Iβm personally caught up on the seamstress.
βThe 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 ofβ¦β the shepherd boy with golden eagle feathers gestured uselessly at the slopes above them, particularly the herd of eight-legged goats snorting fire.
βThereβs a way around,β 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, βIn the stories thereββs always a way around whatever obstacles the Gods place in our way.β
He hadnβt meant the words to come out as a question, but they had that lilt to them none-the-less. And even though he hadnβt 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 boyβs had.
βWay I heard it,β a womanβs voice said. Rough with the Mycenaean Greek equivalent of a backwoods accent, and with the depth of a farmerβs wife who straps cattle to her back to carry to market, βthereβs a back path. Hidden behind an invisible door that only one key in the world can open.βΒ Everyoneβs eyes had turned to the broad older woman in heavy shawl sitting amidst supplies in the foremost cart. βLeast, thatβs what my grand-mammy always told me.β she added after a moment of dozens of eyes on her.
βOh, we were so foolish!β That was Lydia, a lithe waif of a woman, many months pregnant, sitting opposite the seamstress in the wagon. βOf course thereβd be a.. a quest. Theyβd keep such a key in the depths of Tartarus or in the golden chariot of Apollo, or, or-β
βOrβ, the older woman cut her off in a voice both firm, but much gentler than she used on anyone else, βheβs like all husbands and has been promising to move the key someplace better for the past three thousand years but hasnβt gotten around to it.βΒ She gestured vaguely to the hillside, βHonestly, I wouldnβt be surprised if it was under, say, that bush right over there.β
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.
