No astericks in this one...I think. Hold on....only 1 more chapter left after this!!! I started to forget my vow not to get too formal, though, so bear with me when I start getting to high tech and boring again.
The Weaver
Chapter Four~Competition
Ever when a mortal has claimed to be better than one of the gods, they were fiercely punished. The gods hear such words easily, and being very jealous, they act quickly. As I lay at her feet, I tried to imagine what my punishment could possibly be. Horrible stories and images formed in my mind. Fear caused my skin to crawl, for my limbs to tremble.
Athene kneeled down and helped me to rise from the ground. My legs were shaking so much that I had to sit down immediately. She laughed softly.
"Arachne, your pride shall be the end of you. Why? Why must you be so proud?" Athene asked.
"I didn't. I'm not," I sobbed, perhaps so softly that she did not hear. If she had heard, she made no indication. She continued.
"You claim that you weave better than I. I who created the loom! I who first taught mankind tactics, weaving, spinning, sculpting! Do you think so still?"
Pausing for my answer, she stood still. For the first time, I noticed that she wore a gold breastplate, Medusa's head emblazoned in the center. There on her shins were, of course, gold battalion shin guards. How could I have seen her crested helmet earlier? She looked fiercely warlike and dangerous. Shivering, I did not answer her.
"Very well. You boast that you are the better. We shall see!" she cried, flinging the words at the crowd.
"In one month, beside this very hill, we shall have a competition. You and I shall weave, and the crowd shall be the judge."
I cried harder. Even then I knew I was doomed. Never had I thought I could weave as well as Athene. I *had* been humble, respective of the gods! It was not fair that I should pay for Father's arrogance!
"IF you win, your life shall be spared, but if not..."
She paused for effect, holding the attention of everyone. Looking up, I met her eyes. Though to everyone in the crowd, it seemed that she was sparing my life. She was giving me a chance to prove myself and save my soul. I knew, though, that I was doomed past saving.
"If I do not," I whispered for her, "I shall have to pay the penalties."
She nodded her approval and stared for a few moments at my blanket, fingering it. What could she have thought of it? Did she think well of my meager attempt, or did she scorn it inwardly, laughing at me?
"So, Arachne, do you accept?" Athene asked at last. "Do you accept my challenge of the title that is so rightly mine?"
"Yes, she accepts," Father answered for me. "She will be here, in a month, to compete."
I turned around abruptly, staring at Father in complete shock. How could he do this to me? Sell my life away? How could he be so uncaring and arrogant, cocky even?
Quickly, I turned back to Athene to protest. *No!* I wanted to scream. *Please forgive me, I know my place now!*
I never said my apologies; I was never forgiven, for when I turned again to beg, the goddess Pallas Athene was gone.
One month, I was given. All I had left was one, last desperate hope that clutched at my spirit, keeping me from taking my life. In one month I could improve. One month was ample enough time to practice, perhaps even to excel to Athene's capabilities. Or so my Father claimed. They all claimed so. In the end, they convinced me, sowing the seeds of hope deep within my heart. So I wove.
Day and night, sitting beside my window, by moonlight or sunlight, rain or shine, I wove. Perhaps in the entire month, I had only a few days of sleep. My slender fingers were worn red and raw, bleeding over the thread to the point that Father dragged the loom away and forced me to rest. Then I spun. My fingers were wrapped in linen bandages, but I still fumbled with my wheel. I hardly ate or drank anything, for my time was slowly dwindling away. Finally, Father refused to let me spin or weave until I rested. For an entire week, I slept, ate, and drank my fill. Inside my closed eyelids, I invented spinning and weaving techniques: I imagined the competition with Athene, and I dreamed up scenes for my weavings. After the week passed, Father reluctantly returned my wheel and loom. Immediately I returned to my prior business. Again I wove day and night, but now with more difficulty, for my hands were softer, and it pained me to weave. My already small body grew thinner and frailer from lack of nourishment. My skin and lips grew dry and cracked; my eyes turned red and bloodshot. This time, when Father attempted to remove my weaving utensils, I pulled my knife out of my drawer and threatened to stab myself. The anxiety drove me insane. My weavings filled with scenes of pain and terror as I contemplated punishments that Athene might sentence me to. One tapestry depicted Tantalus, who had committed a sin. He stood, chin-deep in a wonderfully clear, refreshing stream of water with his burning thirst, but every time he bend to take a sip, the water disappeared so that he could never drink. *This punishment was not so bad* I told myself. Here I had already spent nearly a month with no water. Then, a vision of Prometheus, who was chained to a mountain with an always tearing out his belly and eating his liver again and again for all of eternity.
Finally, the day of the contest arrived. Father ordered me to be bathed in milk and anointed with the sweetest oils. My clothes were of purple silks, the color of royalty. Diamonds and sapphires filled my hair so that I could not lift up my head, weak as I was. Father relented and ordered half of them to be pinned to my sandals instead, which were painted gold. Of course, I'd demanded that the loom I used would be Mother's, and Father grudgingly allowed it, though he'd wanted me to use a new gold one. No longer did I sit in a stool, however--it was a high chaired carved of ivory. By the time I'd arrived, people from all of Greece were crowded into the meadow and on the hills nearby. There were the dyed threads, neatly placed as usual next to the wheel. I'd assumed that Athene had wished me to spin as well as weave. As I sat, I looked up toward another hill, taller than ours, overlooking my meadow. Atop the peak, with no people crowded around her, stood Athene in all her glory. Behind her the gorgeous rose-fingered dawn touched her features, so that she appeared more beautiful than ever before, making her armour shine. All of the crowd knelt before her and murmured praise. I was not sure what to do, as I didn't think Father would be happy if I soiled my clothes, so I sat still and did not move. Athene looked directly at me and raised her spear to the heavens.
"We are here to day to have a competition!" Athene's voice resonated. "A challenge between I and the mortal girl Arachne. We shall both weave and you good people shall judge who is the better. Because she was the challenger, Arachne shall weave first!"
I'd listened to her words carefully and sighed. So all I had to do was weave; I didn't need to spin. Still, the wool was set and waiting for me, so I grabbed it and began to work.
My hands played over the flax of the spinning wheel. As I worked, I began to forget the crowd that pressed against me so that I had barely any space to work. With my fingers, I rolled the wool and tapped on it, causing it to billow out and curl in again. I'd shake out the balls of wool and then roll them up once more. Everything worked in a delicate pattern. Drawing out the wool, I created long shining threads using pokes at the spindle. My thumb darted in and tapped the spindle quickly. Threads formed beneath my skilled fingers and a small smile spread across my face, for they were the best threads I had ever spun, abundant, soft, strong, and smooth. Now my work moved to the loom. This was the scene I had contemplated about for so long. I had planned it to perfection. Yet, at that moment, as I glanced up at Athene and the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen, I felt that the scene simply was not right. Taking a breath of crisp morning air, renewed inspiration filled me and I worked even quicker and more efficient than before.
This time, I kept my eyes open. I had not opened my eyes to weave since I was a small girl, but I felt I had to. The new technique that I had planned the night before was inside my head. I needed to see myself work, to finally be able to see my own glory. This was an experiment, for I had never tried this method of weaving before. Yet, I knew deep inside that it was ingenious, perfect even. From the loom, the visions of my inspiration sprung. A small young girl, tugging at her mother's skirt was seen in one corner, in the other a young boy sat by the sea with is grandfather. Slowly, the pictures of their life were visible. The young girl learned from her mother and worked in the kitchens. She began to stop playing in the beautiful fields and meadows and cooked indoors. The boy started collecting seashells and then began to fish. Proudly, he displayed a large catch. Now he fished on his father's boat and they laughed as they hauled in the sea. Again, the girl grew older. Ah, she was becoming a beautiful maiden! Gentlemen courted her, knocking on her door and wooing her with flowers. Then, the boy was now a gentleman also, and he sailed over to her land. What a stroke of luck was it that the two happened to meet! They talked secretly, the seeds of romance blossoming. Often they met underneath an old tree to talk and whisper plans of marriage. Now the wedding came! A glorious wedding it was too, with rare lilies in her bouquet and dignitaries from all over the Mediterranean attending! The groom had the finest cloak and beamed at his lovely bride, her black hair framing an exotic tanned face. They feasted together and laughed together. Now they had the rest of their lives. Their livelines had mingled now and became one. I was halfway through. All happy scenes, filled with love, life, and truth. Then, from the middle of the tapestry was their married life. Children! Little ones, adorable and smiling at the world. Their lives now mingled with their parent's lifelines. Ah, they grew older as the parents watched proudly, lovingly. They learned just as their parents had, the daughter learning to cook and the sons learning to fish. Then, terrible war. Horrible scenes filled the tapetry, but the image of the three sons filled a vast area of the tapestry. Their faces were grim, hopeless, yet determined. From them ran blood, thick and red. In the background I wove black death. Still, the family forged onward. Now the daughters' lives branched outward, away from the old couple. Their lifelines and pictures were smaller now, as they married and had children of their own. One daughter died in childbirth. Another drowned in a shipwreck with her husband. Only the youngest child in the family survived, living a full life with happy family, her lifeline eventually dwindling off the tapestry, off to her own story. Now, all that was left was the old couple. At the end of the tapestry, they sat together, happy and sad, ready for death yet grateful for life and each other, beneath the old gnarled tree where they had met.
I stopped now, and gazed in wonder. Clearly, it was the best I had ever done, or could ever hope to do. The pictures were so vivid, so clear! Looking on, one could see their joys, feel their sorrows, and understand the seas of life. Still, was it enough?
Athene nodded to me. For a quick, fleeting moment, I saw the expression on her face. She was impressed with my work and showed it openly. Then, her face changed and her eyes hardened, turning cold. She had more to lose than I. I only had my small, mortal life, while she could lose face in the eyes of Greeks. Athene could lose all her worshippers forever if it were proven that a mortal could do better than she; her name would be said with mocking and scorn until the end of mankind. Briefly, I felt a tinge of empathy for her, understanding and knowing how she must have felt. Then, I remembered that my life was in the balance, and I forced my heart to harden.
Athene smiled coolly at the crowds and then turned away, toward the bright sun. Now it was her turn.
The Weaver
Chapter Four~Competition
Ever when a mortal has claimed to be better than one of the gods, they were fiercely punished. The gods hear such words easily, and being very jealous, they act quickly. As I lay at her feet, I tried to imagine what my punishment could possibly be. Horrible stories and images formed in my mind. Fear caused my skin to crawl, for my limbs to tremble.
Athene kneeled down and helped me to rise from the ground. My legs were shaking so much that I had to sit down immediately. She laughed softly.
"Arachne, your pride shall be the end of you. Why? Why must you be so proud?" Athene asked.
"I didn't. I'm not," I sobbed, perhaps so softly that she did not hear. If she had heard, she made no indication. She continued.
"You claim that you weave better than I. I who created the loom! I who first taught mankind tactics, weaving, spinning, sculpting! Do you think so still?"
Pausing for my answer, she stood still. For the first time, I noticed that she wore a gold breastplate, Medusa's head emblazoned in the center. There on her shins were, of course, gold battalion shin guards. How could I have seen her crested helmet earlier? She looked fiercely warlike and dangerous. Shivering, I did not answer her.
"Very well. You boast that you are the better. We shall see!" she cried, flinging the words at the crowd.
"In one month, beside this very hill, we shall have a competition. You and I shall weave, and the crowd shall be the judge."
I cried harder. Even then I knew I was doomed. Never had I thought I could weave as well as Athene. I *had* been humble, respective of the gods! It was not fair that I should pay for Father's arrogance!
"IF you win, your life shall be spared, but if not..."
She paused for effect, holding the attention of everyone. Looking up, I met her eyes. Though to everyone in the crowd, it seemed that she was sparing my life. She was giving me a chance to prove myself and save my soul. I knew, though, that I was doomed past saving.
"If I do not," I whispered for her, "I shall have to pay the penalties."
She nodded her approval and stared for a few moments at my blanket, fingering it. What could she have thought of it? Did she think well of my meager attempt, or did she scorn it inwardly, laughing at me?
"So, Arachne, do you accept?" Athene asked at last. "Do you accept my challenge of the title that is so rightly mine?"
"Yes, she accepts," Father answered for me. "She will be here, in a month, to compete."
I turned around abruptly, staring at Father in complete shock. How could he do this to me? Sell my life away? How could he be so uncaring and arrogant, cocky even?
Quickly, I turned back to Athene to protest. *No!* I wanted to scream. *Please forgive me, I know my place now!*
I never said my apologies; I was never forgiven, for when I turned again to beg, the goddess Pallas Athene was gone.
One month, I was given. All I had left was one, last desperate hope that clutched at my spirit, keeping me from taking my life. In one month I could improve. One month was ample enough time to practice, perhaps even to excel to Athene's capabilities. Or so my Father claimed. They all claimed so. In the end, they convinced me, sowing the seeds of hope deep within my heart. So I wove.
Day and night, sitting beside my window, by moonlight or sunlight, rain or shine, I wove. Perhaps in the entire month, I had only a few days of sleep. My slender fingers were worn red and raw, bleeding over the thread to the point that Father dragged the loom away and forced me to rest. Then I spun. My fingers were wrapped in linen bandages, but I still fumbled with my wheel. I hardly ate or drank anything, for my time was slowly dwindling away. Finally, Father refused to let me spin or weave until I rested. For an entire week, I slept, ate, and drank my fill. Inside my closed eyelids, I invented spinning and weaving techniques: I imagined the competition with Athene, and I dreamed up scenes for my weavings. After the week passed, Father reluctantly returned my wheel and loom. Immediately I returned to my prior business. Again I wove day and night, but now with more difficulty, for my hands were softer, and it pained me to weave. My already small body grew thinner and frailer from lack of nourishment. My skin and lips grew dry and cracked; my eyes turned red and bloodshot. This time, when Father attempted to remove my weaving utensils, I pulled my knife out of my drawer and threatened to stab myself. The anxiety drove me insane. My weavings filled with scenes of pain and terror as I contemplated punishments that Athene might sentence me to. One tapestry depicted Tantalus, who had committed a sin. He stood, chin-deep in a wonderfully clear, refreshing stream of water with his burning thirst, but every time he bend to take a sip, the water disappeared so that he could never drink. *This punishment was not so bad* I told myself. Here I had already spent nearly a month with no water. Then, a vision of Prometheus, who was chained to a mountain with an always tearing out his belly and eating his liver again and again for all of eternity.
Finally, the day of the contest arrived. Father ordered me to be bathed in milk and anointed with the sweetest oils. My clothes were of purple silks, the color of royalty. Diamonds and sapphires filled my hair so that I could not lift up my head, weak as I was. Father relented and ordered half of them to be pinned to my sandals instead, which were painted gold. Of course, I'd demanded that the loom I used would be Mother's, and Father grudgingly allowed it, though he'd wanted me to use a new gold one. No longer did I sit in a stool, however--it was a high chaired carved of ivory. By the time I'd arrived, people from all of Greece were crowded into the meadow and on the hills nearby. There were the dyed threads, neatly placed as usual next to the wheel. I'd assumed that Athene had wished me to spin as well as weave. As I sat, I looked up toward another hill, taller than ours, overlooking my meadow. Atop the peak, with no people crowded around her, stood Athene in all her glory. Behind her the gorgeous rose-fingered dawn touched her features, so that she appeared more beautiful than ever before, making her armour shine. All of the crowd knelt before her and murmured praise. I was not sure what to do, as I didn't think Father would be happy if I soiled my clothes, so I sat still and did not move. Athene looked directly at me and raised her spear to the heavens.
"We are here to day to have a competition!" Athene's voice resonated. "A challenge between I and the mortal girl Arachne. We shall both weave and you good people shall judge who is the better. Because she was the challenger, Arachne shall weave first!"
I'd listened to her words carefully and sighed. So all I had to do was weave; I didn't need to spin. Still, the wool was set and waiting for me, so I grabbed it and began to work.
My hands played over the flax of the spinning wheel. As I worked, I began to forget the crowd that pressed against me so that I had barely any space to work. With my fingers, I rolled the wool and tapped on it, causing it to billow out and curl in again. I'd shake out the balls of wool and then roll them up once more. Everything worked in a delicate pattern. Drawing out the wool, I created long shining threads using pokes at the spindle. My thumb darted in and tapped the spindle quickly. Threads formed beneath my skilled fingers and a small smile spread across my face, for they were the best threads I had ever spun, abundant, soft, strong, and smooth. Now my work moved to the loom. This was the scene I had contemplated about for so long. I had planned it to perfection. Yet, at that moment, as I glanced up at Athene and the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen, I felt that the scene simply was not right. Taking a breath of crisp morning air, renewed inspiration filled me and I worked even quicker and more efficient than before.
This time, I kept my eyes open. I had not opened my eyes to weave since I was a small girl, but I felt I had to. The new technique that I had planned the night before was inside my head. I needed to see myself work, to finally be able to see my own glory. This was an experiment, for I had never tried this method of weaving before. Yet, I knew deep inside that it was ingenious, perfect even. From the loom, the visions of my inspiration sprung. A small young girl, tugging at her mother's skirt was seen in one corner, in the other a young boy sat by the sea with is grandfather. Slowly, the pictures of their life were visible. The young girl learned from her mother and worked in the kitchens. She began to stop playing in the beautiful fields and meadows and cooked indoors. The boy started collecting seashells and then began to fish. Proudly, he displayed a large catch. Now he fished on his father's boat and they laughed as they hauled in the sea. Again, the girl grew older. Ah, she was becoming a beautiful maiden! Gentlemen courted her, knocking on her door and wooing her with flowers. Then, the boy was now a gentleman also, and he sailed over to her land. What a stroke of luck was it that the two happened to meet! They talked secretly, the seeds of romance blossoming. Often they met underneath an old tree to talk and whisper plans of marriage. Now the wedding came! A glorious wedding it was too, with rare lilies in her bouquet and dignitaries from all over the Mediterranean attending! The groom had the finest cloak and beamed at his lovely bride, her black hair framing an exotic tanned face. They feasted together and laughed together. Now they had the rest of their lives. Their livelines had mingled now and became one. I was halfway through. All happy scenes, filled with love, life, and truth. Then, from the middle of the tapestry was their married life. Children! Little ones, adorable and smiling at the world. Their lives now mingled with their parent's lifelines. Ah, they grew older as the parents watched proudly, lovingly. They learned just as their parents had, the daughter learning to cook and the sons learning to fish. Then, terrible war. Horrible scenes filled the tapetry, but the image of the three sons filled a vast area of the tapestry. Their faces were grim, hopeless, yet determined. From them ran blood, thick and red. In the background I wove black death. Still, the family forged onward. Now the daughters' lives branched outward, away from the old couple. Their lifelines and pictures were smaller now, as they married and had children of their own. One daughter died in childbirth. Another drowned in a shipwreck with her husband. Only the youngest child in the family survived, living a full life with happy family, her lifeline eventually dwindling off the tapestry, off to her own story. Now, all that was left was the old couple. At the end of the tapestry, they sat together, happy and sad, ready for death yet grateful for life and each other, beneath the old gnarled tree where they had met.
I stopped now, and gazed in wonder. Clearly, it was the best I had ever done, or could ever hope to do. The pictures were so vivid, so clear! Looking on, one could see their joys, feel their sorrows, and understand the seas of life. Still, was it enough?
Athene nodded to me. For a quick, fleeting moment, I saw the expression on her face. She was impressed with my work and showed it openly. Then, her face changed and her eyes hardened, turning cold. She had more to lose than I. I only had my small, mortal life, while she could lose face in the eyes of Greeks. Athene could lose all her worshippers forever if it were proven that a mortal could do better than she; her name would be said with mocking and scorn until the end of mankind. Briefly, I felt a tinge of empathy for her, understanding and knowing how she must have felt. Then, I remembered that my life was in the balance, and I forced my heart to harden.
Athene smiled coolly at the crowds and then turned away, toward the bright sun. Now it was her turn.