*This short piece was inspired by the painting "The Dead Poet Borne By A Centaur" by Gustave Moreau*
It was a sad sunny day. For a day as sad as this, one would think that the sky would be covered in clouds, and that rain would be shrouding all. But, the sun shone bright with not one wisp to obscure it.
Chiron bowed his head and picked up the body that lay next to him. It was light in his arms, the life having left it after its owner had been cut down. The poor poet had barely been able to make it to him. He had seen her come stumbling up to his cave late last evening, and had spent all the night and most of the morning trying to keep her alive. But alas, all his art had been in vain. Now she was dead.
She had spoken of bandits, and the wounds upon her left no doubt as to the validity of her story. Chiron let a few tears fall upon her cheek for this. What manner of world was coming about, where even the poets were assaulted like this? True, his brethren were often responsible for such things. But, they were centaurs. It was their nature to be like that. Men were meant to be better.
“What troubles you, great teacher?” asked a voice.
Chiron looked up. A woman in a light blue robe stood at the door of his cave. He knew who she was without having to ask her name. That was how the great ones, the non-human ones, were. They just knew who they all were.
“One of your blessed has fallen, Calliope,” the centaur said, holding up the dead body of the poet for the muse to see.
A sad look crossed her face when she saw it. “Poor girl. She was not the best with verses, but such potential was there. She almost had it, you know. Almost. Now, now ruddy ignorance has cut her off from that completely.”
Chiron nodded and kept his head down. “I could not save her, though I gave it my all.”
“I would expect you to give no less than your all,” Calliope replied as she knelt down to stroke the poet’s cheek. “If even that could not save her, then perhaps it was meant for her to pass on. Perhaps Hades and Persephone have need of her. Who is to know for certain? Death is not the avenue of you or I, for we both shall never know it.”
Chiron snorted as he looked at the body. “At times like this, when even art is assailed, I wonder if perhaps we truly are.”
“Speak not like that, great teacher,” Calliope said, looking up at him with a cross look on her face. “Your grief over your failure overtakes you. Though art may be assailed, rest assured that it will never fall. Through that, we find our immortality. Yeah, though our bodies fade away and men forget we ever walked among them, still we shall ever live on. Do you really think that the Muses would allow all this to fade away?”
“Perhaps not,” Chiron said, but his face told that his heart was still troubled.
Calliope smiled softly. She leaned forward and kissed the centaur on the cheek. “Your expended effort has strained your mind,” she said. “Rest yourself in the sunshine, and clear your brain. That is all you need.”
Chiron nodded and rose, the body of the poet still in his arms. “It may be that such things will do me good. But, there still remains one task left in all of this. If Hades and Persephone truly do have need of this one, then we should send her off to them properly.”
“Indeed we must,” Calliope said, standing as well. “Lead on, great teacher.”
So Chiron the centaur, with the poet in his arms, walked out of his cave into the sunshine, with Calliope the muse following after him. And the sun made his face lose that frown, though he did not smile yet. The time for happiness would not arrive until the poet had received her proper rites. Then, and only then, would he allow himself to try to smile.
CF here.
