Iâm personally caught up on the seamstress.
âThe pathway up Olympus is guarded by dozens of traps and perils strong enough to thwart even the Titans. How are we going to get past all ofâŚâ the shepherd boy with golden eagle feathers gestured uselessly at the slopes above them, particularly the herd of eight-legged goats snorting fire.
âThereâs a way around,â Yiorgos said, though he was not specifically asked. But he had been the first to begin the march on Olympus, and so felt obligated to take the lead whenever possible, âIn the stories thereââs always a way around whatever obstacles the Gods place in our way.â
He hadnât meant the words to come out as a question, but they had that lilt to them none-the-less. And even though he hadnât meant it to be a question, much less a question directed at anyone specific, it was directed at one all the same. Just as the eagle-feathered shepherd boyâs had.
âWay I heard it,â a womanâs voice said. Rough with the Mycenaean Greek equivalent of a backwoods accent, and with the depth of a farmerâs wife who straps cattle to her back to carry to market, âthereâs a back path. Hidden behind an invisible door that only one key in the world can open.â Everyoneâs eyes had turned to the broad older woman in heavy shawl sitting amidst supplies in the foremost cart. âLeast, thatâs what my grand-mammy always told me.â she added after a moment of dozens of eyes on her.
âOh, we were so foolish!â That was Lydia, a lithe waif of a woman, many months pregnant, sitting opposite the seamstress in the wagon. âOf course thereâd be a.. a quest. Theyâd keep such a key in the depths of Tartarus or in the golden chariot of Apollo, or, or-â
âOrâ, the older woman cut her off in a voice both firm, but much gentler than she used on anyone else, âheâs like all husbands and has been promising to move the key someplace better for the past three thousand years but hasnât gotten around to it.â She gestured vaguely to the hillside, âHonestly, I wouldnât be surprised if it was under, say, that bush right over there.â
It was. Of course. And everyone in the caravan agreed that it had been a very lucky and wise guess from the nameless woman and for the upteenth time since she first sat herself down in the front wagon and announced she was coming along with no further explanation, each and every last member very purposefully gave no further thought to the matter.
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