The Icon

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From the summit of the high hill called Adelphos, above the wind-bent cedars that shrouded the caves, he could see the Pindos Mountains rise like a gray cloud to the east, could see brown ridges march north toward Konitza and the Albanian border, could almost imagine he saw the sun glint off of the Ionian Sea to the west. And below, steep green valleys and rocky villages, marked out by tall stone church towers. The hill was a place Captain Elias had gone often as a child, when he would conjure a life beyond these mountain walls: in Athens, to the south; or across the sea in America, where his uncle had gone. He might be a soldier, doctor, traveling musician, or spy-the role did not greatly matter; every dream was a dream of escape. In none of those dreams did he ever imagine returning to these hills, a hunted man in his own country.

It was after midnight when Father Mikalis arrived at the Cave of Constantine. Though his visits to the guerrillas had been rare of late, he knew where to find them. Elias, who seldom slept anymore, summoned the young priest to his lantern-lit circle in the back. The captain had warned Mikalis weeks before that the Germans were watching him more closely, so all the men understood that his present visit must be of great urgency.

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