Page 33 of Odette's Vow

The first spirit to approach me was Elpenor, a member of my crew. His presence confused me – how could Elpenor be here among the dead? We had parted ways only days ago on the battlefield, and yet his shade stood before me, skin pale and ethereal, unlike the vibrant man I had last seen.

Had he died in battle and I had not yet been told?

“Elpenor? What brings you here? How is it you’ve come to be among the dead?”

He did not respond directly. Instead his stare pierced through me with a silent plea. As he spoke, his voice was a hollow echo. “Odysseus, I beg of you, grant me a proper burial. My body lies unburied on Circe’s island, left to the mercy of the elements. I cannot find peace in this state.”

I shook my head in confusion. “Circe’s island? Elpenor, we have never been to such a place. What madness is this?”

A flicker of frustration crossed his spectral face, and his voice grew sharp, tinged with anger. “Do you not see my state? I speak of a future, one where you have failed me! My soul is restless, trapped between worlds, because you did not see to my burial.”

My heart pounded in my chest, until I thought I might die from the strength of its hammering beat. I struggled to reconcile Elpenor’s words with what I knew to be true. We were still outside the gates of Troy. Yet the anguish in his eyes was undeniable, a testament to a fate I had yet to understand.

“Elpenor, if ever we find ourselves on this Circe’s island you speak of, I will seek out your body and ensure you are given a proper burial. You have my word.”

His form seemed to flicker, the anger in his eyes dimming slightly as my promise reached him. But the sorrow remained, and I was left with the weight of my oath, and the unsettling knowledge of a future where I had failed a comrade.

The whispers of the dead became more insistent. From the shadows emerged a figure, tall and imposing, a warrior whose mere presence demanded respect. Achilles, the mightiest of the Greeks, strode toward me with the same power and arrogance he had wielded in life.

“Odysseus,” he called, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Have you come to gloat, or to witness the eternal greatness of Achilles, even in death?”

“Achilles, even here, you cling to your glory.”

“Glory is all that matters, Odysseus. I am Achilles, the greatest warrior, and even in the Underworld, I deserve to be honoured.”

The Achilles I saw before me was not the noble warrior of legends, but a ghost obsessed with his own legacy. As I listened to him continue his tirade, memories of the living world flooded my mind, reminding me that Achilles had not yet returned to the war after I had last seen him. How could he be here, demanding recognition? If our greatest warrior was destined to fall, how could we hope to win this war and find our way home?

My mind raced, connecting pieces of this grim fate. Without Achilles, our mightiest champion, we were exposed. I had to think, had to find another way to outmaneuver our enemies.

Achilles continued to wax lyrical about glory. He spoke of battles not yet fought and victories won, his words dripping with self-absorbed pride. It was as if he were speaking to himself, reliving the moments of triumph that had defined his life. His gaze was distant, fixated on the past glories that now seemed hollow in this shadowed realm. Just as in life, Achilles was consumed by his own legend, deaf to the concerns of others.

His monologue droned on, but I was no longer listening, for another approached me with an air of solemn authority. It was the prophet, Tiresias, his eyes blind but, if the rumours were to be believed, seeing more than any mortal.

“Tiresias, why am I here? I am certain I am not supposed to be here, yet I clearly remember coming to this realm. Help me, old friend.”

The prophet nodded, as if expecting my plea. “Odysseus, son of Laertes, many perils await you on your journey. Listen well and heed my words if you wish not to return here before your time. Beware of those that sing you sweet words. Plug your ears with beeswax, bind yourself if you must, but do not succumb to the temptation, for their intentions are treacherous.”

I thought over his words. “You speak of sirens.”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard me, his voice steady and unyielding. “Be careful of being so all-consumed with your goal, shrewd Odysseus, that you are not devoured by the whirlpool that surrounds you, for that grasp is unforgiving. To steer yourself straight down the middle is wise, even if you lose a little along the way, for it is better to lose fewer things than more. Do not fear six-headed monsters when two-faced people are much more dangerous.

“Finally, upon your return to Ithaca, you must make a sacrifice to appease Poseidon, for he will harbour a great anger against you once you wrong him. Only by seeking his forgiveness can you ever hope to find peace in your homeland.”

His words lingered, the solemn directives settling heavily upon me. Why would I intentionally wrong a god like Poseidon? Just as I went to ask him, Tiresias raised a hand to silence me.

“Above all, remain vigilant, Odysseus. The greatest danger may come from those you least expect.”

I nodded, the finality of his tone telling me I would get no more out of him this night. “I will heed your warnings and follow your counsel. The gods willing, I will see Ithaca once more.”

Tiresias nodded, a faint smile across his face. “Then I will leave you in the hands of one who will help you leave this place.”

As he retreated into the shadows, I was met by the spirit of my mother, Anticlea. My breath caught as I recognised her form, her face.

“Mother?” I whispered, sorrow bearing down upon me. I had not known she was dead. I had not known the others were dead, was still not yet convinced they were, but for some reason she appeared more substantial, her body more ‘material’, and I knew. She was truly here. The thought struck me with a pain deeper than any I had felt before. “Mother, how can this be?”

She stepped closer until I could feel her ghost-like hands on my forearms. “Odysseus, my son. Your father is old and in poor health, living in seclusion. He would not see anyone, even me. Between that and a seemingly endless war, I died of grief, my heart broken at the long absence you both left. I could not bear the endlessness of it all.”

Tears burned in the back of my eyes as I reached out to embrace her. My arms passed through her, and I was reminded again of the cruel divide between the living and the dead. “Mother, I never meant for this to happen.”

---