The Song of Achilles: A Novel

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.

We were like gods at the dawning of the world, and our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but the other.

She stabs, and Achilles’ body dodges the deadly point, impossibly lithe, endlessly agile. Always, its muscles betray it, seeking life instead of the peace that spears bring.

propitious

We talked about where we’d go tomorrow, but lazily, our words fat and slow with contentment.

We stood at the prow with Phoinix and Automedon, watching the shore draw closer. Idly, Achilles tossed and caught his spear. The oarsmen had begun to set their strokes by it, the steady, repetitive slap of wood against his palm.

I have heard that men who live by a waterfall cease to hear it

There was violence in that room, with so many princes and heroes and kings competing for a single prize, but we knew how to ape civilization.

Older, larger, and unpleasantly fleshy.