The Quest of the Mortal God
Apollo held onto the polished gold lyre with all of his strength, determined not to let the wind steal it away. He had gotten the precious instrument from the messenger of the gods, Hermes, and it was the only one of its kind. He needed to get it safely to Zeus' palace before it blew out of his hands.
Another powerful gust of hot wind blew and the lyre was snatched from the god's hands. It flew higher and higher, almost reaching Mount Olympus, but Apollo couldn't tell. He was running frantically after the gold instrument, his eyes watering from the harsh winds and the blinding sand which was blowing every which way. His efforts were buried under the gale.
Searching for the lyre was a devastating task. Apollo looked as hard as he could, but without his god-powers it would be as if he were searching for a needle in a haystack. The hard sand grains were biting at his face like a bully.
Soon the sun set, leaving him in refreshing and cool darkness, the only light coming from the luminous crescent moon. He could not depend on the stars to show him where he was, since the night was dark and cloudy. Apollo had no choice but to find shelter and restart his search the next day. He soon found a deserted cave and struggled toward it. Once he reached the cool sanctuary, he shook off his knapsack, retrieving a sleeping bag and socks from it. Pulling off his boots, Apollo took off his sticky and sweaty socks. Wiggling his toes, he got inside the sleeping bag, hoping for some rest.
The god wished for his powers back, but the only way would be to get the lyre safe to Mount Olympus. The flaw in the plan was that Apollo had no idea where his beautiful instrument was. He was no more than a mere mortal. If he had his powers, he would be able to summon back the golden instrument and reach Mount Olympus with ease, getting there in less than a day. This journey, without his magic to help, was two and a half days of trekking through Greece's rocky mountains and hilly lands in all. The long hike was almost over. Apollo was in the realm of the wind spirit, Notus, mere hours away from Mount Olympus, but he could not go to Zeus empty handed.
Apollo closed his eyes, willing for sleep to come. Soon he drifted off into a slumber.
The next morning, Apollo arose from the brightness of the sun, which shone warmly upon the god's face. He sleepily smiled, savoring the warm light. He had gotten very little sunlight during the harsh sandstorms that filled the weeks before.
Apollo stood up, taking in his surroundings, as the night before he had been too drowsy to inspect the cave. Inside was a small well towards the back which looked as if it were made of hard stone.
Quickly, he got his canteen of water and filled the empty bottle with the precious cold water. In addition to filling his bottle, he helped himself to the water, letting the cool liquid trickle down his parched throat.
After drinking, Apollo washed himself, scrubbing his hair and body, relishing the refreshing feeling of being clean. Apollo slipped on his pale tunic and strapped on his shoes. While he was packing up his bag, he decided he would visit the wind spirit, the Anemoi, Notus, in hopes of striking a deal to get the lyre back.
Pulling the heavy bag onto his back, Apollo started the long and tedious hike to the south Anemoi.
After four hours, Apollo neared the palace of Anemoi, on the top of one of the many mountains of Greece.
"Why are you here?" asked a breathy voice with a slight southern drawl.
"You have my instrument. I would like it back," Apollo said, mustering all his courage.
"It's not your instrument. Not anymore, at least. 'Finders keepers, losers weepers!'" the Anemoi taunted, cackling wickedly. Suddenly, Notus appeared in front of Apollo with a 'poof'.
Apollo frowned. This Anemoi was a tricky dealer. He had heard of Notus' deviousness throughout Mount Olympus. The goddess of love and beauty, Aphrodite, almost lost her beautiful swan chariot from the wind spirit! Luckily, her swans would only fly for her and Notus had returned the chariot begrudgingly.
Apollo knew the only way he would get his lyre back without his powers was to find another god or goddess to help him. First though, he needed to strike a deal with the wind spirit. It was not a good thing to be on the bad side of an Anemoi. Their span for keeping grudges lasted eons. The only reason Aphrodite was safe from the wind was because she had charm-spoken to the Anemoi. Charm-speaking was Aphrodite's specialty; she looked someone in the eye and they would bend down to her will in a flash.
"I will strike a deal for the lyre," Apollo announced, trying to sound grand and powerful. In all truth, without magic and immortality to back him up, Apollo was weak. His archery didn't come as easily to him, nor his poetry, and he hadn't healed anyone in centuries since Zeus had appointed his son, the demigod Asclepius, as the god of medicine. The sun was not backing him up either, and he could not receive any prophecies.
Notus laughed evilly. "And what do you have that I would want?"
"I will…" Apollo could not think of anything the Anemoi would like.
"You will what?" Notus asked rudely.
"I will… I shall bring to you the most exquisite flower that exists in all the lands in the world!" Apollo told him, thankful to have thought of an idea before it was too late.
"Show me," Notus commanded.
"I- I don't have it at the moment…"
"You don't? Well… hmm… I shall be compassionate. In two days' time, you shall bring me this flower. If you don't have it here in time, you will never see the beautiful lyre again," Notus challenged with a smirk, believing that no such flower could impress him.
Apollo breathed a sigh of relief and bowed his head respectfully to the wind spirit before running down the mountain.
How will I find the most beautiful flower there is? thought Apollo, as he ran as fast as he could down the mountain without falling. And if I do, will Notus accept it?
Suddenly, Apollo saw a beautiful marigold out of the corner of his eye. He smiled, happy at how easily he found a flower. Right as he was about to pick it, he froze. Apollo didn't think the Anemoi would be all that impressed with just a marigold. Yes, they were rare in these lands, but the wind spirits could travel as far and wide as their domain stretched. Notus and Apheliotes, the east wind spirit, were very close, and marigolds were very popular in the east.
Apollo sunk to the ground and prayed to Persephone, the goddess of flowers, begging her for help to find the rarest flower. His head bowed down into the marigold, almost crushing it to the ground.
After a while, he stood up and brushed his legs. The former god trudged down the mountain, wallowing in his sorrow.
When he reached the bottom of the rocky mountain, Apollo wandered around Greece, hoping to find a flower out of the ordinary. Soon, he reached Delphi, a city-state in Greece, dedicated to him. The people would hopefully help him. Apollo used all his energy, but still couldn't run as far as he used to be able to run with ease.
A shiver ran down Apollo's spine. The wind rustled, whispering in the god's ear.
Find the floret of a hybrid.
Take it back to the storm.
Rebloom the era of Olympus.
To morally transform.
Trying to calm down, he started walking out of Delphi. This town ran on its own; it didn't need Apollo's help to make prophecies. This made the mortal god wary of it.
The sudden appearance of a golden cloud jolted him from his thoughts, his eyes as wide as saucers. There stood the beautiful goddess herself, her eyes of deep emerald looking down at Apollo's shocked face.
"You asked for my help," she stated as if it were obvious. "For a flower…"
It finally dawned on Apollo. "Oh! Yeah, I did..." he admitted.
"Mhmm," hummed Persephone. She twirled her hands in circles, a bright silver light forming. Then, the light turned into a dazzling glare, blinding Apollo momentarily. In Persephone's hands, a flower materialized. It had the petals of a snow white lily and instead of a stamen, a small blood red rose bud stood proudly. The air was filled with an intense floral aroma.
Apollo took in a deep breath, smiling at the beauty of the pulchritudinous flower.
"This is the most magnificent flower in all the universe!" he exclaimed. He was so happy he found a flower; a flower never before to be seen.
"It is called… Well actually, you can name it, Apollo," Persephone suggested.
"I shall name it proserpina, another name for the goddess Persephone!" he said solemnly, kneeling down to the goddess. Persephone smiled approvingly.
"Remember, all gifts from Olympus come with a price!" the goddess warned.
"Name a price, I will pay it," promised Apollo.
"That!" said Persephone, pointing at Apollo's leather bracelet.
Apollo wordlessly gave Persephone the bracelet.
Persephone took the bracelet and disappeared into mist.
Apollo gasped, recalling the prophecy from Delphi. It was starting to fall in place: Finding the hybrid of a flower- the mix of the rose and lily. Taking it to the storm- the Anemoi could be counted as a storm since prophecies were usually in riddles. Reblooming the era of Olympus must have meant that Apollo needed to bring the lyre to Zeus and play for the gods, earning him back his immortality.
To morally transform… Apollo had sworn on the River Styx that he would not become a god again before experiencing the hardships of being a mortal, which he was certainly feeling now; the powerless feeling, the vulnerability, having to fend for himself without the help of any magic. Did that count as hardships? Did that count? What did 'to morally transform' mean anyways?
Shaking his head, Apollo pulled himself out of his thoughts. The sun had set and Apollo needed to make camp so he could hike back to the mountain the next day.
Fumbling in the dark, Apollo created a makeshift bed with the sandy ground as his mattress and his pillow being his large knapsack. Quickly, he succumbed to sleep.
The next morning, Apollo awoke with the sunrise. After admiring its beauty, he remembered the proserpina. He needed to get it to Notus before the day was done.
Apollo brushed the dust off his clothing and grabbed his heavy bag. After eating a piece of bread he found in his knapsack, Apollo started the tiring journey back to the Anemoi.
Two hours later, Apollo stopped at a small well he found and took advantage of it, filling his empty canteen of water. After taking a refreshing gulp, Apollo wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and resumed his journey to the wind spirit.
Four hours after his water-stop, Apollo arrived at the foot of the mountain of Notus. Apollo decided to listen to his grumbling stomach and take a small break before going back up the gruesome mountain.
After a small repast of bread and grape preserves, Apollo started the long journey up the hill.
The rocks were jagged, stabbing the former god's feet ferociously, yet Apollo did not stop. These were the hardships of being a mortal, and he'd sworn on the River Styx he would deal with them.
Hours later, Apollo reached the peak of the mountain and took out the beautiful proserpina, admiring it's beauty.
"You're here, are you? Found the flower that will give you your instrument back?" Notus smirked cruelly.
"Yes, in fact I do have the flower," Apollo said, trying not to tremble. He stood up taller and showed the Anemoi the flower.
Notus' eyes widened at the sight of the alluring flower. Its beauty caught his eye and the strong scent of the proserpina filled his nostrils. He sighed at the smell and for once, a pleasant expression tugged at his features instead of his usual mischievous smile.
"What is it called?" Notus asked curiously.
"Proserpina," Apollo stated.
"A beautiful name for a beautiful flower," he murmured. "Yes, it is beautiful indeed," Apollo agreed. "Now may I have my lyre back?" he asked nervously.
"Sure… Just give me the flower…" Notus was mesmerized by the proserpina, his eyes stuck to it like glue.
"Only after I get the lyre," Apollo demanded with a frown. "A deal is a deal."
"Take your lyre! I just want that!" The Anemoi pointed to the flower with one hand and made the lyre appear with the other.
Apollo snatched the lyre and placed the proserpina at Notus' feet in one swift movement. "Goodbye ," he said, but the Anemoi was too in awe of the fact that the proserpina was now his.
The former god didn't even care about the rocks while running down the mountain. Playing the beautiful instrument, he found the boost of joyous energy he needed to go up to Mount Olympus and retrieve his immortality. Apollo was determined to reach his home and feel powerful again: have archery feel like second nature, break out into poem every few minutes, making up cheesy pickup lines. Most of all, Apollo couldn't wait to fly in his sun chariot once again.
So caught up in his thoughts of regaining immortality, Apollo didn't realize he was at the foot of Mount Olympus.
Looking at the mountain above him, Apollo took a deep breath and shakily started walking upwards, to the gods. Apollo was excited to be a god again, but also scared that Zeus wouldn't think the music of the lyre was a good enough gift.
About three quarters way up, Apollo started breathing erratically. The air was thinning and it was getting hard for Apollo to breathe. As a mortal, he needed to use his lungs much more often than he was used to.
Trying to get the oxygen he needed, Apollo took large gulps of air and exhaled as fast as he could.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, Apollo arrived at the top of Mount Olympus. Apollo shot straight to Zeus' palace. He trudged up the many steps stopping at the enormous gold doors and knocked on it with shaking hands.
The ground shook with a low rumble. The gates opened to reveal the almighty king of the gods and ruler of the heavens lounging on his throne of gold. Two large paper fans were fanning Zeus and he was staring into Apollo's eyes, as if Zeus could see into the depths of his soul.
"You have returned to be eternal once again?" Zeus asked, straight to the point as usual.
Apollo managed to nod, but even that was hard from how taut his nerves were.
"What do you have in return?"
"I have music from the beautiful lyre," Apollo said, revealing the lyre. He tuned the strings with almost as much grace as a god.
Apollo played a small scale as practice. Zeus was impressed at how natural it looked for Apollo to be playing. His son looked almost… like a child again. He looked like a child who was excited to play with his newest toy.
"Go on," Zeus said, nodding.
Apollo obliged. From the lyre came the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. Zeus was amazed at the beautiful music Apollo created. It was filled with emotions that were only able to be expressed by music. Right then and there, Zeus turned Apollo back into an immortal without hesitation.
Apollo felt a tingle through his body, but ignored it, playing the lyre, pouring everything he had into it.
All of a sudden, the music magnified, sounding more graceful and beautiful by the second. Faster and faster the god played, changing his music into a fast, joyous tone. He rang out the last note in a high, elated chord.
Apollo smiled at Zeus charmingly. Zeus gave Apollo one of his rare smiles, at peace from the music.
"That was astonishing," said Zeus in a very un-Zeus like manner.
"Thank you," said Apollo, bowing down to Zeus respectfully.
"You have been granted your immortality," Zeus informed kindly.
"Thank you," Apollo said again, this time more profoundly. He bowed his head down courteously.
Apollo was no longer a mortal. He had gone through many hardships as a mortal, but he had also learned what it meant to work hard. Apollo was very impressed with mortals. They had such a hard life, yet they enjoyed it so much, always thinking positively instead of complaining how much work they had to do, giving tribute to the gods even though they had so less comparatively.
Being a mortal was tough, but it had been a very rewarding experience. Apollo had worked hard and accomplished a lot.
One thing that was true about being a mortal and immortal alike was the sweet, sweet success.
The End