Origin of the Sphinx (5 page)

“What do I need to do to help you, Phoibe?”

“Will you listen, and tell me the truth?”

“I will always do that.”

And she knew it. She could always count on her dad to listen, and his judgment, while biased, was with her best interest at heart.

“A couple of years ago, I met Isaak Pallas.”

“The lawyer’s son?” He was surprised for the youth was rarely home.

“Yes. He was in Belen, and he had dinner at Priska’s. We talked, and started writing. Dad, I really like him.” She looked at her father and he could see the intensity of her emotion reflected in her gaze. He nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I never meant to keep it a secret from you, it started as nothing…” she floundered for a moment.

“Phoibe, it may have started as nothing for you, but that young man knew what he was doing.” His words pulled her eyes to his and she acknowledged the truth of his words.

“Yes, I can see that now.”

“So, what has happened? Does he want to marry you? Did he break your heart?” The conclusions were jumping from one extreme to the other in his mind as he tried to play out what could have caused his daughter such distress.

“I met Apollo.”

Damon stopped walking. His features told of the significance of her statement.

“Nothing’s happened, Dad.”

The words seemed to unfreeze him, but his next breath was ragged. “But?”

“Today Priska told me that there is only one reason Apollo would seek me out. Only one reason…” she blushed, and looked away, not wanting to say it to her father.

“Priska is very wise.” His words pulled her focus, and Damon met her gaze.

“Really? Don’t you think he might just want to be friends?” Even as she said it she knew it was ridiculous; she had deluded only herself. “He doesn’t want to be friends, does he?”

“Phoibe. You know your name means shining one. You have always been a lily amongst the brush. It is no wonder Apollo, or Isaak Pallas for that matter, sought you out. You have your mother’s beauty and warmth. To me, she was irresistible.” His voice quieted and he reminisced. “I remember seeing her standing alone on the hilltop, I thought she was a vision, no, a dream. She was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. When she beckoned me, I knew I would have gone to the end of the earth for her.” He shook his head and his eyes met hers. “But, Phoibe, I have learned many a hard lesson. Hera never loved me. She used me, and the act had significant consequences. I look back on that day, and if I could do it all over again…” He shook his head, and he would no longer meet her eyes, “I wish I would have had the strength to walk away from her.”

Phoibe knew what he meant. It was not that he didn’t love her, his daughter. It was the sadness and hurt that had come: in his marriage, with Phoibe having to leave home, the regret of not being able to raise his daughter and have a family with his wife. That decision had brought pain to many, but Damon most of all.

“But you can’t really blame yourself. You are mortal, and she’s a god.” Phoibe knew that gods had significant power, and their ability to manipulate mortals was well-known.

“You, however, are not mortal. You are a demigod, and as such, you will be able to decide. Without compulsion. I will not tell you what to do, but let me give you a little counsel. I doubt Apollo wants a lasting relationship. You are beautiful, and you have presented him a challenge, I think? Once he has conquered; he will very likely move on. Are you prepared to live with that?”

When Phoibe shook her head and started to speak, Damon cut her off. “Wait. Phoibe. Have you examined the other option you are looking at? If you choose to marry Isaak Pallas, he will grow old and die. You might choose to grow old, but as I understand it, you will not die. Are you willing to live with that decision?”

“Dad, I love him. I don’t think I could live without him. Maybe…” she left it hanging, not sure what she was trying to say.

“Phoibe, you will have to live with whatever decisions you make. I can’t tell you what will bring you happiness or joy. You will have to look into your heart to find your own way. I will always support you.”

“My path was clear from the first day I met Isaak. I can’t live without him.”

Damon nodded. “I understand.”

Phoibe believed him. Despite the trembling in her heart she did not worry about making the wrong decision. However, she was wise enough to dread the potential consequences of offending a god.

CHAPTER V

The visits had become more frequent so Phoibe didn’t have long to wait. She was hanging wash when the sun god appeared at the edge of the yard.

“Phoibe, what are you doing?” Apollo’s eyes skimmed down her body as he took in the scene. “Do you know how attractive you look doing work. I’ve never beheld something so desirable.” He came to her as he spoke. He reached to pull the fabric from her hands.

Phoibe retreated two steps, still clutching the material of the chiton in her hands.

“What’s the matter? Why so shy my kitten?” Apollo’s voice was honey.

“Don’t.” She shook her head. Looking around she saw the garden bench. Knowing he would follow, Phoibe set the dress back in the basket and walked through the spring flowers to the bench. As if the weight of the situation was crushing her, she sank onto the wooden slats.

“Apollo,” Phoibe looked at the god sitting beside her, “I can’t. What you are asking for, I–” She broke off not sure how to tell him.

“You can’t what, Phoibe? You don’t want to be friends anymore?”

“Friends? Really?” She was tired of pretenses, pretending, being fooled. “I have a feeling that’s not really what you’re after.” She met his eyes, and almost relented with the warmth and promise in the immortal golden depths.

“What do you think I want?” His voice called to her.

Something in Phoibe shifted; at that very moment she knew Isaak had come home. She saw Apollo, and instead of seeing the attractive figure with his golden promises, she saw the betrayal and hurt in her father’s eyes the day she was six. She understood that before her stood a god, but he had delivered only according to his will and pleasure. At home was a man that would, that had, sacrificed for her, who would work beside her, who valued her for all that she was.

“I think you should leave, my lord.” Her voice was firm.

“Are you refusing me?” The shock on his face was real.

Phoibe’s palms grew sweaty with fear. “I love Isaak. What you are asking…It is a betrayal of my promise to him. I won’t do that to him.”

“He need never know.” Apollo drew closer, and as he reached to touch Phoibe’s face, she withdrew.

“I would know.” Her voice was unyielding. It was as if saying it gave her the strength to finish. “I hope you will understand. I love him; I will not be unfaithful to him. I think it would be best for us all if you didn’t visit anymore.” She had said it! Phoibe felt relief.

“You are refusing me.” His voice was quiet, but hard, and a muscle in his neck jumped as he clenched his teeth. “You don’t know what you are doing. You and I aren’t finished.” He pointed at her, his gaze piercing, and the rage in his eyes made Phoibe’s heart race. “We. Aren’t. Finished.” With a flash of light, he was gone.

Phoibe sat on the bench until the sun went down. The moon was up, full, and the brisk air bit into her skin. It was only then that she gathered her skirt and went inside. When she opened the door she saw Isaak sitting at the table, obviously waiting. As soon as their eyes met, Phoibe started to cry.

Isaak held his arms out to her, and she rushed into them, burying her head into his chest.

“There, there my love. It’s okay now, isn’t it?” He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. When Phoibe looked at him, he wiped the remaining tears from her face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” she hiccupped, and they both laughed. “I guess I’d better tell you though, as I’m sure I’m putting your life in danger, too.”

“Well, our lives have been a little dull. What kind of danger have you put us in?” He was laughing at her, but she could read the confusion on his face.

“Apollo has been attempting to court me.” Phoibe watched as the color drained from Isaak’s face.

“I… I didn’t know.” He struggled to swallow, and his eyes glazed over.

“Nothing happened,” Phoibe quickly said.

When Isaak looked her way, his shock was raw on his face.

“And I told him today that nothing ever would happen.”

Phoibe took Isaak’s face in her hands and forced him to look her in the eye. “I love you Isaak. I could never do anything that would hurt you.”

“But Phoibe—”

Whatever protest Isaak had was stopped when Phoibe’s lips met his.

~ προχωρήσουμε ~

For the next several weeks Phoibe was apprehensive, constantly anticipating the threat of Apollo returning. But weeks passed, and then months.

The wedding ceremony took place without incident. Phoibe and Isaak settled in their own home. Isaak still travelled to Athens, but less and less as he established patrons in the community of Belen. The concern Phoibe had once felt about Apollo got lost in the business of daily life, and then Phoibe discovered she was expecting.

It was an exciting time with lots to do to prepare for the little one. Of course, Priska was there to oversee all, the constant of Phoibe’s life. It seemed that the months flew, and Phoibe was grateful for the help of her surrogate mother.

~ προχωρήσουμε ~

It was late, as seems to be typical when babies are born. Isaak had gone to get Priska as soon as Phoibe had explained that the baby was coming. Labor progressed through the night and into the early hours of morning.

“Isaak!”
Phoibe’s voice was shrill, and the pain of labor made speaking difficult.

“I’m here.” He stood at her side, wiping the sweat and tears from her face.

“Isaak! No, please, make it stop. I can’t do this!” Phoibe writhed.

Priska came back into the room. “Isaak, I need you to help her focus. Help her breathe through the pain, and when I tell you, help her focus on pushing.” Priska’s instructions were direct, and Isaak was grateful for the woman’s aid.

It seemed like only minutes later, and the sound of a baby’s cry was heard. Phoibe wept as did Isaak. Priska’s heart was full as she attended to bathing the little one before handing her to her mother.

It was still dark outside. It had been especially dark with the new moon. Priska thought the sun must be rising as light came in the eastern window. She looked up, but a glance around the room told her something was wrong.

The light radiated from the east, but the western window was still pitch with night. When the door opened, Priska felt her heart stop.

“Touching, so touching.” The voice was beautiful, musical, but laced therein was the ugly bitterness of sarcasm. The speaker was the most striking figure Priska had ever seen. To say he was good-looking was a severe understatement. He was tall. His hair, skin, and eyes all golden, and he seemed to glow, reflecting light and warmth. With his presence, the room smelled of summer. Despite all of this, Priska felt fear.

Phoibe struggled to sit up. “Apollo?” Her voice was tired, slurred.

“Phoibe.” He acknowledged her, but there was no warmth in his voice.

“What are you doing here?” Her hair hung loose and untamed, and in her rumpled chiton, she was a beautiful mess of beauty and bewilderment.

Priska could feel the fear in the room, it was so palpable it was almost its own creature.

“Didn’t I tell you you’d see me again? I thought I made that very clear.”

Priska recognized the tone in his voice. She had heard it before: it was that of a scorned lover.

“Apollo, please!” Phoibe struggled.

“PLEASE? You don’t even know what you are asking for!” His rage was fierce, and Priska cowered away.

“Please, don’t hurt my baby. Please!” Phoibe held the infant tightly to her chest.

“Your baby,” he spat. “She should have been our baby.” And then he turned to look at the man who had won Phoibe’s heart. “Him? You spurned me for him? He’s so… ordinary!” The word was like a dagger.

Isaak stood up, his fear gone. He put himself between his wife and the angry god, knowing it would likely be his last move.

“Why would she want you? A self-absorbed god. Not when she could have a man that would love her, and be true to her, for his entire life.”

Apollo looked at Isaak, but said nothing. The room brightened, and Phoibe screamed as she blocked her baby from the rays coming from Apollo’s body. It only lasted a few seconds, but when the light receded, Isaak was gone. There was a small pile of ash on the floor where he once stood.

“Now, will you have me?” Apollo’s voice broke the shocked silence of the room.

Phoibe looked at him, her rage gone, her spirit broken. “I will never love you. I would rather die than be with you.”

“So be it. Hear the curse that you have brought upon your offspring.” His eyes closed momentarily, and then he spoke,

On this night, and in this land

Hear the curse, How it will stand.

Your body and your beauty be

Touched and marked eternally of me

And when your family is complete

Then Death will visit on swift feet

And rob you of the joy divine

The joy that should be yours and mine

Until we wed, and love and more

This shall stand forevermore.

Again the room brightened, but then the light radiating from Apollo’s body seemed to focus inward, until there was only a pinpoint left, and then it too disappeared.

The light from the fire seemed almost inadequate, and it took a few minutes for Priska’s eyes to adjust. When they did, a small shriek escaped, and she ran to Phoibe’s side. Blood pooled on the bed, dripping onto the floor. Phoibe was hemorrhaging. Priska’s first step was to remove the infant from Phoibe’s arms. The task was almost impossible, and every second seemed like the precious minutes she would need to save Phoibe’s life. When she finally extracted the newborn, Phoibe’s eyes opened.

“No, Priska. Please. Let me hold her until I go.” Her voice was only a whisper.

Priska felt helpless. “I might be able to stop the bleeding.”

“No, Priska, I don’t think you can heal this.” Phoibe’s breathing became ragged. “Please, make sure she is cared for.” The silence was punctuated with the rattle of Phoibe’s breath. She struggled to raise her head and look around.

“Priska?”

Tears ran silently down Priska’s cheeks. She stroked Phoibe’s already cold hand, and pushed the hair back from her clammy forehead.

“I’m here child.”

“Dido. Name her Dido. And tell her…tell her how much I loved her, and how much I loved her father.”

“Of course.” Priska hummed quietly, holding Phoibe’s hand until it went limp. Then she stood, closed Phoibe’s eyes, removed the infant from her mother’s arms, and pulled the soft blue wool up to Phoibe’s chest.

It really looks as if she is sleeping, Priska told herself, and then shook her head as she noted the gray pallor that bespoke death.

Looking around the room, she noticed the silver wooden cradle and soft ivory blanket lying therein. She took the blanket and wrapped Dido into it. She placed the infant into the cradle and, sitting in the chair opposite it, rocked the newborn to sleep with her foot.

When she woke the next morning it was to the cries of a hungry newborn. Priska pulled herself up out of the chair, feeling stiff from a poor night’s sleep. She knew she would need to notify Damon of Phoibe’s death, and dread slowed her feet. Absently, she picked up Dido and was shocked at how much heavier the bundled infant felt that morning. She pulled the blanket away to change the child and almost dropped her.

I must be hallucinating, was Priska’s first thought as she stared at the changeling. After shaking her head to clear her vision, she reached out her hand and stroked what could only be described as fur on the hindquarters of this new creature. Priska continued to unwrap Dido and found something that left her mind reeling. This creature, that just last night was an infant, was still human from the waist up, but on her back were wings, glossy golden feathers that deepened to a dark auburn. And from the waist down, she appeared to be a cat.
A lion
, Priska thought.

Knowing this must be part of the curse Apollo placed, Priska tried to focus on what his exact words were.

~ προχωρήσουμε ~

Priska had never been present when the Moirae, or Fates, appeared. She had helped birth many babies, but had always left shortly after. She knew this would be different. She also knew she owed it to Phoibe that Damon be there. For, perhaps, he might want the changeling.

The three of them waited for the Fates to come; Dido cooed, unconcerned of the power they were awaiting.

Morning passed into afternoon. Priska sat in the rocking chair, almost at ease with the idle time. Damon paced the small cottage, restless, uneasy, anxious. His mind reeled from the story Priska had shared. He would occasionally sit and weep, silent tears, for his daughter, for the cursed creature that was his granddaughter. The tension rolled off his body as he paced, and ebbed as he cried. The day passed slowly.

It was just dusk. The sky filled with hues of purple and crimson. The air was starting to cool. Priska had fed Dido, and she was now sleeping in the cradle that had once been Phoibe’s. Priska stood to build up the fire for the evening wait. Damon, having exhausted himself, sat by the dying fire in a state of bewilderment. Priska stirred the embers, and as she straightened a bright flash lit the room.

There they were.

The three Fates stood in the center of the room. The young women were breathtakingly beautiful. One was fair, with long golden hair, a hint of roses to her creamy skin. Another had dark, almost black hair cropped at a sharp slant. Her pale skin and dark eyes emphasized the angularity of her features. The third had soft chocolate curls and warm russet skin. It was easy to identify them as they held their respective instruments in their hands.

“Who will raise the girl?” It was Lachesis who spoke first. She radiated concern, her warm brown eyes looked quickly around the room. She held a rod of about a meter that she gripped in her left hand. The stick was clearly marked with symbols at precise distances. She seemed to be measuring each individual as she spoke.

Priska looked at Damon, but his red-rimmed eyes remained fixed on the floor.

“I will.” Priska’s voice was determined, and she felt joy at the prospect.

“It is as you said, Lachesis.” The voice was sharp, which matched the angular features on this young lady. Her eyes were dark, cold, exacting.

Priska felt goose bumps rise on her flesh.

It was Atropos who spoke, identified by the shears she had at her belt.

“But it must be fair. There is so much that has played out that has been unjust.” The young lady that spoke, hardly looked up from her needles. She was slender, with hair the color of honey. The click of rapid knitting had been uninterrupted since the Fates had arrived. “I will not allow the gods to cut this life short.” Clotho’s blue eyes looked at Atropos reprovingly, and Atropos’s eyes dropped.