Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bright white light pierces my eyes. I lift a hand, shading my face from the sun as my vision slowly adjusts.
I’m standing before clear, turquoise waters, waves crashing against the shore barely a foot away. I know I’m on a beach, but it’s unlike anything in the British Isles. The coloring is too warm, too inviting; the sand too fine, too smooth.
Turning around, I notice I’m on an islet, seeing the opposing shore from where I stand. There is nothing here but sand, overgrown grass, and the vast ocean surrounding me.
Figuring out where I am is paramount, as I don’t remember exactly how I got here.
To start, I walk along the shore, searching for clues that can help identify where I am.
But I abruptly stop as soon as I take two steps, sensing that something is wrong.
That is when I realize I don’t feel my feet hitting the ground.
Digging my toes deep into the sand, I see that I’m doing it, but I don’t feel it.
I walk ankle deep into the ocean, but I don’t feel the warm water on my skin.
In fact, I don’t feel the warmth of the bright sun on my skin.
I raise my arms, watching them move in every direction. My body is here, but again it’s not. Why am I not feeling anything?
Unnerved by this new sensation, I know I need to continue with my investigation, as something peculiar is certainly happening here. After walking a full lap around the islet, I come up empty-handed in my search. Helpless and defeated, I continue walking along the shore.
What else is a person to do on a deserted islet?
But this time around, something changes. I see an outline of another person in the distance. Upon closer inspection, I can tell it’s a woman.
She’s staring out into the sea, with her long, brown, wavy hair blowing with the ocean breeze.
Her attire is intriguing—a silk blue robe, a beautiful golden chest plate with golden twines of sage encircling her torso.
Her pale skin is pearly luminescent, as if she is a source of light herself.
Barefoot like myself, she is standing a few inches deep inside the water.
As I carefully approach her, she turns to me, and I’m welcomed with a face of grace and beauty I’ve never seen before. Her grey eyes pierce into mine, her stern face studying me. Then suddenly she flashes a warm smile. If I could feel anything, I know my senses would heighten at the sight.
“Clara,” she says in a soothing voice.
She calls my name as if we’re already well acquainted. But I’ve never met this woman before, so how is it I feel a sense of familiarity with her? She looks at me as if I should know who she is.
It takes me a few moments, but I come to realize she is the goddess I’ve admired since I was five years old. The goddess I’ve inspired to be like. She’s the goddess I call out to when I reach to the unknown for help.
“You’re Athena,” I announce.
She nods, confirming. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
I glance around us. “Do you know where we are?”
Athena moves closer until we are only two feet apart. She’s at least six inches taller than me, forcing me to angle my head to meet her gaze. Her ethereal beauty overwhelms me—awestruck, I’m in the presence of the goddess of wisdom.
“This isn’t the afterlife, if that’s what you were thinking.” She looks out at the tranquil ocean. “This is the place where souls go before they reach the afterlife.”
Souls.
The afterlife.
Memories flood my mind, recalling the events that led me here. If I’m standing on this incorporeal beach with the goddess of wisdom, I hope this means my sacrifice worked.
“If I’m here, that means I’m dead, aren’t I?” I ask, fearing her answer.
Athena glances at me with a knowing look, deliberately not answering my question. Instead, she extends her hand, offering for me to take it.
“Come. We have lots to discuss.”
Yes, indeed, we do.
Taking her hand, we walk arm in arm along the shore as if we’re two lifelong friends catching up.
If only one could ever be friends with a goddess.
Instead, I sneak glances at her and our entwined arms, wishing I could get a sense of what she feels and smells like.
But my senses are still completely obsolete, leaving me with a feeling of emptiness.
“Before I further explain everything,” she says, her eyes watching the shoreline. “I must thank you first.”
Perplexed, I glance at her again. “Thank me? What for?”
A smile flashes across her face, and she tilts her head, meeting my gaze. “For having the courage to do what most would not.”
“You mean the sacrifice? Did it really work?”
Athena nods, smirking. “Yes, it did.”
Relief rushes through me, thankful that sacrificing my life for humanity wasn’t futile, but sadness wells as I recall what—and who—I left behind.
I stare at the goddess beside me, expecting her to be upset by my actions, as I’ve destroyed their gift to us mortals. Why would she be thanking me for destroying it, nonetheless, relieved by it?
“You’re wondering why I’m pleased that they’re gone.”
I nod. “Amongst other things.”
Her eyes flick over me in a swift assessment. She faces forward once more, silent for a contemplative beat. Then she looks back at me with a small smile—one edged with guilt and atonement.
“I didn’t have a hand in creating the artifacts.
If I did, I would have known how cataclysmic it would be to place such power in mortal hands.
To my dismay, my brothers—Apollo and Ares—were only focused on winning their bet: whether humanity would abide by our rules if given devices that carried powers akin to our own.
Would humanity obey, or would they break the rules? ”
“It doesn’t matter how my brothers placed their bets. Once their seemingly unharmful bet blew up to enormous proportions that my father caught wind of it, they both lost—disastrously.”
“As my siblings and I watched in disbelief, I knew something needed to be done to stop the bloodshed and tears. But I also knew my arrogant brothers would never admit to their oversight or attempt to right their wrongs. So I took the task upon myself to save humanity by destroying the artifacts.”
“Before I could conjure it, my plan was thwarted. My father forbade any of us from setting foot on Earth, fearing we would end up creating more chaos. Yet being the goddess of wisdom, I understood that the solution lay within my brothers’ own rules.
I devised a plan that required a mortal—someone capable of destroying the artifacts in our stead. ”
“But this mortal had to be trustworthy. Someone who would never succumb to greed or power. Someone who would see the artifacts for what they truly are: objects to be feared and destroyed.”
“To give me some reassurance while I searched and waited, I briefly slipped onto Earth to hide the artifacts beyond humanity's reach—to stop the wound from bleeding out. I patiently waited for thousands of years, until one day I noticed a young woman who loved history, particularly my history, with unyielding devotion. In her, I saw someone who stood her ground, fought for what she believed in, and refused to let the worst of humanity harden her heart. I knew then that I had found the mortal I had been waiting for.”
Athena falls silent and looks down at me. I hold my breath in anticipation of what she will say next.
“That mortal was you.”
The fragments of the last few weeks slide into place.
I understand why, after years of Grandad pleading with Oxford, they approved our expedition, why I felt drawn to visit Crete and go into that cave, why the chest was hidden in that very cave, and by whom.
And why I hear a distinct voice in my head, guiding me during difficult times.
It wasn’t fate or destiny, but Athena. Tucked away in Mt. Olympus, Athena was conducting her whole plan to destroy the artifacts, using me as her device to do so.
I feel honored.
Out of all the millions of humans to walk on Earth, she chose and entrusted me to do what she could not.
And if I’m being honest, if it weren’t for her designed odyssey for me, I never would have rekindled and fallen in love with Henry, nor would I have the courage and ammunition needed to claim my spot at Oxford.
Athena showed me my full potential, and then she had to do the most hurtful thing: take it all away from me.
She must sense the resentment building inside me, as she directs my head up to her, forcing me to look into her eyes.
“Clara, you willfully sacrificed your life to save humanity. Not many would have done the same. It takes a noble person of such high caliber to be that courageous and brave, and such a person should be rewarded for their selflessness.”
Athena takes my hands and turns them palm up, then sweeps her hand fluidly above them.
A jewelry box materializes in my grasp. I shudder—not at the magical appearance, but because the box feels alive.
For the first time since being on this islet, I can feel the box beating as if it has its own heartbeat.
“What is this?” I ask, unable to contain my surprised expression.
“It’s your lifeline.” Athena smirks.
She waves her hand once more, this time toward the open stretch of sand to our left.
An unassuming wooden door appears. Newton’s law of gravity seems not to exist on this islet, as the door stands upright without support.
With a snap of her fingers, it swings open to a blinding white light waiting on the other side.
I stare at the goddess, mouth agape, grasping at what is happening in small pieces.
Athena gestures to the door with a grin. “Go and live your life, Clara Fairfax. Can I ask for one more favor? Could you please show those uptight men at Oxford what fools they are and demand your rightful place in that program?”
“I shall try my best,” I say, grinning from ear to ear.
Clutching onto my lifeline, I walk a few strides to the open door and hear echoes of familiar voices waiting for me beyond the threshold.
I pause before stepping through and turn to take one final look at the Olympian goddess. “Thank you.”