Scorched

by Jendela Tryst

  She gasped and tried to struggle away from the invisible force that was pulling her back. She clawed at the edge, grabbing onto more grass, all of which ripped from her fingers.

  She was not ready for her death.

  “I cannot! Please, don’t!”

  This time, the wind was more insistent and Psyche found herself slipping, even as her nails dug frantically deep into the dirt. “No.... Please!” But there was nothing more to grab. She made a feeble attempt to grasp the ledge that had once provided so much hope, but it only struck her fingers, causing a sharp pain.

  She screamed. And then she was falling.

  Chapter 2

  Psyche could feel the sharp, frigid wind catching on her dress and pulling up her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for impact, her scream locking against her throat. The wind pushed the air away so fast that for a terrifying moment, Psyche was unable to take another breath.

  Just before the top of the trees could impale her, the wind changed direction. Psyche had the odd sensation that she was spinning, but she could not open her eyes. Dizzy with fear, she vaguely sensed that she was no longer moving down, but sideways. Surely she would have hit the ground by now?

  Slowly, Psyche relaxed her eyelids and focused on her surroundings.

  For a moment, she wondered if she was in a dream. All around was fog. The wind continued its torrential movement all around her, but she no longer felt like she was falling. No, this was a completely different sensation. When she tried to move her arms and legs, it was difficult, as if the wind was restraining her. With great effort, she managed to wave one hand and it scattered the grey mist slightly. When Psyche took a deep breath, the sound seemed to echo in the strange area. She waved her hand more vigorously, creating a tiny clearing in the fog.

  Peering though, Psyche let out a gasp. She could see the tops of the tall trees beneath her. She was floating higher than the peak of the tallest mountain in Bromeia without anything to hold on to. Psyche stopped struggling and allowed the mist to cover the view again. She was shaking all over.

  She was in the air. She was flying.

  “What is happening?” Psyche whispered to no one in particular.

  “You are being taken to your new life.” The sound of the breeze seemed to penetrate more in her mind than in her ears.

  Psyche looked around frantically. She thought she was going to be sick. “Who are you? Who is speaking to me?”

  “I am Zephyr, the West Wind.”

  She swallowed, only barely comprehending. Forcing back the panic that was starting to take over her mind, she recalled certain facts she learned from her readings. Zephyr was a god of the West Wind, the gentlest of the winds. She had felt him countless times in the fields and in the forest, a soft breeze announcing the beginning of spring. But Zephyr was just a character in a story. Zephyr wasn’t real. He couldn’t talk. “This can’t be,” she breathed. When no one replied, she spoke more loudly. “A-are you my new husband?”

  Zephyr let out a whispery laugh that blew pleasantly on Psyche’s face.

  “I am hardly worthy of such beauty.”

  Psyche did not know whether she was relieved or disappointed. After a moment, disappointment won, for now she had to wait to meet her real husband. At least this Zephyr had a beautiful voice and although he was clearly powerful, his gentle words were assuring.

  She shook her head in self-deprecation. She could not stop her voice from shaking. “I am sure you are more than worthy. Will you not tell me where it is you are taking me?”

  “To your true husband.”

  Psyche’s heart seemed to jump into her mouth. She still may be taken to some horrible monster. She tried unsuccessfully to hide her fear as she croaked her next question. “And who is he?”

  “I’m afraid I cannot reveal that. You will find out soon enough.”

  Psyche let out a breath of frustration. She hated not knowing. She hated being at the mercy of someone else, powerless to change anything. She began to struggle again, kicking her feet more vigorously.

  “Careful, little one.”

  “I need to get out of here,” she gasped. “Please, let me down. Take me home!”

  “I’m afraid I cannot do that.”

  “Of course you can! You picked me up; you can take me back.”

  “I have orders, Princess. I cannot disobey them.” He paused briefly as Psyche continued to struggle. “Death awaits you on that cliff.”

  Feeling defeated, Psyche stopped her kicking. Her whole body remained tense, however, unable to relax, ready at any moment for Zephyr to drop her unceremoniously onto the jagged trees or rocks beneath.

  Trying to withhold the tears that were threatening to spill over her eyes, Psyche tried to distract herself. “Why do you call me ‘Princess’? I am just a farmer’s daughter.”

  “You were a farmer’s daughter.”

  Psyche knew he would offer no more and he didn’t. The rest of the journey continued in silence. Occasionally, Psyche would move her feet so that she could open the view of the ground again, but it only served to make her dizzy with fear. The gray fog showed hints of soft orange, then began glowing vibrant yellow, red, pink, and finally, a deep dark purple. The beautiful colors took her breath away and managed to ease her tumultuous emotions for a few moments.

  After a while Zephyr said, “Go to sleep, little one. The journey is far and you will need your energy for later.”

  Psyche’s heart began to pound hard again. She wondered why he would say this. Perhaps he knew she would need to run far and fast away from her husband. Or perhaps, he was thinking something worse. Despite her disturbing thoughts, Psyche felt the weariness throughout her body, and although the wind blew strong around her, it was surprisingly cool and comfortable.

  Psyche couldn’t imagine sleeping under such circumstances, yet the light whirling of the wind created a gentle lullaby. She found herself being slowly pulled to sleep.

  It wasn’t until the whistling voice of Zephyr penetrated the thick cloud of slumber that Psyche stirred.

  “Wake up, Princess. You have arrived.”

  Psyche was aware of soft warm grass tickling her cheeks and nose. She slowly opened her eyes and saw that the fog was still surrounding her, but the ground was unmistakable beneath her cheeks.

  Slowly, the mist began to disappear.

  Psyche pushed herself up. The land around her slowly began taking shape behind the fading fog. Trees were outlined in the mist and behind her. She saw a drop similar to the cliff on Bromeia and for a moment, she wondered if the Zephyr simply brought her back to the same spot. However, as the dense fog continued to lift, Psyche could see the differences. There was water beyond the cliff. The land around her began to take shape, growing more and more distinct. There was thick, bright green foliage draping the land, completely different from the landscape of Bromeia, where the leaves had turned red and orange. The mountains here were much taller than any in her small village.

  The words of Zephyr sounded softly in her ears, but she sensed that it was moving away from her.

  “Here, you shall find your husband.”

  Realizing that Zephyr was going to leave her, Psyche felt all the panic that she had been forcing herself to repress.

  “No, wait! Zephyr, please do not leave me!”

  “Your destiny is within the palace walls. Farewell, Princess.”

  Psyche stared at the strange, cloudy outline of the wind that caressed her hair and skin in cool waves. Then suddenly, it was gone and she was met with a stillness and warmth that shocked her.

  The fog was completely gone and Psyche gasped at the view. She doubted the Elysian Fields could have been more breathtaking.

  The land appeared to be some type of coast, possibly an island, as she could see the deep blue sea peaking behind the curving land. Four mountains jutted towards the sky not too far from where she lay. Tumbling down each mountain were four impossibly tall waterfalls splashing noisily and crashing to misty b
anks beneath them. Multiple rainbows streaked across the mountains’ cloudy bases.

  Not far from where she stood, overlooking the stunning waterfalls was a palace unlike anything she had ever seen before, hugging the terrain, cutting into the cliff itself, the building in majestic harmony with its surroundings as if carved into the rocks by an artistic giant. Tall columns formed elegant arches into the stone, and an elaborate entrance way faced her.

  There were no other structures around. Psyche was standing on a path that led only to the gorgeous edifice. Behind her, the cliff jutted down, giving her the sense that she was on top of the shortest of five mountains, protected by its four taller brothers. Not knowing what else to do, Psyche moved her trembling legs towards the polished stone palace.

  Surprisingly, the noise of the waterfalls died down as she approached the building. Psyche paused in confusion and looked around. She took a step back towards the cliff and could hear the waterfalls loud and forceful. Then, she once more stepped towards the building and the sound of the waterfalls immediately died down as if she had passed an invisible sound barrier.

  Shaking her head, Psyche continued her journey towards the curving steps.

  As she made her way up the great entrance to the palace, she touched the smooth marble balustrade, polished to perfection. The quality of the reliefs that decorated the walls was like nothing she had ever seen before, depicting winged gods and creatures in vibrant actions. She did not have time to look at them closely as she reached the sealed entryway.

  Psyche stood before heavy arching double doors that she could not imagine moving by herself. She hesitated, and then slowly reached out, only to have the door creak open before her small fingers could touch the handle.

  The small opening was just wide enough for her to enter. Psyche could not see much within it. She hesitated. She could still run.

  Psyche looked behind her at the cliff where Zephyr had placed her. She was unarmed. She had no food, and she was wearing a ridiculous thin scarlet dress with gold trim that would reveal her position a thousand paces away.

  There was no doubt that the palace was beautiful. So far, it seemed completely harmless. Psyche could not contain her curiosity and took a step inside to peer behind the door, not knowing what to expect. A fire-breathing dragon? A humped manservant? A sphinx with a mysterious riddle? Instead, she saw a huge, ornate hallway. Gargantuan marble statues towered over her, many of which were ten times her own size. One in the center, the largest of all, easily fifty times her height, was of a beautiful bearded god surrounded by adoring women who extended an arm as if inviting her to join him, his eyes warm and his smile mischievous.

  Other than the statues, the room seemed empty of all life.

  Psyche moved forward, her footsteps echoing softly on the hard stone floor. The statues were amazing, each one depicting a scene from a story. There was a beautiful maiden weeping over a fallen youth. Another with two men on their knees before a smiling princess. Next to that, a man and woman wrapped in an intimate embrace. Psyche blushed and looked away at this last one.

  Just then, she heard whispers in a room not too far from her. Determined to find a living being, Psyche hurried towards the sound.

  As she entered the room, she was surprised to see only another giant statue of a centaur carrying away a beautiful, struggling maiden. Psyche circled the giant base of the statue, but saw no one.

  “She has come at last!” she heard someone whisper distinctly. Psyche jumped and hurried back to the great hall, certain she would find someone there.

  “Is she not the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?”

  “She is not bad… for a mortal.”

  Psyche rushed towards the statue of the weeping maiden. Nothing.

  “A bit bedraggled for a princess.”

  “I think master could have done better.”

  She was back to the statue of the king with the seductive smile. She did not even hear the sound of scampering feet. Her own footsteps were loud against the polished marble; she was sure it would be hard to prevent a sound if someone were rushing away.

  “Hush, you impertinent thing!” another voice hissed.

  Psyche was utterly frustrated. The voices did not sound sinister. In fact, they reminded her of countless village women from her hometown. But she could not see anyone!

  “You do know I can hear you?” Psyche called out teasingly, hoping not to scare them away.

  Instantly, the voices stopped.

  Frustrated, Psyche went back to the room with the centaur.

  “Will you not show yourselves?”

  She continued to walk around the room, hoping to find a person or a group of people coming out. When the voices became distinct again, Psyche was determined to keep quiet until she could pinpoint their exact location.

  “Say something.”

  “No, you say something.”

  Psyche waited helplessly until, finally, a woman’s voice came from directly in front of her.

  “My dear, welcome to your new home.”

  The voice was clear, warm and maternal. At first, Psyche thought it came from the statue of a centaur itself and gazed upon it quizzically. No, the centaur’s lips were certainly made of marble, she was sure. Behind it, perhaps?

  Psyche hurried around the base of the statue a third time, certain she would find two old ladies crouching behind it, but there was no one.

  Psyche sighed. Despite her fears, Psyche could not help but feel slightly comforted.

  “Thank you,” she called out helplessly. “But I cannot see where you are.”

  “It is all right, my dear,” said that warm, distinctly female voice. “You are not supposed to see us. We have been told to keep a close eye on you and to take care of any need you might have. You are free to walk about the palace as you wish, but for right now, I shall take you to your room.”

  Invisible servants? Now Psyche knew she had to be dreaming. Perhaps she had fallen to her death after all, and this was the twisted aftermath. Still, she felt very much alive and the rapid pounding of her heart confirmed it. Also, there was nothing sinister about the voices. Surely someone as wicked as she, cursed by the gods as she was, would have been placed in a more horrific hell?

  Gazing around at the gorgeous art around her, the sun and clouds peaking between the columns, and the surreal view of one of the waterfalls in the distance, Psyche found absolutely nothing terrifying about the palace.

  “How can you take me anywhere if I cannot see you?” Psyche called out feeling like a helpless child.

  “It is no problem at all, my dear. Just follow my voice. Up the stairs you go to your left.”

  Psyche slowly moved forward as she was instructed. As the mysterious voice guided her cheerfully each step of the way.

  Had Psyche not just been floated into the air by a mysterious wind, landed in a world more beautiful than all of her imaginings, entered a palace with art that must have taken a hundred years to create, her rational mind would not have been able to accept the mad situation. But the voice, crisp and steady, sounded so reasonable. When Psyche asked why she could not see her mysterious guide, the voice responded, “That’s just how it works around here.”

  It sounded so exasperated and dismissive that Psyche shut her mouth immediately. For the moment, she decided to accept this answer. Psyche was simply relieved that she had not been eaten yet.

  Chapter 3

  Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, woke from a fitful sleep. Her head was still smarting from the night of debauchery more than a week ago. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, for she often got carried away during revelries, but she was sure she had limited herself this time. She had wanted to make sure her son, Eros, would be kept in line. But sometime during that night, she must have forgotten her resolve. The last thing she remembered was laughing with a Minotaur in her bedchamber.

  Aphrodite touched her temple, willing the room to stop spinning. Once the room steadied, she moved to the cen
ter and gazed at a reflector. Others would have found the goddess’s disheveled appearance charming, even seductive, her tousled golden locks adding a flair of rebellion as it framed her well-rested and lovely face. Aphrodite, however, shrieked in horror.

  Within an instant, a parade of servants arrived with fresh clothing and potions. They frantically scrubbed and washed her face and body, rearranged her hair, and replaced her wrinkled dress with one that shimmered like the rays of Helios.

  Feeling acceptable at last, the goddess of beauty frowned and looked around her palace. Where was her son? She went to her fountain and paused only to smile at the ethereal face staring back at her. Then, she ordered the foaming waters to show her Eros. Nothing appeared in the fountain, except her reflection frowning back at her. Aphrodite waited, her lips slowly curling up in irritation. There were pockets in Olympus that the All-Seeing Eye could not reach. She suspected that Eros had hidden himself in one of these places.

  A dark thought came to her mind.

  “Show me Psyche!” she shouted at the fountain.

  Again, there was no appearance, only murky gray. Where were they? Her heart began to accelerate. Were they together?

  “Where is my owl?” she cried out to the chiseled ceiling.

  The fountain responded by revealing her feathery white spy sleeping on a tree branch right above Psyche’s room. Aphrodite whistled for another bird, a scarlet finch, to fetch her owl so he could report to her. Within moments, she could see the finch and the owl exchanging tweets and hoots in the murky purple fountain. As the owl flew in the direction of her palace, Aphrodite’s fountain faded back to her reflection. Catching something unusual, she leaned forward and looked more closely at her face. She gasped as she saw fine lines at the edge of her lips. She hoped there would be an end to this foolish girl soon.