Odysseus clung to his raft of sticks as he was washed through the breakers and onto the shore of another island in the sequence of islands that filled his days. On the narrow shore the cold rain hit him and he found himself missing the warmth of the sea. He saw firelight in a cave, pulled himself up and staggered toward it. It occurred to him to walk in and throw himself on the mercy of the occupants but instead he thought, ``One more time," and crept through the freezing, rain-soaked night to listen.
Within, three women sat around a snapping fire. The shadows on the wall behind them were the blurred silhouettes of sweet maiden, stout matron and bent crone, but as the firelight flickered the shadows took other forms--a long armed ogre with grasping hands, a bird of prey with unfurled wings, a net with glass floats (their iridescence gleaming on the rough rock walls), or, sometimes, nothing at all. They debated loudly to be heard over the rain and the fire, which, for all the violence of its burning, made more smoke than light.
``Ten years is ten years, no matter how you cut it," said one, brandishing a cooking knife. ``You can interpret all you want but the facts are inescapable."
``Mere simple-minded literalism," said another, using a ladle to stir a tarnished copper pot on a tripod all but swallowed by the flames. ``If it said he was to be brave like an eagle, would you have him plucking mice out of fields and climbing a tall tree to sit on a nest of sticks and guard an egg? It is understood to be a guideline, an indication to be fleshed out as required by the details of the situation, and not an exact recipe..."
``It is exactly a recipe, only far more binding," said the first in a voice like a fast, cold wind.
``...unless you're a blockhead," finished the second.
``Blockhead yourself, Miss I-shall-do-as-I-please-for-it-is-only-a-guideline," said the first. ``I beg your pardon most humbly, great Madame. I never meant to imply that one as august as yourself should be obliged to be bound by the iron chains of necessity."
``Tut. There is some room to move within those chains, and I say he has suffered enough," replied the second.
``He has not begun to suffer," said the third, whom Odysseus now saw was the fairest and most terrible. ``If he got home now he would be unmarked. His suffering, as you are pleased to call it, would be the stuff of tales to enliven the winter of his old age, stories for his grandchildren. Fie on you. We will draw him thin and fine."
It began to hail. The ice stones clamored in the trees and off the stone and the cave filled with echoes.
``Bloodthirsty," said one, he could no longer tell which.
``Then let none of his blood be spilled. We can hurt him just as much, even worse without it," said another, cackling, her voice coming from no direction and every direction.
``What then, break his heart?" said another.
``Don't break him--drain him. Take all his warmth and hope and make him empty as a clear cold night on the top of Aetna," said a third.
``So be it."
``So be it."
``What next for him, then?"
``The witch Calypso, in solitude on her island. Her bed is cold and she longs for him, though she does not yet know it, for all that she studies the stars and suspects that the sea will soon bring her a gift."
``And shall we make her a horror?"
The hail crescendoed and the fire was a red glow of embers. Odysseus gathered his courage (thinking that after all the shadows might only be shadows, the women only women) and in a high, rough voice said ``No, let her be beautiful and as kind as summer."
``Such kindliness, sister!" said one.
``Not from me." said another.
``Never mind, and so be it." said the last. ``We have other business to transact. There is death to be dealt in Hyperborea."
``But do not forget," said one, as the fire disappeared altogether and the women merged into the shadows, ``he is, for all that he is bound by us, allowed just once to direct his fate, though I for one shall not seek his counsel. Let us hope he does not meddle enough to get himself home."