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The sun was slowly going down, ready to drown in the ocean. Odysseus got the boat in the water, ordered Eurylochus to keep the ship away from the rocks and sailed to the Scylla’s lair.
He told the crew that Circe had given him a charm that would hide his presence from the monster. Unfortunately, the charm worked only for one man. And in order to choose the safest path, it was necessary to go on a reconnaissance mission — and, of course, it was Odysseus to do it.
He lied to the crew. Not in everything, but in the main thing. Odysseus knew that there was no longer any “safe” path for them. Not after Aeolus turned her back on them. Not after Poseidon unleashed his wrath on them. Not after they descended into the realm of the dead — nobody came back the same from there. Odysseus knew, but he didn't tell anyone. He had only one goal left — and he had a plan.
His eyes got used to the darkness. Sharp fragments of rocks stuck out of the water everywhere — the grotto grinned like a dog ready to sink its teeth into the intruder’s throat. Odysseus skirted all obstacles, slowly approaching a high ledge — looking there, he noticed stirring shadows, which were even darker than the rest of the cave. Rowing to the narrow shore, he disembarked and pulled the boat ashore so that it wouldn’t be washed away by a sudden wave. He went straight into the darkness. He thought that there was no fear left in his heart, but still instinctively tried to walk as quietly as possible. Odysseus didn’t expect that he could deceive a predator. More like he sought a false sense of security for at least a couple of seconds.
When he reached the top of the ledge, a smile that looked more like a grin cut through the darkness.
“Not every day food comes to the table by its own will.” Scylla's voice was low, deep and with a slight whistling hiss. It reflected off the walls of the cave and seemed to reach Odysseus’s ears from all sides at once. “It's a little early for dinner... but how can I refuse such a snack?”
The shadows darted towards him — Odysseus saw at least three open mouths, which smelled of carrion and dog. He flinched at the very last moment, threw up his arms to defend himself, but still didn’t run away. And the dog heads, as soon as they flew up to him, immediately recoiled with howls. They started to bark so loud that Odysseus covered his ears, scared that even the cave walls would collapse from their anger. It took Scylla a while to calm her pack.
“Disgusting,” she hissed, stepping out of the shadows. Now Odysseus could see her in all her glory: the upper half, once human-like, was mutilated and covered with scales, and on the lower half dog heads were piled up, pushing, growling at the uninvited guest, but no longer daring to attack.
Scylla sniffed the air and shuddered.
“Disgus-sting,” she repeated, wincing. “You smell like that disgusting, vile witch. Why did she send you here? Is she not satisfied with what she has already done? Do you want to sneer at me?”
“I had no intention of sneering,” Odysseus shook his head, also taking a step towards her. “And I came to you not at Circe's behest.” After a moment he asked, “And what has she done, exactly?”
Scylla folded her arms across her chest. Her dogs growled irritably and angrily.
“What, you’ve been in her domain for so long that the disgusting smell got into your bones, and she’s never told you?” She snorted. “I recognize the hypocritical witch. She says that people’s feelings are strings that are so easy to pull, but she’s jealous like a cat and freaks out when she fails to get what she wants.”
“Did you have something she craved?”
“Someone.” Scylla looked Odysseus up and down with non-readable expression. “Glaucus… We were so in love and so happy together. But Circe... that jealous cat…”
One of the dog heads barked again, and the others followed a bad example — once again Scylla was distracted to subdue them.
“She turned you into... this?” Odysseus asked as soon as the cave was quiet again.
“You are a smart one,” she chuckled.
“My condolences.”
“Lier!” Scylla hissed, and then, softening, drawled, “And I don't need your condolences. You can’t feed my puppies with them,” she gently patted one of the dog heads, which whined, rolled its eyes devotedly and stuck out a tongue colored like boiled flesh.
“No, really. I can understand your pain,” Odysseus put his arm to his chest. “I managed to escape Circe’s sorcery, but the pain of separation from my dear wife has been consuming me for many years. And this pain doesn’t let me give up,” he clenched his fist, crumpling the fabric of his cloak. “This pain makes me sail through violent storms. This pain even brought me out of the realm of the dead. This pain brought me to you, Scylla.”
This pain is turning him from a man into a monster.
“There’s a ship waiting at the entrance of the cave. I would like you to let it sail through your domain.”
“Oh, it looks like I was wrong. You are not smart, but extremely naive. How did you even think to ask for such a thing? Does it look like I’m merciful?” Scylla showed off her fangs.
“I didn't want to ask. I want to make a deal,” Odysseus’s voice remained firm, despite her formidable appearance. “I know you don’t kill more than six people at a time,” he pointed to the terrible dog heads, swarming near the ground. “And so here’s the deal: when we pass by you, you’ll take your share, but only those who have burning torches in their hands.”
“What’s my benefit of being so picky?”
“They'll be unarmed and unprepared for your attack’, he smiled gloomily. “Literally a served dinner for you. With candles.”
“And what’s your benefit?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“I can choose whom I’ll serve you,” Odysseus said.
He’s still so far from the goal, and he hasn’t forgotten why. He had lost almost his entire fleet, and he hasn’t forgotten why. He hasn’t forgotten the greedy hands reaching out to the bag of Aeolus winds, and the deaf ears that didn’t hear his warnings. And now they were all paying the bitter price. Odysseus hasn’t forgiven them for this.
He’s been merciful for too long already. Now it’s time to be ruthless. It’s time to have some mercy upon himself.
Scylla’s eyes widened in surprise, and then, throwing back her head, she burst out laughing, and the dogs howled joyfully with her. Odysseus tensed. He expected that the negotiations might fail, and for this case he had prepared a set of threats and promises. However, when she stopped laughing, Scylla said, “Okay, it is really a wonderful deal. I swear by the waters of the Styx that I’ll take only men with torches. Swear your part, too.”
“I swear that the six with the torches won’t be ready for battle,” Odysseus nodded, relaxing.
He was about to leave, but Scylla suddenly leaned closer, making him freeze again. However, she didn’t attack him treacherously, but instead asked with a soft purring rumble, “Wait a minute. If you’ve decided to arrange a romantic dinner for a lady, won’t you give her at least one kiss?” The dogs fell silent as Scylla cocked her head slightly to one side, waiting for an answer. She clarified with a grin, “As if you were kissing your dear wife.”
Odysseus raised his head to look into her eyes — and to ignore the predatory muzzles that were now messing around at his very feet. Darkness — darker than the murky cave — lurked at the bottom of those eyes. With no mercy. With no doubts. Just hungry.
So familiar.
He stood on tiptoe to reach Scylla’s face, landed his arms on her body, forgetting about disgust — wool and scales, mixing under his fingers, no longer bothered him. She had cold lips, like a drowned woman. She had sharp teeth in several rows, like a shark. She had a flexible, long tongue, writhing like a snake, and she grazed the back of his throat with it, biting so hard that blood flowed down Odysseus’s lips.
Circe had never kissed like that. Penelope had never kissed like that. And no one else, no matter who he meets, will kiss like that.
No one will kiss him not as just a man, but as a monster.
When she was satisfied, Scylla finally let him go and, pulling away, licked her lips with a blissful smile. Odysseus repeated after her. The wounds tingled, the taste of his own blood made him feel a strange satisfaction, deep and dark.
He pays with blood, as he always does. He pays with someone else’s blood, as he always does.
“Yeah,” Scylla whispered, closing her eyes and still smiling. “Smell can deceive, but taste will never. Deep down... you are the same.”
“The same as Glaucus?”
“The same as me.”
***
The ship sailed slowly through Scylla’s lair on the “safe” course plotted by Odysseus.
“Light up six torches,” he ordered, looking at a familiar rocky ledge in the semi-darkness.
Dinner is served — and here are the candles.