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Spring comes bright. Spring pushes wild grass against the trample of their feet, the curve of faint sunlight against their cheeks, life sputtering in the cross between afternoon glow and the first silver kiss of moonlight, dash of glitter hung by Selene herself as she takes watch in the sky. When the last of the frozen earth melts into soft mud and splits open for translucent green shoots seeking the new sun, Sooyoung leaps across the forest with divine grace as Jinsol runs behind her, eyes on feet that forever land true. Gaia’s breath shakes the trees, cards through her hair, a wind that is piercing and seeded with life. They are hunters but not hunting, only summer-worn, winter-battered, springtime girls bounding across the birth of teartrack rivers and interwoven canopies shading their heads, only a great rejoicing for the turn of the season.
Jinsol runs. No flash of muscle fire in her thighs, no darkness clouding her eyes, the blessing of Artemis vaulting her forward past a tittering Yeojin, slowed by the charm of Yerim’s smile, the gentle knock of Hyunjin and Heejin’s bows as they tip their heads backwards and laugh, drunk on twilight, Jungeun’s golden tresses tangled with branches and laurel leaves. Beautiful girls, strong girls, girls who have her back as she has theirs, girls with silver hidden beneath the irises, but none as fast as Jinsol, who sheds everything behind to close the distance between her and her mistress.
Sooyoung turns once, flashes a smile, or a smirk, heavenly just the same. Calliste, Aidoios Parthenos, Agrotera, far-shooter, Leto-born. Epithets flow past Jinsol’s lips in holy prayer, enough ambrosia to power a hero, but none strong enough to convince a goddess to tame the arc of her feet. Still, the path before them lies straight as an arrow; all Jinsol has to do is follow the shadow of Sooyoung’s footsteps, each dotting the road to the north star.
Steam from the freshwater spring coats her with warmth. Sweet on her tongue, the white vapor, and heavy in her throat.
“Come,” Sooyoung says, voice honeyed, already naked in the white water. “It is beautiful, is it not?”
Jinsol swells with pride. She can’t help it, even as the other girls start trickling in, a homey invasion of marveled gasps and roaming eyes, an affronted shout as Hyejoo pushes Chaewon into one of the pools. Sooyoung’s gaze burns. Jinsol slips into the water across her – it ripples, circle lines echoing from the clumsy splash of her thighs to Sooyoung’s pale chest, so bright it almost shimmers under the moon. Jinsol flexes her fingers and finds, unsurprised, that the freshwater no longer bends to her will, as it did when she served beside her sisters, one water nymph blending among the rest. The water used to dance when she sang. Her mother had gifted her with the knowledge. Special girl, she used to say, tucking a lock of Jinsol’s hair behind her ear. Voice smooth as river gliding over stone. My firstborn. My light. Water-blessed girl.
Special. In the way Sooyoung let Jinsol join her in this sacred space, while the other girls did not even dare to dip their toes in the spring. Special. The bow resting proudly on the folds of her robe, a gift carved by Sooyoung’s hands during the peak of their hunt last winter. Blessed girl.
“Most beautiful, my lady.” Her answer is no more than a whisper. “Not even Poseidon could make water taste this sweet.”
Sooyoung’s eyes flash with mirth. “Careful. My uncle is rarely a forgiving man.”
“Let the earth shake,” Jinsol says, feeling bold. Her limbs have dissolved in the warm water, and so go all formalities. There must be some nymph spirit left within her because it rears its mischievous head and pushes her to Sooyoung’s side. The goddess doesn’t move a muscle, but when Jinsol’s skin touches hers a faint exhale lingers in both their ears. “As long as I am by your side. Let the water roar and swallow me whole.”
Rarely has Jinsol seen a goddess look so mortal. Cheeks flushed, lips smooth as ripe cherry, not sculpted white-plaster perfect but pliant as heated clay. Skin, slippery, pulsing red amaranths from the branches of young trees that hang above them. Jinsol wants nothing more than to touch. Her blood is singing with it, this tongue-wet want, for the muscled curve of Sooyoung’s arms, the smooth hollow of her throat, the silver eyes, the virgin tongue, that lightning-bolt smile, Jinsol believes herself to be drunk on her mistress.
Sooyoung’s finger trails down Jinsol’s chin, light on the jawbone. “Is that not why I turned you immortal? Why I kept the flame of your life everburning? Your bravery haunts me, Jinsol. Sometimes I wonder if you hunger for more than the hunt.”
The tendon pressed under Sooyoung’s thumb twitches. Misty-eyed, Jinsol thinks this is what bathing in Phlegethon must feel like. Sinners with their souls boiling from within, a cleansing, a purification borne from punishment, rivers of fire that cannot compete with the burning intensity of Sooyoung’s gaze. Let me bare myself to you. Let your divine power consume me.
“All I long for, all I dream of,” Jinsol says, words curling into steam, “is to run beside you.” There is almost no distance anymore, no chasm left to catch a great leap. Only wild grass up to their calves and the northern wind whipping across their cheeks, a secret stealing of breaths.
“A woman with tall ambitions? Zeus might just smite you, here and now.”
Jinsol shrugs coyly, pretending to ponder the threat. “He has a penchant for cows, does he not? I might turn into the most beautiful heifer, with large calf eyes and hooves firm enough to knock Jungeun off the trail when she gets pushy with her quiver. Will you let me serve the hunt, even then?”
Sooyoung’s hand falls. It rests on Jinsol’s thigh, warped under the water, like a school of fish building courage to approach a larger creature. Her toying smile gleams under the moonlight. Preternatural beauty eclipsing that of Aphrodite.
That’s two gods she’s crossed tonight, but Jinsol cannot find it in herself to care.
“I do not promise you a seat on Olympus. I will not turn you into a constellation and hide you amongst the stars. All I ask is you do not turn your back on me, or your oath. You will be my most beloved maiden, sworn under my protection until we both perish, if you can keep that promise.”
The evening yawns. Sooyoung’s eyes aren’t gentle, never gentle, mercurial and coruscating in the sliver of this tender night, but they hold Jinsol’s straight as if speaking to another divine being. A Styx-sworn oath, fates intertwining above the clouds shrouding Mount Olympus. Jinsol’s back straightens. Out of the corner of her eye she sees an eagle perched above the amaranth branches, narrow eyes piercing bright bolts of yellow, and a second later it pushes off and flies away into the open sky, great wings dusting together a storm. She pays it no mind, in this godly hour reserved for godly things, divine hands, a sacred tongue.
Jinsol and Sooyoung, water in-between. The pressing of their lips an answer to the fate of the hunt.