As I read, I could almost picture her. She would be a noble girl. Not a princess, of course, but still pretty high up. After spending all of her young life in service to Apollo, she’d be selected to become Apollo’s highest priestess, the Pythia, when the Pythia before her died. She wouldn’t have had to wait very long. Serving Apollo at such a high level took its toll on all of them. No one selected as Pythia lived for very long after her service started.
And yet these girls did it anyway. Going willingly into service for the god. Delivering Apollo’s predictions to the Greeks who came to have their fortunes told. Once named Pythia, the girl wasn’t allowed to have any more connection to her family, her friends or her former life. Whatever her name had been, she would be known only as Pythia until her death.
How completely opposite was that girl from me? She had no contact with family but met with the world. I had only contact with family while keeping the world at bay. She was loved by a god and I was now hated by a goddess.
I guessed we had one thing in common though: I was eerily afraid neither one of us would live much longer.
Chapter 14 - Eros
Eros could do nothing but watch as he sat with the shade, waiting for Charon to show up and lug the old man down to Hades. He saw Hermes deliver the message to Apollo, but Apollo hadn’t said anything. He’d just scowled a lot.
Damn it.
Eros would have to wait for the prophecy to find out if Apollo had gone for his plan. Now that he knew his message had been delivered, Eros willed Darion to hurry up.
As if obeying Eros’s silent command, Darion sought out Apollo’s priests as soon as he made landfall and presented his offering. He’d brought an ornately jeweled lyre in tribute to the god. Eros shook his head as he looked on. Mortals were so predictable. Bring Apollo a lyre — no one’s ever done that before.
Still, the priests were impressed by the show of wealth, and Darion moved to the front of the line instead of having to draw lots to determine his place. Darion approached the temple with measured steps, carrying the lyre on outstretched arms before him. He looked as if he expected the god to reach down and personally accept the gift. But as he stood in the shadow of the massive temple, Darion’s fleshy arms began to weaken. He was forced to present his tribute at the base of the temple. Like everyone else.
After leading a procession of supplicants to a side entrance of the temple, Darion descended into the Sanctuary of the Oracle. The room was dark and damp, the flickering lanterns barely illuminating the cavern. Its silence was punctuated only by trickles from the stream running through channels in the floor.
Darion approached the screen separating him from the Pythia and placed his hand against the coarse fabric. Eros shared Darion’s anguish. The girl on the other side of that screen held both their worlds in her hands. Darion’s forehead dipped until it too pressed against the screen. Eros held his breath.
A priest cleared his throat nearby. “Sire, the Pythia is waiting. You need to ask your question.”
Darion raised his head, but didn’t back away from the screen. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Pythia, sacred maiden of Apollo, I come to learn the fate of my daughter, Psyche. What lies in store for her?”
The Pythia sat silently on her tripod, pinching laurel leaves between her soft fingers and gazing into a cauldron of still water. Slowly, deeply, she inhaled the vapors rising from a crevice in the earth. Her low-ceilinged chamber filled with the intoxicating scent of the god, swirling around her, inviting her to taste immortality. The light, tinkling sound of the sacred stream filled the cavern as she waited to receive Apollo’s message.
The Pythia began to sway as she balanced on her tripod. Her arms stretched out to the sides, palms up, letting the leaves fall away. Seconds ticked by and Eros felt his heart thud its every beat in his chest. Suddenly, the Pythia erupted in a peal of laughter, throwing her head back with such abandon she would’ve tumbled from her stool if an alert priest hadn’t caught her.
“Get ready,” the priest whispered to Darion. “It’s coming.”
Eyes rolled back in her head and panting, the Pythia breathed out her prophecy. Foretold Psyche’s future.
Darion dropped to his knees as the Pythia collapsed into the priest’s waiting arms.
Chapter 15 - Psyche
More than two weeks after my father departed for Delphi, the sounds of marching woke me from a restless sleep. It didn’t take long for the haze to fade. Marching could only mean one thing. I ran to my window and saw Father’s troops escorting their king to the palace door.
I didn’t bother to dress before tearing out of my room and flying down the stairs to greet him. He was just coming through the door when I flung my arms around him.
“Father, you’re home! You made it. What did she say?”
I felt like a child again, clinging to my dad and begging for a treat. Only when I paused to breathe did I finally notice his expression.
He didn’t answer me. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his chest. His chin rested on the top of my head as he slowly stroked my hair. I drew back a little and looked up into his eyes. Father’s amber eyes usually sparkled with life, but today they were dull, empty. He tilted his head back and blinked, an obvious effort to keep the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes from spilling. I’d never seen my father even come close to tears before. The sight of him like that made me tremble.
“What is it? Tell me what she said.” My pleas were barely more than a whisper.
After a long pause, he said, “We should get your mother first.”
“I’m here.” Her voice cracked as she called out from a shadow in the foyer. Neither of us had noticed her silently enter. I could tell by her expression that she too already knew the news was bad.
Father extended an arm and she rushed to join our embrace. We stood that way, the three of us together, for what seemed like hours. It was like we believed that as long as we were together, the Oracle couldn’t touch us. That we’d be immune from the destiny already laid out before us.
I was the first to pull away. “Knowing nothing is worse than knowing the truth. Just tell me.” Father didn’t answer me still. My voice exploded with desperation and panic. “Father, please!”
He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Slowly, he recited the message he’d received from the Pythia.
Dress Psyche in her blackest mourning cloth,
And leave her on the craggy mountain top.
Her lover is not born of human blood,
But is as dire and fierce a serpent as may be sought.
He flies with wings above in starry skies,
Conquering even gods who seem so wise.
On his whim all creatures fall in pain,
With him always Psyche shall remain.
The blood drained from my face so quickly that my cheeks turned numb. I’d been right to suspect that Aphrodite hated me. But this I hadn’t seen coming.
Love and passion were her tools; her blessing or her curse. The one possibility I’d never considered was clearly the worst fate imaginable. I’d have traded death for life in the arms of a monster. Or maybe certain death was what awaited me in those arms — the prophecy did say to dress me in funeral garb.
My head reeled as I tried to wrap my mind around the Pythia’s words. I pictured a massive serpent, coiling its scaly body around my ankles and folding me into an embrace in its oily, jet black wings. I saw its face rising slowly to look at me with slitted, yellow eyes before darting out a slithery, forked tongue toward my lips.
The last thing I remember before the room went dark was hearing myself scream.
* * *
I don’t know how long I was out, but I felt strangely calm when I woke. When I opened my eyes, I was looking up into my mother’s tear-stained face. She was cradling my head in her lap and stroking the long coils of my hair.
“Psyche,” she whispered. “I … it shouldn’t be you having to go. I wish it were me.”
When she was cried out and finally stopped shaking, she sniffed and looked at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and for the first time, those eyes gave away her age. She looked older and less alive to me. My heart broke as I looked into her eyes and understood that she was already mourning me as if I were dead.
“Don’t, please. I’m not gone yet.”
“You’re right.” She grasped my hand in hers. “We’ll fix this. There’s got to be something we can do.”
I simply shook my head, unwilling to crush her hopes with my words.
“No,” she protested, wringing my fingers harder. “We’ll call in the army to guard the palace. The beast will never make it past. You won’t have to go. We can stop this, Psyche. We can stop this.” Her words were so rushed. I’d never seen her this frantic before.
“Shhh,” I hushed, pulling her into my arms. “You’re going to make yourself sick. I hate seeing you like this.”
“We’ve got to try.” Her broken voice nearly choked on another sob.
“No,” I whispered. “You’re the one who always told me: You cannot escape what is destined.”
Chapter 16 - Psyche
I never thought I’d see my own funeral. But less than two days after my father returned from Delphi, that’s exactly where I found myself.
The wheels of the wagon cart jostled me over the rough stone roads as we made our way south to the top of the craggy hills that lay beyond the City gates. We left the palace before dawn, surrounded in blackness. I tasted blood as I chewed and shredded the inside of my cheek.
With every bounce of the cart I could feel the rough black shroud I wore scrape against my skin. The predawn air was too cool for such a thin dressing, causing an involuntary shudder to crawl up my spine like a spider. The golden hoops in my ears and around my neck felt too heavy. As I locked my grasp on the edges of the cart for balance, the weathered wood splintered and ground into my hands.
At the front of the procession, the hired mourners played shrill and sorrowful music on their flutes. Of course I knew the music. I’d been to funerals before. But something about the songs this time were even more grating. A painful reminder of the death-like fate that awaited me at the top of the hill.
Mixed with the flutes were the mournful wails of my family. Walking just behind the cart, my mother moaned and wailed; pitiful sounds that didn’t even form words.
My father and male cousins marched ahead of the cart. They too lamented, uttering low moans over and over. With them, they led a massive black bull that would be sacrificed as part of the funeral ritual. His hooves, combined with the footsteps of the two mules that pulled my cart, created a rhythmic drum beat tying all of the other horrific sounds together.
I could smell the livestock ahead of me, a rancid mixture of old hay and manure. The thick, dank odor of the oil lamps leading the procession wafted back, stinging my nose with every breath. Second to these pungent aromas, but present nonetheless, was the slightly sweet smell drifting up from the honey cake that sat precariously on my lap.
Because the Pythia’s prophecy was so vague, we weren’t sure if I was actually facing death, or if my fate would simply be as dire as death. In any case, my father had insisted I carry the cake in case I did find death at the top of the hill. I would need the honey cake to feed Cerberus, the three-headed dog who guarded the Underworld. No shade passed him by unless they distracted him with food. I also had a coin to pay Charon — just in case.
As my procession neared the top of the hill, the sun began to rise. It glowed so brilliantly it was almost white, surrounded by an aura of red and orange. Outside of the brilliant glow, the remainder of the sky was a milky purple, like no color I’d ever seen in the heavens before. As I stared at the sky in awe, a massive eagle soared across the horizon, drifting from left to right. I knew both the eagle and its course foretold good luck, but I didn’t dare place my hope on the wings of a bird.
My cart came to a sudden stop at the top of the bluff. I looked down from where I sat to see my mother racing up from behind the procession. She groped for my hand until she held it tight, but she was trembling. Her face was matted with dust and dirt that had caked on her tear-soaked face.
I looked back to the beautiful morning sky to steel my courage and then climbed down from the cart, careful not to drop my honey cake or coin. Mother wrapped me in her arms and began sobbing on my shoulder. I wanted to cry with her, but I was too numb for the tears to come.
Eventually I pushed her away and passed her off to Maia. I knew she would hold Mother until the world ended if that’s what she needed.
I’m not sure I even knew where I was going, but I pressed forward through the crowd of mourners until I reached the head of the procession.
Father had just sacrificed the black bull. Its blood surged from the slit in its throat and spilled over the rocky ground, eventually pooling around my sandals. Reaching down, I stroked the dead animal’s massive head. I was sorry it had to give its life so that I could be properly buried — or whatever was about to happen.
Father handed off his knife to one of the other mourners and turned to me. He cupped my face in both his hands. The tears he had worked so hard to hold back two days ago spilled freely down his face.
His pain broke my numbness and hot tears of my own bubbled up and slipped down my cheeks.
“Goodbye, Father,” I whispered.
“I’ll stay with you until it comes,” he answered. The pain in his voice was obvious.
“No, please go. You don’t need to see this.”
My father dropped his head and shook it side to side in protest.
“Please,” I insisted. “I want you to have happier memories of me.”
Father looked into my eyes for the longest time. It was as if he were searching my soul to see if I could do this alone. At last, he pulled me into a tight embrace and covered my forehead and cheeks with kisses.
“You’ll never know how sorry I am, Psyche. I wish I’d paid more attention; counseled you better. You don’t deserve to die for your mistakes.”
“Don’t. Please don’t do this.” I shook his shoulders gently and squeezed. “You can’t blame yourself for my choices. And Mom needs you to be strong for her right now, okay?” Giving him a pep talk actually made me feel better somehow.
His eyes scrunched closed and his forehead was wrinkled in anguish. “I love you,” he whispered.
I stood up on my toes and kissed his cheek. “I love you too, Daddy. Now go. I need to meet my fate alone.”
Slowly, he released my hands and backed away. When our fingertips fell apart, I knew that was the last time I would ever feel him again.
I watched him and the procession depart for only a moment before I turned my back on them all and looked out over the horizon.
The sun had climbed higher in the sky and the red-orange hue was nearly faded away. In its place was a steely bluish-gray. Then the wind picked up, swirling my shroud around my legs. My hair whipped, slapping my face and sticking to my wet lashes.
As I pulled a strand of hair from my mouth, I saw what looked like a wet cloud descending on me. The cloud swooped behind me and caught me like a cushion as a gust of wind blew me backward. Suddenly, I was in the air and flying out over the edge of the hill. I hadn’t even had time to scoop up my coin or honey cake before being launched into the sky. I looked down as we flew and knew that if I fell, I’d be dead.
I really wished I’d held on tighter to that coin and cake.
The cloud swooped into the valley below. When we neared the ground, the cloud dropped me so quickly that I didn’t have time to get my feet planted. I fell face forward into the dirt and scrambled to roll over. Pushing myself up onto my elbows, my heart thundered as I rea
died myself for the monster’s attack.
I even thought I might be ready to fight.
But no fight came and no attacker appeared. Instead, I heard a low, booming voice that seemed to come from all around me.
“It has been my pleasure to escort you to your new home. Your palace awaits.”
Looking back over my shoulder, I saw a palace so magnificent it made me gasp. The alabaster walls were blindingly white. Even without the sun’s rays, they sparkled as if encrusted with a million diamonds. And the roof was the purest gold, glistening like no drop of rain had ever fallen on its eaves.
Destined Page 8
