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There was blood. So much blood, coating the god’s hands.
It was a sunny day. The sun god, however, thought it was a rancid day. He was marching up the mountain. His tunic whips in the wind behind him. It was the warm westward wind. Of course, Zephyrus would try to stop him. Well, this god wasn’t going to be stopped. He reaches the top of Mount Olympus. Gates wide open, Apollo goes straight towards the council room, ignoring anyone who tries to greet him. Apollo flung the doors open. He looked up towards the towering god sitting upon a throne made of gold. He had a white beard and long white hair, his eyes golden just like Apollo’s. That was the only similarity between the son and father. Apollo had fluffy golden hair, and he was more forgiving of mortals than his father.
“Ah, greeting Apollo, my son, what might I do for you this fine morning?” Zeus asked with a pleased smile on his face. Apollo clenched his hands by his side, trying to control his anger.
“Father, I beg of you, please make Hycacithus immortal like me. I do not know how much longer he has to live; the fates won’t tell me, and Delphi has been silent about the matter. I fear that Zephyrus has grown jealous of Hycacithus’s favor of me. I fear he might act on this jealousy and not think.” As Apollo explains, he feels his tears threaten to spill. He looked up at his father, who wore a stern expression, his eyes set like stone.
“I hear you, Apollo, but the answer is still the same. No. He has to prove himself worthy of immortality. Just like all the rest.” Zeus said, his voice crackling like thunder.
“But please, Father, you must know what this feels like.” Apollo pleaded. “I’ve had flings with women before, but this is different. He’s just- I cannot find the words to express my love for him.” Apollo spoke, his tears being held back by a single breath. He took a deep breath, “And as you know, he is a warrior of Sparta, and as war spills out over their land, I fear for him. He might not have long to live.”
“Maybe then he will prove himself a hero, and right now I have half a right mind to strip you of your godlyhood, Apollo. Now leave.” Zeus took a deep inhale and a slow exhale. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hinting at only a fraction of annoyance that he must’ve felt.
Apollo took the hint and walked out of the room. He reached the summit and looked out onto the world, a sad smile on the god’s face. He spread his wings and took flight. He waved a greeting to the sun chariot, driven by Helios. Apollo made sure there wasn’t a hint of sadness on his face. He flew over the land of Sparta looking high and low for his lover. Then he spotted the dear Spartan boy. Playing discus all by himself. Apollo smiled and flew down his feet, brushing the soft grass. He was behind his lover. Apollo stepped on his feet, making no sound as they connected and disconnected with the earth. He wrapped his golden feathered wings around the boy’s front, blocking his view of where the discus was going. Apollo then spun the boy so that he faced the god, his wings brushing the Spartan’s back.
“Lord Apollo!” The boy started to bow low, but Apollo gave Hycacithus a small, lighthearted smack upside the head.
“Oh gods, how many times have I told you? No ‘Lord’, just Apollo, or love. If you’d like.” Apollo winked and gave the boy a light, feathery kiss. The two separated after that kiss and lay in the fields of grass. It was soft and slightly tickled the deity’s fingertips. He felt Hycacithus curl into Apollo’s side. The latter’s wings instinctively curled around the boy.
“Lord-I mean Apollo,” The boy fumbled with his words as he sat up his small, bony arms supporting his frail skeleton. Apollo remembers the flash of white and the blood of lovers past. “I cannot repeat mistakes of the past.” Apollo’s sun-kissed soul spoke to him.
“Are you alright?” He asked, placing a soft sun-warmed hand on the deity’s shoulder
“Huh? Oh yeah, quite alright.” Apollo spoke, his lips turned upward in a small smile. “Just zoning out is all. What were you going on about, dear?”
The Spartan’s tanned face darkened as blood rushed to his cheeks.
“Well, I was saying, the emperor is starting war drafts again,” Hycacithus spoke, his hand falling from the god’s shoulder and into his lap. Apollo watched the tanned hands play with a golden feather. “I’m on the list; we leave in a month.” His eyes were wide with worry. Apollo smiled and placed a hand on Hycacithus’s cheek, and the latter shifted to face Apollo.
“Don’t worry,” Apollo interrupted himself by placing a gentle kiss on Hycacithus’s cheek. “You will always have the sun god’s blessing.” Apollo smiled and pulled Hycacithus into his lap.
“Thank you-” Hycacithus began to thank the sun god for this blessing, as was protocol when a god gave a mere mortal a blessing, when Apollo pressed his lips to the mortal.
“You never need to thank me, love,” Apollo said, his voice soft and sweet. Like fresh dew that decorated the trees above the two. Apollo began to braid his lover’s hair, weaving it left and right.
“Apollo,” Hycacithus began, his voice unsure, growing quieter and quieter. “Would you like to play with me?” Hycacithus held up the discus as he spoke. Apollo gave him a mischievous grin.
“I would be delighted to play with you, my dearest.” The two stood up, Apollo making sure his wings didn’t hit the boy. The two separated and walked, or in Apollo’s case, flew to the other end of the field. The two began playing the game, tossing the disc back and forth. Laughing occasionally as one missed a catch or mistossed. Both were unaware of the growing jealousy of the westward wind. One miss-throw guided by this jealous wind hit the boy. That’s when Apollo’s world grew darker.
“Oh no,” Apollo spoke his words softly and roughly. His tears were already falling as his wings guided him to the boy. A deep indent in the boy’s left temple was the first sign of his death. The west wind blew its warmth, bringing a stinging pain to Apollo’s eyes, but it also brought more pain to the Spartan boy. The harsh wind started to rip and tear the fabric of the tunic, but also Hycacithus’s skin.
“Stop this, please,” he muttered to the wind. The god controlling it heard him, but the jealousy grew into a rage. Apollo held Hycacithus closer to his chest.
“Please.” The broken words left the god’s lips in a raspy, weakened voice compared to how cheery his voice was just moments ago. The wind died down as the westward wind god realized the horrific act he had committed. The dying boy in Apollo’s arms held a soft smile as he spoke his final words to the light of his life.
“Do not be sad, Apollo, I am glad I have died enjoying time with you and not in a foreign land away from you and your light.” Hycacithus lifted a shaky hand and cupped the god’s cheek. “I love you.” Apollo felt the boy’s heart beat falter to a stop. An unearthly screech of dread and horror left the god’s lips. Apollo left the boy there in the field, promising to return.
“Open up.” Apollo spoke to the earthen ground. A moment after the words were uttered by the god, the ground opened to a man-sized hole. Sounds of whips cracking, screams, and cries could be heard from the hole. Apollo fell through the hole, his expression morphing from distraught to cold and hardened. He walked past the spirits of ghosts and unavenged spirits. They were all crying out for help. The cries of these spirits fell deaf upon Apollo’s ears.
“Hades,” Apollo said, standing before the lord of the underworld.
“Oh, hello, Apollo, what does this darkened realm have to be graced by the sun god?” Hades added the last part, his words dripping with sarcasm, making his hatred towards Apollo apparently clear.
“As you know, a Spartan warrior has just died. He was very dear to me. Please release his spirit. I can return it to his body and-” Apollo was explaining his plan to the lord of the underworld, when the lord of the underworld interrupted him and put his hand up.
“Apollo, my answer is no.” Hades spoke, his icy dark eyes staring into the pair of golden eyes.
“Then, then-” Apollo felt his mind spiraling. How could he let this happen? “Then,” Apollo sighed with a sound of frustration. “Then take away my godlyhood!” Hades’ darkened complexion showed surprise and worry, an unusual expression for the god. His face had only expressed a darkened, sullen expression, squinted eyes, and a frown always present.
“Apollo, it’s not-” Hade’s voice rang out in the quiet, empty throne room.
“I know it’s possible,” Apollo said, his knees wobbling, tears spilled down his face. His hand clutched his tunic, hand clenching the silky fabric right over where his heart was located.
“It’s happened before. I’ll give you permission, just please,” Apollo’s legs gave out on him, leaving him a sobbing wreck on the cold hematite floors. Apollo’s tear-streaked face left his golden locks sticking to his face. “Please end my suffering, uncle.” Apollo looked up at his uncle’s eyes, expecting to find some kind of empathy or anything. Instead of empathy or understanding, he found a cold, hard, set-in-stone facial expression.
“I cannot do that, my nephew,” Hades said, his voice betraying a lingering hint of sadness. Hades rose from his obsidian throne and sat on his knees, placing a cold hand on Apollo’s back. “It would hurt too much.” Hades looked into his nephew’s eyes and brushed Apollo’s golden hair out of his face. “For both you and me.” Apollo stood up, his face morphing from sad to enraged.
“Then I will find someone who will.” Apollo spat his words, leaving his uncle there, kneeling on the cold, hard floor. “He will not have died in vain. I will find a way back to Hycacithus uncle, trust me on that. I swear it upon the river Styx.” Apollo turned his tunic, whipping at the sudden movement of the body it was wrapped around. He marched up to the mortal world and returned to the body of Hycacithus. The only warm thing left of him was his blood. Apollo kneeled down next to the body of his dearest. Apollo collected the blood and muttered into his cupped hands. The blood shifted.
The red turned to a light purple, the petals turning inward and weaving this way and that. Just like Apollo left Hycacithus’s hair woven this way and that. Apollo smiled no longer joyously but with a melancholy aspect. He arranged the body to look peaceful. Mending the various cuts on Hycacithus’s body while also mending the tunic. He placed his hands over his chest, and Apollo slipped one of the flowers into the flooded hands. Apollo carried his lover’s body deeper into the woods. Placing him at the roots of a large tree. Yet again, Apollo muttered an incantation to protect the tree from anyone who tried to disturb it. He gave one final blessing to the boy for whom he cared so dearly.
“As long as you rest under this tree, your body will not decay or be put into harm’s way,” Apollo spoke, clasping his hands in prayer. He leaned down and placed a kiss on the no longer warm lips of Hycacithus. The god removed his lips from his dearest’s. “I shall call these,” Apollo spoke one final word to his dead lover before he left. Apollo smiled, a small, bittersweet smile at the sight of Hycacinthus lying underneath the tree.
“Hyacinths”