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Pallas Athena, grey-eyed goddess of war and wisdom, inventor of weaving and the crafter of schemes, proud and brilliant, was unsure of what to do with the doll that was being pushed against the palm of her hand.
Frowning, she curled her fingers away from the toy. She glanced down at the little girl who was sitting beside her. “That is yours. I have no need of it.”
“No one needs it,” Adara said. Her eyes, one dark hazel and one the same grey as Athena’s, glimmered with quiet humor. For a five-year-old, she was terribly clever. It ran deep in the family line that was both a constant joy and a frequent headache to the goddess of wit. “It’s for fun. You can have fun.”
“I’m busy observing,” Athena said, trying to turn her attention back to the palace’s private practice ring where Odysseus was teaching the stolen lion cub of Troy how to disarm an opponent. Why he insisted on training the boy who was destined to be a threat to his household, she would never understand. Wasn’t saving him enough? Nearby, Telemachus practiced with his bow. The speedy, precise way he released arrows was almost rhythmic.
Athena was invisible in case any servants or guards or other people who lived in the palace besides the royal family passed by, but such tricks did not work on a child who was god-touched like Adara. Her grey eye, the result of Athena’s interference in her possible fate as a babe, would always see through the goddess’ illusion spells as well as many other deities’ subterfuges. Which meant Athena was never left in peace when the girl was around.
She felt little cloth feet being walked over the back of her hand. “Dare, must you distract me? I’m trying to watch your brother.”
“Brothers,” Adara corrected.
Athena rolled her eyes. Kyriakos, once Astyanax, was Hector’s son, not Odysseus and Penelope’s, as much as they tried to claim him. Apollo, Zeus, and Poseidon all paid attention to the boy’s future. In truth, the gods of Olympus had a great interest in Odysseus and Penelope’s children and this interloper from Troy. Athena protected the two she cared for, the son and daughter of her often frustrating best friend, but eventually their destinies would be their own. All she could do was prepare them for the unknowns that laid ahead.
Adara made the doll perform a twirl and then set the toy down on the low wall that they were both sitting on. “I’ll get something else if you don’t like Stelios. Stay here.” Before Athena could insist that she not give a goddess orders, the child raced off, swift as a thought.
“She just wants you to play with her.”
Athena looked up as Odysseus dipped a ladle into a nearby bucket of water. He must have guessed she was there when he saw Dare speaking to thin air. Making herself visible, she took on the guise of a grizzled weapons trainer.
“She has playmates,” Athena said, her voice a rough grumble. “Let them entertain her.” She would not admit that she did not know how to play. When Telemachus had been young, she had been away at war with Odysseus and the Achaean armies. By the time she next saw him, he had been half-grown. Visiting while Adara grew up was an entirely new experience.
“It’s not entertainment she’s looking for, which you already know,” Odysseus said with a grin. He sipped at the water and then doused the rest of it over his head, cooling himself off. Rivulets of water ran over his bare shoulders and chest.
Odysseus’ insistence on companionship had been inherited by his and Penelope’s son and daughter. Athena didn’t understand it, but the children seemed to enjoy being around her and wanted her attention but not as her acolytes or worshippers or followers. For her part, she also liked talking to them. Young humans saw the world in ways that she didn’t. They brought a fresh, youthful, often unexpected perspectives.
On the other side of the training ring, Kyriakos-once-Astyanax was practicing the movements that Odysseus had shown him. Every time he wielded a sword, it was like seeing Hector reborn. For a moment, he met Athena’s gaze. He inclined his head toward her respectfully. She did nothing to acknowledge his existence.
Odysseus noticed where she was looking. He lifted his eyebrows at her. “You could be nicer to him. He’s only a boy.”
For now. She didn’t have to it say it. The unspoken words lingered there between them along with the will of the gods that Odysseus had thwarted. There would one day be a price, unless fate was somehow changed. That was doubtful.
Telemachus loped toward them, his bow and quiver of arrows sluing over his shoulder. “‘lo, Athena,” the youth said, his cheerful grin a touch weary from the practice session. After he set the weapons back on the nearby rack, he took the full ladle that his father held out to him with a quick word of gratitude. “What name are you going by today?”
“I don’t need a name in order to spar,” she said while he drank. She regarded the spears on the nearby weapons rack.
Telemachus hung the ladle from the hook on the bucket’s handle. “You’re sparring? I thought you were playing with Dare.”
“She hasn’t fully realized that she can’t get out of the game yet,” Odysseus said to his son, earning him a side eye stare from Athena. He grinned, undaunted.
Telemachus picked up the doll Adara had left behind. He rearranged the toy so that it was sitting against the water bucket. “You’re underestimating Dare’s stubbornness.”
As if summoned by her brother, the littlest wolf reappeared, feet barely touching the ground as she dashed into the practice ring. She was toting a small woven basket of toys. Her small smile was crafted out of hopefulness as she darted past her father and brother and right up to Athena. “I brought lots. You can pick.”
Athena lifted her chin. She would not play. She was not going to admit that she did not really know how. Born in the mind of Zeus, what remained of her mother had trained her in the art of war and knowledge. There hadn’t been much time for childish frivolities before she sprang fully formed from her father’s hard head. “What if we began your spear training instead?”
Adara looked thrilled but conflicted. “Oh—”
“Hold on, let’s wait,” Odysseus said, his smile fading into seriousness. “She’s still not old enough.”
“I can have an appropriately sized spear made for her.” Hephaestus would be amused with such a task. “A spear like none other.”
“In a good way,” Dare said, finding the possible loophole in Athena’s words. Athena smiled.
“Athena.” Odysseus reached out a hand and placed it on his daughter’s shoulder, drawing her back to him. “Not yet.”
Athena pursed her lips. They had this argument periodically. Adara, like Telemachus and Astyanax, had the weave of fate around her. She needed to be prepared, and Athena would not have her helpless and defenseless like so many princesses. Odysseus agreed, as did Penelope, but they disagreed with Athena on when the girl’s training should begin. If it was up to her, Athena would have put a spear in her hands the moment she started to walk.
Adara looked up at her father then nuzzled against his side as if to comfort him. Telemachus took a knee and peeked into the basket his sister had brought. “Let’s see…oh, perfect.” He dug a hand down in the basket and pulled out a small bag. Whatever was in it clattered as he gave it a shake. He grinned at Athena as he sat on the ground, drawing Adara down with him, tickling her side. She giggled.
Athena sat on the wall beside Odysseus, watching the pair as Telemachus opened the bag and poured out small wooden toy soldiers onto the ground. A second bag contained horses and wagons with working wheels and tiny chariots. The warm bond between this brother and sister was so different than the one she often shared with her own siblings. It was rare when they showed they cared for one another. They were not as free with their love as these children. She ignored the hint of an ache in her chest because goddesses were not jealous of humans.
When he had finished setting up opposing armies, Telemachus turned to Athena. “All right, we can play and learn battle strategy at the same time.”
“Have fun playing, Athena,” Odysseus teased, smirking at her as he ruffled Telemachus’ hair. He knelt for a moment and gave Adara a hug before he hefted a set of javelins and rejoined Astyanax.
Adara patted the ground beside her. “You can be on my side.”
Athena sighed. “I’m always on your side.”
Dare and Telemachus shared a smile as Athena sat down. She stiffened as Adara instantly climbed into her lap, nestling back against her chest. Sometimes she was certain they forgot she was, in fact, an Olympian. Adara was warm and snuggly and small, like a kitten who had chosen Athena. Sighing, Athena gestured to Telemachus. “All right. If you were making the first move and this was a valley and you had the high ground…”
Telemachus touched an archer. “A set of volleys? Perhaps from multiple angles?”
“Not the worst start.” She made an illusion of tiny arrows raining down on her and Dare’s army.
“And then there’s a giant owl and it flies down and it eats your archers,” Dare said with complete seriousness. Athena tilted her head to the side. What?
“A giant owl? It’s daytime,” Telemachus argued.
“It’s a special magic owl,” Dare said. “It likes sunshine.”
Athena expected Telemachus to argue, but he nodded. He knocked over one of his archers. “It can take out one of my archery units.”
“Wait. Who sent the owl? How did it get there? Where did it come from?” Athena asked, frowning.
Dare smiled. “My ‘magination. I made it up.”
“Your imagination can’t conjure a magic owl into an actual battle,” Athena said.
“But she could imagine a solution that no one else sees,” Telemachus countered, “And it’s just a game.”
“What are the rules?”
“There aren’t any,” Telemachus said.
Athena opened her mouth to protest but Dare patted her arm. “You can make up stuff, too. After Telemachus’ turn.”
Telemachus sent his vanguard into the valley while his remaining archers shot over their heads.
“We raise our shields and prepare to outflank you,” Athena said.
“And everyone on our side screams really loud at the same time and it’s ear hurting,” Adara said, “Your army gets afeared.”
Telemachus laughed as Athena half-smiled at how silly it was.
The game continued. At times, she could guide Adara and Telemachus in actual strategy, but others…mushrooms grew as tall as horses. An army of weasels from Telemachus’ side began to eat the provisions of Adara and Athena’s army.
Athena lifted a hand. Ghostly apparitions of new soldiers appeared to climb out from the ground. “I raise a skeletal army that has been hiding beneath the ground.”
Telemachus and Adara stared at her. Athena did not take back her statement. There were no rules. Then both of them smiled and began to talk at once.
“That’s so scary,” Adara said, “Everybody’s scared now.”
“I don’t know how to fight skeletons, that was a good move. Do they just fall apart when you hit them? Or can they put themselves back together?”
Silently pleased that her suggestion had been accepted as part of the game, Athena found herself enjoying the story they were weaving as their pretend armies fought an impossible but amusing war.