Circe

I drew in a breath. “I know you are not.”

I paced while he was gone. I could not explain the stinging tension I felt. I had known he would be leaving. I had known all along.

Penelope returned when the moon rose. “I am grateful to you,” she said. “Life is not so simple as a loom. What you weave, you cannot unravel with a tug. But I think I have made a start. Is it wrong of me to confess that I enjoyed watching you set Hermes back?”

“I have a confession of my own. I am not sorry to let Athena twist for three days.”

She smiled. “Thank you. Again.”

Telegonus sat at the hearth fletching arrows, but he had scarcely managed a handful. He was as restless as I was, scuffing at the stones, staring out of the window at the empty garden path as if Hermes might appear again. I cleaned the tables that did not need cleaning. I set my pots of herbs now here, now there. Penelope’s black mourning cloak hung from the loom, nearly finished. I could have sat and worked awhile, but the change of hands would show in the cloth. “I am going out,” I told Telegonus. And before he could speak, I left.

My feet carried me to a small hollow I knew among the oaks and olives. The branches made good shade, and the grass grew soft. You could listen to the night birds overhead.

He was sitting on a fallen tree, outlined against the dark.

“Do I disturb you?”

“No,” he said.

I sat beside him. Beneath my feet the grass was cool and faintly damp. The owls cried in the distance, still hungry from winter’s scarcity.

“My mother told me what you did for us. Both now and before. Thank you.”

“I am glad if it helped.”

He nodded, faintly. “She has been three leagues ahead, as always.”

Over us the branches stirred, carving the moon into slivers.

“Are you ready to face the gray-eyed goddess?”

“Is anyone?”

“You have seen her before, at least. When she stopped the war between your father and the suitors’ kin.”

“I have seen her many times,” he said. “She used to come to me when I was a child. Never in her own form. I would notice a quality to certain people around me. You know. The stranger with overly detailed advice. The old family friend whose eyes shine in the dark. The air would smell like buttery olives and iron. I would speak her name and the sky would glow bright as polished silver. The dull things of my life, the hangnail on my thumb, the suitors’ taunts, would fade. She made me feel like one of the heroes from songs, ready to tame fire-breathing bulls and sow dragons’ teeth.”

An owl circled on its silent wings. In the quiet, the yearning in his voice rang like a bell.

“After my father returned, I never saw her again. For a long time I waited. I killed ewes in her name. I scrutinized everyone who passed. Did that goatherd linger strangely? Was not that sailor too interested in my thoughts?”

He made a sound in the dark, a half laugh. “You can imagine people didn’t love me for it, always staring at them, then turning away in disappointment.”

“Do you know what she intends for you?”

“Who can say, with a god?”

I felt it like a rebuke. That old uncrossable gulf, between mortal and divinity.

“You will have power certainly, and wealth. You will likely have your chance to be Telemachus the Just.”

His eyes rested on the shadows of the forest. He had scarcely glanced at me since I came. Whatever had been between us was dispersed like smoke on the wind. His mind was with Athena, pointed at his future. I had known it would be so, but it surprised me how much it ached to see it happen so quickly.

I spoke briskly. “You should take the boat, of course. It’s charmed against sea-disaster, as you know. With her help, you shouldn’t need that, but it will let you leave as soon as you are ready. Telegonus will not mind.”

He was quiet so long I thought he had not heard. But at last he said, “That is a kind offer, thank you. Then you will have your island back.”

I heard the crackles in the brush. I heard the sea distant on the shore, the sound of our breaths vanishing into its ceaseless wash.

“Yes,” I said. “I will.”

In the days that followed, I passed him as if he were a table in my hall. Penelope eyed me, but I did not speak to her either. The two of them were often together now, mending what had been broken. I did not care to see it. I took Telegonus down to the sea to show me his swimming. His shoulders, hard with muscle, cut unerring through the sea. He looked older than sixteen, a man grown. Children of gods always came to their strength faster than mortals. He would miss them when they were gone, I knew. But I would find something else for him. I would help him forget. I would say, some people are like constellations that only touch the earth for a season.