Greetings to all you curious mortals !
I was having some fun with mythology and then this idea came to me. This has been quite an interesting experience.
My inspiration came from the story of Apollo and Cassandra although I do follow other storylines and use original characters.
Part I- Introduction
Long, long ago and far, far away, in a small village called Yence, there lived a man and a woman who birthed a babe girl. At the time, most families wanted sons and would often pray the gods for their firstborn to be a strong, handsome son. This couple however decided they'd love their daughter nonetheless, for after all they were fortunate enough to have her as their child. They named her Ophalia.
Ophalia was born a singer. Her parents weren't sure whether she got her voice from - they certainly didn't possess much vocal talent, but perhaps it ran in the blood of distant relatives. Nonetheless, they were very grateful for Ophalia's gift (when she laughed and cried as a baby, it sounded so eerily melodic), and even more gracious at her physical appearance, which had an innocent, youthful beauty. Her mother, Zelpha, crafted special wreaths of flowers and fragant leaves and her father Kelpo, a blacksmith, made beautiful trinkets that sparkled almost like precious stones. They left them at the temple of Apollo, god of light, music, and poetry.
Perhaps it was the kindness of her parents, perhaps she was just born this way - but all Ophalia of Yence ever wanted was a content, quiet life with her family. It didn't matter that their hut was thatched or that their roof often leaked and on some nights they went to bed with empty bellies. As long as the fire was kept going and there was water in the bin, as long as her brother ran on chubby legs and rosy cheeks, nothing else mattered.
In Ophalia's eighteenth year, famine plagued the fair land of Yence. The goddess of harvest, Demeter, was angry with the Yencean farmers for their scarce sacrifices to her temple.
Ophalia watched her brother Ordane grow thin and frail. She watched her parents become weak and old, their backs bent as they tried to plow the dry soil and fell down, trembling. She watched her people grow hungrier each day. She watched them stumble into Demeter's temple with greater sacrifices that were more than all they had. She watched the sun blaze hotter and the water drying up, the food turning into ashes.
Yence's hope had also crumbled.
"Great Demeter, hear our pleas. We offer to you our humblest sacrifices made up of everything we have to offer. We also hope you accept our most sincere apologies from the bottoms of our mortal hearts for the offense we have done to you. We beseech you to let our crops spring up again, and we dedicate this prayer in your honor. Please, great Demeter, forgive us and let the earth be fertile again."
The entire community bowed inside the temple of Demeter, ladden and weighed with heavy gifts and offerings. Everyone sang hymns and chanted and prayed. Everyone - mothers, fathers, young children, older children, the elderly, all kneeled down before the statue of the harvest goddess. Everyone except for one -
"Ophalia," her mother whispered very quietly, "Get on your knees, dear."
Ophalia whispered back, "Mother, I love you so much, you know I do, but this is one thing I cannot do for you."
"Why not?" her mother hissed, ignoring the background humming of the united prayer.
Ophalia licked her chapped, dry lips. "Because this is what we have been reduced to. I refuse to go sink any lower."
Could Demeter hear them? Oh, the very thought of Ophalia having to face a great goddess's wrath! "Child, what are you saying? Get down and pray, now."
"I am sorry, but no."
When they got home later that day, Zelpha slapped her for the first time in her life. Ophalia brought a hand to the throbbing on her cheek. Her eyes trembled with tears. The look in Zelpha's eyes - the looks of disappointment - the worry from Kelpo and Ordane - they hurt much more than the slap. Ophalia decided to spend the rest of the evening alone in her room.
When she awoke the next morning, Ophalia found outside her door a glass half filled with stale goat milk and a tiny hunk of dried cheese lying on a crusty piece of bread. She could not believe her eyes. Milk and cheese at a time like this? What did she do to deserve pure luxury?
Zelpha admitted to feeling horrible about the previous night. She apologized profoundly to Ophalia, who grasped her mother's hands in her own. All was forgiven and no harm done.
But Ophalia decided she would never worship the gods again. How dare they sit around, bathing in gold and ambrosia and riches while the people who most need their help perish under their sky?
Her family was concerned, but Ophalia's mind was made up, and therefore, not even the incoming wrath of the gods or her parents' persuasion could move her. So far, nothing has really happened. But her family still clutched their hearts in their hands.
One day, she became desperate enough that she ventured into the woods seeking for nourishment. However, fate does not look to be on her side. The sun was sinking low in the sky, her basket was still empty, and the forest was growing even quieter.
With vacant stomach and hope, Ophalia sat down on the nearest tree stump and sighed, dropping her basket onto the ground. Turning her head towards the sky, she closed her eyes and did what she'd do each time she wanted to give up: make music. Her vocals were thirsty, hungry words yearning for more, but nonetheless it came out bellowing and powerful, blending in with the forest itself. She sang of bending roads and whispering trees, of orange skies and the horizon that glowed with light...
Ophalia was on the second verse when the stag leaped out of the trees like a dream.
Part II - The Immortal
"Wait!"
She has no more breath that she could spare to utter other words. Her feet came into contact but made no sound as she flew across the ground.
It was here. It exists. She'd seen with her own eyes. But where was it?
Her mid-section aching, she came to stop in a small clearing free of tall green shrubbery. Holding a hand to her chest containing the heart that does not beat well, she does not waste a moment scanning the woodland, trying to take in every single detail.
Yet they do not take in the marvelous sight of a faint glow of light. But the air still smelt like a misty vanilla. And song drifted through the air nonetheless. She could hear it. She could hear the voice of the forest singing along, calling out to her.
She did not know why, or how, or who. There was something utterly whimsical about the mysterious white stag that had appeared out of nowhere, its body glowing faintly with an almost-heavenly light, breathtaking antlers that could put gold to shame. Delicate long legs. Beautiful, pure color of coat. And its eyes. What can one say to describe in full detail of their magnificence? What must one do to convince themselves what they are seeing is real? Was this kind of beauty real?
She felt drawn to its light. It ignited a path for her, bestowed upon moonlit paths with their outwordly glow. On and on she followed, clumsily stumbling after its graceful leaps. It led her like a ribbon twirling to the alluring enchantment of music. Deeper and deeper she was led into the mysteries of the forest, until the stag suddenly vanished. Leaving her alone.
The sun had set some time ago - she was certain her family would be out looking for her by now. How worried her father shall be! How distraught her mother will be! How her brother will weep for her safety! How she ached to be with them right now, in the safety of their hut with the leaking rooftop and broken water pails...
Instead, she was out here, a drop of water placed in an endless vast desert of greenery. A tender lamb in a dry field of tall stalks, yet to rendezvous with hidden ravenous wolves. A crystal tear dripped from her eyes, dribbled down her cheek, onto the forest floor...
And up sprung a flower in full bloom, the magnificent array of petals spreading like light rays from the morning sun. Blinking, she stumbled back -
And he emerged from somewhere within the depths of pine greenery. The stag. Him. Tall. Handsome. Enchanting. Standing in front of her in glory with the moonlight shining upon his pure white fur. Two crystal eyes stare at her, studying her, examining her, seeing her, enchanting her, meeting hers...taking her in...
The stag glowed brighter and brighter - his horns were growing into his head - he was standing on two legs - hair was growing on his head - his fur was melting into clothing - and then standing no longer is the form of a beautiful white stag, but of a beautiful golden man dressed in flowing white robes and a gold cape. A crown of bay leaves adorned his long golden hair, settling into place. A smile adorned his face. His eyes twinkled with a heavenly glow. So did his entire body.
She froze, unable to believe her eyes. He was a god...
A god was standing in front of her very eyes. When he spoke, his voice seemed to magnify with the echo of the entire forest. "Greetings, mortal. I am the god Apollo, son of the great Olympian Zeus."
She tried to part her lips to speak, but it would not do. She licked her lips, finding them parched as her throat. A real, live god...in front of her!
He offered her a partial smile. "Do not be afraid. Come here."
She would not do so! A god was still a stranger nonetheless, one should always be wary of another's intentions. Her feet stood in place.
Apollo usually had a carefully calculated approach, but even he did not appreciate hesitation to the wishes of the divine gods. "I command you to obey me this instant, mortal! Speak!"
Even Ophalia knew that an angry god was not a good omen. The strength of his voice seemed to help her boost her courage. "I-I a-am Ophalia of Yence." She gave a curt curtsy, cursing her frightened tongue.
The God of Oracles and Silver Bows had a pride that would not be satisfied by half a curtsy. It was a mundane gesture in his opinion, and sometimes even an insult to his divine power. "Child, you tread on dangerous waters. The tides are about to turn against you if you shall provoke them one more time."
Ophalia licked her chapped lips. What had she done?! "I have never been afraid of water before, My Lord," she replied, her eyes gleaming.
"Then perhaps you will be of fire," the god replied.
She shivered, the little hairs on the back of her neck rising. "What do you mean?"
He tossed curls behind his shoulder. "I have come with a warning, mortal. Is your land of Yence not perishing from drought? Has a great famine not swept over your land, diminishing most of your nourishments and your water?"
Ophalia's hand curled into fists. "How dare you - "
Apollo's eyes flashed dangerously. "How dare I? Mortal, be warned - "
" - mock our humble pride!" Ophalia turned her head away as for him not to see her tears. These were tears not of fear but of anger, of bitter loathing at the unfair predicament she and her people were forced to face.
For a very rare moment, Apollo was rendered speechless. Even among the gods, pride was of high value. He sympathized with the urge for dignity. He sympathized it a lot. Some of his anger unintentionally melted away. "Wipe your eyes, child. There still stands hope with you and the mortals of Yence. You still have a chance to right your wrongdoing. This is why I have come - to ask you to fulfill your duties. Honor our temples, provide us with divine sacrifice and offering, and we may find it in our hearts to forgive the wrongs you have committed."
"My people already fulfilled their apology for Demeter," she said, voice devoid of emotion, "We have no more to give."
The god threw back his cape. He had not had a good day. "And yet, you yourself do. There is one thing we gods seek, and that is the respect of mortals. If you pray to us, we shall answer your prayers. Ophalia of Yence, while the rest of Yence has restlessly provided our temples with gifts and offerings, you clutch nothing in your hands as you step forward to our sacred altars."
"I clutch my fists." Ophalia clenched her fists.
Apollo, again, was not the god of patience. "This is a chance for your redemption, mortal. Sacrifice your overdue offerings like your peers and pray to us in our temples, and we may be merciful yet."
"I suppose that is what the gods want me to, but I am afraid I will have to refuse."
Apollo felt rage overtake his body. "And why is that, pray tell?"
"Demeter has been starving my people." Ophalia bit her lip, trying not to weep as the sufferings of her family and her people came to mind. She would not let this god see her cry. "You gods drink your divine wine and dine on your divine food while we starve under the hot sun, underneath your skies! We do not have much to offer but still we are pushing ourselves beyond the limit, and though we have given gifts and great sacrifices, honored your temples, brought you our hearts and invited you inside, Demeter still has not accepted our apology, and we starve because of it. "
How dare this insolent mortal! His first thought. Inwardly, the god did not know how to reply to. Everything the mortal girl had said was true - as much as he hated to admit it, as much as he wanted to be in denial, he knew in his heart it was somewhat true - especially the part about Demeter. The gods did do divine things whenever they pleased - that much he could not deny. Demeter was a very proud woman who did not forgive easily. However, he believed it was justified because they were gods, the immortals. And it was not up to mortals to blame them!
He did not know whether to be impressed or insulted by this mortal's courage. "Child, your insolence has taken me by surprise, but I must warn you not to flare my temper. I hope you know in your narrow mind that the actions of one god or goddess does not mirror the entirety of the gods on Mount Olympus. However, it is best not to tempt a god's wrath," he warned her, " The goddess Demeter can turn terrifying when she is angered." Indeed, she could, he thought remembering the Persephone incident.
"Let her come at me, then. I cannot end up much worse than I am now."
Apollo was taken aback. "It would be wise of you to hold your tongue! For such a young mortal, you speak big and foolishly. You are fortunate to not have spoken to me like that or I would have thrown you into the dark pits of Tartarus, child."
Tartarus?! Ophalia clenched her jaw to hide her fear, but contained within her chest was one ounce of courage that was willing to do battle with an immortal's. "Do they have food there?"
"Do not tempt me," he warned, stepping towards her, on the very verge of losing his temper.
"I apologize, my Lord," Ophalia said, suddenly finding herself very afraid of the darkness that surrounded them. All traces of the sun had been wiped from the skies. The air had cooled rapidly. And yet there was still something about the God of Prophecy that made her young mind flare with - what was it? Curiosity? Deep down, she knew the figure surrounded by a faint glow was a god - a real god - and a handsome one at that, says the eighteen year old mind. He was a god after all and had all the chiseled features of a work of art. His handsomeness must work in his favor, too, that was probably another reason why he was so arrogant. Alright, he was a bit handsome. There was no denying it. But Ophalia was always one to try the inevitable, they'd say.
"That is better," Apollo said, rather arrogantly, "And what about your worshipping in our temples? How will you go about redeeming that?"
Ophalia flared with rage. It was noticeable to Apollo, and she notcied him raising his eyebrow. Fear struck like lightning into her heart and clutched at her like wet leaves. She did not want to further anger him, for she had heard of the terrible punishments a god could inflict upon one. "I shall reduce my pride until it is fit to that of a mortal's, My Lord. I shall see to it that I hold no grudge against you or any of the Olympian gods."
Apollo's lips were curving into a smile. "That is right."
"On one condition."
Apollo's smile vanished. How dare she - ? "Name it," he demanded, curiosity getting the better of him.
Although she tried hard not to let it show, the next words took all of Ophalia's courage to admit. "Demeter replenish Yence with crops, good and ready to feed the people."
Mortals did not give conditions to gods. This mortal must be punished, but it would not be of his concern. Apollo inclined his head, pretending to consider her offer. In truth, he wanted to toss back his head and laugh.
"I will speak to Demeter about your requests." And inform her of the insolence Ophalia has shown her.
Everything would be alright! Their bellies would be be empty no longer! Ophalia bowed her head low, a grateful smile tipping her lips. "Thank you, My Lord."
The warmth of Ophalia's one-dimple smile would be enough to melt snow. This time, it unusually dented a part of Apollo's iron heart. He felt it and was a bit uncomfortable. "Think nothing of it, Ophalia." He did not know what to make of this feeling.
"My people will appreciate your help," Ophalia continued, beaming at her new savior, "We shall honor you, My Lord, and remember you for as long as we come. You will always be known among Yence as our savior and the greatest of the gods."
Oh, Ophalia's smile was so dazzling it nearly blinded him and turned his mind into mush. He was not fond of this strange new feeling. He did not want to teach her a lesson so much anymore. He wanted to smile back at her. He wanted to grasp those tiny, shivering hands in his own and warm them with his godly touch, breathe in the smell of her dark curls...
He stopped himself. He needed to stay strong unless he wanted to remember...Daphne...
"My Lord?" A pair of curious chocolate-hued eyes (chocolate, a luxury even on Mount Olympus) peered at the god. Gratefulness in the form of a star shone in those soothing brown orbs.
"Yes?" He regained his posture.
"Honestly, we thank you so much. Our kingdom will not perish because of you. I think you might become our patron god after the crops flourish again. Thank you, again..."
Ophalia's genuine, hearty tone stirred something within him. Curses! He was a god, for gods' sake. What has become of him in conversing with this mortal girl? She's a mere mortal, you will forget her in not a day. But for now...
"Ophalia."
She stopped in her tracks. She turned around.
"I have heard you sing when I was roaming on four silver legs. You have a most lovely voice, one I have never heard before. As for me being the god of music, will you sing for me?"
She blushed. A god asked her to sing for him! A god! "I usually do not for strangers, but a god is a special occasion, My Lord. And a savior one at that," she beamed at him, "Of course I shall sing for you."
The great singer then began a soulful song and sang it with every ounce of passion the Muses had put in her. She sang of tide and time, of passing and giving and charms. She sang of her delight to the land of Yence and to the people. It charmed the trees. It made the wind dance. It ignited the sky to fiery twilight colors of splendor and magnificence. And it pleased Apollo, god of poetry, god of the lyre, god of music, who laughed appreciatively.
"I have never heard such a powerful and beautiful voice from immortals or mortals alike. We must duet together sometime, for I am the God of Music, and if you were born Goddess, you would have been the goddess of song, for a voice like yours pleases the gods, Ophalia."
He was gone without another word, leaving Ophalia to listen to her pounding heart by herself.
All was silent in the forest once more.
I usually write Hunger Games stories pairing Cato and Katniss, but this time I wanted to try something different.
This is my first story based on mythology and something I cranked up before I got busy, let me know you dropped by with your gracious reviews and what you think. Even if it's a small piece of constructive criticism, I will worship it as Ophalia's people worships the gods.