Preoccupied
Feb. 19th, 2012 11:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
muchtooarrogantLJ Idol, Week Fifteen
(Please note, a reading key appears at the end of this story.)
Hermes arrived at sunset, although at first, Callidora was unaware of his presence.
Bending over the body in front of her, eyes wreathed in tears, she was effectively blind, doing her work by touch. The lack of vision had actually been a blessing, allowing her to fantasize that this was some other person being prepared for burial, a stranger's body, no one she knew.
"Callidora."
Even in her distracted state, there was no way of mistaking his voice as human. It had an almost symphonic undercurrent, a vibrant harmony flowing through every syllable. All of the immortals had this gift of course, but for Hermes, inventor of the lyre, and Apollo, god of music itself, it was even more pronounced.
Straightening, she turned to face him, vainly trying to clear her vision with the end of one sleeve.
"Lord Hermes?"
Blinking through the tears which refused to clear from her eyes, she noted that the god was standing before her in full regalia. He was holding the snake-entwined caduceus in his right hand, wearing a broad brimmed helm on his head, his feet shod in golden sandals, wings growing from his shoulders. She was no stranger to the immortals, had, in fact, probably seen more of them than most people now living, but they rarely flaunted the symbols of their office so visibly unless something important was at hand.
When she was very young, still learning about the nature of her gift, Callidora had thought that life would never surprise her. She had believed that because she could sometimes foretell the future, that all mysteries would eventually be revealed. Instead, she had learned that the future was a fluid thing, always flowing in different directions, changing depending on people's actions, sometimes fluctuating based on nothing more than one spoken word. There weren't many absolutes, and very few things she could say with certainty.
"But, why are you here?" she stammered, staring at him in confusion. "His psyche must surely be gone now."
"No, Callidora," he said kindly, stretching his left hand towards her, "I'm not here as a guide to the underworld. I have been sent with a message from Apollo."
Her shoulders slumped, and she turned away from him, resuming the task she had to complete before dawn. Hermes was not here to guide her poor broken son's spirit to Hades, but only to deliver a message from the father who had abandoned them both years ago.
She had feared this day, known in her heart just how likely it was to come to pass, but had fooled herself into thinking that it never would. Ordinarily, all the women of the family would be here, bathing the body and dressing it in the finest garments available, but she had insisted on keeping this last preparation private, one final gift of love from mother to son.
"Whatever missive you carry has come too late," she choked out, "my son is dead."
There was silence for a time, and then Hermes said, "I am sorry."
The melodic words sounded so sincere that Callidora could almost believe him. Almost. In the end though, it didn't really matter whether he was sincere or not. Nothing could bring her son back from the depths of Hades.
When Hermes spoke again, his voice was quieter, perhaps muted in deference to her distress. It was possible, she realized, that he had to speak. That once entrusted with a message, he was compelled to deliver it.
"My brother says that he is free to act now, and can kill the assassins responsible for your son's death if you wish it."
The flash of rage which burned its way through her was so completely unexpected that she was unable to move for several seconds. Crouched over her son's corpse, she felt the tears start falling again, a crushing force inside her chest squeezing her lungs until she could barely breathe.
"That's the death gift the shining one has chosen to lay at his son's feet?" she rasped, hating the sound of weakness in her voice. "Revenge?"
"Callidora!" Hermes said, his reproof evident in every syllable of her name. "You of all people must have known this would eventually happen."
Grasping the edge of her son's bier, she levered herself upright, and slowly turned to face him again. It wasn't possible for her to hide in her grief any longer, ignore this unwanted visitor and hope he would eventually go away. His message had been delivered, and now he required an answer.
Although Hermes had clearly done what he could to diminish the grandeur of his appearance for her benefit, there was no way for him to become completely human. His countenance was a little too perfect, his stance supremely confident, his eyes… Was there any true sympathy there? Even the faintest glimmer of understanding for what she was going through, what she would now be forced to endure for the rest of her life? She desperately wanted to hurt him, to shock him so fundamentally that it would always be there, the evidence plain to see in his face.
"Tell your brother," she said deliberately, "I reject his offering."
He nodded, and Callidora was certain that every word, every intonation of her voice had been captured and committed to memory. She waited until he started to turn away, and then spoke again.
"Tell him that I don't just want them dead," she said, "I want them to suffer through an eternity of agony."
Hermes turned back.
"I want them to beg for mercy," she continued relentlessly, "to beg with every fiber of their being, all the time knowing that salvation is impossible."
The god raised a hand, but Callidora had no intention of allowing him to interrupt her.
"Then, after millennia of torture," she whispered, leaning towards him, "I want the very threads of their existence ripped from the loom of the Fates. I want it to be as though they had never …"
"Stop!" Hermes thundered, actually taking a step backward, as though he feared for his safety.
The snakes around caduceus had partially untwined, their heads reared back and hissing.
"You cannot say these things!"
"My son is dead!" Callidora screamed at him. "My son is dead, and he did nothing to stop it!"
"Your son was like you," Hermes shouted, "he went too far. He thought of himself as superior to everyone else, planned to rule Athens, and would've been happy to cause a civil war to do it. It was hubris, Callidora. He was warned, and so were you, for that matter."
"He was better," she spat. "What sort of justice would it have been to hide his beauty and talent under a basket? Would your kind have preferred that, messenger?"
Hermes took a deep breath, no doubt preparing to respond to her latest gibe, and then, almost visibly, calmed himself.
"This is pointless," he said, his voice again composed of soothing melodies, "I will deliver your original response to Apollo. You reject his offering."
As she had imagined, his intonation was perfect.
She collapsed against the wall beside the platform holding her son's body, and moaned, "Go then."
When Hermes was gone, when there was nothing else in the room with her except the empty shell of her son's corpse and the preparations for his funeral, Callidora knelt by his bier and closed her eyes.
"I have seen a time when there are no gods," she said quietly, "where men and women have so thoroughly banished belief in divinity from their minds that they have thereby caused its destruction." She hesitated for a moment, and then snarled with satisfaction, "Such is the price for abandoning one's progeny!"
Author's Note:
Since I'm aware that most people probably don't share my fondness for Greek mythology, I thought I'd include a few definitions.
Hermes: Messenger of the gods, guide for spirits on their way to the underworld, and inventor of the lyre.
Callidora: A character of my own creation. Her name means gift of beauty.
Apollo: The god of prophecy, music, and healing. In my story, he was also Callidora's lover.
Caduceus: The staff carried by Hermes, traditionally shown entwined by two snakes. My favorite myth suggests that Hermes found the two snakes in mortal combat, separated them with his staff, and brought about peace between them.
Psyche: The Greeks believed that at the moment of death the psyche, or spirit of the dead, left the body as a breath or little puff of wind.
Hades: Could mean either the god who ruled over the underworld, or the underworld itself.
The Fates: Also known as the Moirae, these were the goddesses who controlled the destiny of everyone from the time they were born to the time they died. They were: Clotho, the spinner, who spun the thread of a person's life, Lachesis, the apportioner, who decided how much time was to be allowed each person, and Atropos, the inevitable, who cut the thread when you were supposed to die. Even though the other gods were supposedly immortal, they still feared the Moirae.
Dan
(Please note, a reading key appears at the end of this story.)
Hermes arrived at sunset, although at first, Callidora was unaware of his presence.
Bending over the body in front of her, eyes wreathed in tears, she was effectively blind, doing her work by touch. The lack of vision had actually been a blessing, allowing her to fantasize that this was some other person being prepared for burial, a stranger's body, no one she knew.
"Callidora."
Even in her distracted state, there was no way of mistaking his voice as human. It had an almost symphonic undercurrent, a vibrant harmony flowing through every syllable. All of the immortals had this gift of course, but for Hermes, inventor of the lyre, and Apollo, god of music itself, it was even more pronounced.
Straightening, she turned to face him, vainly trying to clear her vision with the end of one sleeve.
"Lord Hermes?"
Blinking through the tears which refused to clear from her eyes, she noted that the god was standing before her in full regalia. He was holding the snake-entwined caduceus in his right hand, wearing a broad brimmed helm on his head, his feet shod in golden sandals, wings growing from his shoulders. She was no stranger to the immortals, had, in fact, probably seen more of them than most people now living, but they rarely flaunted the symbols of their office so visibly unless something important was at hand.
When she was very young, still learning about the nature of her gift, Callidora had thought that life would never surprise her. She had believed that because she could sometimes foretell the future, that all mysteries would eventually be revealed. Instead, she had learned that the future was a fluid thing, always flowing in different directions, changing depending on people's actions, sometimes fluctuating based on nothing more than one spoken word. There weren't many absolutes, and very few things she could say with certainty.
"But, why are you here?" she stammered, staring at him in confusion. "His psyche must surely be gone now."
"No, Callidora," he said kindly, stretching his left hand towards her, "I'm not here as a guide to the underworld. I have been sent with a message from Apollo."
Her shoulders slumped, and she turned away from him, resuming the task she had to complete before dawn. Hermes was not here to guide her poor broken son's spirit to Hades, but only to deliver a message from the father who had abandoned them both years ago.
She had feared this day, known in her heart just how likely it was to come to pass, but had fooled herself into thinking that it never would. Ordinarily, all the women of the family would be here, bathing the body and dressing it in the finest garments available, but she had insisted on keeping this last preparation private, one final gift of love from mother to son.
"Whatever missive you carry has come too late," she choked out, "my son is dead."
There was silence for a time, and then Hermes said, "I am sorry."
The melodic words sounded so sincere that Callidora could almost believe him. Almost. In the end though, it didn't really matter whether he was sincere or not. Nothing could bring her son back from the depths of Hades.
When Hermes spoke again, his voice was quieter, perhaps muted in deference to her distress. It was possible, she realized, that he had to speak. That once entrusted with a message, he was compelled to deliver it.
"My brother says that he is free to act now, and can kill the assassins responsible for your son's death if you wish it."
The flash of rage which burned its way through her was so completely unexpected that she was unable to move for several seconds. Crouched over her son's corpse, she felt the tears start falling again, a crushing force inside her chest squeezing her lungs until she could barely breathe.
"That's the death gift the shining one has chosen to lay at his son's feet?" she rasped, hating the sound of weakness in her voice. "Revenge?"
"Callidora!" Hermes said, his reproof evident in every syllable of her name. "You of all people must have known this would eventually happen."
Grasping the edge of her son's bier, she levered herself upright, and slowly turned to face him again. It wasn't possible for her to hide in her grief any longer, ignore this unwanted visitor and hope he would eventually go away. His message had been delivered, and now he required an answer.
Although Hermes had clearly done what he could to diminish the grandeur of his appearance for her benefit, there was no way for him to become completely human. His countenance was a little too perfect, his stance supremely confident, his eyes… Was there any true sympathy there? Even the faintest glimmer of understanding for what she was going through, what she would now be forced to endure for the rest of her life? She desperately wanted to hurt him, to shock him so fundamentally that it would always be there, the evidence plain to see in his face.
"Tell your brother," she said deliberately, "I reject his offering."
He nodded, and Callidora was certain that every word, every intonation of her voice had been captured and committed to memory. She waited until he started to turn away, and then spoke again.
"Tell him that I don't just want them dead," she said, "I want them to suffer through an eternity of agony."
Hermes turned back.
"I want them to beg for mercy," she continued relentlessly, "to beg with every fiber of their being, all the time knowing that salvation is impossible."
The god raised a hand, but Callidora had no intention of allowing him to interrupt her.
"Then, after millennia of torture," she whispered, leaning towards him, "I want the very threads of their existence ripped from the loom of the Fates. I want it to be as though they had never …"
"Stop!" Hermes thundered, actually taking a step backward, as though he feared for his safety.
The snakes around caduceus had partially untwined, their heads reared back and hissing.
"You cannot say these things!"
"My son is dead!" Callidora screamed at him. "My son is dead, and he did nothing to stop it!"
"Your son was like you," Hermes shouted, "he went too far. He thought of himself as superior to everyone else, planned to rule Athens, and would've been happy to cause a civil war to do it. It was hubris, Callidora. He was warned, and so were you, for that matter."
"He was better," she spat. "What sort of justice would it have been to hide his beauty and talent under a basket? Would your kind have preferred that, messenger?"
Hermes took a deep breath, no doubt preparing to respond to her latest gibe, and then, almost visibly, calmed himself.
"This is pointless," he said, his voice again composed of soothing melodies, "I will deliver your original response to Apollo. You reject his offering."
As she had imagined, his intonation was perfect.
She collapsed against the wall beside the platform holding her son's body, and moaned, "Go then."
When Hermes was gone, when there was nothing else in the room with her except the empty shell of her son's corpse and the preparations for his funeral, Callidora knelt by his bier and closed her eyes.
"I have seen a time when there are no gods," she said quietly, "where men and women have so thoroughly banished belief in divinity from their minds that they have thereby caused its destruction." She hesitated for a moment, and then snarled with satisfaction, "Such is the price for abandoning one's progeny!"
Author's Note:
Since I'm aware that most people probably don't share my fondness for Greek mythology, I thought I'd include a few definitions.
Hermes: Messenger of the gods, guide for spirits on their way to the underworld, and inventor of the lyre.
Callidora: A character of my own creation. Her name means gift of beauty.
Apollo: The god of prophecy, music, and healing. In my story, he was also Callidora's lover.
Caduceus: The staff carried by Hermes, traditionally shown entwined by two snakes. My favorite myth suggests that Hermes found the two snakes in mortal combat, separated them with his staff, and brought about peace between them.
Psyche: The Greeks believed that at the moment of death the psyche, or spirit of the dead, left the body as a breath or little puff of wind.
Hades: Could mean either the god who ruled over the underworld, or the underworld itself.
The Fates: Also known as the Moirae, these were the goddesses who controlled the destiny of everyone from the time they were born to the time they died. They were: Clotho, the spinner, who spun the thread of a person's life, Lachesis, the apportioner, who decided how much time was to be allowed each person, and Atropos, the inevitable, who cut the thread when you were supposed to die. Even though the other gods were supposedly immortal, they still feared the Moirae.
Dan
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no subject
Date: 2012-02-19 10:07 pm (UTC)This entry is very vivid. I know it's about the gods but it also brings home how human-like they could be.
Well done.
no subject
Date: 2012-02-20 11:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-20 02:40 pm (UTC)That's the thing I love most about Greek mythology, the gods are so "human." They love, they mourn, they rage, just as we do.
Thanks for reading!
Dan
no subject
Date: 2012-02-20 03:12 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked the setup. I needed a reason for Callidora to rage at Hermes, to say shocking things without caring about the results. It was one of those situations where I imagined the scene first, and then needed the background fleshed out to have it all make sense.
Thanks for reading!
Dan
no subject
Date: 2012-02-21 03:13 am (UTC)The grief was very real, and I love her name Callidora....
Great piece.
no subject
Date: 2012-02-21 03:50 am (UTC)Dan
no subject
Date: 2012-02-21 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-21 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-22 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-22 03:58 am (UTC)I'm glad you liked the story! :)
Dan
no subject
Date: 2012-02-22 04:00 am (UTC)Dan
no subject
Date: 2012-02-22 04:13 am (UTC)Dan
no subject
Date: 2012-02-22 06:48 am (UTC)Interesting addition to the mythology. Apollo is usually painted as such a good person... but then, when he does mess up, it's usually absolutely terrible.
I like your character. :)
no subject
Date: 2012-02-22 01:22 pm (UTC)Yeah, I'd say that Apollo's generally one of the friendlier gods, with the exception of how he handles love, or more precisely, love denied. Look at what happened to Cassandra and Daphney for example. In this case, while Callidora didn't reject him, her son aspired to rule Athens, not something I'd imagine Athena would take very kindly. Plus, he and his mother had the attitude of, "I'm god born, and therefore better than the rest of you." It was a situation doomed to failure from the outset.
Thanks for reading, and I'm glad you liked it!
Dan
no subject
Date: 2012-02-23 06:19 pm (UTC)I love the sting at the end, where what Callidora can see as a possible future is the destruction of the gods themselves through lack of belief. Which, in a sense, is exactly what has happened.
no subject
Date: 2012-02-24 01:29 am (UTC)Thanks so much for reading and commenting.
Dan
no subject
Date: 2012-02-24 05:59 pm (UTC)You're welcome!
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