Burn

The gods told Odysseus if he didn't kill this infant, the boy would grow up to doom his family. But...what if he chose to spare him?

***

“Ody.”

“Yes?” he murmured.

“Are you ever going to tell him who he is?”

“...I don’t know.”

“The truth is a dangerous thing,” Penelope said. “Especially when you allow someone else to wield it.”

“Who would that be?” Odysseus turned to his wife. “The few left who know the truth have sworn not to say anything.”

“I know, but…even if he could live the rest of his life without knowing, don’t you think he deserves to know?”

Odysseus looked away. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I know,” Penelope said. She ran a hand down his back. “But if you don’t…someone else will.”

He looked back at her. “Do you know what Zeus said to me?”

She tilted her head.

“He said if I let him live, the boy would burn my home to the ground. He said if I didn’t kill him, I would be dooming—” his voice shook— “you and Telemachus.”

Penelope was silent, still rubbing his back.

“And I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” Odysseus whispered. “Ten years of war, and I couldn’t kill one more person to save my family’s lives.”

“It’s okay,” Penelope said quietly.

“What if he hurts you?” Odysseus protested, struggling to keep his voice steady.

“You made the best choice you could,” Penelope said. “You saved someone’s life. The gods…are cruel, and vengeful, and selfish. So is fate. No one ever knows how things will turn out.”

Odysseus sighed deeply and closed his eyes. “I don’t know if telling him would make it more or less likely that I lose him. Or that I lose you and my other son.”

Penelope touched his face gently and turned it toward her. “I trust you,” she said.

***

“Acacios,” Odysseus said.

His son—not his son—turned toward him.

“I need to tell you something.”

“Yes, Father?”

Odysseus tried not to flinch at the title. “Sit down with me,” he said.

The young man obeyed, sitting on a stone bench next to Odysseus. Odysseus took a deep breath. “You know I adopted you on my way home from the war,” he said.

Acacios nodded.

“Penelope and I thought you should know…who you were before. I thought you should learn from me before you found out some other way.”

Acacios looked at him in confusion.

Gods help me.

“Your name…is Astyanax.”

The young man’s eyes widened. He started breathing heavily.

Odysseus watched him in worry. That name should mean nothing to him, not yet.

Acacios placed his hands on his forehead, staring downward with wide eyes. “Astayanax,” he murmured. His eyes roved back and forth as if searching for something.

Suddenly he looked up, fixing his haunted gaze on Odysseus. “Scamandrius,” he said.

Now Odysseus could hardly breathe.

“You… You remember?”

“Who was I?” Acacios whispered. “What did you do?”

Odysseus could barely move. The conversation was spiraling out of his grasp. “You were the son of the Trojan prince Hector,” he said. Acacios flinched. The boy had heard about the fall of Troy. How could he not, being the adopted son of the hero of it?

“And me…” Odysseus said, “I fought in a war, to save my son’s life. And when a god told me to kill a baby, I refused.”

“Who did you kill?” Acacios said. “My family? My city? You destroyed everything, without a second thought. I remember…”

Odysseus couldn’t speak. Couldn’t stop any of this, just like he couldn’t stop the past.

Acacios spoke again. “I’ve always had nightmares of the flames…the screaming…” The betrayal in his eyes broke Odysseus’s heart. “I thought that’s what you saved me from, but you were the one who caused it?”

“Acacios—”

The boy stood and took a step backward. “Why are you still calling me that,” he spat, “if it’s not my name?”

“You’re my son.”

“You just said I’m not,” Acacios said. “You—you don’t get to call me that!”

“Ac—Astyanax, please—”

The boy stepped backward again, then turned and ran, through the olive groves and toward the sea.

Odysseus stood instinctively to follow, then froze, torn. Finally he sank back down onto the bench, his eyes burning, exhausted and helpless.

***

The doors to the room swung open. Penelope turned toward the sound and saw Acacios striding into the large, comfortably furnished room where she and Telemachus sat.

“Acacios!” she called.

He gave no answer. As he drew nearer, she realized his face was filled with rage and pain. His hand hovered above the hilt of his sword.

“Odysseus talked to you,” she murmured.

He didn’t respond until he stopped walking, standing threateningly above her. “You knew?” he said.

Telemachus shot to his feet. “Acacios, what are you doing? Get away from her!”

“Telemachus, it’s okay,” Penelope said calmly.

“No, it’s not,” Acacios said, his gaze still fixed on Penelope. “You knew what he did and you said nothing?”

“We meant to tell you eventually,” Penelope said.

“Tell me what? That the man who called himself my father is the reason I didn’t have a father?”

“He saved your life.”

“He didn’t kill a baby,” Acacios snapped. “Good for him! He must feel like Eleos herself!” He spun to face Telemachus. “Did you know what your father did?”

“What did you expect?” Telemachus protested. “It was war! You think Hector never killed anyone?”

Acacios suddenly looked away, seeming to come to a realization. “I’m the only one left who can avenge him,” he said quietly. He looked back up at Penelope.

Penelope looked into the eyes of the young man whom she’d raised for half his life. She saw he didn’t want to hurt anyone.

“What do you mean avenge him?” Telemachus shouted, drawing his sword.

Acacios stepped backward, bumping into a table behind him and causing a crash as dishes and candles fell over. He drew his own sword.

“Telemachus, stop,” Penelope said.

“Do you see what he’s—?!”

Telemachus turned and suddenly took a few quick strides toward the door, stepping in front of Acacios before he could exit.

“If you’re about to hurt my father,” Telemachus said, his voice pained but determined, “I won’t let you.”

Penelope stood up and rushed over to them.

“Please, just stop and listen, both of you!”

The adopted brothers turned toward her. Penelope’s heart hurt. She could see that none of them wanted this. Maybe Acacios would still listen to her. Maybe she could still remedy this.

Then Telemachus’s eyes widened. He cursed and pointed behind Penelope, shouting, “Watch out!”

Penelope turned around.

The table that Acacios had run into was on fire.

“Oh, gods,” she muttered. “Get water!” she yelled. “Both of you—go get water, and bring servants back with more!”

Both men sheathed their swords and ran out, their quarrel temporarily forgotten. Penelope grabbed the few wine glasses that hadn’t been knocked over and threw their contents on the now-fallen burning table, but they did little good. There was nothing to smother it with, and—

The carpet started burning.

No, no, no. Penelope backed out of the room.

“Fire!” she screamed as loudly as she could. “Everyone get out!”

She’d been planning to wait here until her sons got back, but she couldn’t just stand here. There was no water nearby, but she had to do something. She had to warn everyone to get out.

Her sons, blood or not, were smart. They would be able to decide what to do on their parts when they got back.

Penelope turned and ran deeper into the palace.

***

Odysseus stood up slowly. He didn’t know where Acacios had gone, but he should tell Penelope about what had happened.

Then he realized he smelled smoke.

He ran toward the palace, panic filling him when he saw the smoke rising from it.

A crowd of servants stood outside. Odysseus rushed up to them.

“Where’s my family?” he demanded.

“Acacios is here, my lord,” one man said, “but Lady Penelope and Telemachus are still inside. They were making sure everyone escaped.”

Odysseus looked at him in horror, then dashed toward the doors.

“Wait! Lord Odysseus!” someone called after him, but he ignored them.

The air was stifling, pressing against his skin and making it hard to breathe. The smoke stung his eyes and throat. He tried to stay low, shouting Penelope’s and Telemachus’s names over and over again.

Finally he heard a response.

“Odysseus? Odysseus!”

And “Father!”

He raced toward the voices, then skidded to a halt when he realized where they were coming from.

It was a room with only a single entrance. And the doorframe had fallen in, blocking the exit with burning rubble.

Odysseus yelled their names, frantically trying to kick the pieces of wood and stone out of the way. But he could barely get close enough to touch them before the heat became too much to bear.

“Can you move anything from inside?” he yelled desperately.

“We can’t,” Penelope shouted over the roar of the flames. “Odysseus, you have to get out!”

Odysseus coughed at the smoke. “I’m not leaving!” he shouted.

“You have to! Just—don’t hurt our son,” Penelope said. “He didn’t mean for this to happen!”

“I’m not leaving!” Odysseus repeated, gritting his teeth as tears streaked down his face.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Penelope yelled back, her voice strained. “You don’t have to die!”

“Neither do you!”

“Odysseus, get out of here!” Penelope screamed.

“Dad, go!” Telemachus yelled.

Odysseus choked on a sob and looked around for anything he could use to shove the debris out of the way. He tried his sword, but it didn’t get any kind of leverage. There was nothing—nothing—nothing—

Someone grabbed his arm from behind. He tried to yank free, but there were more of them, pulling him backward and calling his name, and the smoke was making his head heavy and confused, and he couldn’t stop them from dragging him out into the cold, empty air.

When his head cleared, Odysseus realized he was kneeling in front of the smoldering palace.

And his wife and son were gone.

He couldn’t breathe.

People were saying his name, and people were running back and forth, and some people were probably crying like he was but he couldn’t see them.

He sat there and sobbed.

No one stopped him. Maybe they had too much else to worry about. Maybe they felt as helpless as he did.

How could Penelope and Telemachus be gone?

After a long time, Odysseus heard footsteps in front of him. This time he actually looked up.

Acacios stood there. He held his sword in front of him as if he were about to attack Odysseus. His hands shook.

Odysseus pulled his own sword out of its sheath.

Acacios flinched.

Odysseus threw it on the ground. “I’m sorry,” he said. He couldn’t even explain what he was sorry for before his throat closed up.

Acacios started crying. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—” He dropped his sword. It hit the ground with a hollow clunk. “I didn’t want—I’m sorry—” He gasped with tears.

“I know,” Odysseus managed.

Acacios sank to the ground. Odysseus moved himself forward and embraced him.

“I’m sorry—” Acacios whispered into his shoulder. “Dad.”

“It’s okay,” Odysseus breathed.

It wasn’t okay, nothing was okay, nothing would be okay, but Penelope—his thoughts tripped over her name, and his gut clenched—she had said Acacios hadn’t wanted this or done this, and Odysseus believed her.

And this boy, this boy who was not quite his son and not quite not, he still wanted Odysseus to be his father. Even after everything. After everything Odysseus had done and everything he hadn’t.

They had both made the best choices they knew how. Fate had come for them, as it always did for heroes and for those who try to be kind, but they were both still here.

Odysseus and his son leaned into each other and cried.