Chapter Text
Hades and his servants took the food away, and after Polites whispered a tearful goodbye to the sheep, he came close, and grinned at his friends. Odysseus marveled at his capacity to switch moods like that, and reached out with one hand to take his friend by the shoulder.
“That was exciting,” Polites said. “I’d never talked to a god like that before.”
“It was very brave,” Odysseus said, ruffling the smaller boy’s curly hair. “I’m proud of you.”
Eurylochus rolled his eyes, but he did relax a little as they set Cassandra and Asterion down and sat in a circle on the plush carpet, near where Hermes and Athena had taken seats at the table.
Hades’ skeletal servants prepared a surprisingly good feast out of the rations and the sheep, but Odysseus could barely taste his food for the anticipation knotting his stomach. He made small talk with his friends, but mostly just kept quiet, his mind on the path ahead of them. That voice that had echoed in his mind, and the nightmare he’d had. What were Kronos’ plans for him? Was he just walking his friends into danger again? Was Eurylochus right? Could they ever get home?
He had to try.
After the meal, the crew and the gods pushed the table out of the way and laid out bedrolls, lining them up neatly in the cavernous hall. The panels of colored glass dimmed obligingly as the gods retreated from the room, going off somewhere else.
Did gods ever sleep? Odysseus wondered again, but Athena shook her head when he tried to follow them.
“Get some rest, little one,” she said. “Be patient. It takes a long time to get to Tartarus. One night won’t make too much of a difference.”
Odysseus returned to his crew, and looked over the tidy rows of bedrolls and blankets.
“At least we don’t have to worry about rain?” Someone said, and a dutiful chuckle rippled through the room, and Odysseus forced a smile. There were 48 of them, less than a tenth of his original fleet. He hoped that the others had all made it home.
“Come on, Ody,” Polites said. His friends had all piled onto a pair of bedrolls tied together, and there was space for him in the middle, but Odysseus begged off.
“What if I wake you guys up with another nightmare?” he said. “I’ll sleep on my own.”
Polites looked concerned, but Eurylochus held him back as Odysseus selected an empty space, and curled up alone, wrapping a blanket around himself tightly.
“Come here, Asterion,” he heard Polites say to the toddler, who was playing nearby. “You can sleep by your uncle Polites.”
“Noby—” The little boy mumbled, looking at Odysseus with huge eyes.
“Go with Polites,” Odysseus muttered, turning his back on his friends, feeling small as he gazed at that one mural with the thousand ships. He had to get everyone home. Closing his eyes, he forced his mind to still, focusing on his breaths until he finally fell asleep.
Odysseus did dream. He dreamed of sailing his ship down that glowing river through the dark, without any gods to guide them. He dreamt of a man whose eyes were covered, yet he looked right at Odysseus. Right through him.
“Do you know what path you’re on?” he asked.
Then he was home, and the palace was dark. There was a bow in his hands and a man he didn’t recognize lay across the table, his hands at his throat, choking on an arrow which pierced his windpipe. Had Odysseus done that? No one else was armed. They fled from him, shadows in the dark. His shadow grew above them.
The man’s blood flowed across the floor, rising like a river, until it was above Odysseus’ knees, then to his waist, then he was drowning in a red sea. He tried to swim but his clothes weighed him down. He struggled with the cloak around his neck, but it twisted around him, tighter and tighter until he was held in a massive fist, and Poseidon’s face appeared before him, somehow different from the face he’d come to recognize—sharper—vast as the sea, yet Odysseus could see it clearly.
He couldn’t breath. He was dying…
Odysseus woke to find the room was still dark, and everyone was asleep. The glass murals were dim glimmers, barely visible. All around him, men snored softly, though a few grunts and whimpers told him that he wasn’t the only one suffering from bad dreams. The gods had not returned, and everything was still and quiet.
A light at the end of the room caught his eye, and Odysseus stood to see the old man from before, holding a lamp made of metal twisted around a globe of frosted glass. He stepped clear of his bedroll and was interrupted by a small hand grabbing the leg of his trousers near the knee. Odysseus looked down to find Cassandra.
“What are you doing awake?” he whispered.
“I must come with you,” she whispered back. “Something is not what it seems to be.”
“Okay,” Odysseus took Cassandra’s hand, and the two walked toward the light.
“Hello Cassandra?” the old man said, smiling down at her.
“I know you,” she said timidly, hiding behind Odysseus’ leg.
“Of course you do,” the man raised a finger to his lips, still smiling. “Come with me.”
“We’re not supposed to wander off,” Odysseus said slowly, glancing back at where his crew slept.
“Since when did you do what you’re told?”
Odysseus felt his hackles rising. The man was provoking him intentionally, a double negative. If he said no, he’d be playing into the man’s hands, and if he said yes he’d sound like he was just some plaything of the gods.
“Hermes said we would get lost,” Cassandra saved him, still speaking from behind his knees.
“We won’t go far, there’s someone you both need to meet.” The man looked down at Cassandra. “A seer, named Tiresias.”
Odysseus recognized the name. His father had told him stories, and other men in the Achean camp too. He’d led an interesting life as both a man and a woman, and then even a mouse. He’d seen many things, both past and future, and helped many people, and had even spoken with the gods regularly. He was also most certainly dead by now.
Beside him, Cassandra breathed in sharply, and squeezed Odysseus’ hand tightly.
“I thought prophecy didn’t work anymore,” she said. “I can’t see anything ahead of us.”
“That’s because it is behind you, my dear,” the old man chuckled and began to walk, passing through the doorway, humming softly. “But he can see different worlds, past and future, and he will be able to see the right past for you.”
“So you know we’ll get back?” Odysseus asked, jogging to catch up with the man’s longer stride, hefting Cassandra into his arms as he moved. For once, she didn’t protest.
“I know some things,” the man said. “Mostly hear-say, about the people you met, and islands you encountered. It’s all in the realm of myth, these days.”
“So you know what’s in that book that’s about us?”
“I wouldn’t put too much stock in it,” the man said airily. “The narrator is notoriously… unreliable.” He turned and winked at Odysseus. “Nobody knows the whole truth.”
Odysseus and Cassandra exchanged looks.
“Do you mean Nobody as in, nobody? or… as in…” Odysseus pointed at himself, and the old man chuckled again.
“That is entirely up to interpretation, isn't it?” He said. “We’re nearly there.”
Odysseus didn’t have time to be confused as they stepped through another doorway and found themselves outside in a courtyard bordered by the hedges of the enormous garden they’d sailed past earlier.
A fountain burbled gently in the center of the courtyard, and in front of it stood another man. It was difficult to tell his age, but he looked faded somehow, as if all the color had been washed out of his skin and clothing.
“Good luck, kiddo,” the old man said.
“Wait!” Odysseus called out, turning toward him, but he was already gone, the lamp sitting on the ground where he’d stood. “Who was that guy?”
“Nobody!” Cassandra tugged on the collar of Odysseus’ jacket. “His eyes!”
The man in front of the fountain was blindfolded, but he removed it as Odysseus turned, and that was where all the color had gone. His gaze struck Odysseus like light through a crystal, sending rainbow shimmers across the courtyard, vibrant and beautiful and maddening. The seer.
“You’re in the wrong world,” the man intoned with a melodic voice.
“How do we get back?” Odysseus asked, squinting against the light of the man’s gaze.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Tiresias replied. “This world is safe and peaceful. You could find happiness… your friends will not need to risk their lives.”
“Will they die?” Odysseus stepped closer. “If we go back?”
“There is a world where you leave death behind you on every island,” Tiresias said softly. “A trail of red across the sea, but there is danger in mercy, as well. It comes down to a choice. Your choice.”
“And if I choose to stay here?”
“Would you?”
Odysseus thought about it, but he didn’t have to think long. He shook his head. “No,” he said shortly.
“Then it doesn’t matter.”
“How can we get back?” Odysseus asked again. “That old man said you knew which path to take.”
“I know many paths, but you’re already set on this one, Odysseus. All you can do is go forward. Follow your heart, and perhaps you’ll make it home with your soul intact.”
“But—” Odysseus felt himself pouting. “That’s not very helpful at all.”
Tiresias closed his eyes and the lights went out. The sudden dimness made Odysseus blink.
“What are you willing to sacrifice, of yourself, of your men, to reach your home?” Tiresias asked, his eyes still closed.
Odysseus looked at Cassandra, who looked back at him, curiously, without any judgement or suspicion in her face. She trusted him, and he trusted her. When had that happened?
“I want to keep my men safe,” he said slowly, and Tiresias shook his head.
“I see through your lies, son of Laertes.”
“It’s not a lie!” Odysseus protested. “I do want—”
“If they stood between you and getting home?”
Odysseus fell silent.
“What would you sacrfice?” Tiresias asked again. “If it stood in your way?”
Odysseus grit his teeth. “Everything.”
Tiresias nodded. “Then face the Titan, and face yourself. You will find your path. Cassandra, may I speak with you?”
Odysseus set Cassandra down on her feet, and she stepped closer to the faded man, who knelt to her level.
“Cassandra,” he said, reaching out, but not quite touching her. “Do not doubt yourself. Your path is untread.”
“What will happen to me?” Cassandra asked in a small voice Odysseus could barely hear, though she hadn’t gone far.
“I’ve seen the path you would have been on, had you not gone with Odysseus. You would have been captured, and killed, still cursed. You have the chance to free yourself now. Don’t fear Apollo here, he can’t hurt you any longer. He is not the god you once knew.”
Cassandra nodded, but Odysseus saw her eyes welling up with tears.
“We should head back,” he said, clearing his throat, and reaching for Cassandra’s shoulder.
“Odysseus,” Tiresias intoned, turning the full force of his gaze on him once again. “A word of warning. Do not hide the boy’s identity for too long. The gods will make it known, and if Zeus is the one to tell him, the only response will be anger.”
“I’ll tell him when he’s old enough to understand,” Odysseus promised. “He’s too young now.”
Tiresias didn’t respond, but reached for his blindfold again. “Farewell, Odysseus. May we meet again… in the past.”
Then he was gone, like mist in sunshine. Cassandra clutched Odysseus’ hand tightly as they slowly made their way back into the palace, retracing their steps to the hallway where the crew slept.