Weave Me A Dream
In the bustle of the city called Colophon, there lived a common-born girl with common-born parents from a common family. She didn’t wield the powers of a demigoddess, she didn’t bear the privileges of a princess, and she definitely didn’t have the heart of a handsome hero.
What she did have though, was a talent for weaving that could rival with Athena herself. The girl didn’t let it go to waste; day in and day out she wove, from simple dull-colored chitons to magnificent tapestries that glimmered with the sparks of life. With her gifts she brought joy to herself and for her townsfolk.
Arachne walked through the streets, a pile of blankets towering upwards in her arms. At every home she passed, she made sure to leave one of her blankets at their door. Arachne did this once every year, since she had extra cloth to spare while some of her fellow people didn’t. The blankets were made from leftover cloth, but Arachne had tried her best to stitch them up together so that it would look at least presentable.
Arachne loved making these extra blankets. They were projects that took her mind off, and allowed her creative thoughts to run wild. They were also what she does to keep her neighbors happy; it had always brought a smile onto her face when they were safe and warm, without freezing in the colder nights and risk catching a cold.
She would to anything to keep what she considered her family from retreading her own past.
“Mama?” The little girl’s teeth chattered with the chilly air blowing in from the window. She tugged gently at her mother’s wrist, which lay limp and cold against the floor. The little girl climbed over her mother’s body. She leaned in to inspect her mother’s eyes, which she guessed were closed in feigned ignorance.
“Wake up, Mama. The sun is already up,” she pointed outside, gesturing at the brightening sky, “And the butcher is already opening up his shop, see? We should open up ours, too.” She giggled as her eyes flickered towards the mentioned man. The butcher had flower seed splattered across his back, though it went unnoticed by the man himself.
“Mama?” The little girl turned her attention back to her mother. There was still no response. Something was wrong. Her mother had always answered her…
The goddess Athena sat in her seat in the Olympian throne room, looking down at Lydia. Against the fading light of her half-brother’s sun-chariot to the west, there was a young lady who hurried from house to house, delivering blankets to each family, which Athena assumed was ordered to be custom-made by the shop the girl worked at.
The blankets were each intricately designed (at least for a mortal) with pictures and patterns, each telling their own unique story, One told the stories of the hero Perseus and Andromeda; another boasted of an imagined world with metal bugs creeping across the earth and metal birds soaring above the skies, something her once-prized mortal Daedalus would have dreamt of.
“What are you looking at, sister?” The goddess of wisdom turned her head up to find Hermes, her (other) half-brother who mostly served as Father’s messenger but also had loads of other fields that he watched over.
“My brother, I might’ve found a successor to-” Athena turned to look at the other god, but he was already crouching down upon the transparent floor, searching for something, which Athena guessed to be the girl she was looking for.
“That girl, Arachne. You like her?”
“She seems nice, and worthy of becoming my apprentice. I think that she would make a great replacement of Daedalus, don’t you think?”
Hermes raises his eyebrows. “You want to replace your long-decided choice? Are you sure? I mean, you had observed him ever since his childhood before picking him. This girl, however, you had just spotted her.”
“Daedalus is a man with great talents, no doubt, but his recent actions have made me wonder if he is really the right choice.” Athena sighs, tugging thoughtfully at the plume of her war helmet. “Plus, it wouldn’t hurt if I gave Arachne a chance, wouldn’t it?”
Arachne was minding her own business, working in front of her loom as usual. She knew that crowds would gather to watch her weave, but she didn’t pay them a lot of attention; she needed to focus on her work, after all. It was what she was born for, and so she poured her life and soul into it. She wasn’t going to get distracted by an enthusiastic admirer. Therefore, when they came up to her, she would brush them off, in a way she hoped wasn’t too harsh.
This was one of those occasions when it happened. It was an elderly lady this time, Arachne deducted from the woman’s attire and her scratchy voice.
“My, young lady, your work is absolutely stunning. Is that Mount Olympus I see? And Are those tiny figures I spot the gods and goddesses?” The woman peered over the girl’s shoulder.
“Thank you, madam, you have a sharp eye,” the girl muttered distractedly, her eyes pinned to her project. The one she was currently weaving was a grand depiction of Mount Olympus and the deities that dwelled upon it, “This is Olympus.”
“Speaking of gods, you have a blessed talent of weaving. Were you by any chance taught by the Lady Athena herself? I mean, those clouds,” the woman gestured to them, “They look like they’re shimmering.”
“Oh no, I’m not blessed by any of the gods.” Arachne laughed bitterly, the words tumbling from out of her mouth, her tears threatening to slip. She held them back, barely.
The skies were gray with clouds, and it was the day her mother was buried. The young girl’s eyes were devoid of emotions as she stood silently beside the resting place of what had once been her mother, her Mama.
And she knew deep down that it was her own fault.
Arachne remembered the day she was running through the streets, playing tag with her friends. It was only a careless accident, running into the sculptor who was sculpting out a new statue for Athena which was to be put inside her shrine. The man had cursed her by the name of the goddess. Arachne had brushed it off as a simple burst of rage by the man.
Turns out, it wasn’t, and the price that she had to pay with was the life of her very own mother.
The gods answered to the prayers with glorious sacrifices, the ones with high priests and chanting prayers, filled with expensive gifts only the nobles and kings could afford; they did not answer the young girl who was now upon the ground, crying, begging for the gods to bring her Mama back.
Not blessed by any of the gods. Huh. This girl wasn’t what she expected. Athena was pretty sure that it was Arachne who she had seen stumbling around in the cold, that it was Arachne who she had seen handing out blankets for the people. Arachne should have been more respectful to the gods. After that line from her and that sarcastic sneer, the goddess had decided on that very moment that Arachne was not going to be her pick. Hermes was right. She didn’t even know the girl.
“Not blessed? What would the gods say if they saw you with your talent, then proceeded to hear those words from your mouth?”
“I don’t know,” Arachne shrugged, “But at least I’d be telling them the truth. I mastered the art of weaving myself, out of long, hard years of practice, and perhaps a pinch of talent. Lying to them and telling them that it was their blessing does not sit well with me, nor does it do well for their egos.”
“I think our egos are perfectly-sized, thank you very much.” Athena had enough of this. She snapped her fingers, burning away the fake identity of the old woman she had posed under. “So, you said that you weave with only your talents. No one helped you along the way.”
The shock upon Arachne’s face was priceless. Her eyes went wide at first, but the young girl that sat in front of her quickly made an evidently blank expression, trying to look unimpressed.
“Did you bless me without me knowing, then?” Her voice was now harsh, angry.
“You may not be blessed, and your talents may well be above average, but you just insulted the gods. For this, you will compete in a weaving contest with me, and determine if you are worthy. The judges will be your fellow humans dwelling here.”
“It’s not fair! They would choose you no matter what. You can smite them to ashes whenever they feel like it, while I’m just another plain girl that wouldn’t affect them if I died.”
“How about this: I’ll be the judge. I can’t smite myself to ashes, can’t I?”
“That doesn’t even make sense.” But Arachne knew it was her best option. While the people will always have a biased judgement, there is a chance that the goddess will judge fairly. “But I accept.”
Arachne twisted and turned in her bed, before she shot straight up in cold sweat.
It had been her mother’s death again, except that the gods were there; all of them. Hundreds of them surrounded her, taunting her of her failures, mocking her of her now dead mother. And then her mother had woken up from the unawakenable an too, just to join in with the deafening chorus by the gods.
The sun was almost coming up, anyways. The sky glowed faintly, a mixture of blue and gray. Arachne woke up and continued on with what her mother had taught her, the art of weaving.
Arachne wove and wove, her hands never hesitating to take a break. The shuttle on the loom zoomed back and forth, creating an endless piece of artwork. Arachne poured her heart into this−all of her anger, her sorrow, her love−and tried not to remember the feelings that were slowing gnawing away at her heart.
The goddess wove a majestic tapestry, shimmering with the power of the gods. There was Zeus, king of all, sitting atop his throne with a crackling lightning bolt in hand; Hera, his Queen, was by his side, her hands spread out to symbolize the power they wielded together; Poseidon, lord of oceans and seas, transforming the waves into white stallions with gleaming coats; Demeter, gripping her scythe and growing trees that grew skywards.
Apollo was in his chariot, soaring above the skies in his golden glory; Artemis was with her band of female hunters, trekking through the dark forests; Hephaestus was stood sweating in his forge, admiring the new sword he had just crafted; Hermes floated above the hero Perseus, lending him his winged sandals; Dionysus was drinking wine, his posture laid back and carefree.
Athena herself, was depicted as she was then: weaving her tapestry.
The goddess of wisdom also showed Bellerophon, the hero who dared to reach the heavens falling off from his horse; Sisyphus, king of Ephyra, rolling up his boulder in Hades, for chaining up Thanatos and defying death; the huntress Atalanta and her husband, Hippomenes, transformed into a pair of lions.
No one noticed the small black creature in the corner, dangling from a single silver thread.
The gods will always rule with power.
The mortal weaver also wove a tapestry depicting the gods. There was Zeus, king of all, disguised as a swan, a bull, a snake, a shower of golden sparks that lit up an underground room with a captured princess; there was Hera, punishing unlucky mortals and innocent demigods ruined by her husband; Poseidon, his earthquakes destroying people’s lands and people’s homes; Demeter, starving the world who had taken no part in her daughter’s kidnapping, releasing her rage upon the people who knew nothing.
Apollo, chasing down lovers and causing their deaths, releasing arrows of plague upon mankind; Ares with his bloodlust, his red pupils dilating upon the sight of mortal blood; Aphrodite trapping her son Eros, making him watch his pregnant wife Psyche accomplishing unbeatable tasks; the Bacchae, the revelers ripping apart outsiders, cackling.
Of course, there was Athena also, challenging a mortal: trying to humiliate the girl.
The mortal weaver also showed Bellerophon, the hero who successfully tamed the winged horse, Pegasus, who destroyed the Chimera with only a spear and a lump of metal; Perseus, the founder-king of Mycenae, holding the head of Medusa above the crowds, some with their eyes shut, the others with eyes opened wide, and every inch of their bodies stone-gray, forever solidified.
No one noticed the small watery stain in the corner, which had slipped silently from the mortal weaver’s eyes.
The gods will always rule in tyranny.
The shuttle of the goddess swept to and fro smoothly, barely making any noise. Athena poured her divine power into the fabric. She knew that the girl was extremely talented.
The loom of the mortal weaver rattled occasionally. Arachne weaved her nightmares into the fabric. Dreams of cruel gods and even crueler fates, that seemed to mirror her own. Arachne was facing her fears, and she knows that the first sign of losing is turning back. She weaves on, her hands blistering.
“Your work is most capturing.” Athena states, looking over the girl’s work. Arachne keeps her cool, and replies in the same cold tone.
“So is yours.” Their eyes meet, and Arachne can feel the heat of fury behind the eyes of the goddess. She doesn’t look away. She will not lose.
“I have decided the winner.” Arachne looks to the crowd as they turn their attention to the goddess speaking. Arachne can hear people sucking in their breaths, in fear of what is to come next.
“I may be a goddess of crafts, but Arachne here today has proven that a mortal’s skills are not to be underestimated. I hereby declare Arachne today’s winner.”
There is only the silence of the crowds that cheer for her.
Because with the words spoken from the goddess’s mouth, there is only pure fury radiating from her. Arachne takes a fearful step back.
“You may have a talent for weaving, girl, but it cannot compensate for humiliating the gods. You are to be punished.” There is a sudden force that pushes Arachne from behind, and she falls straightforward. There are a few gasps, that later turn into mocking jeers directed at the girl.
Arachne doesn’t see any weapons, but there is a seizing pain in her stomach, over her legs, torturing her arms and stinging her fingers. They all come at once, and there is a sharp ringing in her ears accompanying the laughter of the crowd. Arachne had believed that some of them would at least plead for the goddess to stop, but none did.
Arachne had helped them through the coldest winters, yet this was how they repaid her.
“Stop!” Athena’s voice boomed through the crowds, but what she said next Arachne couldn’t hear. The ringing had stopped, but so had the sounds of the rest of the world. She was deaf.
Arachne couldn’t live like this, in a world that mocked her even when she gave it her all. She crawled despite the pain all over body, and managed to design a noose out of the remaining threads.
It wasn’t until her head was inside the loop that Athena noticed her. Arachne saw the goddess’s eyes stretched wide. Why? They seemed to ask.
Arachne only pointed at her last tapestry. “Those were my nightmares.” She could feel her last breath of air running out.
“Weave me a dream.”
#
A/N:
Yay! I finally uploaded this! It's two times longer than usual, roughly about 2000 words, so it took me a couple of days to get this out. I had planned to upload this yesterday, but I had passed out yesterday, so here it is now!!
(By passed out I meant I felt like puking and couldn't walk properly. I went to bed at 8. Thank the gods I'm all back to normal now.)
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