Chapter 2
Wrapped in mist, I soar above the harbor and toward my sanctuary. The stunned Phaon will soon collect himself: a young man again; renewed and handsome, full of hope.
In the meantime, I note with satisfaction how high the pile of offerings at my altar has become.
Honey oozes, left under the glare of the sun in pretty painted bowls.
As twilight descends, flower petals begin to curl, leafy garlands turning just slightly brown at the edges, while fruit ripens with a heavy, sweet scent.
I perch on the branch of an apple tree overlooking a pond, a pure white dove to any passing worshippers.
A soft peal of laughter trails through the warm air, and I see my priestess hurrying toward the dappled shade of my tree, her fingers intertwined with those of the girl I had seen in her mind.
They kiss beneath the gently waving branches, and, when they break apart, the girl plucks an apple and takes a bite before offering it to her beloved.
I can taste the crisp sweetness of its flesh, its sharp tang luscious in the breeze.
I spread my wings and flutter away from the grove, listening for the mortals I am yet to reward. Love unnoticed, love unreturned, love that’s lost its luster, love that burns and seethes and demands release.
I’ve always adored meandering through the orchards on Paphos, around the lotus ponds and past the quince and myrtle trees, catching covert glances between my worshippers.
Sweeping out over the wide ocean, I watch ships carry new travelers from distant shores, and with them a whole host of new and exciting possibilities.
My eyes wander across secluded groves where a neglected wife might slip out under the silver moonlight, flushed and breathless from a secret tryst, or where a god and his lover mix the juice of a poppy with rich wine and let their senses escape them.
Every opportunity for love to blossom, whether ephemeral or lasting, illicit or open, is a celebration to me.
I welcome them all, in whatever shape they take.
And, when I’m satisfied that I’ve spread happiness across the island, I return to my favorite place; the cave-pool where I bathe.
Three beautiful nymphs meet me there. The Horae, who serve as my attendants.
They don’t just wait on me and comb my hair and pour my wine.
We’re companions, united in friendship. I hear of all their flirtations, of every god and goddess that stirs their hearts.
I’m always eager to help, to lend a hand where it’s needed in matters of love for immortals and humans alike.
And they’re used to hearing me talk about each passing dalliance that captures my heart: the sweet bloom of romance that I can’t pass by—the next of my lovers catching my eye like a ripe, red apple, lustrous and tempting on a high branch I must reach.
Auge will listen while she weaves violets through my hair, her wide eyes bright like the last stars glimmering in the gray light before dawn.
I’ll recount how he looked at me, the stirring inside, and she’ll smile in that way that makes the world feel drenched in a rosy glow.
I’ll let my eyes wander, alighting on a bee tumbling through petals while I describe each encounter; how the starlight flooded the flower-meadow as our limbs melted together.
Even the doves that pull my chariot will cock their heads, nestling their pure-white feathers together as they lean against one another.
Hesperis and Dysis will help me into my robes, and the breeze will flow around us like golden honey while we laugh.
They’re used to the endings too; when the passion blows out like a summer storm. I’ve always found that the slight bitterness of its loss is sweetened by the memories, and so I step from one to the other with only a scattering of tears, soon to be dried as I move on.
I greet them and sink gratefully into the warm waters.
The pool is framed by a steep-sloping hill behind and looping branches crisscross above it, stretching into a leafy roof that shields me from view—just in case Helios sends his gaze this way as he soars overhead.
Water trickles from in between the craggy rocks above, a fragile waterfall that makes a rippling curtain, and, through its shimmering surface, I can see violets and roses blooming on the grassy bank in front of me.
The Horae sit among them, and I tell them about Phaon while I let my limbs relax in the water, letting it hold me in its buoyant embrace.
It’s a delightful evening, until I taste the tang of iron in the air, metallic and harsh. I know it’s her before I even lift my head.
“Athena,” I say. “What a pleasant surprise.”
She stands in her armor, spear clenched in her hand and face unsmiling, out of place in my pretty glade.
Zeus’ warrior daughter, here to do his bidding, I’m sure.
My Horae fall silent, their eyes directed respectfully down to the earth in her presence.
The soft sunlight still shines, but it feels like a shadow has fallen across our convivial gathering, a chill that seems to emanate from her gleaming breastplate and crested helmet.
“Zeus summons you back to Olympus.” She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.
I stretch my arms above my head, languorous and slow, sending a shiver of ripples across the water. Athena is so terribly efficient, and I can never resist the temptation to slow her down, make her dally when she wants nothing more than to leave. “Why?” I ask.
“It’s Zeus’ command.” Her words are clipped, and she glances around dismissively.
She really can’t see it, I reflect, all the beauty that surrounds us doesn’t move her in the slightest. I try again to reach inside her heart, to find a spark that I can bring to life, but there is nothing.
Her mind is as mirror-smooth as the armor she wears; if she has any desires at all, she keeps them locked away.
The only thing she wants, as far as I can tell, is to be back among the shining columns and graceful order of the gods’ palace.
“Then he can come and tell me himself,” I say lightly.
I’m expecting that she’ll get bored with me and disappear, infuriated, in a sleek hiss of iron, but I detect a hint of consternation in her cold, silver eyes.
It rankles to be peremptorily summoned there through Athena, who has dwelled among the gods for only a heartbeat compared with me.
I existed before Zeus and his siblings were even born. Everyone always forgets that.
She sighs. “There’s something I need you to do.”
I let her words hang in the air. “Dysis, more petals,” I say, turning my head, and Dysis jumps up from the bank to scatter rose petals in the water.
Her damp, auburn hair brushes against mine as she leans across, and I breathe in her scent of woodsmoke and apples.
“With all your wisdom, what could you possibly need me for?” I ask Athena lazily.
Then, a thought occurs to me with a rush of excitement—perhaps I missed it when I searched, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t in there, buried deep within her.
I find the silty floor of the pond with my toes and stand up, water streaming down my shoulders. “Is it love? Are you in love?”
She looks at me, mystified. “No.”
“Oh.” I subside a little, but gesture to Dysis to hand me my gown as I step through the waterfall onto the damp grass. “What is it, then?”
“I’ll explain when we’re there.” She’s letting her impatience show again. I can’t help but be intrigued; Athena’s never acknowledged any use for my power before.
She steps into her chariot, reins gathered in her fist, her horses silent and ready for her command.
We all have our own chariots, but when the whim takes us we transform at will and soar or gallop in different shapes.
Athena prefers to be a silent, swooping owl, though now she is on Olympian business and so we’ll travel together in a statelier fashion.
Whereas my chariot is beautiful—gold-edged with delicate carvings, drawn through the skies by sweet, enchanted doves—Athena’s has none of that.
It’s as austere and stern as she is. Nonetheless, I sweep up my flowing skirt and step up beside the warrior goddess.
Athena’s face is still as we rise. I think it unlikely that she’ll engage in any further conversation, so I look down as we ascend, leaving the earth beneath us.
The tree-lined mountain is soft and green, giving way to a rocky peak that we skim before sweeping up over the bright jewel of the sea.
I bid farewell to the frothy white waves and the turquoise fathoms of water, and lift my face to the clouds, toward the palace of the gods.
—
There are gods who wield the kind of power that can shatter mountains.
With the strike of a thunderbolt, Zeus can raze towns to ash; Poseidon can shake the earth until trees topple.
Helios can scorch the world until the oceans boil dry and everything is aflame.
But that kind of loss means nothing without love.
They can destroy everything in existence, but only I have the power to make life worth living in the first place.
My power is different. From the moment I was born from the blood-foaming waves and the dying Sky, I have brought the living creatures of the world together. Since I first set foot on the shores of Cyprus, it’s been my purpose.
This island has always been my home and I’ll never tire of breathing in its scent of cedar and pine and feeling the warm sun on my skin.
The songs of the restless sea, gasping at the pebbles on the bay where I first walked, soothe me as they whisper in rhythm with my soul.
There is nowhere else in the world like it.