Chapter 5- Ithaka
It was very nearly midday when they limped to the shore of the island
Ithaka. The noon chariot of the sun blazed brightly, baking the land and sea
with its heat. The sail of Seastrider was lax, barely a breath of wind
stirring it. But the soft hand that pushed the wind encouraged it further,
slowly angling it with the water, lapping into the shore.
Ithaka was a rocky island, sheer stone barefaced to the world, dropping
sharply where it had been exposed, blasted apart by the gods when the world
was young. Thin shrubbery patched these bare walls of rock, adding tiny
flecks of greenery to the stone. The land between these towers rolled
greenly, covered in flora of many kinds, olive trees and grapes stretching
upward to where a palisade crowned a high hill.
Hermes threw the anchor as they angled themselves into port. It was a small
dock, with only two other boats moored there, fishing vessels with men busy
with their catches on board. Gulls cried, pinwheeling above, hoping for a
stray scrap of the waste. Hoarse, salt stained voices called to each other
as they worked, shouting rude jokes or funny stories to pass the time.
Amy ran a finger over the skin of her forearm. It tingled, slightly, and
she closed her eyes, taking a breath as she felt the flow of the water
within her. *It grew when I gained my Mercury Crystal. And now, it grows
again. It is within me. I wonder what it means.*
"Ames?"
She turned her head to see Hermes at their supplies. They had cleaned up
the worst of the mess, returning the spilled goods to their respective
holds. Hermes drew out one of the leaf bladed knives that Elissa had given
them. "Take this," he urged. Amy accepted it, looking up and down the hilt.
Hermes took up a blade of his own, sliding it into the baldric he had slung
across his body.
Amy returned the sword to the case, placing it in its cradle. "I can't use
that."
"Ames, with all that's been happening, you might need...."
She picked up one of the knives, strapping the leather thongs to her wrist.
She slid the knife out, inspecting the edge. It was sharp, almost, but not
quite, to a razor's point. It gleamed silver in the sun. "I lost the last
one. I don't want to loose another, or break it. I'll take this."
Hermes did not look pleased with her decision, but shrugged, allowing Amy
to do as she wished. The plank thumped against the wooden slats of the dock,
and they disembarked, Hermes tying the rope around one of the dock's beams.
"Tck. Looks like the Earth-Shaker had a bit of a fight with you two," one
of the fishermen said to them as he strolled up. He wore what most of these
men seemed to. A dirty, slightly fishblood stained kilt around the waist,
chest bare. Worn sandals on scarred feet, muscular from hours of trawling
and work. This man was razored bald, with a gap toothed grin. "No crew?"
"No," Hermes replied to him.
"Tck. Too bad. We didn't get word of no squall today. Tck. You far out when
it came?"
"You could say that."
"Tck. All men lost? Too bad. Tck. You and your lady need hospice?"
Hermes and Amy gave each other a sideways glance. The man just continued
grinning at them. "Our ship," Amy told him, "is in great need of repair. Is
there someone who can...?"
"Repair? Bagh! With that hole?" the man snorted. "Tck, you'd best see the
king. Ask him for help. 'S a good man. Get you what you need. If you want to
wait til end of day, me 'n my men are going back up to the palace with the
catch. Tck. You can come with us if you like."
Hermes caught on to the oddity of the suggestion. "Why til the end of the
day?"
The open manner of the fisherman became tense, and he looked back and forth
between the two strangers before him. He shifted his gaze up to the white
beach, then to the treeline. "Been attacks, you see. Some god is mad about
something. Tck. Big boar, come crashing out of the forest one day. King and
his men, they been hunting it, but haven't found its den yet. Tck.
Dangerous to be out alone. More people, more weapons, less likely to get
roasted."
Amy felt Hermes shift closer to her, a hand on the tip of the sword he
carried. *Roasted?* "What's the fastest way to the palace?"
"Through the woods. There's a path. Tck. I wouldn't go, though. Best wait,"
the man shifted nervously, but appeared to be honest in his protest. "You're
welcome to wait for me and my men. If not, it's your hide," he shrugged and
turned, climbing back aboard his boat.
"Hermes, maybe we should wait...."
"He's not telling us something."
Amy cast a glance up to where the man had disappeared, then to the treeline
he had seemed so afraid of. *Hiding something...yes. But what? And why?
Fear? He said some god is mad...it seems to always be Poseidon so far. As a
fisherman, a god he relies on. It may be best not to upset the god you need
for your food and welfare. I can't blame him. And if it is Poseidon who has
sent this thing, then we will have to face it sooner or later anyway. It
would be here because of us. If any were harmed because of it...it would be
our fault. Best we face it soon.We need supplies and repairs. We're well
trapped here until that hole is patched.*
"Hermes, lets go. We've survived just about everything else. The sooner we
meet with the king, the sooner we can get moving again."
Hermes' chocolate eyes met her azure ones evenly, but with a slight hint of
wariness. "We still haven't found that guy the Hags were babbling about."
*Ah, yes. The great tactician. Well, who knows? This is Ithaka of all
places. Who knows what may happen here?* "I know. Maybe Fortune will smile
for awhile and let us find him."
"You're sure you want to go?"
Amy nodded, taking Hermes' arm and leading him towards the beach.
The path was small, worn by the passing of feet over many years. It
disappeared into the thick foliage, obscuring the beach and their ship
within a few paces. Upon rounding a hill, the pathway widened somewhat, the
trees cut back to let people pass, trimmed by the people of the island.
Birds were chittering in the filtered sunlight as Amy and Hermes strolled
upwards towards the palace, sandaled feet slapping in time against the
packed dirt.
To pass the time on their way, Amy asked, "Do you think this king will help
us?"
"I don't see why not. Hospice is a requirement for most of these people.
Who knows when you'll be in trouble? It's an affront to the gods to refuse
travelers in need."
At the sound advice, Amy let the silence lie between them.
*Silence. Yes...very silent....* "Hermes?"
It was the sound of a grumbling mingled with a croaking squeak that forced
them to turn. An explosion of feathers alit around them as birds took flight
from the menace that was charging out of the underbrush. *And so it begins
again....* Hermes, with his incredible speed, scooped up a shocked Amy,
darting them down the side of the pathway. "Stop!" she commanded him,
looking over his shoulder. "There's someone....!"
A man had emerged from the trees, an arrow nocked in his bow. The archer
drew back the stretch of string, letting fly with a red fletched arrow. The
aim was true, jabbing into the boar's shoulder. Hermes, on Amy's shout, had
stopped, and she scrambled out of his grip. *So that is what the fisherman
was so frightened of. That must be the biggest pig I have ever seen!* "We
have to help him!"
"Ames!"
He took off back down the trail after her, drawing blade as he ran. The
boar squealed in such an agitating pitch, nails on a chalkboard would have
seemed melodious. It was massive in size, heavy shouldered, muscular, with a
crest of mud stiffened hairs bristling down its back. A heavy snout boasted
of a large set of tusks. Flame red eyes flickered as it whipped its tail
around, backed up warily from the archer on its ridiculously tiny hooves.
The boar snorted, squealed and breathed heavily. Around them, the sound of
hounds baying and men shouting erupted, drawing nearer, calling to each
other.
From its nostrils, twin gouts of flame sped towards the archer, the boar
following close behind its attack. He screamed in pain as the flames licked
his legs, catching him as he attempted to leap to one side. Catching him in
the right shoulder, the tusks gored him.
*Fire! That is what that seaman was not telling us! It breathes fire! Raye,
you should be glad you don't breathe it out your nose! Oh, what am I
thinking? I have to distract it somehow! Get it away from him!*
Amy drew her knife. *Let this work...please!* She threw it, and the
silvery blade cut into the hide of the boar, slicing past tendons as it
wheeled, dropping the man as it paid new attention to the other figures
nearby. The knife lodged itself halfway to the hilt in the ground. The boar
began its charge toward the blue haired figure, squealing in odd looking
fury. Again it took breath, and again twin columns of flame snorted out from
its nose, a fireball that flew towards her.
She felt Hermes grab her, spinning them around, felt them hit the ground as
the sound of twanging bows met her ears. Hermes covered her head with his
arm, and as the blast flew hotly over them, singing hair and clothing, she
tried to pry Hermes off enough to see what had happened. From around them,
men were leaping out of the forest, armed, some with bows and quivers of
arrows, others with spears, nets or drawn blades. Two of these had shot
arrows into the boar, one, green feathered, striking the shoulder, embedding
itself a fingersbreadth from the red that had been shot moments before. The
white arrow, though, had sunk itself into the soft, fleshy base of the neck,
a killing shot on a smaller animal.
Hermes hauled Amy up and out of the line of fire as the two new archers let
loose another volley, two men with nets rushing in as these found new marks.
The net was cast over the creature, which now staggered, so many points
digging into its flesh. Blood dribbled down before it. One of the spearmen
rushed in, swinging an arc, cleaving into the side of the creature, leaving
a heavy slice of thick flesh to dangle, running red, exposing the pinkness
of the ribcage.
It tried to draw breath, to spit fire again, but the spear had dug too
deeply, the labor of drawing breath too difficult. There was a command from
the elder of the two new archers, and the spearman withdrew. Again arrows
were let to fly, green and white striking as the boar screamed, lashing with
tusk and hoof, in panic and fury, it hoped to take down as many as it could.
The green arrow struck the base of the throat, the white, striking past the
netting and thrashing to pierce the heart.
With a single convulsion, it crashed to the ground, squealing faintly. As
the men converged on the dying form of the beast, Amy took off towards their
original rescuer, the gored man.
He was in a heap on the ground, clothing tangled around him, burnt as his
skin. His shoulder was in rags, both the short cape that had been tied to it
and the skin that had been torn. It bled now, seeping into the earth. She
tugged at the hem of her skirt, hoping to tear it. No rip would form.
*Material woven by the gods apparently will not tear.*
Hermes bent down on the man's opposite side, silently watching what Amy was
attempting to do. She pressed the pads of her fingers against the man's
neck, and, faintly, felt a flutter. *He's alive.* "You!" she snapped at the
back of the man nearest her. She placed such authority in her voice that
time that the man turned as bid, surprised at the sharpness in her delicate
voice. "I need your cloak!"
He hesitated only a moment, then scurried over, ripping the short cape from
his shoulder. Amy tore it in half, balling up the end in her hand. She
forced it down on the hole in the man's shoulder. *Pressure. To close the
wound. It didn't hit anything vital...right side, not near the heart. But if
it doesn't stop bleeding soon, and the burns....*
The two new archers also approached their injured member, worried.
"Does anyone have wine on them?"
"I do," the elder of the two archers informed her, taking the small sack
from around his chest. Amy bit off the cork, then poured the wine onto the
blooded cloth. She reapplied the compress, watching as the man winced in
pain at the contact of the alcohol.
"Put your cloak on him. We have to keep him warm." *Don't want him going
into shock....* "Does the palace have doct...healers?"
"Yes," the younger replied. Setting down a bow that was almost too massive
for her to imagine, he shifted the quiver on his back to a more comfortable
position, the white tipped arrows clacking against each other as he did so.
"Good ones."
"Good. We have to get him to them. We need a litter of some sort."
The older archer, turned, shouting at the men with him. "Laerces! Mastor!"
two of the men broke off from the boar. The spearman swung his weapon of
choice again, bringing it down with a thwack across the boar's neck,
severing the two. The body jerked, spasming, then finally still. The green
arrowed archer issued sharp orders.
*He's obviously in charge. Good. I'm not really sure what to do from here.
I know about medicine in my time...I'm not as familiar with herbs. Most are
available at the health food store. I wouldn't even be able to identify half
of what I would need for a salve for the burns. Well. Whenever I get back, I
am buying every nature book I can find.*
The leader's orders were immediately carried out as the two men he summoned
rushed into the underbrush, searching for limbs long enough to serve as
poles for a litter.
"Hermes?"
"Yes?"
"Are you all right?"
"Fine. You?"
Amy touched the side of her head, where she felt a faint bump from their
fall. A bit of dirt sprinkled out of her hair. "Fine."
"Hermes?" the leader of the group asked them. Hermes looked up. As the man
was standing, Hermes himself stood, finding himself to be the taller of the
two. The leader was burly, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, with large
arms and hands, callused from martial training and the hunt. Dark chestnut
hair rolled over his ears, cropped under his chin. A thick beard, curled,
lay on a boiled leather breastplate. Fine wires of iron were beginning to
curl their way out of the mass of hair, betraying the age of the man. Bright
green eyes gleamed out of an intelligent face. "I can see why," the leader
was saying. "You were as fast as though the hounds of Hades were on your
heels getting to your wife there!"
Amy, hearing this, flushed red, pointedly returning her eyes to the
shoulder of the man in her lap. Hermes, too, turned pink, but the man was
continuing, a mellow aura of friendliness radiating out from him. His even
teeth were only faintly yellowed, shown much in the breadth of his smile. He
slapped Hermes hard on the back, making him stagger. "I'd be just as quick
if it were my wife! Course, mine's a lot older!" he laughed deeply. The boy
with him looked as though he were trying to repress a smile, unsure if he
should be laughing or rolling his eyes at the older man's openness.
"Laertes!" the man introduced himself, reaching out with a hand. Hermes
accepted it, clasping it above the wrist.
"Hermes. And...Amy."
"My son," Laertes gestured broadly. "Odysseus!"
Had Amy been holding something in her hand, she might have dropped it. Her
head snapped up to see the figures before her.*Odysseus! Oh my...! Oh, Amy!
Why didn't I realize that before? Elissa..Dido...the ages. Aeneas, who she
loved, would be alive now, and he too fought at Illium. So of course
Odysseus is alive! Why didn't I think of that before?*
Neither Hermes or Laertes saw Amy's reaction. Odysseus, though, ever
observant, saw the shocked look on her face, quickly hidden by averting her
eyes. The boy who would one day spend so many years from his home wondered
at her reaction, not to his fathers' name, but to his. Curious, he came to
the side of their fallen man, squatting across from Amy.
Behind them, Laerces and Mastor were assembling what they had, strapping a
cloak and a removed shirt to the branches they had gathered, tying up the
impromptu stretcher. The other men had fallen to butchering the carcass of
the boar.
Odysseus stared silently at the young woman's face until she glanced up at
him in discomfort. She was pretty, he decided. But something strange about
her. Her hair was odd, cut far too short for a woman of Hellas, and was
shaded in the colors of the water. But she hardly appeared to be an Amazon
from the tales of the seafarers. A delicacy, and somehow, under it, showing
as it had when she had commanded the men to do her bidding....water, he
decided. Water. Gentle until angered, slow to fury, quick to act, but
powerful in any state, as any true seaman knew, for the sea was the
livelihood of all in Hellas.
Amy, too, stared at the boy across from her. Some resemblance of his father
lit his features. The chestnut hair, which had been braided into cornrows
away from his face. The first fluff of a beard was just now emerging on his
chin, which was strong. He carried himself as a king, with all the dignity
of one. He, like his father, was dressed well, a short tunic of dark green,
which made the darkness of his brown eyes seem all the more deep. He seemed
to blend into the earth that surrounded him, his coloring and posture,
silent as stone, watchful, observant.
It was then that Laerces and Mastor came to scoop the burned man into their
makeshift litter. Amy hovered, helping, warning not to jar him, for movement
could injure if not careful. Laertes and Odysseus led their way up to the
palace. Men stayed behind, completing the butchering of the boar. It was a
strange procession that led up to the gates. The place was well fortified,
overlooking the sparkling sea.
The walls were at an escalade, steep and high, to prevent any attackers
from coming into the palace. The only way up and over in an attack would be
by ladder, a precarious way of breaching a wall. If the ladder were too
tall, it would be pushed off by the defender. Too short, and never reach the
top. These same walls were thick, made of baked brick. Semicircular bastions
gave strength to the wall, and would help any defending archers in an
attack. Sentries waited in the corners, alert in the noonday sun.
The trees came almost directly up to a fencing around the fortified palace,
leaving a narrower strip of space bare and rocky on the opposing side, a
space for working outdoors around the front. From the side, one could see
the forested curve of the island, bending out into the sea. The cliff beyond
the palace dropped into the water. Out of the house, a massive puppy
bounded, leaping up on Odysseus who maddeningly tried to calm the dog down.
"Argos! Leave off!" the puppy, still excited, returned to all fours, and
took to heel behind his master.
Women ran inside, scattering squawking chickens and piglets before them,
shouting that the king had returned with his son, and to bring help, for
they carried a man injured. The gates creaked open before them, letting them
into the inner courtyard of Ithaka's palace. Women and men rushed towards
them, bustling with curiosity. An older man, and by the resemblance of face,
his father, shouted in pain as he came to the side of the archer. "Xeones!"
he cried, knowing enough not to grab, for fear of hurting him even more.
Into the excitement of the king's return a woman walked, the crowds parting
as a curtain before her, revealing her strong stature.
Amy marveled at the way she carried herself. *Surely this is Odysseus'
mother....Anticleia.*
As Odysseus had some of his father's attributes, he also had many of his
mother's. She was a strong woman as her husband was a man, wide hipped and
strong shouldered, with arms strengthened from work in the fields, pressing
oil or making the wine that all drank. Her skin was baked deep bronze from
hours in the sun, her black hair pulled into a sharp bun at the nape of her
neck, two steely bars curved like horns back into it, spiraling as they
melded with the blackness of her hair. Brown eyes the color of Odysseus'
pierced out from her head, fine lines accentuating their ferocity. Her
clothing was simple, a crimson shade, tied off at the waist with a black
sash.
Another woman scurried along beside her, somewhat younger in age, with
auburn hair and sprightly blue eyes. She, too, was dressed simply, in an
olive green dress, wrapped with a yellow belt.
They stopped before Laertes and Odysseus, Anticleia's hawklike gaze
swifting over the stretcher. "Polyxena! Arete!" she called. "Come more
quickly!" Anticleia strode over to the litter, brushing the man who still
hovered over it. "Xeones, your son will be tended to. Go now. Pray to the
gods for his healing."
Xeones, father of Xeones, hesitated only a moment before hurriedly running
towards the storerooms. Gods would want a gift for the healing of his son.
Two women then came, one old and bent, mincing her steps as she came,
ushered and assisted by a younger woman. The elder bent over the prone
body, making a low sound in her throat. Then, in a bitter voice, she wasped,
"To his rooms. Needs much," then, aided still by the younger woman, tottered
her way after the litter, disappearing into the inner recesses of the
palace.
The woman who had appeared with Anticleia was now hovering timidly around
Odysseus. He was fending her off, muttering, "I'm fine Eurycleia."
*Eurycleia. Odysseus' nurse who will recognize him in the 'Odyssey',
despite the disguise on him, placed by Athena. She will live to be an
honorable age.*
Anticleia had now returned her imperious gaze to her husband and those who
accompanied him. "Is it done?"
"The boar is dead," replied her husband, solemn. "Xeones worked ahead, cut
it off. Artemis Huntress would be proud of his action."
Anticleia nodded once, sharply. "And our son?"
"A brave battle. Odysseus wields his grandfather's bow well."
Another sharp nod was earned. "And these?" she referred to Hermes and Amy,
who were standing beside each other, a pace behind Laertes.
"Helped us to trap the beast!" Laertes seemed to regain his good humor,
stepping forward and wrapping a proud arm around the waist of his wife. "My
wife, Anticleia," he introduced. "Hermes, and his wife, Amy!"
Anticleia's frown grew deeper and she lifted an eyebrow high onto her
forehead. "Are you married?" she queried.
Amy flushed again, and Hermes shifted uncomfortably. "Um, not exactly," he
managed. The crowd around them shifted, staring. Amy felt herself getting
redder. *No one ever thought I was married to someone else before. This
feels very weird.*
Hermes stumbled a moment in thinking, then, clever as always, spurted,
"We're on our way to Hera's temple!"
"Oh?" came the reply.
Hermes imitated Laertes' position with Anticleia with Amy. She was still
bright red with embarrassment. *There's got to be a reason for this...he
wouldn't just for fun, would he? Oh...maybe he would. But...I don't think
that's the case here. A man and a woman, sailing alone, on a ship. Surely
that is something strange. Something suspect. And if they think we actually
are married...um, then they might put us in the same room...and I am not
sharing a bed with Hermes! Bunny would just die if she knew about this...! I
don't even want to know what Mom would think!*
In a great deal of nervousness, Amy played along. She stiffly angled
herself closer under Hermes arm, pressing her hand to her mouth for a moment
in her shyness. *How do Bunny and Darien stand like this again? Oh yes...*
She took Hermes' hand in hers and attempted to smile as though she were
happy. *This is really weird. Mina would be having a fit. Me, pretending to
be engaged. They are NOT going to be hearing about this part of the story,
that's for sure. I'd never live it down!*
Anticleia watched them shrewdly, her hawkeyes looking out over a long nose.
After a moment, she let her head jerk again. Amy suspected it was a trait of
hers, repeated as she came to a thought or decision. The chin lifted proudly
into the air. "You look tired. You will be given rooms. Separate, if you
desire?"
Amy shifted and mumbled, "Ummm...."
Hermes shifted and mumbled, "Ummm...."
Anticleia let out a small chuckle. "Eurycleia, show them the guest
quarters. They must be exhausted. You may tell us your tale later tonight,
after you feel better."
Laertes apparently liked the sound of that, since his eyes suddenly lit
with an idea. "Yes! Tonight! A feast! To welcome our guests and celebrate
the death of the boar that stalked us!"
Eurycleia led them into the hallways of the palace, wringing her hands
about Odysseus' well being. "A good boy, my Odysseus. Nursed him, I did!
Good boy, none better! Will be a great man, I tell you! Clever like none
other! Killed a gods sent boar with his father-!" Eurycleia prattled on as
they passed rooms.
Wide eyed, Amy watched the doorways pass. Several women and a couple of men
were hovering around an oil press. A woman was pressing olives with all her
strength against a lever. On the opposite side, a woman cupped a bowl under
a spout, catching the syrupy golden liquid that was the lifeblood of Ithaka.
Out the windows they passed, sloping past the forest, Amy saw the cleared
land, charted by plants, rows of olive trees and grape vines. Within,
stylized frescoes had been painted on the walls, friezes of gods in their
actions. Hera cast a furious look at Zeus, standing opposite her, a heifer
beside him, the image of the story of Zeus and Io.
*The same expression as Lita when she's mad....*
Artemis drew a bow across her chest, aiming for a stag.
*Like Raye when she uses her sniper....*
Aphrodite sat on a golden cloud, laughing at the earth that was painted
below her.
*Mina, while chasing down some boy she thinks is cute....*
Then the image of the moon, a lady smiling down from it. And where the
paint had begun to chip, Amy saw, faintly, the shape of those familiar buns.
She smiled. *Someone who painted that has seen Selene. Queen Serenity. My,
she looks like Bunny. Or rather, Bunny looks like her. Unborn as yet. Ah, if
I could warn them. Tell them of Beryl and what was to come. The Generals
would be alive even now, unchanged and young. Endymion would be a toddler,
then. Imagine Darien in diapers!*
Amy giggled softly once, and Hermes turned to see her engrossed in the
paintings on the wall. Eurycleia was still babbling to herself about
Odysseus, but the nurse was walking slowly. He watched Amy, knowing that she
was from the future. That perhaps she knew, or would know, these people on
the walls now. He wondered if he would meet her again, in her own time.
Then he watched a quiet sadness spread across her delicate features,
crystallizing. She turned sharply from the images, and for a moment, he
would have thought he saw tears in her eyes.
He had never seen Amy cry.
Not against Scylla.
Not against the boar earlier today.
Not when the aegis had scraped her arms raw and red.
Not even when she had called him a baka...whatever that was in her native
language...and had run from him.
What, then, could be so depressing to her that would cause such an
expression?
Amy hesitated as they came to a crux in the doorways. Eurycleia headed them
to the left, but Amy, still exploring somewhat, had glanced down to the
right. Her eyebrows puckered in confusion as she saw a familiar face hanging
over the archway. There, carved in wood, was the face of the Medusa, snaky
coils of her hair spreading upward as her eyes, blank of pupils, stared out
the window across from her protectorate.
*And where does that doorway lead? Medusa....* With a finger, she traced
the lines of the brooch on her shirt. Something about the carved symbol
called to her. *Doorways. Strange things. Some lead to closets. Others to
bedrooms, kitchens, living rooms. Then there are those that lead to the
unknown. The halls of time. The keys. Once I get my Crystal back, I will
have to get to Pluto. But for now....*
Eurycleia was halfway down the hall, still talking obliviously to herself.
Hermes had stood beside her as she stared at her surroundings. Amy felt a
tinge of redness color her cheeks again, and fought it back before Hermes
could see. *I have to stop getting embarrassed like this. Anticleia is
sharp. I don't know what she'd do if she knew that our story is a fake. She
probably already knows. But my screwing things up won't help matters.*
Amy straightened her shoulders lifted her head high, holding it as
Anticleia had earlier. With that set look on her face, Amy stretched her
legs and caught up with the nurse, who had turned down another corner. She
didn't see Hermes smiling wryly behind her.
A few moments after arriving in her room, a young girl appeared, laden with
a pail of milk, which, Amy discovered on drinking, was goat milk. It was
slightly sour in flavor, but rich, and Amy found that she had become
ravenous. There was a loaf of crusty bread and cheese, also of goat milk,
that she devoured like Bunny after not eating for more than two hours.
Olives disappeared, and she spat the seeds out on the plate. Hunger abated,
she collapsed into bed, sandals and all, sleeping even as her head reached
the pillow. Her last waking thought was, *I wonder if this is how Bunny
feels all the time, sleeping every....*
When she awoke, the light that puddled on the floor of her room was that of
the stars and torches. She arched her back, stretching. Beside her, on a
chair, a short sleeved, long skirted maroon dress had been laid, a ribbon of
indigo pooling atop it, meant to be tied about the waist, crisscrossing. A
small pair of supple leather boots were limply lying at the foot of her bed.
*For me? Eurycleia, or Anticleia, most likely. Oh! I can see why!*
In their previous hurry to the palace, and then their fight, Amy found that
her clothing was soiled, quite literally. Dirt was smudged across the front
of her skirt, grass stains working their way in. As she brushed her fingers
across the fabric, she felt salt from the sea sticking to it. *Sturdy stuff.
But still gets stains. I wonder if they'll come out easily. Athena said she
made the dress...I wonder who made the fabric? If a goddess wove it, then it
should at least clean easily. Well, for now, the dress.*
Amy twisted the armlet of Ouroboros around her arm. It was warmed by the
contact with her skin. Discarding her worn white outfit for the maroon one,
she changed, also switching her sandals for the boots. *Oh, how funny!
They're cut the same way, for either foot! Like in medieval times. So that
if one shoe ran out, you would only have to replace one.*
She removed the Medusa brooch from its place on her dress, refastening it
to the new outfit, in the same spot, finding herself used to it there, and
uncomfortable without it.
She approached the dresser. Several items lay before her. Her knife, which
she had thrown at the boar. *One of the men must have brought this back.
Well, at least this one returned. No such luck for the sword.*
A small bronze mirror, polished, had been leaned up against the wall. A
bowl of water awaited her, and she splashed some water onto her face, using
the comb that was laid beside the bowl. Two combs, the edges lined with
white seashell, were set there, and she pulled them through her hair, the
shells looking like drifting sealife on the tide, rolling with the foamy
breakers. Amy smiled into the tiny mirror, setting it down she replaced the
knife into its sheath, strapping it this time to her ankle, so it would not
be visible. *Nothing like taking weapons to a party. Or a feast, I suppose.*
Folding the dress Athena gave her neatly, she placed it on the chair, her
sandals underneath. *If they can appear in my room while I sleep, then I
suppose they can come in when I'm not here as well.*
Heading out, Amy shut the door behind her. The room across the hall,
Hermes' was empty, the door ajar. *Already gone.*
It wasn't difficult to find everyone.
The sounds of revelry echoed through the halls, laughter and song, drums
and flute, a lyre being played by a man in a corner before a group of young
men and women. The courtyard had been arrayed for the feast, a small bonfire
lit. The scent of roast lamb, herbed, wafted mouthwateringly in the air.
Calamari was being fried in a vat, battered in oil. Fish and roast mingled.
Torches lit the courtyard and Amy wandered among the people, noticing the
moonless night. *Almost a month. The moon was full. Mom must be frantic.*
"Amy!" a cheery voice called. Amy turned to see Laertes heading her way, a
large man beside him. They slowed and Amy smiled in return to their
greetings. "Ah, awake I see. Hermes said that you were resting too well to
awaken earlier. Good to see you up. This," Laertes introduced, slapping the
man on the back, "is Mentor, an old friend of my family." Mentor winced at
the force of the blow, his eyes twinkling with merriment, as though with a
secret that he did not wish to reveal.
*Mentor.* Amy looked at the man carefully. He was dressed in a baggy
outfit over his bulky body, dull grey and drab. A bushy grey beard tinged
with frost covered his face, only allowing for a narrow strip across his
eyes to be seen. It was his eyes Amy looked at most carefully. They were
encased in pockets of thick flesh, heavily lidded. But the color was that of
moonlit steel, glinting in the torchlight.
"Mentor," Amy greeted, beginning to bow, but then remembered the way
Laertes had greeted Hermes earlier. "Ahem," she cleared her throat to cover
her mistake, and reached out. Mentor clasped her forearm with an iron grip.
"Your betrothed is enjoying the telling of your tale. He's very animated
about it," Mentor chuckled wryly, gesturing to Hermes, who was standing in a
torchlit corner, waving his hands wildly with some story. His listeners were
rapt. He too, had been given a change of clothing, in a reddish hue, a tunic
with boots. "Tell me, Amy, how was it that you defeated the hecatoncheries?"
*Oh! Hermes! What ARE you telling these people?* "I am afraid I am not so
good at telling stories, Mentor. You would be hard pressed to have me tell
you what happened."
"And why is that?"
"Stories change with perspective."
"And what did you see?"
"Nothing that I may say."
"Nothing? No word to pass down through the generations, so your name would
be remembered?"
"What I do in this time here in Hellas is not a thing that must be retold."
"Ah, but then how will your legend live on?"
"Who says I want my legend to live on?"
"No one to remember you? No one to write your tales? Tell your story?"
"What use is a story if it teaches nothing?"
At these last words, Mentor let loose such a laugh that it boomed across
the courtyard, startling several people from their own conversations. Hermes
looked up, spotted the source of the sound and began to work his way over,
abandoning his crowd.
At the sharp series of exchanges between Amy and Mentor, Laertes had found
himself treading water, unsure of what the discussion was truly about.
"Heroes are remembered by their deeds, and the stories written about them,"
he attempted, trying to get into this strange debate.
"True," Mentor allowed, "and what do they do but teach us about who we are?
What our beliefs are? Our values? Is that not learning?"
Amy bowed her head, acknowledging Mentor's point, but did not break her
gaze. Hermes now joined them. "Ames," he cast an interesting glance at
Mentor, who lifted his shaggy brows in questioning. "Laertes, Mentor."
"Hermes."
The exchange was cool, but had a current of suppressed laughter with it, a
kind of amusement. Hermes shook his head despairingly. Laertes took this
opportunity to say, "Amy, I spoke to Hermes earlier. Xeones, the father of
the archer who you helped today, is my head shipwright. He will be repairing
your ship for you. The damage is bad, but believes it is within his
abilities to repair. It will take a few days."
"How many?"
Laertes' beard shook back and forth as the king turned his head. "Not sure.
The hole is bad, and needs to be caulked."
"I understand." *I hope its not too long. We can't stay here. We've never
been stuck anywhere for more than a day or two. Even with Elissa.*
Amy felt her stomach growl softly, demanding food. "If you'll excuse me.
I'm going to get some of that roast," with a polite smile, she left the men,
Hermes trailing after her a second later. Tightly, Amy asked him as he
reached her arm, "What are you telling these people? The hecatoncheries?"
"The...? Mentor told you that."
"Yes."
Hermes gave her the boyish, lopsided smile. "Don't worry about Mentor. He's
just baiting you."
"I know about Mentor."
Hermes gave her a calculating look, appeared to be ready to ask her a
question, then thought the better of it, and said nothing. "Well, I'll say
this for Ithaka. They make a great roast lamb," he gestured at the spit, a
whole rack of lamb spinning lazily over the open fire. "Wine?"
"I suppose. Is that all you drink here?"
"Pretty much," he poured her a bowl of the red liquid. "Unless you want
milk like the kids."
Amy took the bowl, wandering towards the harper in the corner. The lyre
sang softly into the night as the man strummed it. Sipping from the painted
bowl, she listened to the song.
"He sings like Orpheus," she murmured in an aside to Hermes.
He grinned and smiled. "That's who he's named for."
"Oh," she tilted her head, birdlike, half closing her eyes as she listened
to the melody. Without stopping the sound, a rich voice asked,
"You wouldn't happen to play, lady?"
Opening her eyes, she discovered it was the harper who spoke. Orpheus.
"Gomen...ah, I'm sorry, but...."
Pearly white teeth gleamed out at her from his olive skin. "Never play a
harp?"
*Well, technically speaking....but I'm not sure if the Mercury Harp
counts....*
Orpheus chuckled at the expression on her face. "Shyness will not help you
now!" he looked at Hermes for help. "Tell her she should try," he urged.
Hermes, who thought this would be an interesting experiment, mumbled to
her, "Give it a try. The worst that could happen is that you break the lyre.
Well, I guess the Muses could get really mad and go on a creative rampage,
but they're usually pretty docile."
Amy gave him a dirty look combined with a grimace. Now the listeners to the
harper were whispering amongst themselves, some encouraging Amy to try. "Go
on," Hermes gave her a push, taking the half-drunk bowl of wine from her
fingers. Amy stumbled into the circle.
"Um...I've never played a lyre...."
"It is similar to a harp. Just try."
The instrument was pushed gently into Amy's hands. Orpheus stepped aside,
standing in the shadows. Amy clutched at the wooden frame. *I don't know
what to do!*
She stumbled awkwardly to the seat Orpheus had just vacated, arranging her
skirts around her nervously. *What am I supposed to sing? I don't know any
of their songs. And most of the stuff I know isn't exactly something you
sing with a lyre, of all things. Can I even do this?*
Some of the observers had a request. "Something from your land! Something
new!"
She ran her hands across the strings, hearing them chime against the touch
of her hand. *Maybe...I can try. And the worst is that I make a complete
baka of myself.*
Hands strumming against the strings, Amy began to pluck out a timid melody,
letting it swell up under her command as she summoned it. *It's that flowing
sound again....* As the sounds began to vibrate across the air, her touch
grew more certain, as the tide of water within her grew.
"When the dark wood fell before me
and all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone."
She was uncertain where she had learned this song. Perhaps she had heard it
on the radio once, or had it buried on some CD she had not listened to in
years. But as the water welled up within her, the sounds and song fell to
her tongue as though she had rehearsed it since she was born.
"I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars."
Her delicate, glassy voice was that of a polished lake, a flowing series of
words and sounds that drifted quietly though the laughter of the people in
the courtyard. A sad song, sung sadly, casting a spell on its listeners as
the words fell from this traveler's lips.
"Then the mountain rose before me.
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire."
Fire and ice, so separate, so balanced. Her own quiet and steadiness
opposite that of her fiery friend. It seemed to her, that sometimes, she was
the only one who was shy of them. Setsuna, perhaps, but that was more
withdrawn that quiet. Hotaru, perhaps, but that was for the sadness of the
burden she carried. So similar to Setsuna's it seemed sometimes.
"Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars."
Certainly they shared a path. All of them. Circles of time and space,
wheeling around each other. What once was would come again. What was soon to
happen would happen. And another chance would be given to those who would
die. But she wondered how lonely that path could be. There were others with
her. Yet despite this, did she not always keep to herself?
"Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares."
So much pain. So much loss. All to come. To change it? No, for that would
take any hope for the future. The dreams that settled now in the darkness of
the moon that lay hidden by the earth's shadow above them. The fears that
would be realized. The end. And the beginning.
"Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Please remember me
Please remember me...."
And yet, do not. For if any of you do, then how will history be altered? But
do listen to my words. Take them at warning. Hold to hope. We may suffer,
but those times are balanced with good, are they not? In darker night,
brighter stars. In greater fear, greater courage. In greater hate, greater
love. The dark moon always gives birth to a full moon. The tides always
sweep back out to sea. The waters always calm. And so we survive....
Her hands stilled on the strings, fading them into silence.
"Excuse me...." she stumbled up and away from the circle, passing the lyre
to Orpheus, who was wide eyed with watchfulness. "Excuse...." Amy stepped
around the watchers, lifting the hem of her skirt to avoid tripping.
"Ames?"
She brushed past Hermes, leaving him and the listeners to look after her,
disappearing into the shadows.
Into the hallways of the palace she stumbled, pressing a hand against the
baked mud wall, feeling the roughness of the plaster against her fingertips,
felt the flaws in the smoothness catch against her nails. Sconces lit tiny
sunsets onto the walls, shadows rippling around her as she passed. She
wandered down the hallway that she believed led to her room. The images of
the gods and goddesses lined the hallway, Selene still smiling from her
place on the Moon, Artemis ever frozen mid-strike. At the crux of doorways,
Amy looked down the passage that led to her room. Then she turned the other
way, walking softly towards the archway, graced by the blank stare of the
Medusa.
*And I took the road less traveled by....*
She leaned around the corner of the archway, looking past the starlit
square on the floor, let in by the opposing window. Peering, she stepped
within, her footsteps padded in the silence. Before her stood a carved oaken
statue of a woman. Her hands were out, palm up, lips turned in a half smile,
eyes focused evenly on the space before her. A dully embered brazier glowed
before the figure, slender reed punks floating out of one side. Candles,
thick still, though half melted, lined the space before the carved image of
the goddess. The powerful scent of sulfur sliced on the edge of her senses.
Hand still resting around the Medusa, Amy stepped closer to the brazier,
touching absently the brooch's snaky locks. As she recognized a similar
adornment on the breastplate of the statue, her grip tightened around it.
*It is Athena. I suppose that makes sense. Athena protected Odysseus so
much. It may be fitting that there is a shrine to her here.*
Lazuli eyes met the faded embers of the bronze brazier, flames reflected in
the ocean's colors.
"Do you pray to her, traveler?"
Amy's eyes flicked from the coals to the carved, bemused face of the
grey-eyed goddess. "Did you follow me, Anticleia?"
The older woman moved into the room, carrying a candle in one hand, a tray
of bread and wine in the other. "I came to leave an offering to her,"
setting the tray down at beside the brazier, Anticleia stood beside Amy, two
sets of eyes focused on the figure before them. Anticleia tightened her red
shawl around her shoulders. "You are not betrothed to that man you are
with."
It was a statement, not a question, and Amy heard it. *So she does know. I
suppose it was only a matter of time.* "No," she replied to Anticleia. "How
am I supposed to explain?"
"Don't."
At that, Amy looked at the woman beside her, meeting the gaze that was
already settled on her. Anticleia's lips were quirked ever so slightly
upward, traces of amusement apparent on her face. Anticleia lifted a finger
to her lips, letting the smile broaden. The candle she still held in her
hand carved shadows into the curves of her face, highlighting the smile. Amy
blushed again. *I have no idea what she is thinking. But I know that she
will not say a word of it to anyone.* "Thank you."
The sharp nod came from Anticleia, who refocused her gaze on the goddess.
"Answer me this, Amy. You wear her symbol. What do you know of the Athena?"
"Goddess of wisdom. And warfare. Handicrafts."
"That is all?"
With a feeling that she was somehow disappointing Anticleia, she let her
head hang, looking at the polished floor of the room. A hand tightened
around her chin, forcing up her head to meet the fierce hawkish gaze. "You
were never taught? Never told?"
*Is there something I should have been...?* Amy's blank expression was
enough to give Anticleia her answer.
"Ay, Amy. The Medusa. She is the Athena."
Confused, Amy shook her head, breaking away from Anticleia's gaze. "The
same? How can they be the same? Perseus cut off Medusa's...."
"And gave it to Athena, as the story goes, does it not?"
"Yes."
"Stories are important, Amy. They tell us who we are. Define us as a
people, a culture, a way of life. But new legends are layered on older ones,
as in the case of Perseus. Who wrote his tale? Men...or women? The snake
haired face has long represented a warning. The warning that it is the
secrets of women's wisdom.
"Do you know of her origin? Where the Ath-enna came from?" At Amy's
continued silence, Anticleia set down her candle, then turned to the
brazier, blowing on it gently, breathing it back to life. Flames swelled up
between the coals, and Anticleia lifted a punk from its resting place, the
tip burning brightly. She began to light the candles, steeping the smell of
sulfur in the room. "The smell. It is Athena's, the smell of purification,"
Anticleia breathed it in deeply for a moment, then pulled away, saying,
"Her birthplace is Libya. She is the daughter of Metis, and forms a triple
goddess with her. Ath-enna, Metis and the Medusa. Athena's name means that
she is born from herself, three goddesses, aspects of one. Three cut facets
to the same jewel. It is a common enough triad among the mythos. The Gorgon
is the Destroyer aspect of their being. Their power is one in the same. That
is why Ath-enna wears the aegis. It is a symbol of herself.
"Some say that Ath-enna sprung from the head of Zeus. Some care to
interpret that as men giving birth to knowledge. But others..." at this,
Anticleia took on a crafty smile, lifting a finger to linger at her lips.
"...believe that she is the feminine wisdom within man. It is a personal
choice to believe."
*One in the same...how can that be? A symbol of herself?*
Anticleia was now taking up her candle again, the flame licking at the air.
"Think on my words, traveler. You may need them, I believe." Anticleia
pulled the shawl from around her shoulders around her head, draping it. She
turned a corner of the red fabric over her mouth, disguising her smile. Then
in a flicker of candlecast shadow, she ghosted from the room.
Amy spun to look again at the carved oak figure before her. *If that is
true, then why did Athena allow Medusa to be beheaded by Perseus? Did it
even happen, then? Gods. I'm beginning to wonder about their reasoning
skills. Even one so well known for intelligence as Athena. Then again, I'm
not her. She's helped me so far. Maybe there is more to it than even
Anticleia knows.*
She lifted a punk herself, and wrinkled her nose at the pungent odor the
candle released as she lit it, faint whorls of smoke cresting up to the
ceiling. "Athena? Can you hear me?"
"Speaking to a goddess now?" A heavyset figure lumbered into the archway,
steely eyes glinting in the firelight. "Gods don't often respond, girl."
"Hello, Mentor. I was waiting for you, Athena."
Mentor's flesh pocketed eyes twinkled mischievously. "Athena? You've been
drinking Laertes' honey wine! Do I look like a goddess?"
"Your eyes, Mentor. And tales of when I am from."
Mentor let out a loose chuckle, low and deep, that lightened as he stepped
into the room, the years and age shedding from him like water, revealing the
white robed Athena. She smiled faintly, the moonlit eyes gleaming in the
candlelight. She stared at the statue of herself, an eyebrow arching
gracefully. "A reasonable likeness in stance, if not physical
characteristic," she appraised dryly. She breathed in the sulfuric air.
"Strong, is it not?"
"Very. Is what Anticleia told me true?"
"About my Mother and Medusa?"
"Your Mother and Medusa. The way you say it...it is true, isn't it?"
Athena Hope of Soldiers let a faint smile form on her lips, playing across
her high cheekbones and uplifted chin. "Belief is an odd thing, Amy. What
one believes, another may not. Does it make the other wrong, if two beliefs,
tightly held, oppose one another?"
"It can."
"Under certain circumstances, I suppose. But generally?"
"Why are you here, Athena? Watching Odysseus? Or Hermes and I?"
A puzzled frown met Amy's questioning look. "Odysseus? A clever boy,
surely. But why would I pay especial attention to him?"
*Maybe that was a bit too much to say. But, if she wasn't...she certainly
will....* "As you say, he is very clever. You may find that you like him."
"Truly? Odysseus? His mother has certainly been loyal enough to me. Perhaps
I will watch him more closely. As to you and Hermes, it appears that you are
getting along better than I expected."
Amy fought another flush. *If this about the betrothed thing....*
Reading her expression, Athena let a soft chuckle escape her. "Ah, Amy. I'm
not here to tease you. Hermes knows my disguises. He's quite good at them
himself. But I did want to say that you should speak to Odysseus. He is, as
I said a moment ago, a clever boy. When he turns that intelligence to the
military arts, as all boys must, who knows where it may lead him?"
"Military....?"
The grey-eyed goddess stepped away from Amy, turning, still smiling
faintly. A string of stars pulled down her body, each a tiny nova of silver
light. She turned her moonlit steel eyes to the window, and her body grew
smaller. As the crystalline light brightened, Amy drew a hand to her eyes to
block some of the brightness. When she looked again, a snowy owl flapped her
wings once, as in experiment, then glided with the silent stealth of all
raptor birds out into the star strewn night.
*'The one who will be the clever tactician will point the way.'
'Find him, and find the path to Poseidon.....'
The Graeae said the one who will be the the 'clever tactician' will point
the way. Athena.... Odysseus....a clever boy. She speaks of Odysseus. The
war at Illium. The Trojan horse. Clever, subversive. A battle tactic that
will be renowned for centuries. Odysseus. It is Odysseus!*
"Odysseus," she breathed once before turning to run from Athena's shrine.
*Were I him, where would I go during a feast such as this?*
Through the labyrinth of hallways she flew, her skirts rippling around her
as she sped across the tiles. Outside she went, slowing herself to a walk.
The ringing sound of voices in song reached her from beyond the wall of
Ithaka, the laughter and the strumming of Orpheus' lyre. From the shadows of
the shrubbery, she heard a woman's laugh, accompanied by a man's as she
stumbled out from the bushes, being chased. A sentry shouted down at them to
quiet themselves, to which they paid no attention, running and laughing all
the louder for their reprimand.
Amy's eyes crinkled as she watched their silhouettes meld into the
treeline. Brought back to her current problems by a buffet of wind, she
turned to the wall, moving along it, a dusky specter in the reddish light
cast from above.
She found him where she had half expected, alone, away from the sounds of
the feast within. He had settled himself on a boulder, a small fire
crackling steadily before him as he scratched the ears of Argos, his hound,
whose head was resting in his master's lap.
"May I join you for a moment?"
If Odysseus was surprised, he did not start at her voice, but lazily turned
his head to her, shrugged, and gestured at the stone beside him. "He won't
be jealous?"
"Hermes?" Amy laughed as she folded herself into a sitting position,
leaning back. "He's not my keeper."
Odysseus's eyebrows lifted, then melted into a grin. "Hungry?" Without
waiting for her reply, he picked up a slice of roast lamb, pushing the plate
at her. She accepted it gratefully, picking it up with her fingers, since
there was no silverware. *I was going to get food...then I
got...distracted...by singing. Ah, this is delicious.*
Amy looked out across where they sat. The palace was settled atop a cliff
wall, set several lengths back. They sat close to the protective hulk of the
building, the expanse of ground not so long before dropping into the
midnight expanse of the Ionian. It was rocky, but wild grasses cropped out
of the cracks.
"You came to see me?"
Amy swallowed, wiping her lips with her fingers delicately. "I wanted to
meet you."
"We already met," Odysseus replied, the kindness that had been in his voice
when offering the food gone.
*He thinks I want something. Well, I suppose, in a sense, I do.
Information. But he may not even know it specifically. I don't even know
what I'm supposed to be asking. Any of the others would be better at
flirting with a guy. Okay, he IS a year or so younger than me, but still.
Then again, who says I need to flirt? I'm Amy, not Mina! Hm. Let's see. I,
Amy Mizuno, matching wits with Odysseus of Ithaka. As with Elissa, chess.*
Odysseus was waiting for her to continue. "I know. But I wanted to thank
you. For saving Hermes and I. You're a wonderful shot with that bow."
"It was my grandfather's. Autolycus. No one but I may string it."
"Take care of that bow. It will be needed."
"Oh? When?"
Amy gave him a delicate smile. "When you return home."
"I am home."
Amy laughed lightly, setting down the plate. "Ithaka will always be your
home. Remember that."
Odysseus was giving Amy an appraising look. *He thinks I'm some sort of
oracle now. Well, I suppose I am, telling his future, obscure as it sounds.*
Odysseus was running in his mind, attempting to understand what Amy had
told him. What she had suggested to him. "Why would I leave home? A war?"
"A great war."
"Will it be glorious?"
*Is any war glorious?* "As glorious as any war," she said instead.
Seemingly satisfied with this answer, Odysseus nodded much in the way of
his mother. He looked to the sea. "I've always wanted to sail. Not just
around here. Far away. To the Hellespont, maybe. Then come back, bringing
gold and glory for Ithaka."
*Maybe if I phrase this right....* "Poseidon's realm is a dangerous one.
How do you know you will return?"
"Poseidon doesn't scare me," Odysseus told her stiffly, leaning back
against his boulder, folding his arms behind his head. "No god scares me."
*Heroic boast. That is going to cause you trouble, later.* "I'm glad to
hear it. Poseidon makes the water roads difficult for travelers. He's always
busy stirring up some storm. Never takes a rest."
"Never!" Odysseus scoffed, snorting dismissively. "Stirring up storms is
such hard work," Odysseus seemed to reconsider his words after a moment,
thinking. "But Poseidon is powerful. God of the seas. All Hellenes rely on
him for safe passage. Anger him, and your ship sinks. But when he's
happy....he drives his chariot across the waters, making them still and
smooth behind him. A good strong wind for sailors, sending them on their
way." Odysseus shrugged, sitting up again, disturbing Argos, who whined,
getting a good scratching for it.
"Where does Poseidon go when he's in one of those good moods? Just out for
a drive?"
Odysseus gave Argos a pat on the neck, then released him, popping an olive
into his mouth. "He's a god. He can go anywhere. But...father once told me
that his favorite city is Aegae. That the people pay him tribute there."
*Aegae. That's an...Achaean city, if I remember correctly. In the
Peloponnese. Then....*
"That's not so far from here."
"No. Past Myrsinus, through the strait to the east."
Amy sat up, leaning towards Odysseus. "Do you follow Poseidon? Is he your
god?"
Surprised at her sudden vehemenence, Odysseus was taken aback, but
recovered quickly, saying, "Not specifically, but all Hellenes respect...."
Amy cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Odysseus. You said your mother
follows Athena, didn't she?"
"Well, yes...."
"Listen to her," with that, Amy stood, shaking bits of grass from her
skirt. "Poseidon is easy to anger."
"And Athena isn't?" Odysseus sounded bemused now at the stranger's advice.
"Athena will give you what you want. Glory and fame for Ithaka," and with
that, she turned and left, disappearing into the shades of darkness and
firelight on the wall.
Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides: above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumbered and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant fins the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by men and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.
-"The Kraken"
By: Alfred, Lord Tennyson
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