Chapter 20-p3

19 1 0
                                    

The next thing Odysseus knew, he was standing 20 feet away, and his hands were empty. Hermes stood beside him, frowning.

"Nobody!" A voice called, and Odysseus looked up to see Cassandra coming toward them, her hands full of packages and bags. Behind her came Athena and Polites, the latter of whom was carrying even more packages. Cassandra had changed, her oversized tee was now a cropped shirt with a wide collar, in a brilliant shade of pink that practically glowed in the sunshine. On her legs she wore a slim pair of trousers in a sturdy beige fabric.

Odysseus was struck by the scene, which was so similar to Cassandra's first morning on his ship. But now, she smiled at him, her eyes clear, and her skin unblemished from injury or pain. She was still painfully thin, the weeks of low rations hadn't helped that, but, she seemed happy. Odysseus wondered if that had ever been true before.

"She seems happy here," he said to Hermes.

"You could all be happy here," Hermes said, his customary half-smile returning, but it wavered slightly. He was hiding something, something about that book. Odysseus swore to find out, as he glanced back at the "Sale" sign.

Cassandra and Polites caught up with them, and Hermes went to find Eurylochus, who was still harassing the spice-stall owner. Cassandra talked about the clothing choices, and Polites showed off his new glasses, thin, square-rimmed frames and glass lenses.

"Even the Egyptians couldnt have managed this," he said. "The craftsmanship of this world is amazing."

Odysseus' concentration slipped and he found himself tracing the hills. He knew where they were...

"That's great, Polites," he said, but his voice trailed off as his eyes found the spot high on the hill above them. An empty spot where a building should be.

His feet started moving before he was conscious of them. Soon he was running. He heard Polites call out to him, but the wind was whistling in his ears and he didn't catch the words. Every thought in his head had been replaced with a low buzzing sound.

He ran up the hill until his lungs burned and the muscles in his thighs ached. His feet slipped in their new canvas shoes, so he kicked them off, leaving them in the dirt of the road. It was a rough road, and there were only a few of the ancient markers still visible, but Odysseus knew the way like he knew the deck of his ship. He could have followed this path with his eyes closed and been as sure of his steps.

Nearly.

The road didn't quite follow the same path as it had before, and there were times he gave up on it, and plowed through the rough greenery, bushes and overgrown vines pulling at his shorts and at the shirt Hermes had given him. Stones cut his now-bare feet, but he kept running, until he reached a spot, not quite at the top of the hill, which had been cleared of trees and shrubbery.

The outline of what had once been a fine complex of buildings was traced out in the dirt, sometimes sunken, as if someone had dug out the foundations, and sometimes there were a few rows of stones visible above the ground, though few walls reached above knee height.

Odysseus walked along a dirt path that had once been a courtyard, staring at the ruins. His mind tried to fill in the gaps, but some of the buildings were in unusual places, not where they ought to be, as if someone had rebuilt something over top the original palace.

A fence blocked off a section near the hillside, where the walls stood a little taller, and he hopped it easily. An olive tree stood within a room there, twisted and ancient. Odysseus put a hand on its trunk, and looked over the ruins at the familiar view of the bay and the town.

This was Kronos' power. This was the demonstration of the ultimate destruction. Nothing had destroyed his kingdom except for the slow march of time. And now it stretched between him and his home. To be standing in his own house... separated from Penelope not by distance, but by thousands of years. He wondered where she was buried.

He sat beneath the tree, pulled his knees to his chest as if he were a small child, and wept.


Defying FateWhere stories live. Discover now