Homer's Excellent Adventure Page 11

  “But,” Hermes said, putting up his finger. “I am warning you, so don’t say I’m not. If you lose track of time, if all ten years go by, then your farm gets taken away. Your mom gets cast out on the streets. You’ll have failed most epically.”

  “I won’t fail,” I said.

  “I know,” Hermes said. “Because I have a solution for that.”

  “What?” I asked. Ten years seemed like an eternity of time.

  “Don’t be late,” Hermes said, tapping my hourglass. “Keep track of time. Oh, and enjoy the year ahead.”

  I didn’t know what he meant by that. We’d been gone close to a year already. But I didn’t get the chance to ask him any more because he flipped his cap back around and vanished.

  STANDING ON THE BEACH

  THE FIRST THING THAT HAPPENED WAS THAT THE twenty-one guys who’d been turned into pigs came hurrying back to the beach. Pork. Polites. Ear. All of them. Sure, they kept looking back over their shoulder, like they thought Circe was going to snap her fingers and turn them into pigs again, but after a couple glasses of mead, they were fine. The second thing that happened, after he’d calmed down enough, was that Pork said, “The witch says we all get to go hang out at the palace. She promises not to turn us back into anything unnatural.”

  “Where’s Odysseus?” Eurylochus said.

  Pork took another huge sip and wiped his mouth with his arm. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of Odysseus anytime soon. The witch has got him. But he says it’s okay.”

  I didn’t know what the witch and Odysseus were up to, and I didn’t want to find out.

  So, we set up camp in an entire wing of the palace, and we waited. And waited. And waited. And then finally one day—a year had gone by; seriously, a year—Odysseus came sauntering into the room where the guys sat around eating and drinking.

  “Are we ready to go yet?” he asked, like he’d only been gone for an hour.

  I almost threw a pan at his head, but Dory stopped me. She kind of liked it here because she got to cook and there was all sorts of yummy food, but I was ready to get back on the road. Or the sea, as the case might be.

  “Is he kidding?” I muttered under my breath. I’d tried not to panic, but I had to turn the hourglass once already and almost needed to turn it again.

  I wasn’t the only one ready to leave. Eurylochus stormed forward and got right in Odysseus’ face.

  “How dare you leave us here for so long?” he said.

  “I had no choice,” Odysseus said. “To save the men. It was the price I had to pay.”

  “Save the men,” Eurylochus mocked. “We should have left a year ago when we had the chance. We would have been back to Ithaca months ago.”

  Odysseus pushed him aside, as if to move by. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Eurylochus.”

  “And you don’t deserve to be king,” Eurylochus said.

  The air froze around them. I could not believe he’d just said that. I wrote down every word, trying not to blink so I wouldn’t miss anything.

  One second went by. Then two. Three. Four. Odysseus’ hand went to his sword, but he didn’t pull it out. Eurylochus was not so smart. He launched forward and grabbed Odysseus around the neck.

  They grappled and fell to the ground. At first the guys cheered them on, most of them rooting for Odysseus. A handful of others calling out Eurylochus’ name. He did have some supporters among the guys.

  Back and forth they fought, until Odysseus finally landed above Eurylochus. His yellow tunic had been ripped nearly in half. He pulled his sword from its sheath and placed it against Eurylochus’ throat.

  “What did you say, swine?” Odysseus said.

  Eurylochus spotted the cold metal, and his eye grew wide, like somehow he was surprised to see it. But how could he be surprised? Odysseus was the king of Ithaca. Eurylochus was nothing but a wannabe.

  “I said that you didn’t deserve to be king,” Eurylochus said.

  I guess he was trying to get himself killed.

  “And for that insult, you will die.” Odysseus raised the sword and prepared to strike.

  “Wait!” Polites said, limping forward.

  “Wait for what?” Odysseus said.

  “Don’t kill him,” Polites said. “Not like this.”

  “His insult is unforgivable,” Odysseus said.

  I wanted to scream, “Just put down the sword,” but I wasn’t about to get in the middle of this fight.

  “You can’t kill him,” Polites said. “It’s not what you do.”

  “He deserves to die,” Odysseus said.

  Polites shrugged. “I’m not saying I disagree with you. But let the gods be the judge of that. You need to keep your conscience clean.”

  Odysseus lowered the sword one more time to Eurylochus’ neck. And then he did us all proud by hawking up a giant loogie on Eurylochus. It landed right on his eye.

  “Only because you’re related to my wife am I sparing your life,” Odysseus said, and then he stepped back.

  We all started breathing again. Then we returned to the ship and got it ready to sail which wasn’t an easy task since it had been sitting at the dock for over a year. We patched the leaks with black pitch and mended the blue sail and scrubbed the deck until it shone.

  “Where to?” Polites said once everything was ready to go.

  Odysseus turned the rudder until it was pointing in the complete opposite direction of Ithaca. “We sail west.”

  “West?” Eurylochus said. He was right back at it, questioning Odysseus’ every move.

  “West,” Odysseus said. “To edge of the sea. We sail to the Underworld.”

  IT’S THE EDGE OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT

  AS YOU CAN IMAGINE, THE WHOLE “SAIL TO THE Underworld” thing didn’t go over so well. The guys questioned and argued and disagreed and even tried reasoning with Odysseus, but—and here’s where Odysseus as king really stood out—he had this way of pulling the men toward him. Not of bending their wills, but of convincing them of the beauty of his plan. And by the end of the day, all the guys—well, all except Eurylochus—had the ship ready to sail. They were willing to follow Odysseus, their king, anywhere, even—as Fate would have it—to the Underworld.

  “What do you think the Underworld is like?” Dory asked. I sat on my normal bench in the galley and wrote while she made yet another vat of soup. She’d started tucking her hair behind her ears while she worked in the galley, making it even more obvious that she was a girl. But since the guys didn’t expect her to be a girl, they still hadn’t figured it out. They farted around her and burped so loudly it shook the sails of the ship.

  “Dark. Fiery. Depressing,” I said. I’d heard stories about the Underworld all my life. Stories that others had told me. Looked like I was the one who’d be telling those stories now.

  “That’s what I’ve heard, too,” Dory said. “But it can’t all be that way? I mean, all the good people go there, too. The guys from the other ships. Your dad. They can’t all be burning, can they?”

  “My dad’s not dead,” I said.

  “Yeah, okay,” Dory replied, but she didn’t sound convinced.

  “No really,” I said. “He’s not. He’s just taking a long time to get home. Just like Odysseus.” This was a good point I made. If Odysseus had been away from his family for years, then there was a really great chance Dad was on his way home also, trying to reach Mom and me. Maybe he’d just run into some Laestrygonians of his own.

  “Fine. What about the other guys?” Dory said. “You think it’s all fire and brimstone?”

  I didn’t want to think about Dad dead, and I also didn’t want to think about the guys from the ships in some fiery wasteland.

  “Probably not,” I said.

  “But what if it is?” Dory said. “It could be dangerous. We should stay onboard.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No way, Homer,” Dory said. “You know that anyone who goes to the Underworld can never le
ave again.”

  “That’s just something parents say to scare their kids,” I said. “It’s not real.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Dory said, and she got real quiet.

  I hated that. Dory had no idea who her parents were. They could be ax murderers for all she knew. My dad may be missing, but at least I’d known him. I’d spent the better part of my life with him.

  And I missed him.

  I wondered if that made it worse, knowing someone and then losing them or not knowing them at all.

  “I’m going to the Underworld,” I said, holding up the scroll. “It’s my job. If I don’t write about it then …”

  “Then what?” she said.

  “Then no one will ever know about it,” I said.

  “Who cares?” Dory said. “You already have enough. You’ll stick with Odysseus for the next couple months until he gets home, and that’ll be all you need. You’ll pass no problem.”

  I ran my finger down the smooth scroll. “There’s still so much room. So much empty space.” Which was actually kind of weird. It seemed like the scroll always made room for more words.

  “Some empty space is okay,” Dory said. “It helps balance the words.”

  She was probably right. But I also think that she was scared to go to the Underworld, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

  WE SAILED FOR A MONTH. THE SEA NEVER ENDED. IT didn’t seem possible, unless I went with the possibility that we had sailed off the edge of the world and on to some other place. I didn’t like this possibility. The idea of leaving the world that I knew behind made my stomach feel all kinds of queasy, like I’d eaten way too much cheese. But unlike eating cheese, which would eventually digest and get better, the tremors in my stomach never stopped. They stayed there as a permanent part of me.

  Days blended into nights and then nights blended into days, and then the entire sky went gray and remained that way. Even though I couldn’t see it, I had to believe that the sun was still up there somewhere. The guys turned sullen; their moods matched the sky and the water. I wasn’t doing much better. I stopped writing when the sky clouded over, and I couldn’t bring myself to start again. Dory continued making soup, but it was as bland as everything else.

  We didn’t speak. None of us had any words we wanted to share.

  After the month, a gray harbor appeared before us. The ship drifted up to it, without the guys steering or rowing or anything. Odysseus grabbed from the deck where he’d stored it a jar that Circe had given him and climbed down from the ship onto the long wooden dock that extended into the water.

  “Who’s with me?” he said. These were the first words anyone had spoken in weeks.

  Polites and Eurylochus immediately stepped forward along with five other guys.

  I grabbed my scroll from where I’d tucked it away in an oilcloth to keep it safe from the damp air.

  “Don’t go, Homer,” Dory said.

  She hadn’t forgotten.

  “Come with me,” I said.

  Dory shook her head, and real fear crept into her eyes.

  “What are you afraid of?” I asked, grabbing her hand.

  “I don’t know,” she said, and her gaze drifted past me, down the long dock. “I feel like there are secrets out there. Secrets that should maybe remain hidden.”

  I squeezed her hand. “I’ll stay with you the whole time. We’ll be together. Everything will be okay.”

  Dory seemed to consider my words, tossing them back and forth in her mind like coins on a scale.

  “But what if it’s not okay?” Dory said. “What if …?”

  “What if what?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Just what if?”

  “Then we’ll face that what if together,” I said. “Now come on. Odysseus is leaving.”

  Dory finally let me pull her forward, and we hurried down the ladder and caught up with Odysseus and the guys.

  He nodded at us. “Bard and Cook. Stay close. There is danger ahead.”

  Great. His words weren’t going to do anything to make Dory feel better.

  We walked along the wooden planks into the gray mist until we came to a crack in the world where light seeped through. Odysseus stood tall and sauntered forward, into the crack. The entire world split in half.

  The gray mist vanished. We stood on the top of a mountain with brilliant sun shining in the sky above, warming our skin for the first time in a month. A single doorway stood in front of us, surrounded by two columns.

  “I go first,” Odysseus said, striding forward with the jar in his hands. “Bard, you’ll come with me.”

  Dory stepped forward. “I’ll come along, too.”

  But Odysseus shook his head. “Just the bard.” And he shoved me through.

  We were no longer on the mountain. The ship and the sea were nowhere to be found. A hard ball formed in my stomach, and I broke out in sweaty chills.

  We were in the Underworld.

  TWO TICKETS FOR PARADISE

  AHEAD OF US WAS A RIVER WITH WATER SO BLACK, it looked like night had been captured and trapped inside.

  “Don’t be afraid, Bard,” Odysseus said.

  “I’m not.” I said, but my voice shook, because out of the blackness a boat drifted toward us. It slid up onto the rocky sand where we stood and then a cloaked figure extended a hand, palm up. And I really wished Dory was here next to me, even though she was annoying a lot of the time.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out who the cloaked guy was: Charon, Ferryman of the Dead. Everyone knew that Charon was the guy who carted you across the River Styx when it was your time to head to the Underworld. Which it definitely wasn’t right now. I had lots of life left ahead of me.

  “Did you bring any money?” I whispered to Odysseus. The only thing in my pockets besides extra ink were crumbs from the rolls Dory snuck me.

  “Always be prepared, Bard,” Odysseus said, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out two large gold coins.

  Two. Which meant that he was planning on me crossing the River Styx along with him.

  Odysseus handed the gold coins over to Charon who flipped them around his long bony fingers like some kind of magic trick.

  “Good. Good. You brought money,” Charon cackled in a voice that sounded like a cross between a crow and a hyena. “So many try to cross without money.”

  “And do you let them?” I asked, finding my voice even though part of my brain cautioned me to stay really quiet.

  Charon leaned way forward until his hood was right in my face. I couldn’t see anything inside the hood. It was like an empty pit filled with blackness. But I felt like he could see into my soul.

  “Failing school,” he said, making a clucking sound. “That’s not good at all.”

  I took a step back. “I’m not failing school.”

  “You’re failing?” Odysseus said. “I was under the assumption that you were a master storyteller.”

  I put my hands up. “Okay, just a second here. I really don’t see how it’s either of your business what my grades are.”

  “It’s my business because you’re telling my story,” Odysseus said.

  I crossed my arms. “Then we better get on with that story.”

  Odysseus laughed, just a small chuckle there by the River Styx, but enough to break through the death around us. “True, Bard. On with our journey.”

  Charon stepped back to let us by. “Fine. Onto the boat. But don’t let your grades slip. School is important, though I don’t see being a soldier in your future. No, the Fates have different plans for you.”

  The Fates had no idea what they were talking about, and neither did Charon. I was definitely going to be a soldier, just like my dad.

  “If you take us across, will we be able to come back?” I asked. I had no intention of getting stuck in the Underworld forever.

  “Are you dead?” Charon asked.

  I shook my head slowly. I may have traveled back in time, thanks to the powers of the gods, bu
t I was not dead. “I’m very much alive. And so is Odysseus.”

  “Not if he keeps doing stupid stuff,” Charon said.

  “Stupid like what?” Odysseus said.

  “Like making the gods mad,” Charon said. “Now get on the boat. Time is wasting.”

  Odysseus and I climbed aboard. Even though I’d been living on a ship for almost two years, my legs still went all wobbly as the boat swayed in the river. I sank to the bench and leaned out to look over the side as we pulled away from the shore.

  “Not too close to the edge,” Charon said. “The monsters’ll eat something as small as you in one bite.”

  Monsters. Was there no end to what we’d face? I scooted to the center of the bench, and Charon pushed us across to the other side.

  Charon told us not to leave the shore. That the dead would come to us. And then he pushed his black boat back into the black water and slipped away into the fog.

  Odysseus sat the giant jug he’d been carting around onto the shore, and we waited, but no dead people showed up. He tried to be all cool, like he had this thing totally under control, but finally he started looking left and right and pacing back and forth.

  “She told me to come here. To sacrifice to the dead,” Odysseus said. “She told me they would give me guidance.”

  She had to be Circe. I wasn’t about to mention that following the advice of a witch wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I figured we could wait a bit longer. Then, when no dead people came to see us, we could leave. Sail back east to Ithaca.

  “What’s in the jar, anyway?” I asked, bending closer so I could get a better look. It was covered with a thick piece of leather and looked like it had tar inside.

  “Our sacrifice,” Odysseus said.

  “Which is what?” I pulled at the edge of the leather, lifting it just slightly. But maybe I lifted it too much, because a horrendous stench filled the air around us.

  “Black blood,” Odysseus said.

  And the dead began to come.

  I recognized the first guy who walked up to us immediately. It was one of the guys from our ship. I’d just seen him back on Circe’s island.