15
Pulling on the floral sconce, I hear a click before I push the hidden door in. Opening the passageway, I shut the wall behind me.
Trotting down the stairs, I take the stairs two at a time. Excitement threatens to consume me. A room full of books.
I’m going to need to be focused. There’s probably loads of books that I’m going to want to read but won’t be able to now.
Today, I need to be in and out. Find the portrait, look for any faces like the god who took dad and then leave unspotted.
How hard could it be? I doubt that the room will be big or full of people. It should be a quick excursion.
As I move through the corridors, I start wandering in the sections that I haven’t ventured through yet. Peeking through cracks in the walls and keyholes, I peer into rooms in the palace.
Checking for anything that could be a library.
Guest rooms, offices, studies, servant areas, meeting rooms and more.
Damn it.
Think positive thoughts, I tell myself. Maybe I can manifest books and the library would appear.
Gods, that would be nice.
Frustrated, I lean over and check yet another door.
The door releases to a small room. Filled with excess items. Chairs, shelves, and tables are stacked haphazardly around me. Drop cloths are draped over the furniture to catch dust. Torched casting dark shadows around the room. The large stacks of worn books give me hope that I”m near the library. Leaving the door cracked, I move along through the room, spying another hall.
Tall arched doorways line the room, leading off down hallways filled with more books. The room consists of several levels. Like a large cylinder. Each with a level that overlooks the floors below. Natural light flows from the high ceiling. Looking down onto an atrium. Filled to the brim with books, tomes, scrolls and other artifacts.
“This is going to take a while,” I mutter to myself. “So much for in and out of this library. I could be here for years and still never find the portrait.”
Tapestries and statues line the center of the room between the rows of books. Above is a domed and vaulted ceiling that’s fully made of glass. The evening sun shines through the windows. Though the light outside is actively dying out for the night, this hall is the brightest that I have seen so far in the palace. Every few feet there’s a source of light. Sometimes a fireplace with plush chairs, torches tucked in the staircases, a sconce hanging above the shelves, and even chandeliers hang in the passageways.
I have never seen such a well-lit library. In Agatha’s shoppe, she kept her books and scrolls locked away in a dark stone room. I was permitted to take out a single book at a time to read during the day. If I took one out at any other time and read by candlelight, I was lectured on how flammable they are. She didn’t even let me read near the fireplace.
There must be magic at play to protect all these books from the open flames. Why else would they be so bold with their use of fire?
This structure is huge. Several floors high with passageways that shoot off to the sides. Whichever god who looks over the library must love their knowledge.
Owls dance through the open spaces. Mostly resting on the largest chandeliers, I have ever seen. One on each floor level. Though I”m incredibly curious, I stay far back from the railing to preserve my illicit adventure and remain unseen. The marble balcony railing is calling my name, but better judgment warns me against it. Not wanting some to see me by accident.
Wandering once more, I walk between bookcases. Looking for the family portraits that Artemis was describing. Once I make a full circle, I go to the next level down. Believing that likely the three floors and up are the most frequently used based on the volume of noise coming from them. As I climb down a set of stairs, I freeze as I watch two golden eyes glaring at me.
An owl rears her head toward me. Her feathers are tawny in color with flecks of silver.
Raising my hands, I grin sheepishly. “Nice owl, I”m going to sneak past you.”
The creature’s blood curdling screech sends sprinting. From not too far away, I hear shuffling and someone rushing to get to the owl.
Practically flying down the staircases, I jump and forgo the stairs. Determined to get as far away from the darn bird as possible.
To my right, I watch as the bird seems to track my movements throughout the various floors and passages. Jumping and dodging past the desks, chairs, and stray objects.
A shadowy figure traces my every step. From over my shoulder, he looked like a large figure, shuffling around only a bit away from me. I can’t see him, but I can hear him and his soft muttering.
“Darn intruders in the library,” he groaned. “I”m too old for this. I should be requesting Athena’s help. It’s her library after all. As a patron, I wonder if she’d ever consider helping ward off those darn malakas who shouldn’t be here.”
Interesting. Athena oversees the library. That makes sense. Goddess of Wisdom and Knowledge the patron of the library. Maybe she could permit me to be here… Styx, probably not. She’s still under the rule of Apollo.
Ducking down corridors and through rows of books, I still hear him mumbling.
Throwing myself under a desk, I tuck my legs to my chest and wait.
I jolt at the sight of the hairy legs which pause in front of me.
A half man, half goat stands and surveys the area. A satyr.
Holding my breath, I pray to Gaia that he doesn’t hear or sense me. Satyrs are rough around the edges, crude and boisterous. Full of mischief. Whose appetites are only second to their lust. Often, they flirt and pursue nymphs and mortal maidens.
But if he is in the castle, he must be vetted, I reason. But I guess that wouldn’t include intruders.
Waiting for what felt like hours, I watched the furry legs turn about the room. Within feet of me. From under my desk which is enclosed on three sides, I hear only mumblings of what the satyr is saying, Obscured by the thick oak of the table.
Finally, I watch the legs stamp off receding away from me. Even the batting of wings fades into the distance, which is unusual. From my experiences in the woods near home, they were nearly silent. As a precaution, I waited several more minutes in silence. Trying to ensure the satyr and owl were truly gone.
Peeking out from my hiding hole, I glance around my vicinity. Scrutinizing to find any side of the portraits.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see busts down on the floor below me. Internally, I debate if I should risk going down to the base level. Sighing loudly, I decide to see if the statues are situated near the family pictures.
Creeping along, I watch for the return of the satyr as I duck behind the stairs hidden beyond the shelf. As I”m climbing lower into the atrium, I peek out into the main area.
Chairs are dotted around the statues. All the statues are women sitting on chairs.
No… a throne. Each woman sits with a crown of thorns circling around their heads. Some with faces that are neutral, others are full of fear, and some seem to be determined to claw their way off the chair. Some yanking at their heads where the circlet rests.
The statues are so stunning I find myself staring from one sculpture to the next. They’ve clearly been lovingly and expertly crafted to appear as human women, and painted to look as they might be alive. I almost expect to see some start breathing until I notice a broken off nose on one and chipping paint on others.
No. None are alive.
But the details almost breathe life into these sculptures.
The screeching hoot of the owl sounds in the distance. Swirling, I look for somewhere to hide. There are no tables down here. Rushing toward the stairs, I see the shadow of the satyr growing larger. Turning around, I find a lone throne with a book set open on it. Lunging toward it, I opened the book to the page that was open and began reading:
“The Olympians had some notable allies in the conflict against the Titans. One of the most notable being a Titan himself. Prometheus and his brother Epimetheus sided with the gods. Prometheus with his prophetic gift knew how the war would end. Though they didn’t fight, Prometheus’s strategic gift gave the gods the edge to prevail by allying with the cyclopes and the hecatoncheires (more commonly known as the hundred handed ones). By freeing them, Zeus gained their favor and was able to repel the ancient and mighty Titans.
After the war, Prometheus was able to make an agreeable life with the Olympians. He helped with overseeing the creation of the mortals. He sculpted them from clay to make mud forms and breathed life into them. Afterwards, he was seen as a protector of humankind.”
The dark god from the woods called dad Prometheus. Maybe this really was a case of mistaken identity. Just like what I theorized all those months ago.
Internally, I resolve to sneak this book to my room so that I can read more about the War of the Titans.
I can hear the satyr coming closer again, hopefully my desperate attempt to blend with these sculptures will fool him. Or maybe Uncle Ov will come to my rescue again. From my vantage point, I watch the owl circle from the floor above me. It appears that the owl won’t come to this floor.
The huffing satyr pushes past me. I”m certain I”ll be able to recognize those hairy legs anywhere. Scouring the area, looking for me.
Well, at least looking for someone.
Searching for the intruder.
Dark crazy hair flies every which one from his head. His eyes look abnormally large due to the thick round glasses on his face. With a huffing grunt he seems to pause here, catching his breath. He’s visibly frustrated as his eyes seem to suddenly notice me.
Oh Fiddle Styx!
I hold as motionless as I can manage, not daring to breathe, as he leans in close, apparently transfixed by some aspect of my neck. His labored breathing smelling of herbal tea and something vaguely sweet.
My heartbeat pounds so violently that I fear it could give me away. If he watches much longer surely the pulse on my neck will give me away.
“The attention to detail on this bust is exquisite. The painters have outdone themselves. Each time they seem to get better and better.” Looking down at my feet, he appears to be looking for something, “Hmm. This golem girl is too new for a name. Well, my beauty, I”m excited to meet you and I expect a full book report from you at a later time. Perhaps over tea.”
The satyr quirks his eyebrow up suggestively at me.
Is he flirting with a statue?
Satyrs are odd ducks.
He is talking to clay statues like we’re alive and breathing. Not made forms.
Keeping my face still, I force myself to remain emotionless as the old creep takes in my appearance.
“I”m too old for this chase. Time to go back to the circulation desk.” He sighs, “Goodbye, my beautiful dear.”
Gag.
I watch his receding form, breathing quietly and slowly. Sneaking each breath. Trying not to draw attention to myself until I know for certain that he is gone.
As he is storming away, I release a silent sigh of relief.
I didn’t expect this place to be so expansive or well-staffed. Maybe I should’ve come in the middle of night. I could’ve asked Artemis the location of them… or maybe that would have tipped her off.
Uncurling myself, I stand and begin tracing my steps back to the passageway.
Now, I take time to look at each of the statues.
Thalia.
Callista.
Althea
These names are familiar, but where have I… The Pythia! These are the names in the Pythian Priestesses’ records of who’s known to be taken. These must be statues of those taken by Apollo.
The hair rises on the back of my neck. There are so many of them. Far more than the Pythian records claim.
Will I become a statue one day? Left in the basement where my only company is the satyr.
Scanning each statue, I”m determined to memorize their faces. With each face, I flowed deeper and deeper into despair.
Each statue is unique. Painted to match the person inspiring their creation. Most have the typical dark hair and eyes like I saw in my home. Others were varied. But all were positioned the same. On a throne of winding branches, flowers, and ivy.
What does my fate hold for me here?
Perhaps I could escape these walls and search for my dad. All before I turn to mud. But first, I need to find those portraits.
When I figure out the whereabouts of my father, then maybe I could also find his motive as to why he abducted an innocent mortal man. After all, what god would hold a grudge against a mortal man…
Actually, that does not exclude as many gods as I initially thought.
All gods love conflict. Especially when they have the advantage and the magic to fuck up someone’s life. Bullying mortals is probably the best fun that there is.
Messing with another god, now that can cause a civil war.
Fucking with the wrong nymph, that can piss off their patron immortal.
But humans. Humans would have no recourse. No power in their corner to prevent the deities from doing what they wished.
Tugging my new book in tow, I trace the gold painted title, Titanomachy: The War Against the Olympians.
Taking my time, I wander through every square inch of the bottom floor. Past each statue. Nothing hangs on the walls here.
Exasperated, I climbed up one level. Retracing my steps to leave when I find it.
The portrait is large. My wingspan is barely able to reach all the way across. At the center stands a scorched-out figure.
To one side stands Apollo and Artemis. To the other stands two sons. From the plate below it appears those two sons are named Ares and Hephaestus. Along the back row stands a whole line of others. Athena instantly jumps out at me. Standing directly behind the scorched figure of what can only be Zeus. Then there’s also Dionysus and Hermes.
“I suppose Artemis won’t need to improve her sketches after all.” Apollo laughs as he presses a kiss into my cheek.
What in Hades name is going on?
Jumping, I turn quickly to him, raising my hands. “Sorry! I was curious—”
“No need to explain yourself.” He grins mischievously. “My sister has spent far more time in the library than ever before. For a while, I was wondering if Artemis and Athena switched places.”
“I- I- I- Artemis and I were talking about your family… I was curious about who they were and what they looked like,” my voice waivers. I know that he said that I didn’t need to explain myself, but the words fell from my lips. Tumbling onto the ground between us.
“Mhmm,” Apollo states skeptically. “Who were you looking for?”
Shifting, I contemplate what to say. How much should I tell him? “When I was younger, I spotted a god in the woods.” I let my eyes rest on the portrait. “I was curious if I would be able to identify him through these portraits and Artemis was helping me.”
Apollo stands only inches away from me. Taking a couple of moments before asking, “Why are you so set on finding him?”
I need to tell him.
Gulping, I shift my weight between my feet. “My dad was taken by that god.” Lifting my gaze, I watch as Apollo’s eyes go wide.
“He was abducted?” Apollo confirms as though he simply must have heard me wrong.
“Yep. I guess like father like daughter holds true with us.” I give a halfhearted chuckle.
Gods, if dad knew where I was now, he’d have lost his mind.
“Did anyone look familiar?” he asks in a tired voice. “Did you find who you were looking for?”
“No.” I sigh. “These people are much too young. The person that grabbed dad was older. Haggard. Had these intense blue eyes,” I drawled on.
“Odd. this is all so odd,” murmurs Apollo.
“To make matters worse, I think my dad was taken by mistake,” I reveal. Thinking about the book mentioning how Prometheus was banished from Olympus by Zeus. “In the woods, my dad was called Prometheus by the god who took him. Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity. What do you know of the real Prometheus?”
Apollo shoots a tentative smile off to one side. “He was the father of Persephone. Married to Demeter. He also made my dad furious. To the point that he forced him to leave the land of the immortals and leave his family.”
“What would cause something like that? That sounds like such a severe punishment,” I remark. “Which one was Zeus?”
“Here. I did this after the coup which ousted my father.” Apollo taps the scorched image at the center of the frame. “As for Prometheus, no one is quite certain what happened. Some believe that he was staging an uprising. There were rumors that he’s the one who organize to have Zeus’s lightning bolt stolen right out from under him.” Apollo touches the scorched face on the canvas. Smoothing out the curled section, a silvery blue bolt rests in the figure”s hands.
From even the photo, I can almost feel the electricity sizzling. “What’s so special about the bolt?”
“Well, whoever holds the bolt rules Olympus. It’s key to Mount Olympus and the realm’s powers.” He explains, “But it has not been seen since the time of the coup. Others believe that Zeus hid it so that he could try to take back his realm at another date.”
“Have people looked for it,” I ask.
“Oh of course, but no searches have ever amounted to anything.” Apollo stares at his family members in the portrait. “I have searched for Persephone and that lightning bolt for almost one hundred years. A weapon like that changes everything. With that weapon, we’d never have to make another deal with House Hera ever again.
Turning, I watch him from the corner of my eyes. A fear running through them is clear as the night sky.
Zeus has his arm wrapped around a woman. That must be Hera. On Hera’s other side stands another woman. One that looks nearly identical to Zeus’s wife.
So similar that they must be sisters. “Who are these two?” I ask.
“Demeter and Hera,” Apollo replied. “They are sisters. Daughters of Rhea.”
Demeter appears heavily pregnant.
Looking over to Apollo, Artemis, and who I assume is Leto, they’ve no extended family with them. “Where’s Ov? Why isn’t he in this portrait?”
“Who knows?” He shrugs. “I don’t pretend to be one who understands my uncle. Never have and never will.”
“But isn’t it odd?” Looking around, I scan each portrait on the wall. “He isn’t in a single portrait.”
“Pfft. I think you”re reading too far into things. Maybe here is where we should call it,” He whispers. “It is late. We both should be heading to bed. Can I trust that you’ll return to your rooms?”
Maybe I”m overthinking this.
“Yeah, it’s getting kind of late. See you later.” I smile, giving him a side hug before sneaking to the hidden stairwell. Determined to make my way to the garden before bed. At home, I would go out to the garden to lose my mind with my work. Here, it’s to escape from the world around me.
Garden. Hmm.
Pulling off my bag, I rifle through looking for my marketplace find.
Grinning, I smile at my three packages of daffodil seeds.