Between Lions and Men

24: beyond all forecast stronger

Hecktor

There are no laws to war. And I do have the misfortune of thinking myself quite invincible, as does every man it seems or they wouldn't go to war as they do. And while I was ready for much cruelty, I was not at all anticipating being struck in the chest with a boulder by the biggest of them. We were just reaching the ships and I was clearing a path through their ranks towards the nearest of the. They have been out of bullets and bombs for more than an hour, but the stone was a surprise. Had I any breath left in my body I would have asked them how close they were to defeat, to be hurling stones. But the stone was effective, so I did not.

I fall backward, the wind knocked out of me as I feel my ribs splinter into my chest. I gasp for a breath and it is gone I cannot take it. My vision darkens and then there is nothing.

With great pain I wake, but air is still whistling in and out of my lungs. I've been dragged off the field, to an empty tent. I realize as I come to that I've been taken here to die. Blood is spilling from the wound, they got my chest piece off of me, but bare bone is broken through and each breath is shallower than the last. They dared not move me further.

Dion is there but there are others coming in and he nods and leaves, leaving one man alone with me. It is the stranger from the ramparts. He's still dressed in his long, patch-work hood, and has his golden bow and arrows upon his back. He tosses the hood off of thick, rich gold hair.

"Hecktor, what happened here? Shouldn't you be leading your troops to victory?"

"And what gods are they that ask me this?" I wheeze, probably very weakly and politely, but I would be at his throat if I could. "You know their champion Aias struck me in the chest at the ships and sent me here, to breath my last breaths and fight no more."

"Take heart!" spreading his arms out, and nearly knocking them on the tent, "The son of time has sent you a glorious helper--------me!!!! The guardian not just of yourself but of your city, which you have been alone in, until now. Together we shall turn the fight today."

"Phobeus Apollo," I whisper, as the god of medicine bends over me, placing a hand on my chest.

"Quietly about that, son, my father may condone this and not other aid. We win the day, but not the war yet. So, tell no one I am here, not your brothers, none can recognize me," he says, getting a bottle from his coat.

I wish to say that given I, a non believer, recognized him, and his golden hair, and golden bow, and rich robes, and godly countenance, while actively dying and unable to breath, that if he did not want to be recognized he was doing a poor job. However, even I know better than to tell a god that. Still though, if he is to help us it might be something he needs to know.

He pours the contents of the bottle on my chest and I am filled with a seizing pain. I try to cry out but no air will reach my lungs. He places a tense, arched hand upon the wounds, and gold rushes from his fingertips and through my blood, as I slowly, and excruciatingly painfully, am knit back together. As I do get breath I begin to scream in agony as the bones inside me sort themselves out, however he stops my mouth with one hand, his other still upon my chest tugging me mercilessly back together.

When it is finished, I don't dare move for the pain.

"Why not let me die today? If it is true, and the son of Peleus shall kill me—," if you are true.

"Because you, Hecktor, son of Priam, are a hero. And heroes never die alone," he says, a cocky smile coming over his face. He ruffles my hair as though I were a child. His divine fingers still drip with the blood and gore from my split open chest.

"It shall be your will," I say, slowly climbing to my feet.

"It shall be fate, here, put on your armor, we have the day to win," he says, grinning again and taking hold of his bow.

And I go back into battle with the god beside me.