At last, the white owl arrived and perched itself on the fountainhead.
“Well, what have you to report?” the goddess snapped impatiently.
The snowy owl tilted its head and Aphrodite read its thoughts and saw what it was remembering. The girl was shown to an Oracle. Guards had taken her to the top of a mountain. The village gave her a wedding ceremony, and she was last seen screaming and plunging to her death.
Blinking at the surprising conclusion, Aphrodite finally allowed herself to relax. A smile played on her lips. She was satisfied. “How sad it is that she had to die. I would have liked to see her suffer a bit more for her impertinence.”
When the owl hooted, Aphrodite turned with surprise. He was asking what the girl had done to deserve such a fate. Aphrodite frowned in annoyance.
“What did she do? Why, a village claimed she was more beautiful than I. Mindless, wicked villagers, heedless of blasphemy! You cannot let such arrogance go unpunished. I don’t even know why I’m even explaining myself to you. What are you but a silly brain of feathers! That nuisance is gone. That is all the matters!”
The owl flapped its wings, and pecked at its soft, white feathers, settling on the head of a water nymph statue, ready to take a nap.
“Oh, before I forget, have you heard of my son’s whereabouts at all? For a little while I was worried that he wasn’t going to follow through with our little plan.”
The owl responded in the negative and Aphrodite shrugged and looked deeply into her fountain mirror, pleased with the way her hair was arranged that day. The fine lines were starting to fade, but not fast enough for her liking.
“Remind me to ask Persephone for some more of her beauty potion,” she told the owl who was already falling asleep.
Aphrodite rolled her eyes and watched the turbulent water in her All-Seeing Fountain. The village was filling up her temple again and placing flowers and gifts at her statue’s feet. It was more than she had hoped for. “Well, I thought Eros might want to stop by and celebrate with me. How quickly a son forgets what he owes his mother.”
Her pout slowly faded, however, when she spied a very beautiful necklace being offered to her temple. She smiled at the intricate details and artwork. It was ahead of its time. These mortals were very crafty sometimes with their small little tools and tiny fingers.
“Owl. Wake up! Go get that necklace for me. I will be seeing Ares tonight and I think he will very much like that one.”
The owl, disappointed that he wouldn’t get to rest, appeared to sigh briefly before opening his wings and flapping away in the direction of Bromeia where Aphrodite’s newly swept and polished temple stood.
In an island not far from Olympus, Psyche, who was far from dead, continued to follow the complicated corridors that twisted and wound before her. Her guide occasionally told her, “This way,” or “To your left.” Psyche was grateful for the voice, for it was the only way she knew which way to go. Each hallway seemed more intricate than the next, each unique in its lighting and décor. Psyche did not have time to linger, however, for the voice was often urging her to hurry and at times, she worried it would leave without her.
Finally, they reached an ornate door that opened before Psyche could reach it.
“Here is your room,” her guide cheerfully announced.
When Psyche peered inside, she could not hold back the gasp that escaped her mouth. There were thirteen arches all together from floor to ceiling. She could see the sky in all directions and almost nothing but clouds floating all around her. Psyche walked across the polished marble floor spinning around, overwhelmed by the elegant, natural beauty of the room. Then she peered down one of the arches.
A waterfall was so close to the arch’s openings, she was sure she would feel the wet mist from it, yet the room remained dry. Psyche touched the columns and looked down, shocked at how high the palace was. It was not simply the height of the building, but right below her fell a cliff so straight and steep that all she could see were the crashing waves beneath her and a tiny strip of sand. For a moment, she felt faint, fearing the height and yet mesmerized by its beauty.
The cliff that the palace was on had its own waterfall causing rainbows to weave in and out of the clouds around them. When she moved to another arch on the other side, some rainbows would disappear and others would appear. Each direction offered something new.
On the ceiling were magnificent painted reliefs of forest creatures and nymphs. The details were so amazing that Psyche felt like she was back at home in the forest. All was to her liking. It was as if someone knew what would make her feel most at home, but at the same time, wanted to awe and impress her.
“I must be in a dream,” she murmured to herself.
“Not a dream,” the warm voice interjected. Psyche had forgotten that there might be invisible people all around her. “This is your new life.”
Psyche couldn’t believe it.
Then something caught the corner of her eye. She moved across the room again and peered at another view of the outside. She saw what looked like a bird soaring in the distance near one of the waterfalls. She could not tell the size of the bird as she watched its amazing dive from the tips of tall evergreens on top of the mountain all the way to one of the rainbows near the palace. The closer it got, the wider Psyche’s eyes grew. Psyche suddenly realized that the acrobatic creature was not a bird at all and that its wingspan covered the breadth of four fully-grown pine trees. It looked more like the sketches she had seen of dragons but with feathers that sparkled orange and purple in the afternoon sky. For a moment, the glare of the sun reflecting on those feathers gave the illusion that the creature was on fire. A second flying beast soared from behind a different cliff and for a moment, both weaved through the air like playful, speeding butterflies. The new arrival, however, had a strange lump on its back.
Squinting, Psyche strained to see what was on its back, but the glare of the sun was making it difficult. Finally, a cloud covered the rays of Helios briefly just as the bird came a little closer. Psyche clearly saw the outline of a person crouching on top of the beautiful flying creature, leaning forward like a man galloping on horseback.
It was then that she felt the floor give way. The clouds seemed to tilt and there was darkness.
“Fainted dead away, the poor dear!”
“What will master say?”
“He doesn’t have to find out.”
“He always finds out!”
Psyche did not want to open her eyes. Perhaps, it was all a dream? By keeping her eyes closed, she was able to hope. But she knew the pillows were too soft and scented to be from her father’s farmhouse, and the voices were undeniably familiar.
Still she kept her eyes closed. What was the point of opening them, anyhow, when she knew she would not be able to see who the voices belonged to? But she felt the cool bed beneath her and warm blankets surrounding her. She could not hide away forever. Whatever befell her, she had to face it. Not knowing was worse than seeing the truth.
Shivering, Psyche raised herself up and felt her bare feet on the cold floor. She saw a light outside in the hallway and followed it. She did not know how long she slept, but she gathered from the low direction of the sun that it was the following morning. The voices hushed.
“Mistress, you are awake! Please, come to the breakfast room. We have prepared you your morning meal.”
Psyche turned to see a door opening across the hallway. “Th-thank you.”
Despite her fears, Psyche was hungry, and although the mysterious palace frightened her, she was starting to get excited about the magic that surrounded her. The voices, though mysterious, did not seem ominous, and she had a feeling that her husband was not at home, or he would have summoned her much sooner.
The breakfast was unlike anything she had ever experience before, with food so divine, Psyche wondered how she could ever go back to her mother’s porridge. She then realized that she might never have her mother’s porridge again and suddenly found
herself without appetite.
“I would like to explore the palace, if you don’t mind,” she announced boldly, not knowing if anyone was even there to hear her.
“But of course, Princess. You need not ask our permission for anything. This palace is yours. We are here only to grant your wishes.”
Psyche shook her head, trying to get used to talking to the air. “I don’t know why you call me a princess. I am not.”
“You are married to the lord of the this palace, are you not?”
Psyche caught her breath. “I… I don’t know. Who is the lord of this palace?”
Warm laughter filled the room, making it hard for Psyche to feel offended. There were multiple sounds, however, so she sensed that there were more individuals in the room.
“You’ll meet him soon enough,” one of the voices assured her.
“Well, is he a prince?” Psyche couldn’t stop herself from asking.
Again, there was laughter. This time, Psyche started to feel the twinge of irritation. When the warm female voice spoke again, Psyche knew she would not get any answers from these strange invisible servants who seemed to enjoy her ignorance.
“If it satisfies you to call him that. Run along now. If you want anything, you need only to pull this chord to ring the bell. One of us will be waiting nearby at all times.”
I want to go home, Psyche thought to herself, but did not say it out loud. She did not want to push her luck and displease her host, whoever he might be. If she wanted to escape, she couldn’t be impulsive. This world was something that made her feel vulnerable and she needed to be at her sharpest and strongest if she were to stand a chance.
However, the most difficult thing was to maintain a desire to run away. There was no end to the palace’s pleasures. Every room seemed to contain some secret delight that continued to assure her in some inexplicable way. The intricate mosaics on the floor took her breath away. What simply looked like beautiful colors in perfect harmony turned out to be breathtaking scenes on the tiles that she could only see if she climbed an elegant staircase or stood on a polished balcony. The scenes seemed to have fantastical themes, ethereal nymphs being pursued or couples in intimate embraces. Scattered throughout the rooms and halls were marble sculptures of creatures with faraway looks, some winsome, another looking clearly more discouraged. The sculptures that involved pairs wrapped warmly with each other were particularly moving for Psyche. There was one marble statue of a woman seated, leaning back with a youth behind her, both looking in the same direction with an expression of utter contentment, small, satisfied smiles playing on their faces. Psyche continued to look at this sculpture for a while, feeling a sharp pain that was almost physical. She felt as if she knew exactly how these two felt. And she doubted she would ever feel it again.
Blinking, Psyche turned away. Her eyes immediately fell on a figure of two beautiful winged beings in a passionate embrace, and immediately, she blushed. Suspecting that there might be invisible beings in the room noting her reaction, Psyche looked away from the sinfully alluring beauty of the subjects. Interspersed throughout the palace were containers of all sizes and shapes spilling with azaleas, orchids, petunias, blossoming and fruiting citrus trees, and many flowers and foliage she did not recognize. All were pristinely maintained, not a single dry leaf or wilting flower to be found. Lilies floated on fountains, and canals splashed the elegant rooms with tasteful movement and musical sounds, while exotic fish colored the clear water.
Whoever her new husband was, he had exceptional taste for beauty. It was hard not to look at any angle without catching ones breath.
One room made Psyche never want to leave. The vegetation reminded her of her woods, and she recognized all of the colorful flowers as native to her beloved Bromeia. At a corner of the room was a weeping mulberry tree, its deep purple fruit weighing the branches down like a heavy cloak. It stood on a huge dark burgundy, curved pot. Painted throughout the pot was the pictorial depiction of the story of Pyramus and Thisbe. Psyche had to lift a drooping branch to see the last picture of the fallen lovers, tangled in a limp embrace.
Psyche felt old pain as she remembered the boy who left her. P and T shall live.
Backing away distractedly from the pot, she nearly bumped into another statue. Psyche turned and looked up to see a man walking nonchalantly with a bow in his hand, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Something in his stance reminded Psyche of her lost Erik. Again, a sharp pain pricked her heart and shook her, forcing her to look away.
When Psyche came across a bathhouse, she nearly clapped her hands in delight. The pool was a perfect square in the center of an open courtyard, the water clear and smoky with heat.
She heard the voice of the female servant not far behind her.
“Feel free to use the pool. I will make sure you will have your privacy.” Psyche turned around, but she was not surprised when she saw no one.
Needing no further prompting, Psyche stripped to her skin and dipped herself in the warm water. Her battered body felt instantly replenished. The pool’s pleasures were endless and she found herself swimming for hours.
When Psyche finally rose up from the pool, she noticed that her clothes had been exchanged for new ones, and there were fresh towels waiting for her. Psyche covered herself with a towel but instead of donning on the new clothes, she walked towards the courtyard by the bathhouse and walked to the cushioned benches where the sun streamed directly. She looked around, and then laughed at herself. If there were servants about, they were all invisible. Ignorance was bliss in this case.
Psyche lay on the cushioned bench, lost in the pleasure of the moment as the sun shrank the droplets on her shoulders, feet, and hair. Finally, sleep took over.
When she opened her eyes she had a sense that she was not alone. She sat up and looked about her, suddenly aware of her nakedness and her vulnerability. How silly of her to believe she was safe here. The servants never quite said that her husband was not home, or that there were no other frightening creatures in the palace.
“Who’s there?” Psyche called out.
Nobody answered, but she could have sworn that a nearby blue hydrangea bush shook despite there being no breeze.
“Show yourself.”
Only silence. Psyche hurriedly moved to put on her new attire. The fabric was of a softness she had never felt before, but she did not give herself much time to enjoy it. She wrapped the clothes around her, and with shaking hands, grabbed the sandals and ran across the courtyard back into the mysterious palace.
A sudden panic gripped Psyche as she realized that she had no idea where she was or who was near her. She wanted to leave. Psyche wanted to get out of this suffocating vastness where she had no idea what was there and what wasn’t.
She bent to strap on her sandals, willing her hands to stop trembling for a few moments. Terrifying thoughts were taking over her mind. Weren’t some of the most fearsome creatures in the ballads hidden under the most pleasant shrouds? The Sirens were beautiful, singing temptresses that lured seamen to their death, and then there was the island of the Lotus-Eaters, paradisiacal, yet hiding the murderous Cyclops.
Great Zeus, had Psyche learned nothing from the legends?
The young woman hurried through the maze of rooms, straining her mind to remember where the main entrance was. At last, she saw a familiar statue of a centaur in the distance and headed straight to the atrium where she first arrived.
“Princess, where are you going?” She heard the warm matronly voice that had greeted her earlier. She was so friendly, yet she could easily have the face of a serpent. How would Psyche ever know?
“I am not a princess! I’m leaving. I do not belong here!”
Psyche heard the voice change with fear. “But you mustn’t!”
“Try and stop me!” Psyche called out behind her and ran as fast as she could to the huge entranceway and grasped the elaborate, cold handle. After a monumental push, she was able to turn the handle but the door would not bud
ge.
Crying out with frustration, Psyche hurried to another passageway and tried a different door, only to be similarly thwarted.
“Mistress, please...”
“You cannot keep me here against my will!” Psyche called out to the ceiling.
At first, there was no answer. Then she heard another voice say pleadingly, “But, we will give you everything you desire. Anything you may want. Just tell us, and we will provide.”
“I want my freedom!” Psyche cried out, and slammed her fist helplessly against the sealed door. She felt a pain shoot through her wrist but she refused to stop hammering. “Get me out!”
There were whispers that she could not decipher, but Psyche closed her eyes tightly and continued to hit the door. She started beating her shoulders against it, ignoring the shooting pain. Mercifully, it cracked open. With a gasp, Psyche pushed the door with all her might. It opened just enough for her to wriggle past, and she found herself out in an open garden.
“My dear, please come back!” she heard the voice call out. “There are dangers out there that you do not know!”
Psyche did not respond. Instead, she plunged forward towards a thick forest, wanting only to be out of sight of the mysterious eyes she was so certain followed her wherever she went.
Chapter 4
Despite Psyche’s unfamiliar surroundings, the woods brought her ease that the luxury of the mysterious palace could not provide. Although some of the vegetation was unfamiliar, the dirt was still brown, and her footsteps left prints that reminded her that she was still alive and not some lost and wandering wraith. Then, there were the occasional squirrels, critters, birds, and, at one point, a rabbit that gave her a sense of normalcy and made her feel less alone.
Psyche did not know what her plan was. All she wanted was to get away from the palace and, perhaps, find a way back home. She knew Zephyr must have carried her for quite a distance but even if it took her a lifetime, Psyche wanted to get back.
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