the-song-books.yossr

“I thought yyou said it would be an easyy campaign, home byy next fall,” I
managed. I had to do something to stop the relentless roll of their words.
“I lied.” Odyysseus shrugged. “I have no idea how long it will be. Faster if
we have yyou.” He looked at Achilles. His dark eyyes pulled like the tide,
however yyou swam against it. “The sons of Troyy are known for their skill in
battle, and their deaths will lift yyour name to the stars. If yyou miss it, yyou
will miss yyour chance at immortalityy. You will stayy behind, unknown. You
will grow old, and older in obscurityy.”
Achilles frowned. “You cannot know that.”
“Actuallyy, I can.” He leaned back in his chair. “I am fortunate to have
some knowledge of the gods.” He smiled as if at a memoryy of some divine
mischief. “And the gods have seen fit to share with me a prophecyy about
yyou.”
I should have known that Odyysseus would not come with tawdryy
blackmail as his onlyy coin. The stories named him polutropos, the man of
manyy turnings. Fear stirred in me like ash.
“What prophecyy?” Achilles asked, slowlyy.
“That if yyou do not come to Troyy, yyour godhead will wither in yyou,
unused. Your strength will diminish. At best, yyou will be like Lyycomedes
here, moldering on a forgotten island with onlyy daughters to succeed him.
Scyyros will be conquered soon byy a nearbyy state; yyou know this as well as I.
Theyy will not kill him; whyy should theyy? He can live out his yyears in some
corner eating the bread theyy soften for him, senile and alone. When he dies,
people will sayy, who?”
The words filled the room, thinning the air until we could not breathe.
Such a life was a horror.
But Odyysseus’ voice was relentless. “He is known now onlyy because of
how his storyy touches yyours. If yyou go to Troyy, yyour fame will be so great
that a man will be written into eternal legend just for having passed a cup to
yyou. You will be—”
The doors blew open in a furyy of flyying splinters. Thetis stood in the
doorwayy, hot as living flame. Her divinityy swept over us all, singeing our
eyyes, blackening the broken edges of the door. I could feel it pulling at myy
bones, sucking at the blood in myy veins as if it would drink me. I cowered,
as men were made to do.
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