23. Odette

23

Odette

O dysseus was a hypocrite. Saying I wasn’t for sale. Yet, he would rather tie me to a fate he knew I did not want than care enough to let me go. If he had it his way, we would end up forever bound to the ocean, to Poseidon’s whims.

Not that he knew that. Instead, he thought he could keep me by his side indefinitely, another possession to control, another prize of war.

Aeolus may have been pompous, certainly conceited, but life with him would have been bearable. Odysseus could have returned to his wife, and I could have had a chance to start again. But no, he chose to keep me tethered to his desires, regardless of what I wanted. And now my vow would keep us shackled to this cursed voyage. If he continued to have it his way, we would be doomed to wander the waters indefinitely, but how could I tell Odysseus that?

I suppose I should have been grateful that he didn’t offer to sell me, that he didn’t see me as a commodity to trade anymore, if it hadn’t been entirely self-serving. I couldn’t deny that there were moments – fleeting, yet undeniable – when I felt something for him, certain he felt something for me, too. A connection, a bond forged in all that time spent in the tent together, the weight of war bearing down on us, the loneliness, the faint bitter taste of longing. But that didn’t stop me being trapped in this endless cycle, at the mercy of a man who could treat me as property.

I was sick of the sea. Sick of the endless spray of salt and the rocking waves. Sick of the aching solitude and the longing that tugged in my gut.

I needed to find a way out, and the only one I could see was sitting on Odysseus’ chest, his hand wrapped loosely around the Bag of Winds. The oil lamp in the corner of the cabin flickered over his sleeping face, softened by sleep. A stark contrast from the man I’d come to know in public. But even in his vulnerability, he still clutched the bag, the key to our fate, as if he knew I might take it.

I could not bargain any longer.

The thought of returning to Ithaca, to a life as one of Penelope’s maids … I shuddered with dread.

Odysseus was no longer a war hero, the war long over. Now he was just a man lost at sea. Perhaps Athena was done with her hero, and if she had abandoned him, why shouldn’t I?

I reached out, my fingers trembling as I pried the bag from his grasp. Luckily, he stirred but did not wake.

“It could take us far from Ithaca,” I murmured. “It could give us a chance together.”

Though what that chance would be, I had no idea. Freedom from the vow I had originally made? Just another form of enslavement under a different guise? Redemption, for both of us? I had no way of knowing.

I remembered Aeolus’ warning, his eyes seeming to gleam with mischief at me. What was it he had said? “Do not use the west wind.” As if he knew my vow, my wind , whispered across the ocean and could blow us off course. As if this wind could lend my words its power.

I carefully unthreaded the cord, the wisp of fabric almost deafeningly loud in the quiet of the cabin. I stopped, watching Odysseus and the rise and fall of his chest. Slow, steady, asleep.

I thumbed at the opening of the bag and a plume of air escaped, a faint breeze that carried the scent of distant lands and endless possibilities. It swirled around me before it slipped under the cabin door and out into the wide world beyond.

I glanced back at Odysseus, his rugged face still peaceful in sleep. He would hate me for this if he knew, but it was too late to change course now. Already I could feel the wave patterns beneath us begin to shift. I only hoped it would lead us somewhere – anywhere – other than Ithaca.

Come the morning, our course had shifted with the newfound wind, and I woke from a guilt-ridden poor sleep to the murmurs of the men outside the cabin, their voices filled with confusion and worry. Slipping quietly out the door, I made my way up to the main deck and saw Odysseus standing at the helm, his face set in grim determination as his eyes swept over the men gathered in uneasy clusters.

“Who opened the bag?” he demanded.

That voice – clear as a bell, yet deep and wooden – reminded me of all those moons ago when he’d found me wandering the Grecian camp. I’d been scared then, a powerless farmer’s wife who had no idea what to expect. I’d done a lot since then: dined with Greek kings and held my own in conversation, defeated the demons of my mind, stood toe-to-toe against the man in front of me, killed another, tasted power – true power – and yet, here I was, terrified again, my heart a wild staccato beat against my ribcage.

If he were to find out it was me …

I watched as Odysseus paced back and forth, his eyes flashing with rage as he assessed the crew. I had never seen him so angry before. Calm, calculated in his fury, yes – but never like this. The men cowered before him.

“It was supposed to be our salvation,” he growled. “Now, thanks to one of you, we're back to where we started. Who is responsible for this treachery?”

The men remained silent, their heads bowed in shame. I could see the tension in their shoulders, the way their hands fidgeted at their sides. They were terrified, and rightfully so. Odysseus’ rage demanded attention, the force of its nature a battering ram to everyone’s defences.

He seized one of the men by the collar, dragging him forward. “Was it you?” he demanded.

The man shook his head frantically, his eyes wide with terror. “It wasn’t me, my lord,” he stammered. “I swear it.”

Odysseus released him with a shove, turning his attention to another man. “And you? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

The second man shook his head as well, his voice trembling as he spoke. “No, my lord. I had nothing to do with it.”

And though the morning sun still reflected off the ocean, the temperature dropped as Odysseus looked out across the deck. “Cowards, the lot of you!” he proclaimed. “All too afraid to admit your mistake, and too weak to take responsibility for your actions.”

I shrank back further into the shadows as Odysseus’ footsteps clipped against the deck and back towards the cabin, towards me.

Just then, the ship lurched, and we all looked towards the horizon. In the haze of the morning mist, the silhouette of an island loomed. As we drew closer, and the men scrambled to adjust the sails to prepare for landing, I went to stand at the bow of the ship, gripping the wooden railing to get a better look. The haze gave way to what could only be described as a lush paradise, the dense forests cloaking the island in a mantle of green.

“What is this place?”

Odysseus came to stand behind me, his arms wrapping around either side of me, as his hands also gripped the railing.

I turned my chin to look at him, surprised at the closeness, but his eyes were studying the island. “I do not know.”

As he said that, for some reason unbeknownst to me a chill ran down my spine.

Eventually the ship came to a stop on the shore, and when we disembarked onto soft, lush grass with the faintest smell of fresh, recently watered earth, I felt a pulse, a beat, as if we had just alerted someone to our presence.

Some of the men, eager to prove their loyalty, or perhaps to lessen Odysseus’ anger towards them, decided to go ahead and scout for food and shelter. The place was rich with the scent of pines and wildflowers. We could even see wide meadows that stretched out under the clear, azure sky, and I could hear the insects buzzing – a network of nature at work. There would surely be a freshwater source and at the very least, fresh fruit for us to graze on. After all, there was still plenty of food from Aeolus stored on the ships.

Yet, hours passed and still the men did not return. There would be only hours left again before the world went dark. Anxiousness wrapped itself like an old coat around those of us left behind.

Even Odysseus’ concern grew palpable, until he eventually said, “I’ll go find them. Sit tight.”

He stalked off into the forest, the dense foliage swallowing him whole until there was nothing left to do but wait.

The dimmer the day got, the more time dragged on, the more paranoid I became that someone, or something, was watching us. There were only three guards left, and the women were but a small group of twelve, so easily outnumbered.

That’s when I noticed the eyes watching us from the bushes. Several pairs of glowing amber eyes.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I started making out their shapes. There were wolves, lions, even cows. “That’s strange …”

No one answered me. Why would a cow be so close to something that could kill it? Why weren’t the predators attacking it? If anything, the creatures all seemed wary of us, and yet seemingly wanted to get closer to us, to the fire. I continued to watch them stalk around the perimeter, edging closer, only to scurry back into the shadows when they thought one of the guards would spot them.

Did they want warmth? Is that what they were seeking?

They moved strangely, with a grace and unnatural intelligence that said they knew exactly who we were and how they would be treated. They treated each other with care, too, which was more unsettling than anything else I had seen.

Suddenly, there came a rustling from the jungle surrounding us, and I was sure the creatures had finally come to some sort of consensus, that they were now ready to act, to attack us, when Odysseus emerged from the trees.

“What happened?” I asked as he strode past me and directly up to one of the guards. They murmured together for a moment before the guard nodded and went off to share whatever necessary information with the other men. The women, as always, were ignored.

I stood, resettling my chiton around my legs and following after Odysseus who was now scrambling through the chest of supplies. He pulled out a small knife, then turned towards me. I saw the wildness in his eyes, the tension drawn across his face.

“Odysseus?”

Within two strides he was in front of me, firmly grabbing one of my bare shoulders and forcing me to kneel on the ground.

“What are you doing? Why are you doing this?” I tried, gods knew I tried, to keep the terror out of my voice.

But when his answer came, it did nothing to assuage the fear in me.

“This is the island of Aeaea, home to the witch Circe. She does not fear men, nor will she tolerate your presence. I have to protect you,” he murmured, as he began cutting my hair, the sharp blades slicing through the strands.

I tried to shake my head, but he held me firmly as he continued cutting, until it felt like he wasn’t cutting hair but parts of my very being, any last source of the woman I once was dying as the strands fell into my hands.

Only when I saw splashes of water appear beside them did I realise I was crying. “Why?” I whispered.

“She has turned the men to pigs. The creatures you might have spied around here are no creatures, but humans she has tamed to her hand. I can only imagine what she might do to a woman she would see as a threat.”

I was quiet for a moment. The only sounds were those of the other women crying around us, as the men did the same to them. “Perhaps she just sought to protect herself from the men. Perhaps this is an unnecessary measure …”

“You did not see what I saw, Odette. I am doing this to keep you safe.” He paused, his eyes locking with mine. “I can’t lose you.”

His confession hung in the space between us, and I searched his eyes, half expecting him to elaborate, when a voice interrupted, dripping with curiosity and amusement.

“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”

I turned to see a woman standing at the edge of the forest clearing where we had gathered, her presence an unmistakable otherworldly power.

Circe.