this had been happening every year since I’d moved to Athens to go to university. He was upset that I hadn’t decided on my major yet… and he was going to be even more disappointed when he found out that I had no intention of following in his dusty footsteps.

It was easy to fall into a routine here. After only a week of being home I was already rising at dawn with my father. While he set to work with his ledgers and paper, I was bound for the rocky coast near our house to fish for our supper.

By the time I came back, he would be ready for breakfast and we would walk side by side to the museum together. Most days he would take us on a detour through the ruins of the Temple of the Great Gods and tell me the same stories he’d been repeating my entire life.

“Before men, in their infinite wisdom, decided that they were greater than the ancient gods, people would come to this sacred place to worship—slaves, women, foreigners… all were welcome here. All were equal in the sight of the goddess and she would not turn away a devotee in their time of need.”

I had to turn away so he couldn’t see me roll my eyes. The mythology of this place was deeply ingrained in my bones, but I didn’t have the same awe as I had when I was a child.

“But, when they left the Mysteries… what then? They would still be slaves when they returned to their masters. The gods might not judge, but mankind certainly does.”

My father shook his head. “You’ll never understand, Nikolos. In the end, all that matters is what the gods think of you. No matter what they have suffered in life, an inductee into the Mysteries is beloved in the eyes of the gods. Rich. Poor. Slave or royalty—”

“No, I guess I don’t understand. But it doesn’t matter, does it? The gods they built these temples for…” I gestured at the ruins around us to make my point. “They don’t exist anymore.”

My father looked at me thoughtfully. “Or do they exist whether you believe it or not?”

All I could do was wave my father’s words away. He’d been telling me these stories for as long as I could remember. But after spending a childhood searching through the tangled oak forest for Apollo and Hermes, I had learned that unless I could see it and touch it with my own hands, it didn’t exist. The dirt under my feet was real, the marble and granite ruins were real, but the beliefs that had built them? They were long forgotten.

Just as dawn was breaking, I walked barefoot towards the rocky shore that had proven to be my new favorite fishing spot. I’d been fishing on this island my entire life, but I had never paid any attention to this place. The fishermen who plied their lines here were older, and many of them knew my father, or even my grandfather. It wasn’t easier to walk through the Sanctuary of the Great Gods, but for some reason I felt compelled to take that path.

The grass was dry under the soles of my feet, and I couldn’t deny the immediate feeling of calm that rushed through my body as I stepped into the sacred precinct. My father talked endlessly about our connection to these ruins, but I’d never told him that I felt it, too. But I knew the moment I admitted how much this place really meant to me, that was the moment I could kiss any of my future plans goodbye. Not that I really had any plans, but I wanted the option… I wanted to see more of the world than just this little island.

That was the entire problem… I couldn’t tell my father that I didn’t want to be here. I couldn’t tell him that I wanted to spend a summer on Zakynthos, or maybe going to Germany with my friend Soros and his brothers. It would break his heart if he knew. I knew how the discussion would begin, and how it would end.  

“I thought that once you finished school you would come home for good. I have a position for you at the museum, you know that.”

I could almost hear my father’s voice in my head. The disappointment. The guilt. All of it was so crushing.

My friends would understand if I couldn’t go with them; I turned down their invitations every year, anyway. But I was tired of turning them down.

My feet crunched over the grass as I turned into the oak forest and climbed over the rocks. The trees were familiar, and the early morning sunlight that flowed through the leaves led me towards the ocean.

The sound of the ocean was close, and I could hear the scream of the gulls as they wheeled over the spot where the fishermen gathered hoping for scraps or to steal bait when they weren’t looking. The trees thinned ahead of me, and my steps quickened as I sighted the blue of the Mediterranean through the branches.

All at once, I saw a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. The sound of a child’s laughter drew me off the familiar path towards an outcropping of rock I didn’t remember. I walked through a spider web as I followed the sound and spluttered and wiped at my face, but my hands came away clean. I shook my head and paused, listening carefully for the child. Children shouldn’t be playing up here, it could be dangerous if they were running around unsupervised, and I felt a surge of protective concern in my chest. But instead of laughter, I heard muffled voices.

“This is the same lecture you give me each time I see you, Thero, and I shouldn’t have to tell you that my answer is the same.”

The male voice was powerful and commanding, and I couldn’t stop my heart from beating faster in my chest. I clambered up the rocks, trying to get a glimpse of the speaker.

“You are as stubborn as your father,” a woman’s voice said. “And just as unwilling to accept responsibility for your mistakes. I will not allow you to punish your son for your—”

“For my what?” the man challenged her. I grabbed another rock and pulled myself higher. Just over the edge of the rocks was a clearing, one I had never seen before. Olive trees thrust their dusty branches, heavy with fruit, towards the sky. The grass was green; greener than any other place on the island, as though the baking summer sun couldn’t quite reach it.

I could finally see the speakers clearly. The man was tall and slender, with broad, muscular shoulders and close-cropped dark hair. The woman was smaller and her long, dark hair was braided over her shoulder in a style that was vaguely familiar, but unlike anything I’d ever seen in Athens, or anywhere else. She wore a plain dress with a square neckline that looked as though it was made from rough wool, and there was something vaguely antique about her that I couldn’t place.

Behind them, running along the edge of the trees was a young boy with dark hair. He wore a white tunic of the same material as the woman’s dress. Were they actors? Sometimes my father hired locals to perform poems and plays in the sanctuary; they wore costumes like these and spoke the words of the ancient poets for the applause of the tourists who visited the museum…. But my father hadn’t mentioned anything about a performance happening today.

“Your son deserves to know his uncles, and their children. When will you see that for yourself? Who will tell him who he is?” The woman was clearly angry with the man she was arguing with, but I couldn’t see his face. Were they practicing lines? This wasn’t like any play I could remember.

“You will do your duty to my son, Thero, if you cannot do that—”

“What will you do? Release me to exile with the others and leave you to care for him alone?” The woman laughed. “Perhaps that is what you need to realize how much you need your family.”

“I don’t have time to listen to this,” the man said angrily. He turned to walk away and I drew in a breath as my eyes devoured his strong profile. He was hard and beautiful—and angry. I could see it simmering in his eyes, and the air around him seemed to shimmer with it, too.

Transfixed as I was with the man, and a sudden surge of wanting to know who he was, my eyes slid back to the woman who had gone silent. Her eyes were pale and ghostly as they stared into mine, and a cold, sickening prickle shuddered up my spine as I let go of the rock and slid back down to the trees below. She’d seen me, and worse, caught me eavesdropping. Gamó.

There was a shout from beyond the rocks as someone gave chase, and I ran with terror nipping at my heels back to the path I’d been following. Branches pulled at my clothes and I stumbled over rocks and crashed against tree trunks, desperate to get away.

I could hear something crashing through the trees behind me, and I choked on my fear as I burst through the trees and into the full sunshine. I was blinded for only a moment, but my feet didn’t stop moving. It was early enough that the traffic on the island was light, but even if it hadn’t been, I don’t know if I would have been able to stop to realize that I could have died as I streaked across the highway and barreled at top speed for the beach, as though I wouldn’t be safe until my feet touched the Aegean.

Only then, with the salt water washing around my ankles like a mother’s soothing caress, was I finally able to breathe again and my frantic heartbeat began to calm. I turned slowly to look back at where I had come from. At the edge of the trees, I thought I could see something, but it was too far away to tell for sure. It might have been nothing, a trick of the sunlight as it fell through the waving branches of the oak trees I’d played under since I was a child.

Who were they? The island was small and I knew every one of the permanent residents… and if I did not, my father would. I tried to shake off the feeling of unease which had settled over me, and the curiosity that now pricked at my heart.