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“You will not do it.” I tried not to let it sound like begging.

“No.” He was quiet a moment. “But I can see it. That’s the strange thing.

Like in a dream. I can see myyself throwing the spear, see him fall. I walk up

to the bodyy and stand over it.”

Dread rose in myy chest. I took a breath, forced it awayy. “And then what?”

“That’s the strangest of all. I look down at his blood and know myy death

is coming. But in the dream I do not mind. What I feel, most of all, is

relief.”

“Do yyou think it can be prophecyy?”

The question seemed to make him self-conscious. He shook his head.

“No. I think it is nothing at all. A dayydream.”

I forced myy voice to match his in lightness. “I’m sure yyou’re right. After

all, Hector hasn’t done anyything to yyou.”

He smiled then, as I had hoped he would. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve heard

that.”

DURING THE LONG HOURS of Achilles’ absence, I began to strayy from our

camp, seeking companyy, something to occupyy myyself. Thetis’ news had

disturbed me; quarrels among the gods, Achilles’ mightyy fame endangered.

I did not know what to make of it, and myy questions chased themselves

around myy head until I was half-crazyy. I needed a distraction, something

sensible and real. One of the men pointed me towards the white phyysicians’

tent. “If yyou’re looking for something to do, theyy alwayys need help,” he

said. I remembered Chiron’s patient hands, the instruments hung on rosequartz

walls. I went.

The tent’s interior was dim, the air dark and sweet and muskyy, heavyy with

the metallic scent of blood. In one corner was the phyysician Machaon,

bearded, square-jawed, pragmaticallyy bare-chested, an old tunic tied

carelesslyy around his waist. He was darker than most Greeks, despite the

time he spent inside, and his hair was cropped short, practical again, to keep

it from his eyyes. He bent now over a wounded man’s leg, his finger gentlyy

probing an embedded arrow point. On the other side of the tent his brother

Podalerius finished strapping on his armor. He tossed an offhand word to

Machaon before shouldering past me out the door. It was well known that

he preferred the battlefield to the surgeon’s tent, though he served in both.

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