Name one hero who was happy."I considered. Heracles went mad and killed his family; Theseus lost his bride and father; Jason's children and new wife were murdered by his old; Bellerophon killed the Chimera but was crippled by the fall from Pegasus' back."You can't." He was sitting up now, leaning forward."I can't.""I know. They never let you be famous AND happy." He lifted an eyebrow. "I'll tell you a secret.""Tell me." I loved it when he was like this."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," I said, lost in the high color of his cheeks, the flame in his eyes."I swear it," he echoed.We sat like that a moment, hands touching. He grinned."I feel like I could eat the world raw.

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 of the sun.

When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.

I have done it," she says. At first I do not understand. But then I see the tomb, and the marks she has made on the stone. A C H I L L E S, it reads. And beside it, P A T R O C L U S."Go," she says. "He waits for you."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 of the sun.

I found myself grinning until my cheeks hurt, my scalp prickling till I thought it might lift off my head. My tongue ran away from me, giddy with freedom. This, and this, and this, I said to him. I did not have to fear that I spoke too much. I did not have to worry that I was too slender, or too slow. This and this and this! I taught him how to skip stones, and he taught me how to carve wood. I could feel every nerve in my body, every brush of air against my skin.

Chiron had said once that nations were the most foolish of mortal inventions. "No man is worth more than another, wherever he is from.""But what if he is your friend?" Achilles had asked him, feet kicked up on the wall of the rose-quartz cave. "Or your brother? Should you treat him the same as a stranger?""You ask a question that philosophers argue over," Chiron had said. He is worth more to you, perhaps. But the stranger is someone else's friend and brother. So which life is more important?"We had been silent. We were fourteen, and these things were too hard for us. Now that we are twenty-seven, they still feel too hard.He is half of my soul, as the poets say. He will be dead soon, and his honor is all that will remain. It is his child, his dearest self. Should I reproach him for it? I have saved Briseis. I cannot save them all. I know, now, how I would answer Chiron. I would say: there is no answer. Whichever you choose, you are wrong.

And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.

Odysseus inclines his head. "True. But fame is a strange thing. Some men gain glory after they die, while others fade. What is admired in one generation is abhorred in another." He spread his broad hands. "We cannot say who will survive the holocaust of memory. Who knows?" He smiles. "Perhaps one day even I will be famous. Perhaps more famous than you.

He is a weapon, a killer. Do not forget it. You can use a spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature.

and her skin shone luminous and impossibly pale, as if it drank light from the moon.

But is it not a sort of genius to cut always to the heart?

She wants you to be a god," I told him."I know." His face twisted with embarrassment, and in spite of itself my heart lightened. It was such a boyish response. And so human. Parents, everywhere.

Patroclus,' he said. He was always better with words than I.

For who can be ashamed to lose to such beauty?

Wealth and reputation were the things our people had always killed for.

There is no honour in betraying your friends.

This and this and this.

He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight.

He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight. I found myself wishing he would wake so that I might watch the life return.

He knew, but it was not enough. The sorrow was so large it threatened to tear through my skin. When he died, all things swift and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.

Above us, the constellations spun and the moon paced her weary course. We lay stricken and sleepless as the hours passed.

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.

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?

Exile might satisfy the anger of the living, but it did not appease the dead.

The never-ending ache of love and sorrow.

We cannot say who will survive the holocaust of memory.

Patroclus, he says, Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound only.

Achilles’ eyes lift. They are bloodshot and dead. “I wish he had let you all die.

When I am dead, I charge you to mingle our ashes and bury us together.

Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free.

Achilles weeps. He cradles me, and will not eat, nor speak a word other than my name.

That is — your friend?" "Philtatos," Achilles replied, sharply. Most beloved.

Peleus acknowledged this. "Yet other boys will be envious that you have chosen such a one. What will you tell them?" "I will tell them nothing." The answer came with no hesitation, clear and crisp. "It is not for them to say what I will do.

Who was he if not destined for fame?

Name one hero who was happy.

Indeed, he seemed utterly unaware of his effect on the boys around him.