Everyone Should Eat His Own Turtle (A Greek Myth Novel) H.C. Southwark (100 books to read txt) 📖

all of them, in truth. They do not much like people meddling with my brother.”

Isme felt her feet very keenly where they rested on the ground. She said, “Then should we be here? Aren’t you going to ask the Oracle at Delphi where your brother is, so that we can find out how to absolve my blood guilt? Won’t that alert Apollon?”

For they both knew—having slain the ancient serpent of Delphi, the Python, Apollon was now lord of prophecy here.

And Epimetheus shook his head. “No,” he said, “Not Delphi. There is another place.” Then, carefully considering, he drew Isme close to him and whispered, “If you can, my daughter, avoid Delphi. Remember that your blood father is Orpheus, son of Apollon, and surely you will draw his attention. And absolutely do not sing.”

Isme nodded, wondering. Apollon, god of light and medicine—he was a son of Zeus, who had the vendetta against Prometheus in the first place. And bad things tended to happen to his lovers, so he was a god most for women to avoid anyway.

The gods did not much seem to care about family ties, except perhaps for a handful among them. Zeus had mounted some of his own granddaughters. Who knew if the son was like the father?—certainly Isme liked to think she was like Epimetheus.

So she nodded, and her father turned to pull back the cloth door.

~

They waited until after nightfall. Isme’s hands itched to find tinder and flint, her throat ached to find the song for fire and let it into the air, see the spark rise. But she held her peace. She spent her time in the dark hut observing what she could of her father. He sat on his haunches with his eyes closed, but did not sleep.

She wondered what he thought. And wondered if he wondered what she thought.

To pass the time, she thought of the story of her uncle, Prometheus—

Long ago, after he and his brother finished their commission for making men, Prometheus had remained behind to observe them. He saw how they lived in their families and witnessed the skies with the eyes and minds of gods.

And Prometheus fell in love with them.

But he also saw how they struggled for life, because while they could think and reason, their bodies were thin and hairless and helpless.

So Prometheus revealed himself to men and began to teach them many things. He taught them how to succor off animals, how to plant crops, build fences, make knives and leather, to write. He taught them as much as he could—but there was one thing he needed from the other gods. A heavenly gift that would save men from the dark and cold.

O Zeus, he said, to his cousin, king of the Olympians. Let me bring down fire to mankind, which will grant them life, and you the boon of sacrifices.

But Zeus refused. Fire belonged to the gods alone.

Prometheus was a very crafty god, a Titan who had survived the war of the gods, for his gift of foresight had told him that the Olympians would win and so he and his brother Epimetheus crossed sides from Titans to Olympians and were saved. And so Prometheus stole fire from the heights of Mount Olympus and carried it to men.

Behold, my children; behold, fire—the light of the gods.

For this, Zeus had Prometheus punished. He was to be bound forever in chains on the tallest mountains far away, where every morning an eagle would alight to eat his liver... Some say, though, that great Herakles found and set him free, and where Prometheus is now, none knows...

When the sun was completely gone, her father rose and said, “Let us go. Speak to no one and follow me through the town.”

He hesitated, then said, “Tonight you will see something I cannot truly explain. You’ll feel it as well. When we leave the city, the Oracle of Delphi lies upon the ridge of the mountain as we travel up. I will walk between you and it as we pass, but when we are past, we are to climb the mountain. Then you will take the lead and I will follow your footsteps.”

Isme frowned. “But Father, I don’t know the way.”

“That is the mystery,” said her father. “You will know the way. You will know it and I will not—and if I try to lead us there, we will never arrive.”

“But—” Isme tried for words, “That does not make any sense. Haven’t you been to this place before?”

“Yes,” said her father. “That is how I know these are the rules.” And before she could complain again, he said, “This is just like a story, Isme. You must play your role. Remember: we must be completely silent on our climb.”

And he was right, Isme realized. Somehow, when he had said these instructions to her, she had felt as though he was reiterating something that she already knew. But that could not be the case—she had never heard these words before. Yet as her father gathered up the two staves that he had taken from the caravan, she pondered this mystery without any answers.

Only one thing she was certain of: that when they left this town, when they traveled up the mountain’s ridge, past Delphi, toward the summit, it did not matter that they would not be traveling through the woods. That bodiless voice would follow her anyway, all the way to the height of Mount Parnassus.

~

They emerged from the darkness of the hut into the darkness of the night.

Around them the city below Delphi, the city without its own name, was alive and moving. Isme saw wavering torches as extensions of human arms. A child passed her, laughing and waving his torch as his father beckoned him to keep up. Isme watched him toddle down the street, before turning her eyes onto the back of her own father and following.

Epimetheus led her through streets, head down like a bull plowing a field, and the people parted for him much the same. They