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I am Clio, the Muse of History. Long ago, before the temples crumbled and their altars were extinguished, I wandered the mountains with my sisters. Long before the great Greek cities fell, and Rome burned, I recorded the doings of the gods and heroic mortals. I no longer walk in my corporeal body- it faded with humanity's monotheistic devotion. Now I am a spirit, as all the old gods are. I whisper my way around the world, inspiring all to the enchantments of the past, and gathering the events of the present.
My sisters didn't know I had a daughter. I was the least likely of the nine of us to ever bring forth a child. I dedicated myself fully to the mystery and beauty of the past. I always buried my face in a scroll, or some forgotten map. My sister Calliope bore our only nephew, the mortal Orpheus, blessed with a silver voice.
The morning I found I was with child, I set out immediately to the beach camp where my sisters were staying. I had spent the night in the forest bent over a fascinating scroll from Athens, away from the sand and their merriment. As I crossed the wooden bridge to the edge of the trees, the surface of the stream below boiled. Black vapor rose from popping bubbles and stained the leaves above me. I gripped the splintered railing, recognizing the deity at once.
Two ragged wing tips broke through the seething water. Nemesis rose, holding her tarnished balance. Hissing droplets fell from her mantle as she hovered. Her unblinking eyes, one green, one black, raked over my figure. Nemesis stretched her morbid butterfly wings and spoke. "Clio." My name shook through the bridge, the soil, the trees, Muse of History. She jutted her head as custom demanded.
"Nemesis." I nodded and leaned on the railing.
Cold wind rushed past me as she beat her wings. The surface of the stream clung to her mantle as she floated over it. Her bicolored gaze penetrated my marrows, and last evening's ambrosia turned in my stomach. I clutched my belly.
"You cannot hide the child from me." One side of her mouth curved wickedly. "Woe, that you bear that child."
I shivered. Nemesis held up her tarnished balance. One hand was wrinkled and spotted, the other plump and smooth.
"It was such a surprise," the balance tilted, "to learn of your condition. I do not have time to waste, but it is only fair that I should tell you the repercussions of your child's existence." Nine figures appeared on one of the scales, and one figure appeared on the other.
"My sisters and I." I pointed to the first. Terpsichore's figure shimmered and led the eight others in dance. I couldn't help but smile a little at that. My hand wavered over the lone figure.
"Your sister Calliope's son, Orpheus." The scales leveled. "See the balance? Nine and One. Look now at what you have done." Another figure joined Orpheus, and their scale lowered.
I gaped at the balance.
"For the Nine, there is only One." She squinted at the balance, and Orpheus' figure disappeared. The scales leveled again. "Do you understand?"
"Why?" I whispered.
"Do you understand!" The branches above me resonated.
"Yes." I sank to the dirty bridge planks. Shivering, I wrapped my tunic closer to my body. The Athenian scroll scraped the inside of my arm, a discomfort I scarcely noticed.
"Thus is the Universe, Muse." Nemesis tucked the balance into a draping fold of her mantle. She ceased beating her wings and began to sink into the water.
"Wait!" I crawled to the edge of the bridge and stuck my head under the railing. She glanced up at me. "It was my doing! Don't take Orpheus!"
"Balance, Muse." The bursting bubbles enveloped her glittering eyes.
I cursed at the boiling water, using words I had never used before. Wisps of blackness curled around my arms and I beat them away. After the stream stilled, I brushed the dirt from my dress and wiped my face. Gripping the railing, I heaved myself up and prayed Nemesis hadn't started balancing the universe yet.
I ran, my bare feet pummeling the earth, and then sand. I heard screams from the shore, and saw my sisters huddled in a group. As I neared, I smelled mortal blood and divine fear. Melpomene and Thalia, their theater masks pushed up over their hair, broke their grip and held my hands. We stood in a circle around Calliope as she cradled Orpheus in her lap. She wailed and held his face, touching his golden ringlets. Brown blood caked around a hole in his chest. I brushed my lips against Thalia's ear. "What happened?"
"He washed up on the shore." A tear slid down her pallid cheek. "Who would do this?" Her usually joyful voice squeaked.
Melpomene jerked my hand and I noticed Urania waving at me. Half the circle was sitting, crowding as close to Calliope as possible. I followed, sinking into the sand.
"Orpheus, oh my Orpheus," Calliope choked and cried, her eyes shut tight. Her chest shuddered and she coughed. "Is nothing holy? My Orpheus." Finally she raised one fist to the sky. "A curse!" My eyes widened. "I swear, by the River Styx, should I ever find the one who killed my son, I will destroy him!"
We gasped collectively, but none so loudly as me. Calliope had just made a promise to the sacred river. Though I knew I could have told her what Nemesis had done, now Calliope was bound by her own curse. She would have to destroy my child.
Calliope alternately stroked his face and punched the sand. Euterpe reached out to her, but she pushed her hand away. We closed around our sister, sitting together for hours. Behind us, we heard the trees weeping tears of sap, little taps of liquid hitting leaves, and the rocks cracking open and crying veins of salt. Even the little bridge I had crossed groaned.
Several months later, I called on Ilithyia, the goddess of childbirth. I named my baby Polyepice and held her for her first minutes of life, reveling in her sweet smell and innocent softness. I told Ilithyia what had happened and begged her to hide Polyepice. The kind goddess assented, shrouding them both in an invisible cloud. She found the twin nymph sisters who guarded an inconspicuous cave in Thrace, and placed Polyepice under their care. They loved my girl as if she were their own daughter.
Every so often I stole away to the cave, bringing small gifts to my growing baby and amphorae of ambrosia to the dear nymphs. I was saddened that she never knew her real aunts, but Calliope's curse always lingered in my mind. Polyepice matured quickly, as all descendants of gods do, and reached a lovely maidenhood. She never once asked why I could not be with her continuously, she would simply pat my hand and say, "don't worry, mother. Someday we shall be together forever." By the eve of her sixteenth birthday, I had a plan. I came to the cave and invited her to walk with me.
We strolled through a beautiful field beneath the spacious glowing sky. Helios bore down on the rows of grain, the new shoots waving softly around our ankles. I wreathed Polyepice in a crown of laurel leaves, plucked from Apollo's sacred tree. She skipped along, weaving the green leaves through her braids so they would not be lost. Her smile was more beautiful than the toothy grin of Helen of Troy.
When we had passed the ears of all the listening pixies and satyrs, I faced her. Taking her sculpted hand, I looked into her swirling eyes. "My dearest Polyepice, you are my greatest accomplishment. You are more lively than the most dynamic histories I've inspired. I love you, but I fear that you will someday die as your cousin Orpheus did, because you are mortal. I cannot bear to think of your soul flickering in Hades' dismal kingdom, forever seeking my company in vain, for I cannot go to his realm. So I offer you a gift; you may turn it down if you please. I cannot give you corporeal immortality as I have it, but I can ensure that your essence will never die. I can use my divinity to bind you to me. When your body dies, your spirit will stay with me instead of going to Hades, and you can live forever. I love you, my dearest Polyepice."
She wrapped her arms around my neck. Her cheek curved against mine with her smile. "Of course, mother. I will accept any gift you give me."
I embraced her quickly. "Now, my love, stand still a moment."
"Will my body die right away?" Her eyes widened.
"No," I soothed. "You'll live a full mortal life first. The bind will be invisible, we'll both look the same when I'm done here."
Polyepice closed her eyes, and with a squeak of excitement, stood as straight as she could. I raised my arms, gathering my divine powers. I prayed to Gaea, the earth, and took in her ancient strength. A column of intense light encased my daughter's form. A white thread looped out from each of our hearts and touched. I caught a last glimmer of her smile before she vanished.
"Polyepice!" My heart thudded, and I clawed at the air she had just exhaled. The lights disappeared. Her presence and sweet smell were gone. Tears stained my flowing dress. The twin nymphs found me screaming and pounding the black soil with my fists. I searched the fields, the sky, the seas. No stranger on my path walked away unasked. "Polyepice!"
Centuries passed. The perfume of incense ceased to waft through the halls of Olympus, and we all faded. The River Styx dried up, taking all its power with it, but I still did not tell Calliope. I droned over the earth, a ghost held together by burning pain. I searched the annals of history for comfort, but found none. I had destroyed my daughter. I had murdered my nephew. I had caused my sister great pain. My inspirational duties went neglected; only a few people scribed history in those dark years.
One foggy morning, as I hovered over the docks of some extinct port, I felt something whoosh through me. I was shaken to my filamentous core. It was unmistakable; it was Polyepice. Before I could reach out to her, I felt her leaving again. I chased her, banking in the wake of her powerful flight. Finally I understood that she had never left. I had not destroyed her.
The daughter of the past is the present. Polyepice is spontaneous, she is the living detail of the moment. She is reinvented every second, refreshing anew every instant. After enough time has passed, her work folds to me, and I consecrate it as history. I hold it forever.
I sought Calliope immediately after finding Polyepice. She was hovering over a burning library, shaking her ghostly head in disgust.
"Calliope," I begged. "Forgive me!" I explained everything that had happened.
"You should have told me so much earlier," she said, lowering her head. "I went to the oracle at Delphi after his funeral. She said he was happy in the Underworld with his Euridice, and that the mortal who had replaced him was more than worthy."
"Did that make you feel better?" I whispered.
"Eventually. I always wondered who the other mortal was." She sighed deeply and crossed her arms. After a moment she raised her head. "Let me meet her."
Crying with joy, I grabbed her hand, and we flew around the world.
Now I am not weary. I am not unhappy. Calliope forgave me. With the ancient guilt lifted, I can turn all my attention to Polyepice now. I wait eagerly to see what she has inspired, and I marvel at her ingenuity. I follow her frenzied journeys around the globe, chronicling everything, so that those she inspires may build upon the past. Sometimes my sisters join me. Occasionally, when I catch up to Polyepice, she grins and says, "we're together forever now, mother!" Yes, we are. At last I have my lovely daughter, my Muse of the Moment.