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“There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles,” Chiron said. “And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?” “Perhaps,” Achilles admitted. I listened and did not speak. Achilles’ eyes were bright in the firelight, his face drawn sharply by the flickering shadows. I would know it in dark or disguise, I told myself. I would know it even in madness.
“I’m going to be the first.” He took my palm and held it to his. “Swear it.” “Why me?” “Because you’re the reason. Swear it.” “I swear it,”
“If you have to go, you know I will go with you.”
This is what I will miss. I think: I will kill myself rather than miss it. I think: How long do we have?
“Kill me. It will not bring him back. He was worth ten of you. Ten! And you sent him to his death!”
“You have never deserved him. I do not know why he ever loved you. You care only for yourself!”
Give us both peace. Burn me and bury me. I will wait for you among the shades. I will—
“But it is worth my life, if there is a chance my son’s soul may be at rest.”
“It is right to seek peace for the dead. You and I both know there is no peace for those who live after.”
“When I am dead, I charge you to mingle our ashes and bury us together.”
Somewhere his soul waits, but it is nowhere I can reach. Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free. His ashes settle among mine, and I feel nothing.
“My consolation is that we will be together in the underworld. That we will meet again there, if not in this life. I would not wish to be there without her.”
In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun.
