Chapter XII #3
“Perhaps I can help,” he says. “What have you lost?”
“An owl.”
The boy blinks. “An owl?”
“It belongs to the temple,” I add quickly. “It’s a special bird.”
The boy is still staring at me, though now he looks as though I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “You came down from the Acropolis…to find a single owl?” There’s no missing the incredulity in his expression. “Do you have any idea how large this city is?”
“I had to try,” I say defensively. “I had to do something.”
That seems to have an effect on him, because his face softens. “A girl who won’t be thwarted,” he says. “That’s very admirable.”
My cheeks warm. It’s impossible not to notice that the boy is handsome.
He has traces of stubble on his chin, but his tousled dark hair gives him a youthfulness.
His lean build and deeply tanned skin suggest a life spent in the sun, likely doing some sort of physical labor.
I have enough time to wonder if he might be a shepherd or a fisherman before he asks his next question.
“This owl…” he says slowly. “What does it look like?”
“It’s large and white,” I reply. “Hard to miss.”
For a moment, he looks distant, as though searching his mind for something. He blinks, then seems to remember I’m there. “There’s a small thicket not far from here. If your owl flew down from the Acropolis, I imagine it might go there. The city would be noisy for a nocturnal bird.”
This revives my hope. “Would you tell me where to find it?”
A smile returns to the boy’s face. “I can do better; I’ll take you to it.”
I start to thank him again, then stop. “You’d do that for me? Why?”
The boy gives me a mock-serious look. “You’re a servant of the gods,” he says. “Helping you can only improve my fortune.”
I’m not sure if he’s right about that, but his answer makes me laugh.
“Come on.” He gestures, heading up a new path, away from the city. “Let’s find your owl.”
—
The boy leads me from the bustling streets of the Agora to a quieter, more residential part of Athens.
I know I should be solely focused on getting Glaukopis back, but my eyes wander as I try to take in everything I’m seeing.
On the stoops of some homes, old men crouch together with boards and dice, and I gather that they are playing some sort of game.
It’s a simple enough thing, but I’m still fascinated.
We pass a curious-looking structure: What looks like a large mud-brick bowl is affixed to the ground and set between two pillars.
I watch as a young woman plunges a bucket attached to a rope into the bowl and slowly pulls it back up.
When she does, I’m surprised to find it now filled with water.
My mouth parts, and a chuckle escapes the boy.
“You look as though you’ve never seen a well before,” he teases.
“I…”
“Come on,” he says, “the thicket’s not much farther.”
—
It is one thing to fly over a city as large as Athens; it is another entirely to walk it.
By the time we reach the cluster of trees the boy indicated, my feet have begun to ache slightly.
My gaze lifts. The cypresses here are far larger than the ones in my mother’s gardens; they seem wilder, too.
I search them a moment, holding my breath, then cry out with joy when I notice a small white tuft high up among the dark leaves.
“Glaukopis!” I slip on the gauntlet I’ve brought and hold it up.
The owl is far beyond my reach, in the boughs of a tree, and I hold my arm out, praying he notices.
A second passes in which I feel his piercing yellow gaze on me, assessing.
Then, to my relief, he swoops right down and lands gracefully on my arm.
I think to pat his head, then reconsider when he clicks his sharp beak.
“You gave me a fright,” I say softly, slightly lifting my arm. Glaukopis looks past me, and I realize he’s looking at the boy, who has moved a few steps back.
“Curious,” he says, eyeing the bird. If I’m not mistaken, I detect a slight wryness in his tone. “I’ve never seen a domesticated owl.”
“He’s special,” I say with new fondness. Glaukopis preens. “You know, you can come closer, if you’d like.”
“That’s all right.” There’s no mistaking it. The boy is definitely eyeing the owl with wariness. A laugh escapes me, unbidden, and I turn to face him.
“Thank you for helping me find him. I’m sorry I don’t have any way to repay you.”
“Say a prayer for me.” The boy grins and tips his head. “That is repayment enough.”
“I can do that.”
He offers a wave before heading down a different street. I wave back until he’s out of sight.
Only when he’s gone do I realize I never learned his name.
I’m relieved to find Apollonia just before I reach the Acropolis.
Her brow is sweaty from the afternoon sun, and her normally neat hair is slightly mussed beneath her veil; she spent our time apart searching closer to the Agora.
More than anything, she seems impressed that I managed to find Glaukopis safe and sound.
For some reason, I stop short of telling her about the boy who helped me.
By the time we’ve deposited Glaukopis safely back into his stall in the barn, my shoulder and biceps ache from the effort of holding him, but I can’t bring myself to be unhappy about it.
Apollonia returns to the acolytes’ quarters to wash her spare chiton before supper.
I decide, instead, to visit the Acropolis’s small garden.
I’ve been to it only once, and in truth, it pales in comparison to my mother’s gardens back on our island, but there’s still a calm here I appreciate after the day I’ve had.
I find a bench and settle onto it, breathing deep.
“I hope you enjoyed your time in my city, Acolyte.”
I turn and find myself staring directly into the gray eyes of Athena.