Posts Tagged ‘Mythology’

Heliolatry

Monday, June 21st, 2010

Houyi was almost sorry to have shot them now that their dying forms surrounded him, cooling as their blood watered the parched earth. He could have simply subdued them as their father Dijun had requested–but no. The Sun-birds were spoiled, mischievous creatures who might have done this again someday if not dealt with.

He surveyed crops destroyed by heat, rivers boiled to bare land, raw red bodies of people and animals who had not found shelter in time. No, never again would all ten Sun-birds take flight at once, now that there was only one left.

Their mother Xihe descended from her carriage and ran from one corpse to the next, sobbing. He watched impassively, leaning on his bow. Dijun arrived, rage gleaming in his eyes.

“You are banished from the heavens,” he told Houyi. “If you will kill for mortals, then you will die like one. Begone.”

Houyi left. It was just as well. Emperor Yao had asked him to stop the Count of the Winds, and many other errant gods troubled mankind. If he did not help, who would?

Lucid

Thursday, March 25th, 2010

I stood under a lamppost, its flickering light turning the street into an empty off-tempo night club. A tiny old man in front of me was hunched over smoking a cigarette, pointed ears sticking up through his white hair. He smelled like a barn.

“They’re gonna kill me,” he said.

“Who?” I asked.

“Phobetor’s gang. The Mares.” His eyes glowed softly.

“What’d you do?”

“Punched one of ’em and ran.” He sighed. “She hit her horse. I couldn’t stop myself.”

I shrugged. “I’ll protect you.”

“You?” A laugh shook his wiry body. “You’re just a Dreamer. Don’t know why I’m even talking to you.”

“There you are, Tom,” a voice rasped from across the street. A scarred, emaciated woman appeared, dressed in rags and riding a tall black horse. Her savage grin exposed sharp teeth.

“Leave him alone,” I said.

She cackled and raised a crossbow, firing at Tom. With a thought, I deflected the bolt, then lobbed a ball of energy so big it knocked her off the horse.

“You’re lucid,” Tom gasped.

I grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

Cacophony

Tuesday, March 23rd, 2010

Connor heard the wailing before he saw its source. Thinking someone was in trouble, he veered off the path and toward the river, branches slapping his arms as he ran. He reached the edge of the tree line and saw the scene clearly, drawing back in alarm and falling on his rump.

The riverbank was lined with women wearing pale dresses, their long fair hair floating around their heads as if they were underwater. At first only one of them keened, a loud, eerie call that made Connor’s skin crawl, but then the others joined until an unearthly chorus of shrieks and cries echoed like the music of the damned.

“Saints preserve us,” he whispered. “That many of the bean sidhe in one place… the king must be dead! Or the bishop!” He steeled his nerves and stood. “I have to warn the village!”

He stumbled back to the path and ran off.

Soon, the keening stopped. One of the women cleared her throat.

“That was good, sisters,” she said. “This concludes the test of the emergency banshee system. See you again next year!”

Fire of Sky and Air

Tuesday, March 23rd, 2010

“Ragnarok is coming.”

Mani frowned at his sister, Sol, as she handed him the reins of the sun chariot. “How do you know?”

To his surprise, she blushed. “My, you know, hasn’t started.”

Mani stared at her blankly.

“I’m pregnant,” Sol said.

“How is that possible?” he shouted, startling the horses, Alvakr and Alsvid.

Sol tucked a strand of hair into her braid. “Remember Glenr?”

“Your husband? I thought he was dead. Were you hanging around Valhalla?”

“Yes. No.” She sighed. “Yes, he’s dead, no I haven’t been to Valhalla. The dead can’t make babies anyway.”

“So then?”

Absently, Sol stroked Alsvid’s neck. “Glenr has this descendant, Glen—”

“Ugh, save the story,” Mani interrupted. “We’re telling Odin right now so he can warn the others.”

“But what if it’s not a girl?” Sol asked. “If it’s a boy, then—”

“We’re not taking that chance. Come on. The moon will be late tonight.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Sol stepped back. “Hati, he’s all yours.” Behind her, the giant wolf bared its fangs and leaped.

Wine Woman

Tuesday, March 9th, 2010

The last time I saw Paris in person, he was headed to the village for supplies, promising our son Corythus that he’d be right back. I saw him later in visions and wished the gift of prophecy wasn’t part of being a demi-god. It’s one thing to know your husband is never coming back; it’s another to see him going to war over some Greek harlot.

Helen came to beg me to save his life, saying he would have come instead if he wasn’t so gravely wounded. She was wrong. He knew I would have killed him myself if he’d showed up. I was stuck on my mountain, being a nymph and all, but I had already sent Corythus to lead the Greeks to Troy, hadn’t I? Still, he was clearly desperate. I relished turning her away. Slut.

I like to imagine him doing something unpleasant for eternity in the underworld, but he’s probably lounging around as usual. Somebody made up a story about me killing myself in grief when he died; poetic, but stupid. I assure you, there are a lot of shepherds in these mountains, and Paris is highly overrated.