Of Waves and War

1: find the beginning

Eulises

The wine colored sea beats relentlessly upon beach. Each passing wave taunts me further, even as the unending pounding draws me from my nightmares. The sun is not yet clearing the waters as they incessantly spill out their timeless tales of anguish, and hate.

I rise, despite the early hour, shifting from my place on the stone floor. I lift my sandals though I do not put them on. I look back at the bed. The goddess sleeps still.

I move silently as I can through the castle, the sole mortal inhabitant. The wind whistles in displeasure at my existence here, or so I fancy. I would rather focus on realities of this rather unreal world I find myself in, than the thoughts and twists of my own mind. Too many haunted chambers there. And I have to get home yet before I succumb to my own grief.

I slip from the castle's grey imposing walls, ignoring the disapproving creek of the door. And I run through the soft sand down to the coast, sandals still in one hand.

The angry waters still slap upon the shore, fierce white heads rising up to meet the sky not yet brushed with dawn.

I curl my hand to my lips, kiss it, and then pray to god of the western wind to carry my love across the waves to my wife. Sleeping still soundly in our marriage bed. I would hope. She would be at this hour. That I could take her in my arms and kiss her rosy cheeks myself. But I have nothing but breath and a whisper to the winds to sustain us now.

I blink hot tears from my eyes. Weeping does nothing. I should know. I've tried it often enough.

I slip on the sandals, once more casting a fierce glance at the ocean waves. However distasteful I may be, I do not think I warrant this. And worse to deprive my wife and son of my company and protection? I may have done harm but they? I shake my head. No prayers are answered, it would seem.

I walk quicky into the forest. I know the trails here well now. I only pause to find a sharp stone I've hidden, then I make a mark upon a well abused tree. I cannot lose track of time. and I already fear for my mind. I know not which way is up or down somedays.

Then I set to work. Only the cleanest branches will do. By stealing stomach from a lamb I begged to butcher, I have nearly a bow made, now it is finding fine enough rocks to fashion arrow heads. I have a rock already as a weapon. No, this will not slay a goddess. But a weapon will be necessary when I fly to my freedom. Escape attempt number—never mind that's depressing. No it's not. I've done something at least.

I look up at the tree. Seven hundred and ninety seven. Yes. I'm nothing if not persistent. My most admirable quality next to my intelligence and quickness of tongue.

I find a solid branch, downed by the storm last night. So a god cares for me yet? It will go well on my raft that I am fashioning. It's not going well at all and will surely be dashed apart at the first wave but once more I'm nothing if not persistent. I have little rope to bind it together with. If I steal too much the goddess may get suspicious. But I can sneak a little every now and again.

Working puts my mind something close to at ease, as I listen for any sign of an intruder. The goddess will not require me until night falls, anyway. My stomach churns with the thought. But I force it away. Let tonight's trials come and go. I'll live through them as I do everything.

"Fair, clever, most beautiful of women, sweet Penelope know how I weep for you," I say, quietly, to myself as I know in my mind she cannot hear me. But in my heart speaking to her gives me some comfort. "I pray to the gods night and day for my return, that I may hold you in my arms again. I am not a man of my word nor a man of honor, but for you I'll breach every wave and win every war. No mountain tall enough, no storm fierce enough to keep me from you. For you cannot be possessed but I am yours. Beginning, middle, and end, for all time. If the poets tell our story have them sing of how I loved you beyond measure which even my fine words can grasp. For this worthless trickster's heart is forever yours."