BOOK OF ASTYANAX

CHAPTER 3

“NO OTHER CHOICE”

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Somberly, Odysseus grappled with the revelation thrust upon him: a vision of the tragic future that awaited him back in Ithaca. Thousands of thoughts—plans and tricks, ideas to escape this awful destiny—all of them flooded his mind in an instant. For some inconceivable reason, he was made aware of what could only be described as ‘the end’ for him, but why? What was the reason? What could he even do with that knowledge?

What was he supposed to do, when running from fate only served to doom himself?

Hundreds of stories spoke of heroes who heard awful prophecies, and of them, none held the power to defy destiny. That was the tragic nature of man: delicate and futile. Ironically, their destiny was to be a slave to it, powerless and weak when compared to the workings and machinations of the gods that stood above.

Odysseus’s mind heralded as one of the Achaeans’ greatest but now, as he pondered the awful circumstances he was forced to navigate, he hit an unfortunate wall. No matter what ideas he considered, each and every one led to this heart-shattering truth.

I can’t escape this. There’s no way out. That was his realization. Prophecy was absolute; a force that could not be tricked. He tried once before, and his own love failed him. Now, it seemed that love would burn to the ground with the rest of Ithaca.

He was only a man, and no man could go against the gods’ words. Realizing this, Odysseus could only lower his head and accept defeat. The sharpest of kings and the cleverest of men, and here he was—vanquished by a force unlike any other.

“Raise your head, king of Ithaca. This is not the end,” Zeus’s messenger said.

As if he were on the edge, the god’s voice brought Odysseus back and prevented his descent. As ordered, he lifted his head and looked at the still-perched eagle. “What do you mean?” he questioned, perplexed. “You said I… we… are going to die.”

“Every choice you make affects your future. Some fates are inescapable, and some prophecies are self-fulfilling, but yours is not so. You have one chance.”

“One chance…?” After witnessing such an unbearable, awful future, he was left dejected, hanging on the edge of a breakdown. But the mention of a single ‘chance’ shifted his mental state, bringing hope to a heart that was hollowed out by fear.

“You have a chance to avoid your fate. To prevent that future. Only…”

Odysseus jumped to his feet before the god could continue. “Tell me how!” he shouted. “If there’s a chance to save my family and my kingdom, I’ll do anything you ask of me!”

“I don’t believe you’re ready,” Zeus said. The words slammed into his soul, nearly breaking it apart at the seams. It was a brutal rejection from the gods—a statement of his own powerlessness and the futility, the weakness, of man.

Odysseus fell silent. How could he have come this far and seen so much, taken so many lives and shed so much blood, witnessed so many allies fall in battle, only to reach this desolate point? Here he was, at the turning point, the moment that could decide the very course of history, and he was told by the king of gods himself that he was unprepared. But that couldn’t be correct. And if it was… I have no other choice, he decided for himself. Whether or not he held the power, he had to act.

He was a seasoned tactician and a warrior. Under the command of Agamemnon, ‘Lord of Men’, he proved himself instrumental over the entire course of the ten-year-long siege on Troy, formulating plans and performing tricks to get the better of his enemies without fail. As one favored by a goddess, his actions were almost divinely inspired. Those were the rumors of Odysseus that spread among the Achaeans during the war.

For ten years he fought and he killed, all so that he could return to his homeland once the dust settled—so that he could see the faces of those loved ones he left behind. To protect them from whatever malevolent force awaited them, Odysseus was sure that he would stop at no costs. Whatever price he had to pay—even his own life, if that was the price Zeus demanded from him, he would gladly pay to keep them safe.

Penelope… Telemachus… if it means protecting you both, I’ll fight even fate.

His fist clenched with the strength of Atlas himself, Odysseus stepped forward and, clutching the hilt of his sheathed blade, addressed the eagle directly. With his burning will inflamed further and a certain devotion that couldn’t be matched…

“Damn not being ready! Compared to you, great Zeus, I know I’m powerless! I’m only a man… and no mortal can match a god’s strength. I couldn’t compare… but even so, no matter what trial is waiting for me, I need to try! So please…”

He grasped his fallen helmet and lifted it from the ground with his spare hand.

“…Grant me your mercy. I beg of you, lend me your guidance! How can I avoid that future? How can I save my people, my kingdom… my family, from this fate?”

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Silence. For a moment, that was all that existed, save for the soldier’s heavy breaths. With everything laid bare, his determination and his mortal shame, Odysseus could do nothing but hope that his prayers would be answered. After all…

“…Isn’t that the reason you’ve appeared before me?” he asked.

“Good. So your spirit is not broken.” From where he stood, Odysseus thought for a moment that the god was pleased by his declaration and his will.

Was that a test? Odysseus knew the gods often tested mortals, but he couldn’t pretend to understand their inner workings, nor could he guess the reasons for their actions.

“At the palace of Troy, an enemy awaits unlike any you’ve ever faced. One who will not fall easily by your hands,” Zeus stated. “He will not run for his life, nor will he beg.”

“So, all I need to do is kill that enemy?” Odysseus asked. A grin surfaced on his face. The panic that existed before and the dread, both completely vanished with Zeus’s advice. They were replaced by something else—something, perhaps, just as human.

“You make it sound easy. It won’t be,” Zeus reminded him sternly.

“I understand,” Odysseus said. “I apologize for any offense.” As to not provoke Zeus’s ire, he offered a sincere apology. “Thank you,” he said with a breath of relief.

The bird lifted off the ground where it was perched and swiftly streaked through the air, but the God King’s voice permeated still. “I wouldn’t thank me just yet. You have yet to meet your enemy face to face… and you may end up cursing me.”

The god’s voice resonated, echoing with a thunderous crack as his presence vanished from the observable world, and Odysseus was once again left alone with his thoughts. But his spirit was renewed, and with a new mission in mind, he knew what had to be done. Without another word he slipped his helmet over his head once more and turned in the direction of his comrades, most of whom had already trudged on without him.

He leapt down from the rooftop and began to head over to them. As he waded through smoke that threatened to clog his lungs and the debris of a now-sacked city, he could still hear the distant cries of those who still fought and those who already lost.

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“There you are, Odysseus! I have to say, those arrows were delivered with precision.” Words of praise for his archery, which was without a doubt his greatest combative skill.

Of the Achaeans’ forces, two were considered to be ‘favored’ by the goddess of wisdom and warfare. Although they were mortal, they were her champions who exemplified her greatest qualities; one reminded her of her cunning and the other her courage, although neither of those heroes were bereft of either virtue. To be held in such high regard by a goddess of her status was the highest of honors, and this was something Odysseus knew well, as he was the ‘man of one thousand devices’. And likewise…

“Diomedes,” Odysseus greeted. The hero, Diomedes, clutched his blood-tipped spear, surrounded by the corpses of his slain enemies, and nodded to Odysseus as he approached. They were alone now; the rest continued on with their duties. Odysseus could faintly hear steel clashing in the distance, accompanied by their grunts of war.

Diomedes’ efforts and accomplishments were heralded as some of the greatest of the war. A soldier of great renown and a king whose name reached the farthest corners of Greece, his skills and stories resulted in his epithet, the ‘breaker of horses’. It was a title he earned, for among the Achaeans and indeed all the men who fought in the war as a whole, he was one of the greatest—second only to one, and that soldier slept now.

“You really are quite the archer. Between you and Teucer, I often struggle to judge who the better shot is.” Knowing Teucer, whose eyes were rumored to be blessed by Artemis herself, that was a great honor. Odysseus wasn’t sure he could live up to it, although his sense of ‘the hunt’ was certainly sharper than most. His precise aim was only part of that; it was also his ability to select his prey, usually the leader, that served him well.

“If Teucer and I were to engage in competition, I’m afraid he’d win,” he replied honestly. Often, he wondered how he’d fare against the likes of his fellow soldiers but had few chances to test his theories. Of them, he doubted he could outdo Diomedes the most.

When it came to physical combat, at least, Diomedes was a far greater warrior than Odysseus could hope to be. He was a man of impressive stature, several inches taller than the Ithacan king and possessed a stockier build as well. Of those who once vied for Helen’s attention all those years ago, he was also one of the most handsome, but the war took its toll on even his appearance. Underneath his helmet, his brown hair was unkempt and had grown to a length he couldn’t quite control, and stubble lined his face.

Like most soldiers, the things he witnessed and the things he did during the war that hadn’t even ended yet were still etched into his eyes, and his deeds were visible on his face. Odysseus suspected the same could be said for himself, but he didn’t often look at his own reflection; he had far more important concerns than those of vanity.

“You always were modest.” A chuckle escaped his friend. “Your archery aside, it was your strategy that gave us this victory. We have the Trojans on the run now, and soon their forces will be destroyed… or those who haven’t fled from Troy, at least.”

Around him, the bloodied bodies of civilians and soldiers alike lay scattered and homes burned as Troy was sacked. It wasn’t the victory Odysseus always imagined. For a moment, he was quiet, and elected to look around in silence.

“What is it?” Diomedes asked, noticing how disconnected his friend was.

“It’s nothing.” Even before those words left his mouth, Odysseus knew it was a lie.

Diomedes nodded his head in understanding, but Odysseus suspected he wasn’t entirely convinced. “You should go on ahead,” he said. “There’s something I need to do—a responsibility I’ve been charged with that I cannot avoid.”

“What do you mean? What do you need to do?” Diomedes asked. “The Trojans are on the run; should we not chase them down and destroy them before they can regroup?”

“I have a mission, at the palace.” By now, it was certainly being raided and sacked. In fact, it was likely that the entire royal family was eliminated, knowing whose duty it was to handle them. That boy is bloodthirsty and vengeful like his father, he often thought.

“Very well,” Diomedes said, accepting his explanation… or lack thereof, with relative ease. “Then I hope to see you on the other side of this battle, Odysseus, once the fire stops burning and the dust settles. For now, I’ll keep fighting until I fall from exhaustion.”

“I’d expect no less from a man of your determination, Diomedes.” The two of them shared a laugh, but even humor couldn’t distract Odysseus from the matter at hand.

“Slaughter the Trojans. Leave no chance of retaliation,” he ordered, although he was certain those words weren’t necessary. They all knew the plan, Diomedes most of all, and Odysseus’s designs ensured everyone’s strengths were put to good use.

“Of course.” Diomedes turned and, with his spear at the ready, began to catch up with his allies. “May the gods’ strength be with you, my friend!” he shouted back at Odysseus as he left. Soon, Troy’s canals would run red with the blood of his enemies, for Diomedes was an unstoppable force of nature that would stop at nothing but victory.

With a curt nod, Odysseus bid farewell to his companion and focused on his own mission. Just like Diomedes, Odysseus had his own duties, and victory would not truly be his until they were fulfilled. At the Trojan palace, a warrior the likes of which he never encountered before awaited. There, a great battle would soon unfold.

And for the sake of my family and my kingdom, I intend to win.

That was the oath Odysseus, king of Ithaca, swore to himself.