Page 9 of Elysium

“ PENELOPE! ” The call came again, louder, sharper. The scent of the ocean air dissolved into the smoke of torches, and the warmth of his touch vanished into the night breeze. The music swelled, laughter echoing against the courtyard stones.

She blinked, her heart still caught in the throes of memories. And there he was, the man from her past, grinning like he held the world in his pocket, the man who had whispered her name as a promise so many years ago.

The man who defied the gods to be back at her side.

She shook off the remnants of the past and gave the revelry her full attention.

The memory still warmed her bones, but memory was a softer lover than time.

Time carved lines into his face and left silence between breaths where there had once been only laughter.

She did not know how to bridge that distance, but tonight was not for bridges. Tonight was for celebration.

At the festival’s edge, shadows whispered. Heads bowed together, hands gesturing sharply. The songs and laughter dulled their murmurs, but Penelope’s gaze tracked the movements of men who would not meet her eye. Shadows that would linger long after the lanterns dimmed.

The smell of roasted lamb and sweet wine filled the air as she made her way across the courtyard. She smiled as children darted between the tables, their laughter filling the space with the comforts of home and family.

She was steps away from Odysseus when a sudden chill brushed her bare arms, sending a shiver up her spine. She looked out to the horizon, expecting to see a storm forming over the sea. But there were no clouds, only the whisper of waves yet to crash on the shores.

The music crescendoed through the evening air, inviting men and women of all ages to come together in the courtyard, coaxing all to lay the stresses of the last twenty years on the ground and embrace the next chapter of Ithaca.

Odysseus caught her eye with a gentle smile, holding a hand out in invitation.

The lanterns above covered the atrium in a warm glow, shadows a stranger in their light.

She reached for him, his hand finding hers.

Her body instantly felt at ease, a feeling she had been certain she would never feel again.

He smiled at her, and for a moment, she could be that young and naive girl on the beach, falling head over heels with a king under the stars.

As he guided her into dance, his hand rested firmly on her waist, the pressure steady and sure.

Her feet found the rhythm easily, her body remembering steps they hadn’t shared in decades.

Each moment between them was a rediscovery, each brush of his fingers across her skin, a memory reconnecting their hearts.

She closed her eyes, her entire world shrinking to the curve of his arms and the warmth of his breath.

She smiled as he twirled her, laughter she had thought lost floating over the treetops and away with the breeze.

Beneath the joy, there was a fragility in her breath, a tremor in her heart.

How many times had she imagined this moment?

How many times had she buried it deep, hardening her heart to the hope of reconnection?

Penelope held tighter to his hand, afraid to let go, afraid of how easily the dreams seemed to slip through her fingers.

Her husband’s touch seemed to echo her sentiments, fingers clutching her just a little tighter.

“I love you.” She whispered into the night, resting her head on his shoulder.

Instead of prayers for his return now, she begged the gods to freeze time.

To let her live in this moment in the safety of his arms.

As the music slowed, she lost herself in the feeling of his heartbeat against her cheek.

They had stopped moving, even as the music pulsed around them.

His arms tightened around her, one hand coming to tangle in her hair, holding her close.

“Penelope…” He started, longing pulling at his word, but he tensed beneath her before he could continue.

The lanterns above them flickered, a chill falling over the courtyard, and a breeze rustled the surrounding trees.

A low scraping sound cut through the sound of the music, the unmistakable sound of an oar dragging across stone.

It wasn’t just noise; it shook the very ground beneath their feet.

Penelope couldn’t locate it. It wasn’t in one place, it rang throughout the courtyard.

The music faltered… Swallowed whole by an all consuming darkness.

“Odysseus …”

A voice cut through the shadows, one that even Penelope would recognize.

Odysseus stiffened beneath her hands, his every muscle snapping to attention.

Warmth vanished from his body as he twisted, putting her behind him in one fluid motion.

His hand fell to the weapon at his waist, one that looked all too at home in his hands on this night meant for joy.

In a different moment, Penelope’s heart might have caught to see him carry the dagger with him.

The gift she bestowed upon him when she told him they were expecting.

A simple blade, created for him by a blacksmith that had once lived on the island.

Olive branches decorated the weapon, a symbol of the beginning of their lives together, and the center of their lives now.

But tonight, he did not brandish this dagger in the name of peace.

“Odysseus …”

The voice called out again, and Penelope turned her head, trying to follow her husband’s gaze. But darkness had made its home in the atrium, and she couldn’t see anything past the warrior in front of her.

“Show yourself, specter.” Her husband called out. She could feel the muscles in his arm tighten even further, coiled, preparing to strike. Afraid of him disappearing beneath her touch, she grasped at his arm, trying to anchor him to this moment, to her.

Lightning flashed in the sky above them, but no thunder followed.

Penelope quickly covered her mouth, catching her scream before it could escape. The phantom stepped into the light, shadows clinging to him like seaweed. His eyes were dark, hollow. But his face, his stature, was unmistakable.

Polites.

She knew he hadn’t made it back - no one but Odysseus had returned from the seas, from the war. And she knew what Polites had meant to her husband, knew that their friendship ran deep, and how deep a scar his death had left.

It was subtle at first, the tightening of his jaw and the hardening of his eyes. But she knew… Penelope knew him better than any man. This was not the man that held her moments ago. This was a soldier — prepared for battle — standing in his place.

She felt him tense beneath her hands as if the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulders. His weapon remained steady, but his shoulders bowed. She watched as grief cracked at the man she loved. He was still, too still.

“King of Ithaca, or King of the Dead?” The phantom called out, laughter spilling from his mouth.

The sound sent a chill through Penelope’s bones, freezing her in place.

He sounded like a man drowned, as though his laughter was coming from beneath the waves.

Her stomach lurched. “How many men bloody your hands, oh great king?”

“Six hundred and eight,” Odysseus answered, his voice low and unflinching, “But not all their blood stains my hands.”

Her breath caught at the number, knees threatening to buckle beneath her.

“You truly believe the deaths were justified, king of the dead?” The ghost warbled, drawing nearer to where they stood.

Penelope’s eyes darted around the atrium where the party had been roaring to life less than a moment ago - she couldn’t see anyone.

Anything. Darkness enveloped the three of them like a shroud, keeping the light out, or the dark in…

“I will not weep for the men that hurt my son, the men that dared to touch my wife.” The king replied, never wavering, never laxing. Penelope would give anything to see his face, to be wrapped up in his safe embrace.

“Strong words for a man enslaved by the gods. The scales will have their balance, Odysseus of Ithaca. The scales always have their balance.”

As quickly as the dark had taken the party, it was released. The lanterns roared to life above them, and the chill drifted back out to sea, replaced by the warm evening air. The sounds of music and laughter returned, wrapping around them.

“Odysseus… What's happening?” Penelope asked, her voice smaller than she expected. Had their people not seen what they had seen? Heard what they had heard?

He did not answer her. Odysseus took his hand in hers and led her out of the courtyard and back into their palace.