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“Are you the King of Ithaca?”
The sphinx’s voice is otherworldly, a lilting purr that no mortal could match, and it travels the silent expanse of cliffside between her and her visitor easily. Despite her humanoid face, her expression is impassive, unreadable.
“The King of Ithaca is not here at this time,” says Penelope in a steady voice. “I am the Queen.”
The sphinx flicks her tail as she studies her opponent. The Queen is young but serious, with long dark hair pulled up in an elaborate style and stormy gray eyes. She stands straight and defiant, for all the world perfectly composed, as the monster examines her through glowing feline eyes.
“I had asked for the King,” says the sphinx, idly baring her claws and retracting them.
“He is not here,” Penelope repeats in a tone that brooks no argument. “You will speak with me or no one.”
The sphinx leaps forward with a snarl, revealing inhuman teeth, and Penelope flinches but holds firm. Her heart is hammering against her breastbone as the sphinx comes to an abrupt stop just in front of her, not quite close enough to take a swipe at her with those claws, but too close for comfort. Penelope squares her shoulders and tells herself to have faith, a mantra she has repeated innumerable times throughout the last three years her husband has been away at war.
“Very well,” says the sphinx, curling her hind legs beneath her to sit down, though her tail continues to twitch back and forth in a way that makes Penelope uneasy. Even sitting, she towers over Penelope, who refuses to crane her neck to look up at her face. She stares resolutely at the monster’s feline shoulder, catching glimpses of her face out of the corner of her eye.
“I entreat with you in the King’s place for control of this land,” the sphinx purrs. “Answer my riddle truthfully, and I shall continue on my way. Fail, and I shall devour every living thing on this island, beginning with you.”
“Who is to say that even if I solve your riddle, you shall not kill me and my people anyway?” Penelope asks skeptically. “The world is full of liars, and I have no reason to trust you.”
The sphinx shows her teeth again in what might be a grin. “Too right it is,” she agrees, a hint of a growl rising in her throat. “But to riddle is in my nature. If I wanted to kill you right away, I would have done so already. I trust you know how cats are.”
“They like to play with their food,” Penelope answers with a sick sort of realization. “But they still eat it eventually.”
“Quite right,” says the sphinx, extending one paw as if stretching. “I’ll be back sooner or later. If you solve my riddle today, there is always tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow.”
Penelope’s heart sinks, though she tries not to show it on her face. She had held out hope for a peaceful resolution, but clearly it isn’t to be. Fortunately, she has also prepared for the other possibilities.
“I suppose we all must eat,” she says politely even as she resists the urge to glance around the cliff top. “I accept your terms. What is the riddle?”
With a purr of contentment, the sphinx begins to recite:
What cannot be stopped or evaded?
Often fought, but never outwitted
Bane of gods and mortals the same
And source of the sphinx-slayer’s fame
What must come for you and I?
No matter how hard we try.
Penelope breathes a silent sigh of relief. The answer comes to her easily. Evidently this sphinx has also been thinking about her most famous brethren, the sphinx of Thebes.
“Fate,” she says. “It cannot be avoided, not even by the gods, and it came after Oedipus harder than most.”
The sphinx flicks her tail again in what Penelope thinks might be disappointment.
“I let you off with an easy one,” she says, “but there is always tomorrow.”
Penelope nods and begins to back away, suddenly conscious of how small and unarmed she is next to the monster. Her heart is still racing at a worrying pace, not least because of what she is about to do.
When she has backed away twice the distance the sphinx had leaped at her earlier, she turns around as if to walk away, and then stops. Her blood is pounding in her ears, but she can make out the glint of bronze in the treeline now. She takes a deep breath.
“I’m afraid there won’t be tomorrow for you,” she says over her shoulder, her head held high. She nods at the glint of bronze, and half a dozen archers step into the light, their bows drawn for less than a moment before their arrows are loosed at the sphinx.
A dozen more guards emerge from the treeline brandishing spears, and Penelope does not look back as they charge the sphinx, who howls in pain as several of the arrows find their mark.
Even with the element of surprise and the advantage of archery, Penelope knows it is unlikely all of the guards will escape unscathed. With only around two dozen guards still on Ithaca, the vast majority of able-bodied men away at the war, she had really been hoping for a peaceful solution, but the sphinx had been quite clear—if not today, then tomorrow. And Penelope could not allow that to happen. Ithaca is in a precarious enough state as it is with Odysseus gone. She can’t afford to show any weakness, any hesitation, in ensuring there is a kingdom for Odysseus to come home to.
The sounds of battle continue behind her as Penelope retreats to where the remainder of the guard is waiting. They will escort her back to the palace and, if necessary, return to aid those fighting the sphinx, but the Queen’s duty has been done. She hopes it is enough and that her husband will return soon. She hopes that Ithaca still stands when he does.