Location: Temple of Athena, Ithaca
Time Remaining: 11 Months 7 Days
Three weeks after Hermes flew into Aeolia and announced his master’s plan, his own grandson, Odysseus, came to Athena's temple in Ithaca. He stood uncomfortably before the massive statue at its center. It wasn’t the largest effigy of Athena ever created, not by a long shot. Ithaca was a small island in the Ionian sea, northwest of Kefalonia. It was prosperous, but that prosperity was largely manifest in its fishing. Fishing was good business – even when the crops of the larger nations withered with drought, there were always fish to be had. It had even become the basis for Ithaca’s (unofficial) national motto. Still, while the people ate better than most achaens, they didn’t have the means or know-how to construct the great structures the other Greek cities took so much pride in.
While Athena’s statue was modest in size, the graceful curves of her robes and the stoic expression carved into the white marble face were a testament to both the sculptor’s mastery of his craft and his devotion to his faith. Ordinarily, Odysseus would have studied the statue critically, analyzing the creator’s artistic choices and trying to guess the nature of the man behind the work. Tonight, however, was different. The torches that lit the temple made the statue look larger, more imposing, and somehow more inspiring than during the day, when the sunlight filtered in through the bronze-framed windows. Perhaps it was also the absence of anyone else in the temple that made the statue more awe-inspiring to Odysseus than usually. With worshippers and priests alike turned into their beds for the night, the temple was silent save for the crackling of the torches and the sound of Odysseus’s own breath echoing against the marble walls.
Odysseus felt incredibly self-conscious – prayer was not something he did except when social convention demanded it. He prided himself on self-sufficiency and independence. He had always been skeptical about whether the gods existed, and he never really believed that any gods that did exist answered the prayers of mortals. Penelope had asked him to seek some form of divine intervention, though, and he was bound to uphold the promise he’d made to the woman he loved, regardless of how ridiculous it felt. Fortunately, he hadn’t promised her he’d come to the temple during the day and prostrate himself in front of the general public. He’d come here to pray alone, to avoid embarrassing himself – strange then, that he still felt awkward going through with it. Perhaps on some level he did believe that the gods were watching him and judging.
With great reluctance he began, “Oh... great Athena, goddess of wisdom and… and…” Odysseus struggled to think of something clever. His wit and skill with words were legendary in his family, but the sort of superficial humility he could ordinarily muster failed him right now. Odysseus sighed, “Look, I don’t imagine you’re going to listen to anything a guy like me has to say, but… just in case, here’s the story.”
Odysseus began pacing in front of the statue as he tried to collect his thoughts, “There’s this Spartan girl – Penelope – and… well… you know everyone talks about finding a ‘smart match’ or a good arrangement, and ordinarily I’d like to think I make fairly smart decisions, but… when it comes to her I don’t care about what’s smart. I feel... I feel an intensity of affection for her that goes beyond lust. I want to come home to her at the end of every day; I want to grow old with her and to raise children together. She’s beautiful, yes, but she’s also smart and she has this dry wit that’s just… and I cannot abide the idea of her being married off to some ogre of a man like Agamemnon. Nor can she, so she asked me to ask the gods for help…”
Odysseus was startled by the arrival of a large owl. Rationally, Odysseus knew the door to the outside was open, and that the birds were completely silent in flight, so there was nothing supernatural about the owl’s sudden appearance. But then it gracefully landed on the statue’s marble shoulder, and looked at him with its piercing yellow eyes. Birds were often said to be messengers of the gods, and the owl was said to be Athena’s favorite winged creature.
“Hoo,” the owl cried in the temple. The low note sounded amazingly loud in the quiet building.
Odysseus smiled and laughed to himself, “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I am Odysseus, son of Laertes and future king of the tiny island of Ithaca.”
“Hoo?” the owl cried again.
“You mean you haven’t heard of me?” Odysseus feigned disappointment, “I suppose a lesson in humility may be well deserved…”
“Not today, Odysseus,” a voice boomed in the temple. Odysseus looked up at the statue and saw it tilt its head, its face shaping into an expression of amusement. “I have no need of humble men.”
“The statue… speaks…”
The same voice, at a more reasonable volume came from behind him, “Technically it does not.” The tall, pale woman waved her hand and the statue returned to its stoic self, “but I thought I needed a dramatic introduction, or we’d spend the rest of the night contending with your admirable but inconvenient skepticism.”
“You… you made it move and… spoke through it?”
“I like to make an entrance,” the woman said, “I can continue the puppet show if you wish to marvel further at my parlor tricks, but I assumed you’d be more comfortable speaking face to face.”
“You’re… you’re… my god…”
“Yes, exactly. Was this not what you hoped for? An audience with the mighty Athena?”
“I didn’t think you’d actually… but I promised…”
“And you pursued a course of action you believed futile and embarrassing just to honor that promise?”
“Yes… I suppose so.”
“Good,” Athena said, “An honorable man is a dependable man.”
Odysseus suddenly realized that he’d been so awestruck by the power radiating from the woman that he’d forgotten even the most basic pretense of decorum. He dropped immediately to his knees. It made little difference to the woman – she was more than half-again Odysseus’s height – and she ignored the gesture as she strode past him to the altar and began snacking on the offerings there. Odysseus looked at her, dumbfounded.
“What?” Athena said as she picked up a handful of grapes, “That’s what they’re there for, aren’t they? It would be a shame to see good fruit go to waste.”
“We were always told you lived off ambrosia and the aroma of burnt offerings…”
“Sustained by burnt offerings? What a terrible way to live.” Athena picked up an apple and tossed it to him, “On your feet. Talking to you like this just feels ridiculous.”
Odysseus stood; struggling to regain his composure, he took a bite of the apple she’d given him, as much to relieve nervousness as for any other reason. “I apologize, your… holiness? I don’t know how to properly present myself before… a goddess.”
“For the sake of time, let’s assume that I’m not a petty narcissist, and won’t be offended by the trivialities of good manners masquerading as civilization.”
Odysseus looked puzzled, “What’s a narcissist?”
“One who is like Narcissus.”
“I’ve never heard of him…”
“You will. The point is I’m not so thin-skinned that I’m going to turn you inside out for using the wrong titles.”
“… Can you turn a man inside out?”
Athena smiled coyly, “More easily than you can.”
Odysseus felt something inside him turn – apprehension was suddenly eclipsed by curiosity, “Did you actually make the statue move?”
“You saw it with you own eyes didn’t you?”
“But a man’s eyes and ears can deceive him, and surely fooling either would be easier for you than giving life to cold marble?”
Athena popped another grape in her mouth, clearly pleased by his questions, even if she was disinclined to answer them. “Tell me, young Odysseus - if you are seeking the gods’ help because you’re in love, why come to the goddess of strategy? Surely Aphrodite or Hera would be more inclined to intervene on your behalf?”
“Well, Penelope and I are already in love, so why ask Aphrodite to aid us? And we’re a good fit – I’m sure we don’t need Hera to intercede in our marriage for it to work. Provided we can get married, I’m sure we’ll be happy. I find myself unusually bereft of good sense, though. My reasoning is completely eclipsed by my feelings, so who better to turn to than the goddess of logic and wisdom?”
Athena smiled, “That in itself seems like wisdom, doesn’t it? A good offering for someone like myself.”
There was a long pause, and then Odysseus began making promises, “I’ll sacrifice three goats if you help us get her father’s blessing.”
“Three whole goats?” Athena looked at him with feigned shock.
“Something larger? A cow? An ox? Two oxen – I’ll find two oxen and sacrifice them to you.”
“And then I’d have two dead oxen. Considering I’m a vegetarian, they’d be of even less use to me than to you. No, what I want from you is far more valuable than any livestock – I want a favor.”
“A favor?”
“My dear Odysseus, you’re the smartest man in Greece who can also use a sword competently, and who can be trusted to make good on his word, even when reason tells him it’s foolish. That makes you a valuable commodity.”
“What can I possibly do for you?”
“Many things which I cannot be seen doing myself, lest I draw unwanted attention.”
“I take it Olympus has its own politics? Just like Ithaca?”
Athena smiled slightly, “You and I have more in common than you imagine, young prince. For better or worse, we are products of our upbringing.”
“Then what can the prince of Ithaca do for a princess of Olympus?”
“Perform a task for me and I will use my influence to delay any decision regarding Penelope’s matrimony. Perform another task for me, and I will help you close the deal with her father.”
“You want two favors, then.”
“Hm, perhaps ‘favor’ was the wrong word. Consider this first task an opportunity to impress me. Do well at it, and you’ll have another opportunity, and then another and another. Continue to serve my needs faithfully, and I will look over you and your future family.”
Odysseus struggled to reconcile the implications of that. Everyone hoped that the gods were on their side, but few sane men could say a goddess had actually come to them and promised to support and protect them in perpetuity. “Your offer seems… too generous.”
“I intend no deceit, Odysseus,” Athena said, “The tasks I will ask you to carry out will be arduous and dangerous. Anything I give you in return, you will have earned with sweat and blood. Do we have a deal?”
“If I serve you loyally you will ensure Penelope and I wed, and that our marriage will be a prosperous one?”
“You have my word.”
Odysseus pounded a fist against his chest and bowed his head, “Then you have my word – whatever you ask of me, I will see it done.”
“Good. The deal is struck. In nine months’ time, King Peleus and Queen Thetis of Aeolia, will begin a six month celebration of their own wedding anniversary. Ordinarily, such events do not concern the gods, but Zeus fathered their prince, Achilles, and not only does he still have affection for Thetis, he wishes to reward Peleus for raising his son for him.”
“Seems like the least he could do,” Odysseus said.
“Perhaps – unfortunately, rather than simply blessing the celebration, he’s planning to attend in person.”
“And that doesn’t sit well with you?” Odysseus casually picked up another apple from the altar and began eating it, having all but forgotten his surroundings.
“There’s a reason we gods have scaled back our involvement in mortal affairs. My kin can be especially overconfident in their abilities and their judgments, and their actions often end up being heavy-handed, at best. Even when well intended and carefully executed, our interventions come with a price for your people. I believe that it is best for everyone if we keep our involvement… elegant. Subtle. If this sort of thing becomes a regular occasion, it could spell a great deal of trouble for your world.”
“So you want me to sabotage the party?”
“Peleus and Thetis have every right to enjoy the celebration, but I want to make sure that Zeus doesn’t. I want to offer him a reminder of why our kin do not mix with yours.”
“This sounds like a good way for me to make myself a lightning rod for Zeus’s wrath…”
“If you play your part well, no one need know you were involved in what I have planned. All you need to do is retrieve a particular item and deliver it to a particular person. They will take care of the rest.”
“Again, this sounds too easy.”
“Do you know where the Pillars of Heracles are?”
Odysseus laughed, “That’s the edge of the known world; few people have… Oh.”
“Your simple fishing boat won’t be able to get there and back again in time for the celebration, so I will have to make some changes to it. I don’t like using my powers that way, so don’t expect me to replace it if you misplace it. I will also provide you with maps that will guide you to your destination, but you will be responsible for mustering a crew and creating an excuse to set sail that does not involve me.”
“And when I get to the Pillars?” Odysseus asked.
“Your actual destination is a garden on the northwestern coast of Africa. You have two options for getting there. First, you can sail through the pillars into Oceanus, and then follow the edge of the world south. Second, you can moor your ship on this side of the pillars, and journey overland across the Atlas Mountains.” Athena held out a hand and her owl glided silently from the statue to her arm, “If you choose the latter course, Adresteia will lead you there. In my absence, you may follow her as you would me.”
“Follow the owl?” Odysseus asked, “I’m guessing she’s not an ordinary owl?”
“I love that you’re so perceptive.”
“… Was that sarcasm?”
“No, of course not,” the goddess said with a glint of mischief in her eye.
The owl lifted off of Athena’s arm and fluttered over to a nearby pedestal; when Odysseus looked back, Athena was gone. “Looks like it’s just you and me now, Addy. Now how am I going to explain you? Not many people walk around Ithaca with owls. Hunting falcons, yes, but not owls.”
Adresteia didn’t say anything in response, but with a little twist and a flutter of feathers she transformed into a large raptor. Odysseus was startled by the change – his life had become, suddenly, very strange.
“So, you understand what I’m saying, but you don’t know the difference between a falcon and an eagle…” Odysseus commented.
Adresteia’s eyes narrowed into a cold glare.
“Or you prefer to be an eagle. Okay, that’s fine. Close enough. You’ll draw some attention this way, but not nearly so much as an owl. At the risk of being insensitive, can magical animals talk?”
Adresteia rolled her eyes. The human thought she was just a bird. Fine, he didn’t need to know what she was yet.
“Well,” Odysseus said, “I guess it’s time to go pack.”
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