Page 74 of Circe

“It is a protection.”

“Against what?”

“Whatever I can think of. Whatever Athena can summon—storms, leviathans, a split hull.”

“Leviathans?”

I was glad to see him pale a little.

“This will keep it at bay. If Athena wants to strike at you by sea, she will have to do it herself, directly, and I think she cannot, for she is bound by the Fates. You must keep to the boat, and as soon as you land on Ithaca, go to your father, and ask him to intercede with Athena for you. She is his patron and may listen. Swear to me.”

“I will.” His face was solemn in the shadows.

I poured those draughts over each rough board, every inch of sail, speaking my charms.

“May I try?” he said.

I gave him what was left of a draught. He drenched a bit of the deck, spoke the words he had heard me say.

He poked at the wood. “Did it work?”

“No,” I said.

“How do you know what words to use?”

“I speak what has meaning for me.”

His face worked with effort, as if he pushed a boulder up a hill. He stared at the boards and spoke different words, then different words still. The deck was unchanged. He looked at me, accusing. “It is hard.”

In spite of everything, I laughed. “Did you not think it was? Listen. When you set out to build this ship, you didn’t lift an axe once and expect it to be finished. It was work, day after day of it. Witchcraft is the same. I have labored for centuries and still I have not mastered it.”

“But it is more than that,” he said. “It is also that I am not a witch like you.”

It was my father I thought of. All those years ago when he had turned the log in our hearth to ash, and said, And that is the least of my powers.

“It is likely you are not a witch,” I said. “But you are something else. Something you have not found yet. And that is why you go.”

His smile reminded me of Ariadne’s, warm as summer grass. “Yes,” he said.

I led him to a shaded part of the beach. While he ate the last of the pears, I marked out his route with stones, tracing the stops and dangers. He would not go past Scylla. There were other ways to Ithaca. That Odysseus had not been able to take them had been a piece of Poseidon’s vengeance.

“If Hermes helps you, that is well, but you must never depend on him. Anything he says is written on the wind. And always, you must be careful of Athena. She may come to you in other forms. A beautiful maiden, perhaps. You must not be taken in, not by any temptations she would offer.”

“Mother.” His face was red. “I’m looking for my father. That’s all I think of.”

I said no more. We were gentler with each other in those days than we had been, even before our fight. In the evenings, we sat together at the hearth. He had a foot stuck under one of the lions. It was only autumn, but the nights were cool already. I served his favorite meal, fish stuffed with roasted herbs and cheeses. He ate and let me lecture him. “Penelope,” I said. “Show her every honor. Kneel before her, offer her praises and gifts—I will give you suitable ones. She is reasonable, but no woman is happy with her husband’s by-blow at her feet.

“And Telemachus. Be wary of him above all. He is the one with the most to lose from you. Many bastards have become kings in their day, and he will know it. Do not trust him. Do not turn your back on him. He will be clever and quick, trained by your father himself.”

“I am good with a bow.”

“Against oak boles and pheasants. You are not a warrior.”

He took a breath. “Anyway, whatever he tries, your powers will guard me.”

I stared at him in horror. “Do not be a fool. I have no powers that can serve you away from this place. To rely on that is death.”

He touched my arm. “Mother, I only mean that he is a mortal. I am half your blood and have the tricks that come with that.”