Quicksilver (10 page)

THIRTY-TWO

After much hard work, Odysseus was ready for his journey. He had a wide, seaworthy raft, its sails woven by Calypso herself. He had a generous supply of food, water, and wine. He had a silver knife and a bronze ax. And now that he was bathed and dressed in clean robes, he had the look of a king again, too.

“I’m grateful to you, Calypso,” he called from the shallows. “I’ll never forget you.”

“Nor I you,” she replied. Then she lifted her arms above her head and whirled, invoking the wind with her long braids flying. It came at once. Before she had spun around three times, a mighty gust had filled Odysseus’ sails and borne him out to sea.

Calypso stood there until the raft was only a bobbing speck. Then she dropped to the sand and fell onto her back, arms and legs outspread, hands open wide. She lay there, looking up at the sky. “I’m alone,” she whispered.

No, you’re not,
I thought. I hovered above her, glad for the chance to admire her fully, yet sorry for her grief, which came off her in waves, like heat.

Before I left, I brushed her hand with my staff, as lightly as a sand flea, banishing her memories of Odysseus.

Just in case I decided to come back.

Of course I went back. I couldn’t keep away. And I am happy to say that my second visit to Calypso was much better than the first. I had no unpleasant directives this time, and Odysseus was gone and forgotten, which helped. When she welcomed me warmly, I responded in kind.

“You’re looking lovelier than ever,” I blurted, thinking how much easier it was to speak on Zeus’ behalf than on my own. Yet for some reason my awkwardness didn’t put her off. She invited me to stay, and I did.

Calypso and I spent our time together in wondrous ways. She took me far beneath the sea to meet her Oceanid sisters and Nereid cousins. We traveled to the hidden coves of the Cyclades, where Poseidon’s wife, Amphitrite, farms her fabled pearls. We listened to Sirens. We listened to whales. And we visited Aegae, Poseidon’s home, to pay our respects to the Lord of the Oceans himself.

I hadn’t seen my uncle for so long that I’d forgotten how imposing he was, with his blue hair and beard, his broad chest, and his extraordinary deep voice, like the rumblings of a distant earthquake. But I’d remembered him as genial, and indeed he was. After many wet embraces and hearty claps on the back, he insisted on taking us on a personal tour of his stables, saying he’d heard I liked horses.

I admitted that I did, marveling at the sight of his hundred white stallions in their immaculate stalls. Their manes and tails were the color of sea foam, their eyes dark coral red. While Calypso walked down the center aisle, caressing their noses one by one, Poseidon said, “I hear you’ve tamed Pegasus.”

It was odd that he knew, I thought. “I ride him when I can.”

“Beautiful creature.” He said the words with such pride that I stared at him. In return he lifted an eyebrow, looking smug, and I wondered what he was actually letting me know. I’d often speculated about Pegasus; his sudden appearance after Medusa’s death was a puzzle I’d never been able to solve. How did it happen? Who was responsible? It was as if he’d been conjured up by another Immortal, but that was unlikely—nobody played such outlandish tricks but me. In all my musings, I’d never dreamed the winged horse might be Poseidon’s offspring. Yet that was what my uncle seemed to be hinting.

“Yours?” I asked.

He nodded.

“With Medusa?”
Now, there’s a freakish combination,
I thought as Poseidon held a finger to his lips, enjoining my silence.

At last I knew why I liked Pegasus so much. We were cousins.

Calypso had never been above the earth, much less to Olympus. She asked about it often, plying me with endless questions about life atop the mountain. How did the Immortals dress? What were their dwellings like? Did they keep pets? What did they do for amusement? Would I take her up there sometime?

“Of course.”

“When?” she asked eagerly.

Before I knew it, I’d agreed to visit Olympus in two days’ time. While Calypso conjured up a shimmering new gown for the journey and did elaborate things with her hair, I made a few preparations of my own.

We set off early on a fine, bright, cloudless morning. Calypso kept her arms loosely folded around my neck so that I could pull her along, and we made a smooth ascent at a moderate pace. When we were aloft, I moved more quickly, going from tortoise-racing-hare to hare-fleeing-fox. We hardly spoke as we flew east over the glinting turquoise of the ocean, though Calypso murmured with delight many times, and when she saw our destination, she gasped. It rose out of the plains like a stone giant, its massive, snowy head so fiercely white that it discouraged direct scrutiny.

“There it is,” I said. “Olympus.”

“Ah!” She squeezed me and kissed my neck. “This is going to be wonderful!”

That depends,
I thought,
on my fellow Olympians.

THIRTY-THREE

I’d always known I’d have to be careful if Calypso and I ever visited Olympus together. The reason was simple: I’d never told her how I’d erased her memories of Odysseus.
Much better that she doesn’t know,
I’d often thought.
Why should she? It would only cause her distress.
But deep down I knew the real reason I kept it a secret: I was afraid she’d hate me if she found out.

So before our excursion I’d made a few lists:

Olympians to Visit
Apollo (if he’s around; she’ll love his dogs)
Artemis (ditto, though probably hunting)
Aphrodite (Calypso admires her; thinks they’re cousins)
Hephaestus (she’ll like his workshop)

Olympians to Avoid
Ares (Lord of Unpleasantness;
always first on the Avoid list)
Hera (may hold a grudge against
Calypso because of Odysseus)
Athena (see above, but worse)

My plan was to keep Calypso away from anybody who might refer to Odysseus. I was reasonably sure that Apollo, Artemis, and Aphrodite wouldn’t, because they’d been allied with the Trojans. Hephaestus, like Demeter, had stayed fairly neutral, so he wasn’t a worry.

I was undecided about Zeus, but as it happened, he was away when we arrived, attending a World Religions conference in Babylon. Even better, Hera had gone with him.

Otherwise, we kept to my hidden agenda. We stayed far from Ares’ armory and skirted the field Athena used for lance practice. We dropped in on Hephaestus, artisan of the gods, who showed us some of his recent inventions: a puffy silken tunic padded with goose feathers; a four-pronged silver tool with a very long handle for placing and turning meat offerings on a fire; an arrangement of long, thin golden tubes strung on wire that chimed sweetly in the wind; and an odd contraption made of fine bronze mesh and leather straps, meant to gird the breast.

“It’s a protective undergarment for women,” Hephaestus explained. “I’m not sure how comfortable it is, but Athena said she’d try it out the next time she goes into battle.”

Knowing he took his creative efforts seriously, I bade him a hasty farewell and pulled Calypso out of his workshop before she burst into incredulous laughter. She was still giggling about protective undergarments when we found Apollo and Artemis at the edge of the Western Forest. The sight of the twins, geared up for the hunt and surrounded by a seething pack of wolfhounds, sobered her quickly.

Artemis, virginal Moon Goddess and Mistress of the Wild, is a stern creature who shuns low tricksters like me, preferring the company of her furiously devoted and very chaste young nymphs. I’d never been able to make her laugh, though I’d tried everything from centaur jokes to silly faces. So it didn’t surprise me that now, after a single glance at Calypso’s ornate braids and sheer, clinging gown, she greeted us with reserve.

Apollo made up for her lack of warmth, though. He suggested rather briskly that Artemis start off without him, which she did. Then he embraced us and introduced Calypso to every single one of his hounds. Amber eyes aglow, they licked her hand eagerly when she offered it.

“So sweet!” she cooed, enjoying their affection. Apollo and I shared a smile, having seen these very hounds bring down their prey swiftly and ruthlessly, only to come up for air grinning, their faces besmeared with blood.

“Very sweet,” I said, “and very well disciplined. Just like their master.”

“Ho,” Apollo retorted dryly, before asking how long we’d be staying on Olympus.

“Not much longer,” I said. “We’ll say hello to Aphrodite, then head for home.”

“Home?” The deep blue eyes widened very slightly. Officially my home was on Olympus. “Well, well.”

I reached for Calypso’s hand. “It’s a fine little island,” I said. “Very peaceful.”

“I wish you happiness there.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, patting it. I covered his hand with mine, and we said our farewells.

THIRTY-FOUR

Calypso had always been eager to meet Aphrodite. She was certain that the Love Goddess, born out of the sea, must be a relation, albeit a distant one. As we approached the goddess’s sanctuary, I teased, “Looking forward to meeting your long-lost cousin?”

“I am,” she replied. “You know I admire her.”

And you certainly share some of her powers,
I thought.
Keeping Odysseus for seven years was no mean feat.
“I’m sure she’ll admire you, too,” I said.

“Flatterer.” She kissed me.

By this time we were standing beneath one of the wild fig trees bordering Aphrodite’s woodland retreat. She called the place the Grove of Eternal Beauty; I’d never dared to ask if the beauty was hers or the grove’s.

Calypso certainly found the grove beautiful, exclaiming over every one of its features—the pools with their lazy orange fish, the long rows of cherry trees in radiant bloom, the silky grass, even the fragrance of the air, which grew stronger as we neared Aphrodite’s marble pavilion.

And there we found her, supine on a pillow-strewn platform. Two little satyrs were fanning her with white peacock feathers while a pair of nymphs tended to her fingernails and a third nymph massaged her feet. Yet another nymph was removing the linen cloth covering her brow when we appeared. Seeing us, she sat up with a languid smile.

“Hermes! What brings you here? And who is your lovely companion?” Eyes bright with interest, she extended a delicate white hand to Calypso, who dropped to one knee before taking it.

“This is Calypso,” I said, “of the island Ogygia.”

“Ogygia?” she repeated. “I know I’ve heard that name. Was it from Zeus?” she wondered aloud.

Oh, no!
I thought. Panic reached into my throat and squeezed it hard. Had Zeus told Aphrodite about my mission to free Odysseus?

I made some choking noises, which Aphrodite waved away.

“It’s called something else, too, isn’t it? No, no, don’t tell me!” She raised an admonitory finger while she searched her memory. “I know! The Ocean’s Navel!”

Calypso, who was still kneeling with her head bowed, nodded.

Wondering what Aphrodite knew, I caught her eyes with my own.
Mercy, Goddess!
I beseeched silently. She gave me a sly smile and then tugged at Calypso’s hand. “Get up, get up, please, my dear,” she urged. “Sit here beside me.” She patted a cushion invitingly. “I want to hear all about you and Hermes. He’s been staying with you on your little island, has he?” When Calypso murmured that I was, Aphrodite’s sea-green eyes glinted with mischief. “You must have enchanted him!” she exclaimed.

I’m ruined!
I thought. Then, coward that I am, I fled.

It took every scrap of willpower I had to return, but return I did, prepared to face the worst. Yet the worst never came. When I reappeared, Aphrodite chided me for running off so quickly, and Calypso smiled at me with her usual affection. She looked splendid, and I told her so.

“Aphrodite shared some of her face and body creams with me,” she said. “And look what her nymphs did!” She held out her hands so I could admire her scarlet fingernails.

“Like rose-fingered Dawn,” I said. “Very pretty.” I turned to Aphrodite. “Thank you for your generosity, Goddess.”

“Yes, thank you for everything!” Calypso began to kneel, but Aphrodite stopped her. “Cousin, it was my pleasure. Come back whenever you like.”

Speechless with joy, Calypso grasped my hand.

Aphrodite smiled at us sweetly. “Bless you both,” she said. “Hermes, take good care of her.”

Grateful for Aphrodite’s discretion, I vowed fervently that I would, and I did. In time the secret of how I’d used Caduceus to win Calypso ceased to gnaw at me, replaced by the conviction that I, Luck Bringer, had finally found luck.

Our love deepened, and we had many fine children.

No spells or magical devices were used.

They weren’t necessary.