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Sitting up, I pull my knees toward my chest as I face him. Turned so I no longer had to crane my neck to look at him. “Were they once?” Knitting my eyebrows, I watch the centaur who’s currently cutting valerian root.
Pausing his task, the knife hovers above the plant. Chiron nods. “We were hunted. The herds were forced through the Veil. Many who survived the mortals were then killed by the Veil.”
“Wait, humans ate centaurs?” My eyes grew larger in horror. Scanning my mind, I try to conjure anything that I can remember about centaurs. Admittedly, I don’t remember much. The priestesses once said that the creatures were full of murderous tendencies.
But looking at this man, it was hard to believe. After all, he’s a healer. Helping those who are sick and injured while preparing his own remedies in house.
The only murder he looks to have committed would be against the plants in his potions.
Sifting leaves from a pot of heated liquid, he continues speaking as he prepares his potion, “No, far grimmer of a fate for us and other humanoids. They’d cage us in for weeks at a time. Until they were ready for an expedition. Only to turn us into the woods, half-starved, where they’d hunt us for sport. Never to the point of death, no. Gravely wounding us. Allowing us to die on the forest floor or be finished off by another monster of the woods.”
Flexing his wrists, the iron shackles clank on the counter. Though no chain is left to bind his hands together. “Are you a prisoner here too?” My voice was only a hair above a whisper.
Shaking his head, Chiron replies, “No. I wear these to remember my family. To remember that I'm one of the lucky ones.”
Lucky? Lucky to have survived. Perhaps even fortunate to have escaped. But he now lives with unhealable wounds.
Scarred for eternity.
Glancing around, the room was empty other than the two of us. Which is likely for the best. Everywhere I go in the castle, my presence gathers the attention of everyone.
Almost like they could smell that I was different. That I’m a mortal.
Chiron then asks casually, “When did your visions start?”
My eyes widened at Chiron’s question.
How does he know? I have never said a word about them since coming to Caelum.
Though, he is medically trained so he likely would be able to see through my guise of illness. Although it was worth a shot.
Is he going to tell the others?
What do the gods do to people who see things that aren’t there?
Deflecting must be my best bet. “What?” I splutter. The words came out wrong. Opposite from how I wanted them. My voice was too forceful. Panic plainly detectable. “I don’t know what you're talking about.”
“The last female I knew with those eyes had them too. Seeing things that were, things that are, and things that could be. I recall, the most terrifying of her visions being those of the future.”
Hope leaps in my chest. Someone who understands me. Maybe the person could help. “Who is she?”
“Chariclo… my wife.”
“You're married?” My eyes widened. He felt like someone who does not have a family. That would so immerse himself in his work that he’d not have time for anyone else.
“I once was.” Chiron stays off out of a window. Solemn and silent.
A mournful look crossed his face, and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. His words from earlier ring in my ears. He wears shackles to remember my family. “Was she one of the centaurs that was… you know… hunted?”
A silence passes between us. Instantly, I feel guilty for not checking my curiosity. This was his wife. Someone that’s no longer here. I shouldn’t be asking such invasive questions.
He is still obviously grieving her loss.
Just as I open my mouth to apologize, Chiron answers my question, “No. She was a human. In a previous life, she was a nymph to Athena. A human man was walking where he was forbidden to and saw her bathing. When Athena learned of her priestess’s ‘immodesty’, a term I use loosely, she was punished.” Chiron shook his head. Sadness permeates his face. “See, mortals aren't the only ones who frustrate me. Immortals also are more than capable.”
Fiddling with my hands, I nervously look down.
“A word of warning when it comes to visions.” He pauses his work. Setting down his equipment. “What you see is a gift as much as a curse. Even the Fates have difficulty discerning what string will be the true outcome when woven into an entire tapestry of nearly identical strings. One hair out of place can cause a snowball effect far worse than what you were trying to avoid.”
