Aeolia

from the ship's log of Odysseus:

It has been a while since I was last able to write. Much has happened since then, almost none of it good, besides the fact that I am still alive. If it wasn’t for the hope that we might one day reach the shores of Ithaca, I would consider that an ungratifying incident as well. The men believe us to be cursed. I myself am starting to wonder just how many living nightmares can occur on one voyage.

We left Polyphemus’s island with shadowy countenances. The one-eyed giant’s bellowed curse still rang in our ears. We floated along, carried by the sea’s rolling waves, not having a clue for where we were bound. Minutes seemed like hours, hours like days, and days like years. We lost track of time. Oh how we longed for anything that would be a change. After an eternity on that desolate, blue-green, plain a cry went up that sent everyone to their feet in such a rush that half of them hit the deck again. “Land! Land!” Our young lookout was jumping up and down, unable to contain him-self. A shining city of brass rose out of the water before us.

We sailed by slowly, staring at the mirrored cliffs, not recognizing the wild faces that stared back at us as our own. Ten years of no civilization can change one immensely. We anchored near a dip in the summit of the towering cliffs watching warily about us. I cupped my hand to my mouth and yelled as loud as my parched throat would allow me, “People of the brass city, show yourselves!” A moment later a chain made from the same shining brass as the cliffs snaked down the fortification; a basket, large enough to hold even the biggest of our lot, attached to the end. I looked skyward to notice an arm beckoning over the edge of the crag. I turned to my men. “At the first sign of trouble, get well away from here. Don’t wait for my return before you do.” With that, I jumped into the basket and was hoisted up the cliff to an unknown fate.

Soft, jewel laden hands pulled me over the edge of the bronze cliff. I looked up into the smiling face of an old man. “Welcome to Aeolia, stranger! How may I serve you? The rules of hospitality demand that I do all I can.”

I stared open mouthed at the beaming man and the shining, brass city behind him. I shook my head, coming to my senses, and got slowly to my feet. “I am grateful for your kindness, sir. My name is Odysseus and the ones below are my men.”

“Odysseus!” he cried slapping me on the back, “the great hero that conquered Troy? Oh, what an honor this is! Please, come, come! We will dine in your honor and you can tell me the news from the outside world. Would your men like to come to?”

I asked him to send my men food and drink, but instructed my men to stay on the ship. We had run into too many traps for me to trust my host entirely. The old man, the king of Aeolia, led me into his castle and set a feast before me. The dining hall was filled with people faced off as if on a chess board. The King’s six daughters lined one wall and his six sons lined the other. We all sat and the entire afternoon was spent with everyone eating and talking (or should I say everyone eating and me talking). The King insisted I tell all that had happened on our journey since leaving Troy. When I suggested that he visit Ithaca some time he threw back his head and laughed. I glanced around the table trying to discern what was so funny, but the sons and daughters would not meet my eyes. The all looked down with a hard set to their mouths. I turned back to the king.

“My dear Odysseus,” he explained, “we will never leave this place. Why I have everything I need here. I have even married my sons to my daughters so that they have no reason to leave either.”

I nearly choked on my wine. Poor kids! No wonder they didn’t look happy. I was glad that I had left my men on the ship. Had they come and seen all the ladies that were married off to their brothers we could have had another Trojan War on our hands. After that we did not talk much. I slept fitfully within those brass walls that night. My dreams were disturbed with images of my dear Penelope, pining away at home all alone.

The next day I told the king we were setting sail immediately. He looked a little sad, but gave me everything that would be needed for the journey home. Just before we left, the king took me aside and said he had a gift for me. He gave me a bag that writhed and groaned liked a trapped animal. I yelped and dropped it when he put it in my hands. “What the name of Zeus is that!?”

“It is wind. The great god, Zeus, bagged up Poseidon’s winds as punishment for something and gave them to me for safekeeping. It is time for me to give them back, but I reckon it won’t hurt for me to loan them out a bit first.” The king grabbed one of the seven strings tying the bag and pulled. A tiny opening appeared in the top of the bag and a huge gust shot out, knocking him back about ten feet. The King jumped on the bag, wrestling it shut again, and then gave it to me with that beaming smile again. “There. I just released the west wind. You and your men will be blown straight to Ithaca. Yet, whatever you do, DO NOT open the bag and release the other winds.”

I took the bag, thanking him, and made my way down to my ship and the waiting men. They crowded around as soon as I set foot on the deck.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Yeah, captain, what’s in the bag?”

“Treasure,” I told them happily, “the best treasure a man could ever have. Don’t one of you touch it. Understand me?” I set the bag by my feet at the head of the ship. We raised anchor and finally headed home.

For days I did not sleep, so anxious was I to see Ithaca, my sweet Penelope, and my son again. I heard the men muttering about my actions and the bag at my feet, but I paid them no mind. When it came to pass that I could no longer keep my eyes open for anything, we were close enough to Ithaca to see her green hills. I told Eurylochus to guide the ship and then settled down to sleep with the bag of wind under my arm. I slept better than I had in years, comforted by the knowledge that we would soon be home. Little did I know that Ithaca was soon to be as far away as it had ever been.

When I was awakened from my blissful sleep, it was to open my eyes to a nightmare worse than any so far. The ship was being thrown about the sea on waves taller than Zeus’s temple. The sky cracked with thunder brought about by clashing winds. I fumbled around for the bag that should have been beside me only to fall and be flung against the pole of the mast. I clutched the rod, not daring to loosen my grip in the slightest, as the sea crashed around us. This storm was worse even than the one that had hit us when we left the shores of Troy. I cannot tell what transpired after that; it is too horrid a tale to utter. I’ll only say that I watched as ships were shredded and men begged the gods for mercy as they fell victim to that mighty tempest. It is not something I wish to remember.

When the sea finally composed itself, we were washed ashore an island. One ship was left out of twelve. The men threw themselves upon the sandy beach, weeping. I had seen Ithaca with my own eyes, only to have her ripped from my sight. I stood, not having tears left in me to weep, for my sorrow was so great.

I held my men in my gaze with eyes of stone. My temper raged within me. “Which one of you idiots disobeyed me? Which one of you could not contain your greed? I told you not to touch that bag! By opening it you released all the winds that the sea god commands. I hope you realize just what you’ve done. Ithaca was within our sight, and because of you we were thrown to the ends of the earth again! I hope you’re happy, Traitor!”

I turned and walked back to the sea and stared at the water.

“Athena, I was always your humble servant. If there be just a shaving of affection left in your heart for me, please watch over Penelope and my son. And gods all be thanked if you would please, I beg you, send us home.”

Author: Katora