summer stories

Golden soul (tsoa)

Most forgot their past lives once they entered the underworld, but Achilles Pelides remembered. His heart and soul were both too strong for the confines of the world and they remained with him even in the afterlife.

He pushed through the crowd of lost souls awaiting judgement, beginning to feel hopeless. But Achilles would not stop searching for Patroclus until his own soul faded from existence and the world forgot his name. Not that he cared if they remembered him. He had allowed his selfish pride to get in the way of him and the love of his life. See where it got him now. His lover died trying to salvage what was left of his reputation, and for what? So they would write songs and poems about aristos achaion? If anything, they should be writing about Patroclus, philtatos and best of men.

Achilles pulled at his golden locks with ghostly hands. Despair overcame his features. He had searched every inch of the underworld save the fields of punishment and yet Patroclus was nowhere to be found. Wracking his brain for memories and clues, Achilles recalled the faint voice of his wretched son ordering Patroclus' ashes thrown away. Realisation dawned on him like the shadow of a cloud covering the sun from sight. Patroclus would not be able to enter the underworld. He would be a ghost haunting the surface of the Earth, once again a world away from Achilles.

Achilles could not take it. What primordial force would possibly want them separated from each other?

Achilles' rage was not something that you wanted to battle with, but at that moment, the entire world was about to face his wrath whether they wanted to or not. After all he had done to return to the arms of his love, still there was something, someone, that kept them apart! Why? Achilles was ready to destroy the lives of millions in the name of Patroclus, but before he could, something caught his eye.

A tree. There were many trees in the underworld, but those were bare and gnarled. This one was majestically tall and filled with green leaves and fruits. Achilles stepped closer to the tree, and examined its fruits. Figs. It was a fig tree. He reached out, but before he could touch it, he heard a voice. A voice so familiar his head snapped in its direction so fast it almost flew off his shoulders.

And there he was. 15 year old Patroclus ran down a slope and plucked a few figs from the tree before running off. Patroclus was beautiful. He had just begun really filling out into his body. His tanned skin contrasted greatly to his white tunic and his muscles flexed as he ran. His brown curls framed his face and those hazel eyes Achilles so greatly wanted to drown in.

Achilles remembered this. Patroclus gave him the figs for his birthday while they were on Pelion. The image faded and the hero collapsed onto his knees. He buried his head in his hands as tears poured down his face. He stripped off the armour he no longer needed, leaving him only in the tunic he had worn when Paris had shot him down. Achilles stood once more and glared at the red sky, his deep-green eyes pleading but angry. "Why?!" He yelled. "I loved him! I LOVED HIM!" Time does not exist. He is so tired of waiting.

Then, a distant boom is heard. Charon's skiff has arrived once more.

Achilles runs to the River Styx and his breath is taken away. Charon's skiff unloads a few souls, but that is not what captures the Hero of Troy's attention. From the barrier between the mortal world and the underworld, a single soul appears. He is well-built, with curls framing his face and wide hazel eyes. He is a golden soul. He is Patroclus. Achilles rushes right to the edge of the river and reaches his hand for his love to take. Memories from the past fill his head, and Patroclus meets his eye, both with tears in their eyes. Every soul in the underworld watches this exchange–even Hades observes from his throne.

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 the sun.