Chapter XXIII
XXIII
I am glad when it’s time to return to Athens a week later.
The truth is, though I’ve only spent a short amount of time here, Athena’s temple has, in some ways, come to feel more like home than my island ever did.
Most of the priestesses are glad to see me when I return—I learn later that they were told I was visiting a gravely sick relative—and I find surprising comfort in throwing myself back into the rhythmic routine of temple life.
Kallisto, Amersa, and I are the only three acolytes left, and it’s hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, there were ten of us.
Though my conversations with them are always brief, I know that all of us think constantly about what the third test will be.
At night, when we go to bed, I instinctively still look at the place next to me where Apollonia’s pallet used to be.
The priestesses have gone into the city several times to distribute food since her expulsion, but no one has heard or seen any sign of her.
It’s that ambiguity about her fate that keeps me awake most nights.
I have now lost two friends in the course of a month.
Theo did not speak to me again after our fight back on the island, and I didn’t say goodbye to him when I left.
There are twin holes in my heart in their absence, and though I’m glad to be back in Athens, everything does seem slightly less bright without them.
A fortnight after my return to Athens, Eupraxia tasks me, Kallisto, and Amersa with cleaning the Acropolis’s entryway.
“It is the first thing guests see when they arrive,” she says. “We want to ensure that it remains pristine.”
I don’t complain aloud, but the truth is, more cleaning is the very last thing I feel like doing.
Late summer has somehow summoned even more heat into Athens, and my whole body is layered in dirt and dried sweat that I badly want to scrape off with a pumice stone.
Amersa and Kallisto seem to feel the same way, because as soon as Eupraxia is gone, Kallisto begins her grumbling.
“It’s a waste of time,” she says bitterly as she wipes a column with a rag. “All that old woman does is give us busywork under the pretext of it being something noble and sacred. If you ask me, she’s just using us for the free labor.”
I continue focusing on the broom in my hand, on the whisk of it across the marble floors. When neither Amersa nor I respond, Kallisto goes on.
“But maybe you don’t mind the labor because you’re used to it,” she says, goading. “Maybe where you come from, that’s the only kind of work you can get.”
I don’t tell Kallisto that, in fact, I come from immense wealth or that until coming to Athens as an acolyte, I never so much as touched a broom.
Sometimes, I fantasize about the face she’d make if she learned the truth about where I “come from.” Instead, I shake my head and keep working.
Amersa kneels down to hold a dustpan for me while I sweep dirt into it.
But Kallisto isn’t finished yet. A new, malicious look crosses her face. “You know you say her name in your sleep,” she says. “I’ve heard it.”
I stiffen at the same time Amersa looks between us, nervous.
“Apollonia!” Kallisto mimics. “Apollonia, no!” She snorts. “It’s pathetic. You barely knew her.”
I haven’t felt true rage since my altercation with Kallisto in the courtyard, but it comes to life instantly at her words. My grip on the broom handle tightens, and I open my mouth—
Then there’s a scream.
It’s long, shrill, and sets my teeth on edge.
Amersa jolts, while Kallisto’s head whips around, trying to find the sound’s origin point.
There’s a second scream, and I realize that the first came from outside the Acropolis, not within.
The three of us step onto the sloping path that leads down into the city.
“What was that?” Amersa whispers.
I have no answer for her. In the city’s rapidly fading light, it’s difficult to see anything at first. Then, suddenly, I discern movement.
A figure is running toward the Acropolis at full sprint.
She draws closer, and I make out a middle-aged woman.
She is slight, with olive skin and a clear sheen of sweat on her brow.
Ribbons of dark hair fly out behind her, and I can see even from here that her eyes are wide with terror.
A beat later, I understand why. Two uniformed soldiers are running after the woman.
Their steps are heavy, slowed down by their matching armored uniforms, but they’re still moving fast, closing the gap between themselves and the woman.
She looks over her shoulder, then to the temple.
When she sees us, she screams a third time.
“Help me!” she shouts. “Please, help me!”
I’m moving before I’ve registered the choice, racing down to the bottom of the Acropolis’s main path so that the woman and I meet halfway.
As soon as she reaches me, she latches onto me, nearly knocking me over.
A sour smell fills the air around her, and up close I see she has several sores around her mouth.
There is something decidedly unsettling about her, but I barely have time to take that in before the two soldiers are upon us.
“Stand aside, girl,” one of them orders. The other makes to grab at the woman, but she dances out of the way.
“Wait.” I step between them. “What’s going on?” By now, Kallisto and Amersa have joined me at the end of the path. The woman tactfully places herself behind them.
“I did nothing!” the woman shrieks.
“She’s under arrest.” The soldier has not so much as looked at me once. His eyes stay trained on the woman. “For theft.”
“I was hungry!” the woman protests. “Do you know how it feels to go hungry for three days? It was one apple; I told the farmer I would repay him—”
“It isn’t her first offense,” the second soldier adds.
“They’re going to hurt me,” the woman whines. “Please don’t let them hurt me.”
I look between the woman and the soldiers. “What happens to her, after she’s arrested?”
“She’ll stand trial,” says the first soldier. He’s short, blond, with severe dark eyes. “The farmer she stole from in the Agora will give testimony, and when she is found guilty, she’ll be fined. If she can’t pay it…” His expression hardens. “She’ll lose a hand.”
The woman whimpers.
“I’m going to find help,” says Amersa. She turns and runs back up the hill toward the Acropolis, leaving Kallisto and me alone with the woman and the two guards. Kallisto looks at me, then scowls.
“Take her, for all I care,” says Kallisto. “She’s none of our concern.”
The woman backs away as though she’s been burned.
“Kallisto!”
“What?”
“We’re acolytes,” I say through my teeth. “We’re supposed to help people.”
“And we do,” Kallisto snaps back. “Every week, we distribute food to those who need it. Everyone knows that. It’s not our fault if this woman didn’t take advantage of the temple’s generosity and chose to steal instead.”
“Enough.” The second soldier, a taller, darker-haired man, advances. “Step aside.”
I feel a rush of white-hot anger. It takes me a moment to find its root, to understand why the sight of these two men makes me especially angry.
Then I have it. These aren’t just two men, they’re two soldiers, like the ones who harmed Apollonia.
I look at the callousness in their eyes as they start toward the woman who now looks too tired to run any farther.
Kallisto moves aside, but I go to stand in front of the woman.
“No,” I say firmly. “You’re not taking her.”
“Meddy.” Kallisto sounds annoyed, but when I meet her gaze, I see a touch of real fear in it. “Stop it. Don’t get in the way—”
“Move, girl.” The blond soldier has a new menace in his voice. “We won’t ask again.”
“Leave her alone.”
The dark-haired soldier scowls, then reaches around me to try to grab the woman by the arm.
She begins to scream again, this time so loud I’m amazed the whole city can’t hear it.
Without thinking, I raise the broom still in my hand and swing it at the dark-haired soldier’s head as hard as I can.
The force of the blow sends him to his knees, groaning.
When he sits up, there’s a bright red gash just below his eye.
He glares at me, and now the blond soldier steps forward.
“Assaulting a soldier who’s acting in duty to the city is a crime,” he says. “Punishable by flogging or death.” He starts toward me with new purpose. I tighten the grip on my broom, trembling.
“STOP THIS!”
Everyone—me, Kallisto, the woman, and the two soldiers—looks up at the sound of a new voice.
I turn and, to my relief, see Eupraxia making her way down the Acropolis’s hill, her priestess chiton billowing behind her.
Amersa is at her heels. When Eupraxia stops before us, her face is white.
She does not look at me or Kallisto, but she glares openly at the guards. Never before have I seen her so angry.
“What is the meaning of this?” Her voice is cold; even the soldiers flinch. They look at each other before the dark-haired one I hit stands to address her.
“That woman”—he points—“is guilty of theft. She ran toward the Acropolis to avoid punishment. And that girl”—he points to me—“obstructed her arrest. She—”
“Am I to understand correctly,” says Eupraxia, “that you entered the sacred grounds of a temple with violent intent, then proceeded to threaten three of its chosen acolytes? Young, defenseless girls, no less?”
The soldiers both shift uncomfortably.
“We have duties, too,” one of them mutters, but it’s only a half-hearted response.
“Leave,” Eupraxia orders. “And pray to the gods that I don’t find your commanding officer and report you.”
The soldiers hesitate a moment, but when Eupraxia juts her chin, they turn and go.
I expected to feel relieved once they were gone, but the tension in the air remains thick as the high priestess turns to look at me, Kallisto, and Amersa.
“The three of you, come with me.” It’s impossible to interpret the tone in her voice, but something about it isn’t right.
She gestures, and we wordlessly follow her back up the hill.
I wonder momentarily about the woman, but my thoughts return to Eupraxia as we reach the Acropolis’s lawns.
Under starlight, she turns and faces us again.
“The temple is a sacred place for all, but especially women in need,” she begins. “Each of you has been told as much.”
The three of us nod.
“Tonight, a woman came to this temple seeking refuge.” She points to Amersa.
“You went to find someone else to help.” Amersa opens her mouth, but Eupraxia continues.
She points to Kallisto. “You did not even offer to help,” she says.
“I saw you step aside. You would have let those soldiers take that woman away.”
To my surprise, Kallisto looks ashamed.
Finally, Eupraxia turns to me. “While your methods were…unorthodox, you were the only one who tried to personally help that woman. You were willing to endanger yourself to protect her.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
“The three of you were brought here with seven others,” says Eupraxia. “You have been tested on your logic, your talent in craft, and now a test of courage has revealed to me that only one of you is worthy of priestesshood.” She looks up. “Would you agree, Goddess?”
“In fact,” says a familiar voice, “I would.”
I turn sharply, confused. The woman from before has crept into the courtyard quietly, unnoticed.
No longer does she look timid or weak; there is now a surety about her that I recognize.
Slowly, her features begin to change before my eyes.
The sores around her mouth fade, replaced with smooth, pale skin.
Her dark hair grows lighter, redder. I blink, and suddenly it’s no longer a plainly dressed common woman standing before us.
It’s Athena.
“Goddess!” Amersa cries out, falling to her knees, and Kallisto follows suit. It takes me a moment to remember that neither of them has ever seen Athena in the flesh.
“We…we are humbled,” Kallisto says, her voice trembling.
I’m suddenly aware that we are not alone. In the dark, other priestesses seem to have materialized. Athena crosses the lawns so that she’s standing before us.
“Rise,” she says to Kallisto and Amersa.
They both scramble to their feet.
“My high priestess is correct,” says Athena. “Your final test was one of courage, and only one of you succeeded. The two of you are dismissed.”
It happens so fast, Amersa and Kallisto seem not to process the words.
Kallisto looks around. “But—”
Already, two priestesses have broken from the circle around us to escort the two acolytes away.
I watch for a moment, as they disappear into the darkness, before my gaze returns to Athena.
Another priestess approaches me with a white candle and prompts me to take it.
The rest of the priestesses close in, so that there is a tight circle around only me and Athena.
The goddess waits a moment before speaking.
“Acolyte Medusa,” she says solemnly. “You have passed each of the prerequisite tests used to determine your worthiness for priestesshood in this temple. The time has come for you to make certain vows before your sisters. If it is not your wish to continue, you may leave now.”
I don’t move.
“Very well.” She nods. “Do you vow to uphold the moral code of this temple and all who serve it?”
The words leave me easily. “I do.”
“Do you swear to be allegiant to me? Loyal, steadfast in your faith, and obedient?”
“I do.”
“And lastly.” My candle’s light flickers in Athena’s silver eyes. “Do you swear to remain chaste, pure of mind, body, and spirit?”
Poseidon’s face crosses my mind, and I think briefly of the want I left in the halls of my palace just a few weeks ago. That want was real, powerful, but it paled in comparison to the want I have for this. When I speak, my voice is resolute.
“I do. I swear it.” I swear it always.
There is no warning for what comes next.
My candle trembles violently in my hand, then the flames turn a deep, vivid blue.
Its light is unnatural: It bathes the whole of the Acropolis and every one of the surrounding priestesses in azure, as though we have all been pitched below the surface of the ocean.
In a matter of seconds, it is over, and the candle extinguishes of its own accord.
For several beats, there is no sound, then a cry of joy from one of the priestesses.
It is followed by another, then another, until they are all shouting and cheering.
Athena smiles. “Well done, Medusa.”
I am lost in the chaos of hugs, kisses on my cheeks, and congratulations. It takes me a moment to understand that it is real, that it isn’t all some wonderful, cruel dream.
I have done it.
I have become an anointed priestess of the goddess Athena.