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Zeus, admittedly, had grown suspicious and overly protective of his daughter. The amount of time she spent in the mortal world was concerning. She opted to spend time with less appealing individuals than that of her own family. Whenever Zeus tried to gather information on Artemis’ expeditions, he was met with a blank stare and unbothered attitude. Artemis refused to disclose anything other than the fact that she was assisting the development of civilization.
Zeus suspected, more than anything, a male lover. That alone made him uncomfortable. The idea of Artemis, as young of a god as she was, frolicking with a mortal man sent his stomach into knots. He of all people ought to know the trickery of men! Artemis was far too naive to be in love with some town’s-boy.
It was Zeus’ distrust and disturbed conscience that led to his latest plan. He would spy on his daughter. Not himself, no, she’d spot him instantly. Instead, Zeus recruited two of his more reliable children: Hermes and Athena.
Hermes was hesitant to partake in Zeus’ scheme. He knew more than anyone how angry Artemis got when people intruded on her personal life. He’d watched Apollo nearly combust when interrupting his sister’s meditation in the garden. Besides, why couldn’t Artemis find companionship in mortals? Hermes may not have been particularly close with her, but he knew that Artemis wasn’t like the other gods. That much was obvious. She belonged on the fringe of society. She was a Hestia or a Pan. There, but never involved in things that did not concern her.
“If you do this for me, I will owe you any favor you desire,” Zeus assured, setting a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“I just don’t think you understand what this might implicate,” Hermes worried, wings flapping nervously.
“I hate to say it, but he’s right. Artemis isn’t someone who forgives easily. If she finds out-“ Athena started.
“The entire point is that she doesn’t,” Zeus insisted. “Now, enough of this cowardice. I’ve given you orders. Please carry them out lest you find me in a pitiful sort of temper.”
“Yes, sir,” Hermes nodded, helmet slanting slightly to the left. Taking a step back he turned to Athena. The goddess of wisdom sighed, torn between her own agenda and that of her father’s.
“Fine,” she conceded. With a smile that flashed like lightning, Zeus sent his children away to complete their quest. Athena had no intention of fulfilling her duties. She was more concerned with observing the town. How much had they learned since Artemis joined them? What types of inventions had they come up with? There were so many questions meant to be answered.
With a flash of light and the flutter of wings, Athena and Hermes flew from Olympus disguised as creatures of the night. Soaring through the sky, they came across the dancing fires of a small town. It wasn’t hard to find Artemis embedded in the commotion.
Perching on a nearby rooftop, a rather large owl tilted its head. Athena watched as Artemis instructed a group of people on the proper construction of a snare. Both men and young boys watched intently.
“Now, when the animal comes through, it will be startled. The snare will tighten the more it moves,” Artemis explained, moving her hand through a loop of twine. “If the animal struggles too much, it will strangle itself and the meat will go bad. Tying a knot that will stop the noose from slipping will make sure your food stays alive until you retrieve it. Do you understand?”
Murmurs passed through the group of men as they tried to replicate the snare. Those who weren’t successful, approached Artemis hesitantly. Athena expected her little sister to scoff at them. She was infamous for her cold shoulder. Instead, Artemis spoke gently to the men of the village. She took their hands in her own and mirrored her previous movements until their snares matched hers. It was like watching a parent instruct a toddler.
“There, understand?” Artemis asked, kneeling in front of a boy who couldn’t be more than ten.
“Yes! Thank you!” He smiled, looking at the new snare with wide eyes. “Wait until my father hears about this.”
Slowly, the crowd of villagers dispersed leaving Artemis with a handful of stragglers who had additional questions. Athena continued to observe the foreign tenderness of her sister. She was far kinder than expected. As the moon shone brightly in the night sky, Artemis finished her teachings with a small smile. As those who had stayed behind began to disperse and return home, a single straggler remained.
A girl.
“You know, you’re going to have to show them how to do that again, don’t you?” The girl asked, leaning against the side of a house.
“Men tend to be forgetful,” Artemis nodded, approaching the girl with ease. “What about you? Did you make headway with the archers?”
“I tried to,” the girl laughed, shaking her head. “They’re more dense than I expected. The kids learn faster.”
“That’s not surprising. They’re less set in their ways,” Artemis shrugged, taking the girl’s hands in her own and examining them. A flurry of cuts decorated the girl’s fingers and palms. “You need to be more careful with your arrows.”
“It’s difficult at times. I get nervous with everyone watching me,” the girl admitted, a light blush decorating her cheeks. She attempted to retract her hands, but Artemis held fast. As she wrapped up the girl’s hands in her own, a soft silver glow ignited the dark. in a matter of moments every tiny nick and graze that had plagued the girl’s hands were gone.
“There,” Artemis stated matter of factly, letting go reluctantly.
“You heal my wounds yet you refuse to get rid of this,” the girl remarked, hand resting on Artemis’ cheek. The girl’s thumb grazed over the ridge of a scar. A scar that should have vanished a long time ago. Athena expected Artemis to retreat from the touch. To hide or curse or attack. That’s what she relied on: fight or flight. Instead, Artemis carefully grabbed the girl’s wrist and pulled her hand away.
“Scars heal if I forget about them. When I no longer remember who caused the wound or how, it will vanish. This, I have yet to forget about,” Artemis explained, touching the scar herself as if she were afraid it would disappear.
“Interesting,” the girl hummed, tilting her head to regard the goddess. “Come on, we should get going.”
Smiling thinly, Artemis followed the girl’s lead, walking beside her as if they were equals. The duo walked close enough to one another that on occasion their shoulders bumped or their hands brushed. It was a rather intimate thing to witness, at least for Athena. She’d never seen her sister be vulnerable so willingly before.
With a half hearted screech, Athena took to the skies, trailing behind the couple. She could hear Artemis’ unique laugh, soft and airy as if she weren’t used to it. A warm silver glow radiated from the young goddess, as she followed the girl into a wooded perimeter of the town.
There, in the confines of the trees was a small encampment. One composed of a canvas tent and a fire pit. It was nothing special but it was clear it’d been used. Nestling in the trees, Athena continued to observe, each new interaction surprising her more than the last. Here was Artemis, a god, participating in supper, as if she needed such things. It was all for the sake of bonding with this mortal creature. Nothing more. And to think the girl didn’t offer a sacrifice to the god sitting beside her. It was appalling.
“So, you told me everything there is to know about Hestia,” the girl noted, biting at the leg of a well cooked rabbit. “What about your other family members?”
“What about them?” Artemis asked, nibbling at her own piece of rabbit. “What do you wish to know?”
“Hmmm,” the girl frowned, pausing in thought. “What do you have to say about Ares?”
“He’s pig headed, impulsive, and aggressive. He’s the manifestation of man’s worst qualities. The only soft spot he holds is for his mother and Aphrodite. Other than that, he lacks endearing qualities. If you were to hand him a book he’d use it to light a bomb. Knowledge is kindling for him. He refuses to learn because the same old tricks have worked for centuries of war,” Artemis explained, turning a bare bone over in her hands. “Sometimes I feel sorry for him. His callousness was born from my father and his mother. He had no choice but to be cruel. It’s in his nature as much as war is. If I had to guess, he’s never known how to be anything other than what he’s been told. Sometimes I wonder if anyone’s shown him kindness.”
“Have you?” The girl asked, looking at Artemis expectantly.
“No. It’s hard to be kind to someone who reminds me so much of my father,” the goddess admitted. “Perhaps that makes me just as cruel.”
Silence settled as Artemis lamented over her own cruelties. Her only comfort being the fire until the girl settled a hand on the goddess’ knee.
“Your father, you haven’t known him long have you? Why do you hate him so?” The girl asked, drawing Artemis’ attention. The goddess regarded her companion with an expression so soft it made Athena uncomfortable. She’d never seen Artemis’ expression so gentle and open.
“He has damned me to an existence I never asked for. That’s the root of it. I was born and then stolen away. Why wouldn’t I hate him for taking me out of a life I would have loved? Because of him I will never be happy. He will always find a way to ruin what I have the way he does with everyone.”
Athena watched as her sister’s expression grew pained and she averted her gaze. With a shaky sigh, Artemis stood, tossing aside the remnants of her meal.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” the girl worried, reaching for Artemis’ hand.
“You haven’t. I’ve remembered that I must return home. If I don’t make an appearance he’ll begin to speculate. It’s dangerous when his mind wanders,” Artemis informed, wrapping her arms around herself. With a shaky smile, she bid the girl goodnight and in a wave of moonlight disappeared into the dark. The girl looked solemnly, almost longingly, at the spot Artemis had once occupied.
Athena tilted her head to the side, curiosity getting the best of her. She was oddly attracted to the girl. Not in a romantic sense but in a way one is drawn to something mysterious. With a ruffle of feathers, the goddess announced her presence and glided down from her perch. She landed softly on the ground beside the lonely girl.
Adjusting her feathers, Athena watched as the girl took notice of her, surprise painting her features. Leaning forward in the firelight, the girl regarded the owl with equal curiosity.
“My word, you’re a beautiful bird aren’t you?” She asked, eyes flickering to the piece of cooked rabbit in her hand. “I suppose you’re here for this, aren’t you?”
Blinking slowly, Athena felt a lead weight settle in her stomach. She knew this girl. There was a distant familiarity to her and suddenly she recalled Atlas. They held the same intense stare, the same beautiful strong features, and worse, the same intelligence. Taking a few steps back, Athena felt a sense of dread wash over herself. Did Artemis know the sire of this girl? If not, she was in danger. The girl obviously knew of Artemis’ godhood. If this was a ploy, Athena’s little sister had hopelessly fallen into it.
“It’s okay, you can have it.” The girl insisted, carefully setting the remnants of her meal on the ground. With a sigh, the girl stood, wiped her hands on her tunic, offered up a tired smile, and retreated into a canvas tent. Despite her concerns, Athena picked up the discarded food. She didn’t eat it, instead tossing it into the fire, but something told her it would be rude to leave it in place to rot.
Then, all at once, she returned to the skies, vaguely aware of Hermes in tow.
— — —
Having returned to Olympus, Athena wanted nothing more than to tell Zeus of her findings. It was Hermes that held her off. While he had witnessed the same series of events that Athena had, his heart was less driven to protect Artemis. He knew very well she wasn’t as irrational as the others believed. A hunter had to be patient, calculated, and certain. They waited, watched, observed, and then acted. Artemis wouldn’t have been foolish enough to endanger herself to someone she saw as a threat. This meant, however, that the girl was more prey than anything else. Artemis had set her sights on the girl and whether she knew it or not, sought to make something of her. Whether that was a meal, a distraction, or a friend he wasn’t certain.
“Don’t rush into things. Wait and watch tomorrow. It’s not as dire as you’re making it,” Hermes argued, standing in a barren hallway. His whispers threatened to echo down marble halls.
“Do you have any idea who that girl’s father is?” Athena questioned. “He’s one of the biggest threats to our safety and security. Having one of our own frolicking with his offspring is the farthest thing from a wise decision. I won’t have my sister be made into a fool or an example.”
“Athena!” Hermes exclaimed, growing impatient. “If she were a threat she wouldn’t be here! She’d be with the rest of her family. They’d have sent her way just like her sister.”
Surprisingly, Hermes’ reasoning gave Athena pause. Perhaps he was right. If this girl really was a threat she’d be colluding with the enemy. She wouldn’t be so far away. So unbothered by Artemis’ presence. Any other Titan offspring held visible resentment for the Olympians. Not this girl. At least not for Artemis.
“Fine,” Athena conceded, “but if she gives me a single reason to suspect ulterior motives-“
“Understandable. I would agree with you then,” Hermes insisted, wings fluttering softly. “Now please, let’s not spend the night worrying over things that don’t matter at the moment.”
With a respectful bow of the head, Hermes retreated leaving Athena alone to obsess over the implications of her sister’s companion. When morning came, Athena was still standing where Hermes had left her. She’d paced most of the night, restless and anxious to return to her duties of observation. Hermes on the other hand, was less enthused, but partook in his duties as expected.
Instead of presenting as a creature of the night, he became a falcon. The village was just beginning to wake when he made himself comfortable in a nearby tree. To his surprise the girl was already awake preparing for the day. She removed the ashes from the fire and sprinkled them about. Hermes got the impression it had something to do with cultivation. Tilting his head to the side, he was surprised to find Artemis lurking nearby. The goddess was carefully skinning the pelt of a deer unbothered by the fur plastering her clothes and arms.
It was strange seeing her so comfortable in the presence of someone else. Both girls worked silently and yet they might as well be speaking to one another. Artemis passed over a type of rasp and the girl began to sharpen it. As she did so. Artemis stood, dusted herself off, and began to remove the fatty lining of the deer’s pelt. Hermes grew queasy just watching. By the end of the morning they’d created a large piece of parchment. Something Hermes didn’t know you could make from deer skin. The idea alone seemed far too strange to be logical.
“That ought to be big enough,” the girl decided, holding up dried paper thin skin.
“I hope so,” Artemis sighed, rubbing at her hands and wrists. “It’ll be hard to find a buck bigger than that.”
“Are you hurt?” The girl worried, lowering the large piece of parchment.
“No, just sore from repetition,” Artemis shrugged. “Let’s get cleaned up. We can take the rest of the buck into town. They’ll appreciate it more than we will.”
“Alright,” the girl nodded, stashing the parchment away inside a canvas tent. Together, the two girls carried the deer’s carcass a good distance out of the woods. The village was quick to crowd around and take their share of food. Any left over bones were given to the dogs, and soon, nothing remained of the deer.
Beneath the hot summer sun, Artemis busied herself with menial tasks leaving the girl to babysit village children. Perplexed by this, Hermes drew closer to the group of little girls flocking around Artemis’ friend. He soon learned why. The girls all sat with their backs turned, waiting impatiently for their hair to be braided. Hermes had seen neat braids before, but Artemis’ friend had a unique way of plaiting hair. She was kind, gentle, and talked to the girls with a soft voice. Her nurturing nature was enough to draw Hermes in.
In the deep golden sun, he saw just how beautiful the girl really was. Her bronze colored skin radiated a comforting warmth. Her complexion was smooth and simple, only marred by a small splash of freckles. Her hair was a deep black, silky in texture and healthy. Her eyes were a strange hue of honey brown, holding in them small flecks of gold. She was fantastically beautiful.
So drawn to her was Hermes that he almost fell from his perch and only stabilized when Artemis’ sharp tone startled him. He was quick to remember himself, and his attention turned to his sister.
Artemis stood protectively over a little boy whose small frame shivered in the dirt. A red swollen mark plastered across his cheek was indicative of the incident at hand. A dirty man with greasy hair and sullen eyes regarded the child with firm distaste.
“He has stolen from me!” The man declared.
“He is a child!” Artemis protested, collecting a small array of vegetables that lay scattered around the boy.
“He is a thief! Only a woman like you would have empathy for a pest like him,” the man spat, swatting aside the stolen vegetables. With hate in his eyes, he made an attempt to lunge at the little boy. Artemis intercepted the perpetrator, placing a hand against his chest. Before she could do much else, a closed fist connected with her face. She fell back in surprise, joining the boy in the dirt as he cried. Golden blood dribbled from the goddess’ nose. She carefully touched the wound and when her hand drew back a look of raw betrayal swept across her face.
With wide wounded eyes, she stared up at the angered man. Hermes could see the innocence in his sister burn away. With trembling hands, she stood, collected the boy, and retreated from the altercation.
With a flutter of wings, Hermes pursued her. Artemis made her way into the woods, walking along a small path before pausing at a creek. There, she set the boy down and gently washed his skinned knees.
“Are you okay?” The boy asked, looking at the goddess with sincere concern. By now, Artemis’ cheeks had begun to bruise and her nose was slightly askew.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, vaguely aware of the blood decorating her white chiton.
“No you’re not,” the boy insisted, his small hands reaching up to wipe away the blood smeared across Artemis’ face. Much to Hermes’ surprise, tears began to well in Artemis’ eyes. She kept them to herself until the boy was cleaned up and sent on his way. No sooner had the child left, the girl appeared.
“Artemis?” She asked, voice hesitant. The goddess didn’t respond. Instead, she sat staring at the rushing water with a complex expression. Silent tears tumbled down her cheeks. The girl seemed to notice and quietly took her place beside the goddess. “Let me see.”
Without uttering a word, Artemis faced the girl. Like the little boy, the girl wiped away the remnants of Artemis’ blood. Then, with a swift jerk, set Artemis’ broken nose back in place. As the bone reset, a fresh wave of tears traversed Artemis’ cheeks.
“I know,” the girl sighed, leaning forward and resting her forehead against Artemis’.
“Why would he do that after everything I’ve done for them?” Artemis asked, voice small and wounded like a child. “What have I done to deserve a violent hand?”
“Nothing,” the girl admitted. “Our existence as women will always be met with a violent hand. Godhood or not, they don’t discriminate.”
“Are all men like my father?” Artemis lamented, bottom lip trembling. Hermes got the impression she was mourning her faith in humanity. She’d experienced its beauty and its kindness making it easy to forget one important thing; humanity was made in the image of man, and with it, in the image of her father. There would be no kindness meant to last in little boys. It too would die alongside their innocence.
“Not all of them, but too many to count,” the girl replied. By now, she was gently drying Artemis’ eyes. As he watched, Hermes saw a love in the girl’s touch that he hadn’t seen before. It was a deep, gentle, soft kind of love. There was no violence or possessiveness. No ulterior motive or stipulation hidden in it. It was raw and honest. It made his heart ache. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had ever loved him in such a way.
“Zoë, promise me no matter who it is you love, it won’t be a man like that,” Artemis insisted, collecting herself with a deep breath. “I couldn’t stand it if such a creature took to you.”
“I can assure you, you won’t have to worry about that,” Zoë laughed, the sound airy and light. It was enough to bring a small smile to Artemis’ face. “Now, let’s go find a place to look at the stars. That always cheers you up.”
Offering Artemis her hand, Zoë pulled the goddess to her feet, and together the two girls vanished into the tree line. Hermes lingered for a moment, unsure of what to make of his observations. There was an interesting humanity within his sister. One he hadn’t seen in any other god. Unfortunately, he’d watched part of it die at the hands of a man. That alone wounded him, but he was certain that so long as Artemis had Zoë she wouldn’t lose herself completely. Not with that kind of love.
Content with his observations, Hermes returned to Olympus. Athena was already there, her expression hard to read but Hermes knew they’d come to the same conclusion.
“We tell him nothing,” Hermes insisted.
“Agreed,” Athena nodded, sadness painting her stormy eyes. She remained rigid and unmoving for a moment before regarding her brother. “Hermes?”
“Yes?” He asked, arching a brow.
“Do you think…well, do you think we’ll have something like that ?” Athena asked.
“No,” Hermes admitted, shaking his head. “None of us will. That kind of love…that’s one of a kind. Unfortunately, our tragedy is that we’ll never experience it. Her tragedy is that someday she’ll lose it. That’s what we get for being too human.”
“Humanity was always meant to be a God’s greatest heartbreak,” Athena sighed, walking side by side with Hermes as they approached the throne room. Silence settled around them as they pushed open two large marble doors. A united front in the sorrow of their own immortality, and the lack of love they would feel in their eternal existence.