"DO YOU WANT to race again?" I ask.
"What’s the point? You always win," Achilles says, cutting off Jason’s response. Achilles can be such an annoying ass.
"Did I ask you?" I turn my back on Achilles.
"He’s right. You do always win," Jason says, grinning. Although his tone is moody, this new habit he has of grinning after his comments is an amazing leap forward. For the first few weeks after his arrival, I really thought he had been born without any of the muscles that pulled one’s lips up. One day after a run I discovered he could smile and my heart soared at the sight of it. After our first run several weeks ago—which ended up being more of a walk with how terrible he felt and the number of times he dashed into the shrubs—he’s been improving bit by bit. I would like to say there has been a surge of progress, that a single run put him on a new life course, but the struggles have been there.
Despite the painfully slow pace and stomach troubles during that first run, I had been proud of myself, confident with figuring out how to knock Jason back into health, and thinking the task Chiron set me would be easy. Wanting to continue with the progress on my project, I arrived at Jason’s cabin the next morning. He was retching into a bucket. He’d made a wine out of some mint leaves—and yes, the vomit did have the smell of rotting mint so horribly I don’t think I’ll ever eat the herb again. Unfortunately, he’d poured the concoction into unclean bottles that tainted his brew. When I asked him about it he said he had noticed an off taste, but drank it anyway. At least he vowed to never try his hand at winemaking again.
And he may have been telling the truth. Due to his poor health, it took nearly a week for him to fully get over his self-induced food poisoning, but after he felt strong again we ran each morning and afternoon for several days. Again, I had that surge of confidence in my own skills and could imagine Chiron showering me with praise for my cleverness. Then, in the midst of one run when we were far from the Fields, Jason began trembling so badly he fell over. I thought I’d trained him too hard, but Achilles—in his mocking way—said it was a sickness from not drinking, as if Jason’s body were in revolt from not having any alcohol.
And there were times, only when Achilles wasn’t with us, when Jason simply stopped running and broke down in tears, crying over his dead children, sobbing over his supposed failures as king, hating himself for becoming what he was. In secret, although it pained me to see him hate himself, I didn’t mind these moments because I could comfort him, holding him in my arms until he regained his composure. It’s been over a week since he’s had one of these episodes, and in some ways I miss them. But that’s as heartless as something Achilles would say, isn’t it? Perhaps I’ve spent too much time with the golden child of Thetis. Jason is recovering and I have done well. And I thank Chiron for the trust and the challenge.
"Just a run then?" I say brightly. "I know where we can get some rabbit."
At this both Achilles and Jason perk up. Chiron doesn’t allow meat to be served in the cantina. Not that I blame him. If I was half horse, I would be a bit wary about touching meat as well. But I’ve always been a stealthy hunter and can take down my own prey in the woods without his notice. A quick fire turns a freshly snared rabbit into an excellent snack. I then trade the pelts on the sly when merchants travel through this area. If Chiron ever wonders how I always have a fresh supply of ink and high-quality parchment, he doesn’t ask.
"Let’s go," Jason says eagerly. This time his comment isn’t seasoned with a smile but with something darker. I’ve noticed this whenever I’ve invited him to hunt with me, this hardening of his eyes, this seriousness of manner like a student training for an exam. From what he’s told me, it seems he never enjoyed hunting as a child. He did kill a boar once, but he said it was only to protect his cousin, Odysseus. Now, something in him seems driven to hone his hunting skills, but I don’t question this drive since it keeps him sober and alert, and allows us more time together. Besides, these dark clouds over the mood of his recovery are brief and once we return from a day in the woods that surround Chiron’s Fields, his rediscovered good humor switches back on, even if he’s tentative about it as if he’s relearning how to enjoy life. As long as his strange intensity is only temporary, I can’t begrudge it in him when we hunt.
So, after gathering up some water flasks and our sharpened daggers, we run to the far edge of the forest where the trees clear onto a vast meadow. It was here when I first saw Jason smiling—despite having lost the race we ran most horribly. I had asked him why he was so happy.
"Because I don’t think when I run. It’s just one foot after another. Well, and jumping over a log or creek depending on what obstacle course you drag me through."
And he really can clear any obstacle I take him over—look at me, I talk about him as if he were a well-trained horse. Still, I was amazed at how he popped over clumps of bramble, fallen logs, and the forest’s widest creek without ever tripping or getting his feet wet. He told me it was a skill left over from his early days, his schoolboy days, with Chiron during which he couldn’t compete with his cousin Odysseus in matters of fighting or sword play, but both he and Achilles—who insists he’s not allowed to fight in front of an audience—took great joy in receiving personal training in gymnastics from Chiron.
"Did I ever tell you about the time he leapt over Chiron’s back?" Achilles asks, not even breathing hard despite our pace. I may be able to beat this man who is half god in most of our races, but he comes across the finish line looking as fresh and glorious as ever and ready for another few miles whereas I sweat more heavily than a winter downpour and can almost hear my muscles begging for a rest.
I had the most painful crush on Achilles when I first started working for Chiron. How could I not? He’s beautiful, he’s confident, he’s everyone’s friend. But when I realized Achilles would never be clear of his mother’s apron strings and that I would never be what she wanted for her son, my fascination for him turned into friendship. We do love other, but as a sister loves a brother—a teasing yet protective kind of love. Jason on the other hand is no fleeting crush. He’s attractive and I admire the inner strength I don’t think he realizes he possesses, but, with the weight of his wife’s actions still bearing on him (although slightly less every day, if I do say so), now is not the time for me to be anything more to him than a close companion even though I dream for more.
"A dozen times. In the past week," I respond and continue by Jason’s side.
When we return, having left three pelts to dry in the work room of my cabin, we enjoy a meal on the lawn outside of Achilles’s home. I don’t normally like eating here because Thetis always casts a scornful eye on me, making me feel guilty for every bite as if I’m stealing food from her child even though we’re eating bread and cheese I’ve brought from my own stores. But right now it’s one of the few spots still in the sun, and I can’t resist lounging in the warmth. As I break off hunks of bread and pass them to Achilles and Jason, Achilles pops the stopper off a jug of wine and takes a long drink followed by a loud smack of approval.
"Jason, quench your thirst?" he says, holding the jug out. I glare at Achilles, but he ignores my scolding eyes. He isn’t supposed to do this and I sense Chiron, who has been enjoying the sun in front of his own home, perk up as if he’s ready to come over. While he’s allowed wine with meals, Jason is only supposed to be given a cup at a time, not to be handed an entire jug. Jason’s eyes widen with sudden eagerness, like a man who hasn’t had a woman in months coming across a naked and willing nymph. But the look passes just as quickly. He gives me a rogue’s smile and toasts me with his cup of water.
"Thanks, but it’s a bit early for me."
From the corner of my eye I can see Chiron nod approvingly and settle back down. Achilles shrugs and says, "More for me," before taking another swig. And when I hand Jason a slice of cheese to go with his bread, the cynic in me wonders if his fingers lingering on mine is accidental, while my heart beats with the romantic excitement of a schoolgirl.