The Throne Room of Olympus was more magnificent than any palace in Greece put together. I have been here only twice in my life, both times accompanied by Apollo; yet I remembered every detail. From the twelve thrones made from smooth stone and laid with gold filigree to the long, white pillars carved with minute and gorgeous detail. The sacred hearth from which Prometheus took the fire that he gave to men was located in the center of this large chamber, surrounded by the great thrones and tended to by Hestia, the gentle goddess of the Hearth.
All but one of the thrones was occupied. I tried not to be disturbed by the absence of Apollo. He had marched out of my cave that morning in a silent fume. Instead of wondering where he might be, I brought my attention back to the matter at hand.
Zeus the Lightening-Bearer sat on the centermost throne, the back of his left hand supporting the side of his face as he regarded me with deep eyes the color of amethyst. He was tall and impressively built with tanned, strong arms and powerful legs. Streaks of blond were present in his otherwise graying hair and beard. He was handsome, as all gods were; yet he emanated an astute sense of charisma and authority that none of the other gods possessed, and an alluring magnetism that drew others to him without a moment's hesitation.
His voice was deep and warm when he spoke, naturally projecting throughout the large chamber. "You have come here on this day, Cheiron, King of the Centaurs, to willingly offer your immortality to this Titan—" Prometheus, unchained at last, appeared from just behind Zeus's chair, "—in trade for death on your part. Is that correct?"
I nodded.
Zeus sighed. "I am not trying to change your mind, Cheiron, but contemplate carefully. You are the greatest teacher Greece has ever known. Inexperienced boys with raw talents enter your cave and come out valiant heroes, their abilities sharpened to perfection. It would be a woeful loss."
"I have done my life's worth, Father of Heaven. It is time to end that life."
He sighed again. "Very well. You have not only taught the sons of most gods present here, but you have also tutored many of my own sons. I shall thank you by granting your wish—as grudgingly as a god can manage, if you must know."
There was a stirring among the gods at this decision. Demeter, the goddess of Harvest, shook her head and gave a soft, sad sigh. Athene looked crestfallen, her intelligent gray eyes no longer gleaming. Hermes the Messenger god fiddled with his wand, uncharacteristic anxiety filling his olive green eyes. Heracles, leaning against a great column in the corner of the room, covered his eyes with a large hand.
Prometheus caught my eyes. He bowed his head once. I bowed back.
Zeus rose from his throne. In practiced unison, the entire Olympian assembly stood as one. Zeus threw a meaningful glance toward one of the grand pillars, and advanced upon me until he stood only a foot away. He extended his large hands forward, and the hearth that stood between us roared. Without a word, Prometheus came to stand next to me.
Zeus's voice reverberated within the great chamber and my own mind, but I did not concentrate on what he said. Instead, I watched, fascinated, as the flames in the hearth flared bright as the sun and soared to form a tower of scarlet, gold, yellow, orange…Fire that gave man a way to live, fire that could destroy that same man in a matter of minutes, fire that burned like the determination in Prometheus's eyes, fire that shone like Apollo.
I closed my eyes.
Standing behind that particular pillar which Zeus had glanced, Apollo forced back a choking sob. He drew a trembling breath, the stinging tears in his eyes blurring his vision. The growing misery turned out to be too great, however, for even a god to restrain. He let the pillar support his weight and slowly slid down to sit upon the smooth floor, turning his head upward to stare at the brilliant white ceiling.
Strong as he was, the god of Light gradually surrendered to the mounting sorrow. Hot tears ran down his fair face in rivulets, the usually glistening blue eyes now dark with grief.
The god of Music didn't bother to keep track of time as he sat there. The next thing he knew was Hermes appearing by his pillar, and sitting down beside him, drawing an agile leg inward until his knee touched his chest. Standing on the other side of the pillar, Zeus knelt and laid a gentle hand upon Apollo's bowed, golden head.
"Do not worry, my son," said Zeus quietly. "He will not be forgotten. He cannot be forgotten."
A few hours later, as his students, friends, the Centaurs and the gods watched, Hermes touched Cheiron's forehead gently with his wand, and the great Centaur allowed his soul to depart calmly from his body and make its flight to the Underworld, where he will enjoy an eternity of Elysian peace, free of pain and mortal troubles.
Nine days after his death, on Apollo's request, Zeus placed Cheiron's image upon the velvet sky, mapped out by diamond-like stars; thus giving birth to a brand new constellation.
And Cheiron's story did live on. Cheiron, son of Cronus and Philyra, adopted child of Apollo, was the wisest of the Centaurs, and the gentlest of creatures. Through his teachings, boys went on to become great heroes whose tales survived the ordeal of time. Their actions portrayed the greatest teacher ever lived within the beautiful lands of Greece, one who saw another side to life and death, one who will not hesitate to lend a helping hand or a willing ear, and one who is remembered best by his benevolence and compassion.
On clear summer nights, along the southern horizon, the Centaur will shine through the clouds and glitter brightly upon the dark, velvet sky, his arrow nocked and ready, pointing straight ahead, and never glancing back.
Fin.