Chapter XIII
XIII
For a few seconds, I don’t move.
It has been several weeks since I last saw the goddess, on my island, but no amount of elapsed time could have prepared me for how glorious she is standing in the afternoon light. Today, she wears a deep green peplos; her red hair falls loose around her shoulders.
I rise, elated. “Athena!” I exclaim. “I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been—”
“You were told not to leave the Acropolis without permission.” The goddess’s tone is cool. “Yet you did it anyway.”
I stiffen. Athena isn’t smiling at me, and there’s no trace of the warmth I saw back on my island, when she first invited me to be an acolyte. I have the uncomfortable sensation of missing a step on the stairs.
“Athena, I—”
“Here in my temple, your role is a deferential one.” Her tone cools even more. “You are to address me as Goddess.”
The words smart, but I know she is right. My most basic job as an acolyte—and hopefully, someday, as a priestess—is to represent and serve the interests of Athena. She is not just another Olympian to me anymore; here, I am in service to her, and to Athens.
“Apologies, Goddess.” I bow low, an act of respect Eupraxia has taught us to give to more senior priestesses when they enter a room within the Acropolis. When I straighten, Athena is still watching me.
“As I said, you left the Acropolis without permission.”
“I went into the city to get Glaukopis back,” I say quickly. “He was accidentally let out of the barn and—”
“A good excuse is still an excuse.” Athena doesn’t raise her voice, but she doesn’t have to.
The severity in her words hangs in the air between us.
“You’ve been at this temple for barely a week, and already you defy its authorities and flout its rules.
” She arches a brow. “Perhaps you think that because you are the daughter of two gods, those rules are beneath you?”
“No, Goddess.” My voice is small as I drop my gaze. “I don’t think that at all.”
She stays silent for so long that I look up to find her still studying me.
“If you’re curious,” she says, “I’m currently debating whether I should share with my high priestess what you’ve done.”
“No, please!” I fall to my knees, unable to keep the crack from my voice. “Please, don’t make me go back home. I…I offer my humblest and most sincere apologies.”
Athena’s frown deepens. “You truly do not wish to return to your island.”
“No, Goddess. I like it here.”
She nods. “Then take heed when I say this, Medusa: Your presence here in my temple is a privilege, not a right. Don’t ever forget that.”
“No, Goddess.” I bow my head again for good measure. “I will not.”
“Good,” she says, and at once her tone is much lighter. “Now you may rise.”
I get to my feet unsure. Just moments ago, Athena sounded so cold and distant; now a smile touches her face. I feel as though I’ve just passed some test I didn’t know I was taking.
Athena settles on the very bench I’ve just been sitting on while gazing out into greater Athens.
“Sit with me,” she commands.
I obey at once, taking care to leave enough space on the bench for us not to touch, in case that is perceived as another slight. Athena lets the silence between us stretch a while longer before she gives me a wry look.
“Now that you’ve gotten a firsthand look at Athens,” she says, “how do you find it?”
“I love everything about it.” My answer is immediate. “Athens is nothing like my island. It’s big and noisy and full of people doing things all the time…” I search for words. “My favorite thing is the movement.”
“The movement?” Athena repeats.
“Something’s always moving in Athens; it’s never still,” I explain.
“Back home, nothing ever changed—the views, the smells, the food. Everything was always the same, but here…the opposite is true. I’m convinced you could go down one Athenian street in the morning and see it one way, then by afternoon it would be completely different. ”
“The other acolytes are Athenian-born,” she says. “This city is all they know, so they cannot appreciate what makes it special.” She smiles at me. “I suspect that you can.”
I nod.
“You’ve had some time to adjust to your role as an acolyte,” Athena goes on. “How do you find the work?”
I’m slower to answer this time, and the goddess notices.
“If I was mistaken and you are unhappy…?”
“It isn’t that,” I say quickly. “It’s just…if I may speak freely?”
“You may.”
“I am honored to serve.” I stare at my hands. “It’s just that, I don’t feel particularly useful here. The work I’ve done so far has been…” I struggle to find a word that isn’t offensive.
Athena throws her head back and laughs. It’s a warm, melodious sound.
I find myself thinking that I could listen to it forever.
“Your work is dull,” she finally says, and I’m relieved the words don’t come from me.
“That is by design. It is meant to teach you discipline, patience, and above all else humility. Those are traits I deeply value in my priestesses.”
At once, I feel foolish. This makes sense. I duck my head, ashamed. “My apologies, Goddess.”
“Hold your head up, Medusa.”
I look up and find that Athena’s expression has hardened, but not with anger.
“I did not invite you to be an acolyte because you are meek of spirit,” she says.
“I invited you because I saw a girl with unrealized potential—intelligence, selflessness, and a natural instinct toward justice. In short, I saw part of myself in you.”
The compliment floors me, and for a moment I don’t know what to say. “Thank you, Goddess,” I manage.
“Have you ever given thought to what your life’s purpose might be, Medusa?”
I frown. “I wish to serve as a priestess, if I pass my tests.”
Athena shakes her head. “That is your occupation. What I want to know is what drives you, what is it that brings you a sense of fulfillment?”
I pause. For as long as I can remember, I have been told my purpose was to marry and have children, just as my mother did.
The only thing I have ever truly wanted—to leave my island and see the world beyond it—has now happened.
I’ve never had to think about a bigger purpose to my life. The idea daunts me.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what my purpose is, Goddess.” Even as I say that, I feel like I’ve failed a different test. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
I’d expected Athena to be disappointed by my answer. Instead, she smiles. “I am quite sure we will find purpose for you soon enough,” she says warmly. “Provided you continue to do your work well and pass your remaining two tests, I am sure of that.”
The words give me something else I’ve felt only a few times in my life: hope.
“Thank you again, Goddess.”
She stands, and I instinctively rise, too.
“That will be all,” she says.
I recognize the dismissal, but don’t mind. I offer Athena a final deep bow before leaving the garden.
I feel her eyes on my back well after I have left her sight.
That night at dinner, I discover I have made new friends.
Though Eupraxia and the temple’s other priestesses remain thankfully oblivious, it seems word of my adventure with Glaukopis has spread among the acolytes.
I have a strong suspicion that Apollonia is responsible for this, though when I ask, she feigns ignorance.
As the other girls ask me questions—how I got Glaukopis back and how I managed to carry him all the way to the Acropolis—I gradually realize that my status as a foreigner has been forgotten.
I may not ever be Athenian, but these girls now count me as one of them.
“You’re braver than me,” says a sandy-blond girl called Amersa. “Glaukopis scares me. I’d never be able to carry him on my arm like that.”
“I don’t know why you all are making such a fuss,” a voice grumbles. “It’s just a bird.”
I turn to find Kallisto sitting in a corner of our quarters looking very much like a wet cat.
I smile at her, smug. Kallisto can say nothing about the fact that she was in the barn, too, without outing herself as having run away from the bird.
Apollonia told me that, apparently, Kallisto hid in a bush for nearly an hour until she was sure Glaukopis was gone.
I open my mouth, tempted to say as much, but we are interrupted as Eupraxia enters the room. She gives us all a severe look.
“We will walk to the Acropolis for our nightly meditation,” she says. “Come.”
—
We file along the edge of the Acropolis in silence.
Our meditations are a ritual of the temple that I am still learning.
In this hour just after nightfall, we acolytes and priestesses are to spend time in silent reflection, considering our piety and how we might be of better service to Athena.
I know that I should be thinking about all I have to learn, but the truth is I am utterly captivated by Athens at night.
Loud and bustling during the day, it is a different city after sundown.
A thousand glittering stars dust a deep blue sky; only a few flickering torches below give life to the city itself.
I take a deep breath in, relishing the distant smell of cypresses.
My island home is beautiful, but it’s not like this.
I think about what Athena said. This could be my home for the rest of my life.
I feel a pang of sadness when I think of Theo.
I wish he could be here to see these stars, too.