March 8, 2018: Minerva \ mi-NUR-vuh \  noun;

1. A woman of great wisdom.
2. The ancient Roman goddess of wisdom and the arts, identified with the Greek goddess Athena.

The sun was low in the sky, and the fields were beginning to clear as the other farmers and shepherds made their way back to their humble homes. But not Byron Perkins. He sat a little longer under the tree with his flock, watching the sun sink towards the horizon and his sheep curl up together to sleep.

“Big day tomorrow,” a farmhand from one of the outlying farms called to Byron as he made his way back into the village by the light of the dying sun.

Byron smiled and nodded amiably at the younger boy, who waved excitedly at him and picked up his pace to a run so he wouldn’t miss his dinner.

“Big day indeed,” Byron murmured quietly, patting his favourite sheep, Flora, who had curled up next to him. She snored contentedly, and briefly, Byron wished for the easy life of a sheep. Eating clover and dozing in patches of sunlight and enjoying the occasional haircut.

He smiled wistfully at Flora and gave her one last pat on the head before he got to his feet. No use wishing for things that were impossible. Tomorrow, he’d be 16, and he’d have to see the Minerva.

*     *     *     *

The next morning, his mother wrapped him up in a new scarf that she and all of his sisters had all knit for him. Even his youngest sister, Emily, had knitted a bit — it was the scraggly, half-unravelled pink bit near the end that he immediately decided was his favourite. She beamed when he told her so.

And then he kissed each of them on the cheek, and started the long walk to the city. He knew it would take him most of the day, but he still stood outside the door of their little house, down towards the fields, and wished a little more to be a sheep.

“Off you go, Byron,” his mother said kindly, pushing him gently towards the road that ran through the village and off towards the city. “It’s a big day,” she added with a smile.

Byron only nodded and started mutely on his way, which he should have known would worry his mother.

“It isn’t anything to worry over, Byron,” she called to him. “Only stop thinking about it so much. Whatever you decide to ask, it’ll be just right.”

Byron turned to nod at her, and returned the soft smile she was giving him. “You’re right, mum. Thanks.”

And with that, he was off.

*     *     *     *

As he walked through the village, people poked their heads out of windows to wave at him, and wish him luck. A few of the younger children ran up and formed a small circle around them, demanding to know what he would ask. He just laughed and stepped over their heads, and they pouted in his wake.

“It won’t change nothing, Byron,” said the baker’s son Tom, his smiling cheeks dusted with flour. “So don’t worry none.”

‘Thanks Tom,” Byron said quietly, and gave him a friendly wave.

“He’s right, you know,” the butcher’s son, Ollie, said, falling into step next to Byron.

He had gone to see the Minerva two months ago, full of excitement, but despite what he said, Ollie had come back drained of all enthusiasm. He hadn’t left his room for three days.

So Byron didn’t say anything, he just gave the boy an awkward smile.

“It doesn’t matter because you’re just a shepherd,” Ollie explained, shrugging a little.

Byron wasn’t sure what he meant, so he still didn’t say anything.

“What kind of question could a shepherd or a butcher hope to ask that could make any kind of difference?” Ollie asked, kicking a rock into the brush on the side of the dirt road. “I only found out after. In the city, they get classes about it. About what kinds of things people have asked before, and what great thinkers wonder, now that they’re older.”

Byron hadn’t heard that before, but he supposed it made sense.

“I thought I had a good question. I had thought about it for months,” Ollie said, staring off in the direction of the city as they walked. “But I’m only a butcher. So I suppose I couldn’t help but waste my question.”

“I’m sure you didn’t–” Byron began, but Ollie cut him off abruptly.

“Just don’t feel badly when you waste your question. In fact, use the walk to get used to the idea,” Ollie told him, and then turned back towards the village. “You’ll thank me when you get back.”

Byron watched as Ollie jogged back to the village, and tried to calm the butterflies fluttering madly in his stomach.

“As well wish you were a sheep,” Byron mused softly.

Then he shook his head, and started off towards the city.

*     *     *     *

The sun was hanging just above the horizon when he arrived in the city and checked in with the guards. They examined their list, and glanced at the sky, gruffly telling him that he was cutting it close, and he apologized quietly.

They walked him over the bridge into the city, and through the still bustling streets towards the castle, and Byron tried to distract himself from his butterflies by memorizing all the details in the city. He hadn’t realized it would be so busy here, that you could fit so many people into one small place. So many people that he couldn’t begin to guess what all their jobs might be. Things were much simpler in the village–most people you saw were probably farmers or shepherds–life here looked about as different to him as a sheep’s life did to him. He smiled and wondered if any of the people he passed wished they could live a simple village life sometimes.

Before long, they were at the doors of the palace, where the city guards passed him off to another set of guards, who lead him inside. If the city had been a shock, the castle was beyond comprehension. It was huge and grand, and almost as bustling in here as it was outside. And all for just one person, the Minerva.

The guards led Byron through a maze of hallways that seemed to him to go on forever until they finally reached a huge audience chamber. The room was filled with people, and suddenly Byron’s butterflies had their own butterflies in their stomachs. The ones in armour were easy–guards, here to protect the Minerva from harm. So was the beautiful young woman sitting atop a gilt throne–she had to be the Minerva. Most of the others must have been nobles, and those great thinkers Ollie had mentioned, and they were all staring at him.

“Step forward, Byron Perkins,” a young woman next to the Minerva’s throne called, her voice reverberating throughout the hall.

Byron took a deep breath, and started making his way towards the throne, the nobles and great thinkers stepping back like a tide to make way for him.

“On this, the first day of your sixteenth year, you are entitled to come before the Minerva, possessor of divine wisdom, and ask her one question. Your question and its answer will be recorded in the Great Book of Wisdom,” the young woman motioned towards a great leather tome behind the Minerva’s throne as she spoke, “so that no wisdom will ever be lost.”

“Should you ask a question of great value, the Minerva may ask you to stay here, and serve her in her pursuit of wisdom.” Byron thought the young woman would motion to the crowd now, but instead she pointed up, towards a balcony he hadn’t noticed, were four people sat, staring curiously at him.

Byron blinked. Three of them were old. Beyond old, the two wizened men and the tiny woman were ancient. The girl sitting with them couldn’t have been more than twenty, though.

The young woman waited for Byron to look at her again before she resumed, “take your time, Byron Perkins. The Minerva will answer only one question–the first to pass your lips. Be sure it is the question you mean to ask.”

Byron nodded nervously and the young woman stepped back behind the throne to take up a quill pen and stand ready in front of the Great Book of Wisdom.

Byron’s mind raced. It was only now, standing in front of the Minerva, that Byron realized he hadn’t actually thought of a question. He had known it was important, but he hadn’t realized it was this important. A question of great value? What did that even mean? Maybe he should ask her that. No, that would stupid, anyone who thought they were halfway clever had probably asked that already. That and “what’s a question even you can’t answer?” Ha.

What did he need to know then? He wracked his brain, but he came up blank. He knew everything there was to know about herding sheep and looking after them, and he rather liked it now that he was thinking about it. Having seen the city, he realized that he already had the simple life he had been wishing for–the only thing getting in the way of that was this silly question that people had been building up for the last year of his life.

“You get to ask a question! Any question you want!” they had told him excitedly on his fifteenth birthday, and then they had started telling him how important it was to think of a good one. Byron had sort of pushed it to the back of his mind, figuring he would think of something, and it had only been a sort of vague uneasiness until now when he found out that they were going to make a big fuss out of it, recording his question and “preserving his wisdom.”

He tried not to glare at the Minerva, who was gazing patiently at him, but who did she think she was? This possessor of divine wisdom. Inviting people into her castle to answer one stupid question and no doubt making most of them, like Ollie, feel stupid for asking whatever they’d asked. How did she even become the Minerva? He’d never really thought about it, or asked, he just knew that it had always been that way–turn sixteen, go ask the Minerva a question. A really important question, apparently.

It was ridiculous, when he thought about it. What did it matter what he asked when she apparently knew the answer to every question she was ever asked anyway. And, he realized, he was perfectly content with his life, with being a shepherd and looking after Flora, and with looking after his mother and his sisters. There wasn’t anything this woman could tell him that could change any of that.

So instead he looked up at her defiantly and asked, “what makes you so smart anyway?”

The audience chamber was filled with gasps for a brief moment before utter silence fell. Byron could feel the eyes of the entire room on him, aghast that he would have the gall to be so rude. The Minerva was staring at him curiously, taking in Byron’s crossed arms and his obstinate stare.

And then she started laughing.

And the two little old men and the little old woman and the young woman on the balcony started laughing.

And then the people in the audience chamber started laughing nervously, and Byron glanced behind him to see that people were shooting confused glances at each other and shrugging helplessly as they tried to fathom exactly why the Minerva was laughing.

“Byron Perkins,” the Minerva said between giggled, and took a deep breath to try and get her laughter under control. Her eyes still sparkled with it though, as she beckoned him closer, “come here.”

Byron stepped nervously up the steps towards the throne, glancing around to see if this was how things were supposed to go. Judging by the scandalized looks on peoples’ faces, it definitely wasn’t.

Byron stopped awkwardly a few feet in front of the Minerva’s throne, and she started giggling again.

“No, come here,” she said, motioning next to her.

Byron’s eyes went wide and his mouth went dry, as the guards nearest her shuffled uncomfortably. Had he offended her? Was she going to have her guards gut him?

She was still motioning though, so there was only one thing to do. He stepped up next to her throne, and she crooked a finger at him, still grinning madly. He crouched down awkwardly, and she leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“You know, it’s been ages since anybody bothered asking me that,” she whispered.

Byron didn’t know what to say, so he just said, “oh.”

She was giggling again, so Byron glanced towards the room where everyone was holding their breath and trying to lean forward as subtly as possible. They stopped when they noticed Byron and the Minerva looking.

“And it’s the first really smart question anyone has asked me in a long time,” she continued. “I usually find though, that the people who ask it, although they’d probably be the most help to me, would rather just get back to their lives.”

Byron gave her a surprised look, and then nodded. “Well, yes.”

“Then off you go, Byron Perkins. But you’re welcome here any time,” she said and smiled. The Minerva gave his hand a quick squeeze and then got up from her throne, starting off towards a door in the back of the audience chamber.

Byron blinked and started making his way back down the stairs and into the audience chamber when she spoke up again, so he turned.

“If you do ever have any questions, be sure to come back. I’ve no doubt they’ll be really good ones,” she grinned.

Byron just smiled, and nodded, and continued out of the audience chamber, eager to get back to his family and his sheep.

 

Note: I don’t think this one quite turned out the way I wanted, but you can’t win them all? Or something? I tried the ending a different way at first, but I found that the more you explain exactly how clever you are, the less clever you sound. So here’s this ending instead. Be gentle with me, dear reader. 

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