Chapter XII
XII
I expect us to have our second test the following day. The high priestess, however, has other plans.
For the next several days, the other acolytes and I are delegated a series of menial chores around the temple.
We are sent to a nearby grove to harvest produce from the olive trees, tasked with laundering the tunics of the older priestesses, and expected to ensure the temple’s oil lamps remain filled throughout the day.
At times, it is admittedly rather dull work.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Kallisto mutters one day while we’re all scrubbing the floors of one of the temple’s courtyards. “This is slave work, unbefitting of a priestess acolyte.”
Though I’d never admit it aloud, the truth is I secretly agree with Kallisto, at least in part.
When Athena invited me to serve as an acolyte at her temple, she seemed impressed by my intelligence, by my self-taught education.
I hoped—even expected—that I would get to apply some of that education here at the temple.
This kind of menial labor requires no education at all.
I still want to be in Athens, I still want to be here at the Acropolis, but I realize with some sadness that the initial spark of excitement I had upon my arrival doesn’t burn quite as strongly as it did before.
Not for the first time, I find myself wondering about the goddess and whether I’ll see her at all while I’m in Athens.
—
Almost a week after we arrive, Eupraxia assigns me and Apollonia to clean the Acropolis’s small barn.
It is by far the least beautiful building in the complex—hot, loud, and thick with the stink of livestock and refuse—but I find the work tolerable alongside Apollonia.
Our shared work gives us more time to get to know each other.
“Do you have any siblings?” I ask as we muck hay side by side.
Apollonia nods. “Three older brothers—Lycus, Agathocles, and Menandros. They’ll all be senators someday, like my father.”
I chuckle. “How convenient, that they all want to be the same thing.”
Apollonia smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s not so much about what they want, it’s what my father wants.” She pauses. “He always gets what he wants.”
It’s my turn to offer a sad smile. I remember all too well what my own father said to me before I left home. When you arrive in Athens, you must always remember that you represent more than yourself. You represent our family, our kin, and our court.
I understand what Apollonia feels, more acutely than she realizes, and it frustrates me that I can’t tell her about my parents, about the world I come from.
I think of my mother and the scheming gods of the Sea Court, of the Olympians and the complicated games so many gods play to curry favor with them.
In truth, I have no idea what Apollonia would make of it all.
I pause, considering what I want to say to her.
“The Goddess invited me to come here,” I start. “I wanted to, but even if I hadn’t, I think my father would have forced me. He’d be…disappointed if I didn’t pass my tests.”
Apollonia keeps mucking. “I think mine would cast me out,” she says lightly. “No woman from our family has ever failed them.”
“What about your mother? Did she want you to do it?”
Apollonia’s shrug is forced. “I wouldn’t know,” she says.
“She died when I was small. By all accounts, though, she was a much-beloved priestess, too, before she met my father and married.” Her expression briefly takes on a faraway quality.
“She went on to have three sons, then me before illness took her. She was a good, honorable Athenian woman.”
When she first told me of her family’s extensive legacy of service to the Temple of Athena, I was not only in awe of Apollonia; a part of me was even a little jealous.
Now, though, I see the other side of the coin.
As much as my father wants me to bring esteem to our family, I know that I am always allowed to go home.
I wonder what it feels like for Apollonia, knowing that that isn’t an option.
We continue our work in silence after that, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
Eventually, I move to the back of the barn.
At first, I think the last stall is empty, but then there’s a flutter of wings, and I jump back.
When my vision adjusts, two bright yellow eyes meet mine in the darkness.
I realize it’s the white owl from the ritual on the first night.
“His name is Glaukopis,” Apollonia volunteers as she joins me. “The Goddess’s emblem is an owl, so it is the tradition of the Acropolis’s priestesses to always house one here, in her honor.”
Apollonia returns to her work one stall over while I continue to study Glaukopis.
He’s a regal creature, notably larger than most common owls, and something in his piercing yellow gaze is curiously intelligent, almost human in its sharpness.
I realize, in a strange way, that his gaze reminds me of Athena’s.
He’s still watching me warily, so when I approach, I do it slowly, carefully.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I whisper. My eyes fly to the owl’s black talons. They’re curved, each as long as my index finger.
I’m not going to hurt you, but you could certainly hurt me if you wanted to.
I note the hay beneath the owl. It’s littered with bird dung and what look like the tiny skeletons of some ill-fortuned vermin. I make a face, then look up at the owl.
“I won’t be able to clean your area with you perched there,” I tell him. I notice a gauntlet hanging on the wall and slide it over my left arm. Glaukopis is very alert now. I smile.
“Ah, now I have your attention.” I have no experience with animals, but I trust my instinct as I hold up my covered arm and wait. To my delight, Glaukopis instantly swoops down to perch on it.
“That’s not so bad,” I croon. My shoulder has already begun to ache from the angle at which I’m holding my arm up, but I dare not lower it.
Vaguely, I remember the slaves back on my island, the ones who once called my large eyes “owlish.” Now I can’t help but think it’s a compliment.
Glaukopis’s golden eyes are luminescent in the barn’s dim, impossible to look away from.
There’s a strange power in them that reminds me of the ritual on our first night at the temple, the way I felt as the priestesses held their candles aloft in unison.
“I can’t say I’ve met many owls,” I tell him softly. “But you, my friend, might be the most handsome yet.”
“Talking to a bird, metic?”
I jump. I didn’t hear Kallisto enter the barn.
Since our first encounter, I’ve been careful to avoid her unless absolutely necessary.
A few feet away, Apollonia turns as she notices Kallisto, too, then tenses as she stops before me.
The triumphant smile on her face promises nothing good.
I decide not to answer her, but Kallisto goes on.
“It doesn’t matter how many chitons you wear, you know,” she says to me snidely. “You’ll never be an Athenian, and you’ll never belong here.”
Her words sting, but I remind myself of what Apollonia said that first day. Never mind what people like Kallisto say. They try to make you feel like you don’t belong because you intimidate them.
I stand straighter. “You’re right,” I say gently. “I’ll never be an Athenian. But at least I earned my spot here on my own.”
Kallisto’s eyes narrow to slits. “What did you say?”
I jut my chin, doing my best to mimic Stheno’s haughtiness. “I was invited to serve at this temple because of my merit, not because my father made a generous donation.”
Kallisto turns crimson, and I know I’ve hit my mark.
Among other things Apollonia has explained to me in my first days at the temple, I’ve learned that there are some aristocratic Athenian families who politick to have their daughters serve as temple priestesses.
Some of them pay a fortune for the privilege; others do any number of unsavory things to secure a spot.
“Meddy does belong here.” Apollonia has stepped forward. “She passed the first test, same as you.” She nods to Glaukopis. “Even the Goddess’s sacred bird has taken to her.”
Kallisto’s eyes slide to the owl, and she frowns. “That doesn’t mean anything,” she says. She grabs another gauntlet hanging off one of the barn doors and slips it on, then holds her arm out.
“Glaukopis, here,” she orders imperiously.
The bird looks at her and only blinks.
“Here!” she commands, holding her arm higher. “Come to me!”
Seconds pass, then a whole minute.
Apollonia smirks. “I don’t think he likes you,” she remarks, barely containing the amusement in her voice. “Maybe he’s a good judge of character.”
Kallisto gives me a withering look before she pulls the gauntlet off and throws it to the ground. “It doesn’t matter,” she spits, “he’s just a stupid bird.”
I know immediately that she’s made a mistake. Glaukopis’s head snaps in her direction, his yellow eyes flashing. Through the gauntlet, I feel his talons’ grip on my arm tighten, and I know what’s about to happen.
“Kallisto,” I warn. “Look—”
Glaukopis launches himself from my arm in a flurry of white feathers and charges directly at Kallisto.
The girl’s eyes go wide, and she shrieks as the owl swoops above her, his talons inches from her face.
She begins to run around the barn, screaming, while Apollonia and I watch in horror as Glaukopis flies up to the barn’s highest rafters. Kallisto’s howls grow louder.
“Kallisto!” Apollonia hisses. “Stop making all that noise—you’re frightening him!”
But then Glaukopis swoops down again, and Kallisto’s screams only grow more frantic. It should be funny, watching her run around the barn with the owl chasing her, but it’s not. I have the feeling that something bad is about to happen.