Healer Of Spirits

Weeks had passed since our arrival at the temple, and the lack of progress was becoming increasingly apparent. Achilles, consumed by his futile attempts to bring down the shield, had grown desperate. The toll was evident in the dark circles under his eyes, a testament to his sleepless nights spent tirelessly working at the shield.

Inside the temple, Eurypylus and I had created a makeshift home, setting up sleeping bags and transforming the space into a sanctuary from the chaos outside. Despite my offer for him to sleep in the tent, Eurypylus insisted on staying by my side, and I found solace in his company.

As we worked to make the temple more comfortable, Eurypylus asked me a question that weighed heavily on both our minds. "How much longer do you think the war will last?"

I paused, contemplating the grim reality. "Until the Trojans either starve or the barrier falls, and it seems neither is happening anytime soon," I replied, organizing the scattered and torn books on the shelf.

In the process, my gaze caught a glimpse of faint scratch marks beside the bookshelf. I hadn't seen them before, but they made me think of the strange apple and other odd events that had been happening lately. Things were disappearing or being moved around, and there were whispers that I had assumed were merely the soldiers outside causing a commotion.

"Eurypylus..." I spoke softly, not wanting to alarm the boy or alert whoever or whatever might be lurking on the other side of the bookshelf. "Go fetch Achilles."

Confusion filled Eurypylus' eyes as he processed my request. For weeks, I had avoided any interaction with Achilles, avoiding eye contact and keeping my distance. Now, suddenly, I was asking the boy to summon him.

I narrowed my eyes, silently urging Eurypylus to understand the urgency of the situation. My gaze shifted between the mysterious scratch marks and the boy, hoping he would grasp the gravity of the situation.

"Okay..." Eurypylus murmured, his voice tinged with uncertainty. Whether he fully comprehended my unspoken message or not, he dutifully went to fetch Achilles.

A conflicting battle waged within me as I contemplated my next move. Should I attempt to slide the bookshelf on my own, confronting whoever was hidden behind it? Or was it possible that this person posed no threat at all? If they had been stealing our food all this time, why hadn't they simply killed us in our sleep?

Logic dictated that I should wait for Achilles, relying on his strength and presence. It would be the smarter play in this situation. However, another part of me rebelled against the idea of depending on him any longer. At some point, I had to take action and not rely on others for help.

In a moment of either bravery or sheer stupidity, I mustered the courage to push the bookshelf aside. Surprisingly, its weight felt lighter than anticipated, allowing me to reveal a dark hole in the wall behind it. Suddenly, a roar echoed through the space, and a figure charged towards me. Reacting quickly, I sidestepped, causing the person to stumble and fall to the ground.

Before I could fully comprehend who this person was, another figure emerged from the hole, swiftly pinning me down with a blade pressed against my throat. The rust on the blade sent a chilling sensation through me, and the slightest movement could result in a deadly outcome. Desperately, I gripped the person's arm, holding on tightly.

"Brisseis! Don't kill him!" The person on the ground beside me yelled.

"He's going to kill us, Chryseis! We can't let him go!" I realized then that both of them were young women.

The one who held me captive had long, dark hair that cascaded down to my face, gently caressing it. Her eyes were filled with the weariness of restless nights. I could feel the grease on her grip and the pungent stench emanating from her.

"B-Briseis, right... I want to help you!" I yelled, desperately hoping she would believe me.

"Lies!" She screamed. "You should be grateful I didn't slit your throat while you slept after what you did!"

"Briseis! He's just a child!" The other woman's voice softened, attempting to diffuse the tense situation. "We agreed we wouldn't hurt anyone."

"As long as we were safe! We're not anymore!" Briseis retorted, her voice filled with fear and anger.

"You are very right about that Miss." Agamemnon's voice cut through the tense silence like a knife, interrupting the standoff between Briseis and me. He had arrived with his soldiers, and the sight of them sent a shiver down my spine. "If you want a chance to make it out of here alive, then I'd recommend putting the knife away," he advised, his tone dripping with arrogance.

Brisseis turned her attention to him, her knife still pressed against my skin. "You! You are the one who took my Uncle! Where is he!" she screamed, her fear and anger palpable.

"He's probably locked up with the other slaves. You're more than welcome to join him!" Agamemnon taunted, a cruel laugh escaping his lips. His words seemed to ignite a fire within Briseis, and she lunged at him with all her might. But before she could reach him, one of Agamemnon's soldiers swiftly struck her on the head with the back of his sword, knocking her unconscious.

The other girl, Chryseis, screamed in horror and rushed to her friend's side. She was about to meet the same fate, but Agamemnon halted the soldier's attack. Chryseis knelt beside Briseis, cradling her head in her arms, tears streaming down her face. Blood flowed from the wound, staining her hair.

I rushed to her aid at the sight of her bleeding head. Ignoring the pain in my own neck, I tore a piece of my tunic and hastily fashioned it into a makeshift tourniquet. Gently, I tied it around Briseis' head, hoping to stem the bleeding.

Just then, Achilles appeared, pushing through the soldiers with concern etched on his face. "Patroklos! What happened?" he demanded, his voice filled with worry.

"Carry her to the infirmary!" I instructed, my voice filled with urgency. I could hear the soldiers murmuring, likely questioning how and why I had the authority to give orders to my superior.

"Hold on, young Prince." Agamemnon's voice echoed through the temple as he kneeled next to the two girls. "Who are you two? You are dressed quite nicely, if you overlook the dirtiness...and the stench."

The girl, Chryseis, raised her tear-streaked face to meet his gaze and spoke. "We are priestesses of Apollo. I am his chosen, Chryseis."

Agamemnon's eyes lit up with a sinister gleam as he realized the potential leverage he held. "His chosen, you say?" he repeated, a sly grin spreading across his face. "That's it! Hahaha! That's how we'll bring down the shield! A trade, a priestess for a city!"

"Achilles!" I desperately cried out, my voice echoing through the temple. "I can't stop the bleeding, help me!"

In an instant, Achilles sprang into action, swiftly scooping her up into his arms. He was prepared to carry her away to safety, but his path was abruptly blocked by Agamemnon.

"This woman is my slave, Achilles," Agamemnon asserted, his voice laced with a low, ominous undertone. "I haven't given you any orders to take her anywhere yet."

Achilles' response was immediate, his tone mirroring Agamemnon's. "Watch yourself, King of Sparta. I do not take orders from you," he retorted. "Besides, would you rather your slave bled to death?"

"No, I don't," Agamemnon replied, his voice reverting back to its usual tone. His words were laced with a hint of amusement as he continued, "And you know what? Since your companion here was the one to uncover them, I shall grant you the privilege of keeping the girl and doing as you please with her. Consider it my humble apology." With a flourish, he gracefully bowed, his movements infused with his characteristic theatricality.

My heart raced as Achilles and I raced through the camp, our feet pounding against the dirt path. Urgency consumed us, propelling us forward with a relentless determination. The camp buzzed with activity, but we were focused on one thing - reaching the infirmary.

Finally, we burst through the tent, our breaths heavy and labored. Achilles gently cradled the girl in his arms, his touch careful and tender. Her face was pale, her eyes closed, and a blood-soaked tourniquet wrapped tightly around her head. The sight sent a shiver down my spine.

Achilles swiftly moved to a nearby cabinet, his hands searching for the Ambrosia oil. With a sense of purpose, he handed it to me, his eyes filled with trust. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavily upon my shoulders. This was the first time I would be working on a fellow human being, and the gravity of the situation was not lost on me.

Under the watchful eyes of Lord Chiron, I had undergone extensive training for moments like these. I knew the techniques, I understood the procedures, but nothing could fully prepare me for the reality of it all. The thought of working on a living, breathing person filled me with a mix of determination and trepidation.

Carefully, I applied the Ambrosia oil to her wounds, my hands moving with a steady precision. The girl remained still, her body limp and vulnerable. I focused all my energy on the task at hand, blocking out the chaos within my mind.

As I finished, Achilles took over, skillfully bandaging her head. I turned to a nearby washing station, the sound of rushing water soothing my frayed nerves. I washed my hands meticulously, scrubbing away the remnants of the girl's blood, hoping fervently for her well-being.

"She'll be fine," Achilles spoke softly, his voice filled with reassurance as he approached me. "Now...care to explain why you didn't wait for me? Eurypylus said you called for my help."

"I didn't know what was on the other side. I asked him to fetch you in case it was someone dangerous and to keep him safe," I explained, vigorously scrubbing my hands in an attempt to rid them of the stubborn stains.

"And yet, you didn't wait for me. Why?" Achilles questioned, his voice tinged with concern.

"Because I can't always rely on you!" I slammed my hand against the cold metal tub, my frustration boiling over. "You didn't want me to assist you because you felt unworthy. Well, I didn't want your help because I'm tired of constantly depending on you for everything. How can I be your companion when you excel at everything? You're right not to want my help; I'm utterly useless."

"Patroklos..." Achilles' hand gently grasped my face, and a wave of emotions overwhelmed me. In the midst of trying to focus on myself, I had forgotten how much I yearned for his touch. "Where is all this coming from? All I wanted was to prove my own worth by taking down the shield on my own. I never wanted you to feel useless."

His words struck me like a lightning bolt, jolting me back to reality. Had I overreacted? Misjudged his intentions?

"I never minded being lesser than you, but when you said there was no 'we,' it hurt," tears streamed down my face, my voice breaking. "And this war...you're so consumed by it that I'm afraid it's devouring you, and I can't do anything to help because you won't let me."

"You are not lesser than me!" Achilles' hands now cradled my face, gently wiping away my tears. "You are more than I deserve. And you're right about the war; it consumes my every thought. It's crucial to me that I bring down that shield and make a name for myself, especially now." His gaze shifted away from me, and I sensed that his words carried a deeper meaning than just the war.

"What do you mean by 'especially now'? Has something happened?" I inquired, concern etched across my face.

"I..." He hesitated, his eyes filled with sadness. Whatever plagued him was far worse than I had imagined. "I want to tell you...but I don't know if I should."

I could feel the weight of his internal struggle. Whatever it was, he was grappling with a heavy burden.

"It's your choice. If you don't want to share, you don't have to," I assured him, though disappointment lingered beneath my words. I longed for him to let me in, to allow me to help him.

"I'm...I'm..." His words caught in his throat, and I could see the struggle etched across his face. I reached out, taking his hand in mine, offering a gentle smile to mask my own disappointment. I wanted him to know that I was there for him, no matter what.

And then, finally, the words spilled from his lips, but my mind struggled to process them. It resisted, refusing to accept the truth. So, I asked him, needing confirmation, even though I dreaded it.

"What did you say?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, my heart pounding in my chest.

And his response shattered me.

"I'm going to die."