At that moment, the two gods reappeared, Pytheas restored to his usual size.
“Let’s put it together right now,” Pytheas said. “Where—ah, thank you, Pico.” He took the papers from Ikaros and pulled two more out the fold of his kiton.
“But what—” Ikaros asked.
“We have decided to work on getting Athene back first, before addressing the issue of Jathery’s imposture,” Pytheas said, with a glare at Jathery. He walked over to the table. Arete and Ikaros followed close behind. Pytheas set the papers down on top of the pile of books Ikaros had laid down there earlier. The four of them bent over the papers. Arete at once switched them into a different order.
Sokrates looked at me, and I jumped. “You’ve been very quiet. What’s your connection with all this?”
“I’m here because I’m Hilfa’s friend,” I said. Hilfa stopped rocking and nodded.
“An admirable reason,” he said. “Your name is Jason, Pytheas said. I see you’re a Silver?”
“Yes,” I said, emboldened by his approval. “We work on a fishing boat with Marsilia.”
“Yes, I can read it,” Arete said, from across the room. “It’s a technical description of how to get out into the primal Chaos and back. It sounds preposterously dangerous. There’s no justification or explanation here of why she did it or why anyone would want to, or why she left it scattered in pieces.”
“But you can read it?” Pytheas asked. “Translate it!”
“I could,” Arete said. “But, Father, I’d need a good reason as to why I should. This is extremely dangerous information, and Athene didn’t come back. I see no reason why it would be any less dangerous for you. If gods can get lost out there, it’s bad enough to lose one, and much worse to lose two.”
“If you won’t translate it, you’ll force us to take it to Father,” Pytheas said. Now that they were standing nose to nose glaring at each other, I could see that they were exactly the same height.
“Explain to me why that is a bad thing?” Arete asked. I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable hearing them arguing about such things. But Hilfa was still shivering in my arms, so I stayed where I was and tried to be reassuring. Thetis smiled at me over Marsilia’s head, and that in itself was reason enough to stay. “You should take it to Zeus,” Arete went on. “You said you wanted to see her explanation first—well, there isn’t any, in the sense of justification for why she did it.”
“I told you why she did it.” Pytheas stalked back to his chair and flung himself down. “And I explained why I don’t want to go to Father.”
“Do we have to take any action?” Arete asked.
Pytheas glowered at her. “You can read us the instructions and then we can attempt to rescue her. Or if you refuse, we can go to Father, though I fear the consequences. Those are our choices. We can’t leave her stranded out there and do nothing, no. That’s not an acceptable option.”
“I agree with that,” Jathery said. I looked over to where gla was still standing by the table, gla big hand splayed on Athene’s notes. Gla looked like a big Sael with exceptionally clear skin patterns, except that gla had an arrogant confidence that was like no Sael I had ever seen. Gla voice sounded smooth and persuasive. And gla skin patterns changed as I watched. Hilfa’s were more or less pronounced, but always the same pattern in the same place. Jathery’s writhed and rewrote themselves constantly.
“We absolutely need to get her back. The world can’t survive without wisdom,” Ikaros said, passionately.
“You of all people must understand that Athene is not the only source of wisdom in the universe,” Arete snapped.
“But she’s our source of wisdom, our culture’s source,” Ikaros said. “We wouldn’t be the same with foreign wisdom.”
“We might be better,” Sokrates said, thoughtfully.
“I love her, and you know you do too,” Ikaros said.
“True. And I am her votary, hers and Apollo’s.” He nodded to Pytheas where he sat. Pytheas, or maybe I should say Apollo, nodded back warily. “But loving her doesn’t excuse us from seeing her very real faults. And considering those, who is to say we might not be better with Apollo taking charge of our wisdom, or perhaps Thoth or Anahita.”
Pytheas shuddered. “We wouldn’t, not with any of those choices, believe me.” I knew nothing about Thoth except that he was an ibis-headed Egyptian god. I had never even heard of Anahita.
“Some other god of wisdom might better consider the will of thinking beings,” Sokrates said. “Athene has always been careless of it.”
“You’re only saying that because you think it would be interesting to find out,” Ikaros said.
“Well, don’t you?” asked Sokrates mildly.
“Yes, theoretically interesting, but in practice it would be terrible,” Ikaros said. “You’re still angry with her because she turned you into a gadfly.”
Sokrates laughed. I stared at him, hardly able to believe he could find it funny. “It was interesting being a gadfly. The way they see is amazing. And I could fly! I’m not angry about that. It was a fascinating experience—a little frightening at first, yes, but I have endured far worse things, and there was a lot about it to enjoy. If I can’t forgive her it’s for not finishing the argument.”
“She behaved badly in the Last Debate,” Ikaros conceded. “But we should still rescue her!”
“I’m not saying Athene’s not valuable or that we should abandon her,” Arete said. “I’m saying that Apollo is equally valuable, or more valuable right now because he hasn’t gone haring out into Chaos. And I suppose the same applies to Jathery; the Saeli must need him for something.”
Jathery laughed, the patterns on his skin still changing every moment. Hearing it I realized what was wrong with Hilfa’s laugh—it was always the same. Human laughter bubbles or barks and each laugh is different. Jathery’s was different. When he’d been pretending to be Hermes it had sounded like normal laughter. Now it didn’t sound at all human, and it sent shivers through me. Meanwhile, beside me, Hilfa shook his head. I looked at him. “No?” I whispered. “You don’t need him?”
“I suppose we do,” he whispered back.
“But isn’t gla your culture’s source of wisdom?” I asked.
Hilfa didn’t reply.
“I wonder what Athene has learned out there?” Ikaros mused.
“What did she hope to learn?” Arete asked. “How could it seem like a good idea to do such a thing?”
“She wanted to know the answers to the most fundamental questions,” Ikaros said. “How the universe came into being, and how Zeus made time. We were working on the nature of time and Necessity.”
“Is the knowledge that she might have learned in Chaos why you want to risk yourselves to rescue her?” Arete asked Pytheas.
“It’s why I’m afraid of what Father might do,” Pytheas said.
“It’s not worth the risk!” Arete said.
“It is worth a little risk to learn so many answers,” Jathery said, quietly but compellingly.
“A little risk!” Arete said, not at all persuaded. “You know how great a risk it is to place everything on one throw.”
“But sometimes it can be rewarding,” Jathery murmured persuasively.
Arete shuddered.
“What do you mean by time?” Sokrates asked abruptly.
Ikaros jumped. He had been staring at Jathery as if he could read the patterns on gla skin. He turned to Sokrates. “Oh, what the gods mean when they say time is human history, or what we might call material reality or the fourth hypostasis. The place where things change and actions have consequences and one day follows the next. But it’s not that simple. The gods live in the realm of soul and are eternal, and can step in and out of what they call time, but they also experience consequences and growth and change. They have personal time.” He moved his arms demonstratively. “Plotinus said time was a quality, a negative quality, an imperfection, and that the higher hypostases didn’t suffer it. But he was wrong. It’s such a pity he didn’t live to learn how time is more complicated. In fact, time extends at least into the realm of mind, above the realm of soul, because the ideals, the Forms, are dynamic.”