The Helicon Muses Omnibus: Books 1-4

by V. J. Chambers

  “Everyone in Helicon is odd,” said Sue. “We’re creative. Creative people are always a little strange. And none of us are exactly alike.” She laughed a little. “What throws everyone off about me is that I’m not gay. I think I’d be easier to take if I were.”

  “You’re not?” Nora said.

  “Nope,” said Sue. “People in Helicon have no problem with sexual orientation. But for as open-minded and welcoming as the muses are, they still like to put everyone into little boxes. They like to be able to categorize you. When you don’t fit into a category, it makes them nervous. So, eventually, I found them a category. I went hunting in the mundane world for it.” She grinned again. “I am an androgyne.”

  “A what?” Maddie said.

  “Androgyne,” Sue repeated. “Basically, it means that I don’t have a gender that I like more than the other. It means that I like aspects of being female and aspects of being male. And I combine those aspects to be whatever I want to be.”

  “That sounds exactly like you, Sawyer,” said Nora. “Isn’t that what you said? At May Day? Like you are going for both?”

  Sawyer nodded slowly. “Maybe I’m an androgyne, too.”

  Sue chuckled. “I happen to think it’s funny that someone created a label to describe people who defy labels.”

  Sawyer smiled. “That’s me, for sure. Screw labels.”

  “Frankly,” said Sue, “I think labels actually get in the way of creative expression. I think it would be nice, at least here in Helicon, if we could do away with them entirely. Maybe someday.”

  Nora sat forward. “I still don’t get why you think that what you are scares people. What does that have to do with them anyway?”

  Sue tapped her chin. “It shouldn’t have anything to do with them. But I guess people get ideas in their heads. Ideas about the way things are supposed to work. And when something appears that doesn’t fit within those ideas they already have, it scares them. Because it might mean those ideas are wrong. And then they’ll have to rethink everything. I guess that’s a pretty scary thought.”

  Nora nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

  “Like this play, for instance,” said Sue. “People have this idea about Helicon. It’s supposed to be a perfect, blissful place, where nothing bad ever happens. And anything that manages to get in their heads to challenge that idea, they’d rather ignore. You remember last year, when those portals were being opened?”

  They all nodded.

  “You notice how no one really did anything about it?” said Sue. “There we were, in mortal danger, and, except for a few council meetings, it was business as usual.”

  Nora sighed. “Boy, do I know what you’re talking about.”

  Sue pointed at her. “Right. You dated that Owen guy for a while, didn’t you? He was the one saying we need to change things around here. He was talking about giving the security enclave more abilities. You know, so they can actually make us... secure.” She smirked.

  Nora looked at her feet. “But Owen was...”

  “Yeah, yeah. I guess he turned out to be a wee bit overzealous. But that guy he killed? He was the one opening the portals, wasn’t he? I mean, we don’t have to worry about him anymore now do we?”

  “Dirk was just a kid,” said Sawyer. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

  Sue shrugged. “I’m not saying that. Not exactly. And exiling that Owen guy was probably the right call. All I’m saying is that we’re kidding ourselves to pretend this place is a paradise. But for some reason, most of the muses are really attached to that idea. They can’t even handle hearing Nimue’s name. Because that might remind them that something bad happened here once.” She shook her head.

  Nora felt cold all over. She hadn’t realized that Owen’s ideas had reached any further than his goons in the security enclave. She also hadn’t realized that anyone as intelligent as Sue seemed to be could buy into them. It was a very good thing that Owen had been exiled. Nora knew that Owen didn’t care about the safety of Helicon. He just cared about manipulating people. That was what he did.

  Maddie was shaking her head too. “I don’t think it’s as simple as that. It’s not just about people wanting to hide their heads in the sand. Bringing up Nimue reminds people of pain. They lost friends, family members. And I don’t know if they should be forced to feel that pain.”

  “But Julian didn’t mention Nimue in order to hurt people’s feelings,” said Sue. “So how is it fair to make him change his play?”

  “Because Julian is only one person,” said Maddie. “It’s better to make him do something unfair than to make a bunch of people feel really sad.”

  Sue raised her eyebrows. “Ah, but then we get into the idea of whether the needs of the many are more important than the needs of the few. And to discuss that fully, you need to go to the philosophy enclave.” She stood up. “Since it looks like this practice is a bust, you could head over there now.”

  * * *

  Maddie thought going to the philosophy enclave to continue the discussion was a great idea. Nora wasn’t quite as enthused. She remembered that her last trip to the philosophy enclave had given her a splitting headache. However, when she told her friends that, Sawyer found it completely hilarious. He insisted that they go to the philosophy enclave immediately.

  So that was how Nora found herself sitting around the fire pit in the philosophy enclave listening to how delighted ratty Themis Branch was to see them. “Nora, it’s always so wonderful to see you. I admit, we’d hoped to see more of you. You seemed so perceptive in our last discussion.”

  Perceptive was not how Nora would have put it. Nora had felt like everything that they had said had been an enormous waste of time. Besides that, most of it had gone over her head. They’d had a long discussion, but it had had no conclusion.

  “We here to discuss something with you,” said Maddie. She turned to Sawyer. “How did Sue put it?”

  “Whether the needs of the many are more important than the needs of the few,” Sawyer said to Themis.

  Themis’ face lit up. “Oh, absolutely. A most intriguing thought process. Have any of you any thought on the matter?”

  “Well,” said Maddie. “I think it’s fairly obvious that in this situation majority rules. Isn’t that the philosophy that governs our council?”

  Themis nodded. “You are correct, my dear. In matters of government, majority decisions do seem to be efficient. Why do you suppose that is?”

  “Me?” Maddie pointed at herself.

  “Any of you, really,” said Themis. “But certainly, my dear, what do you think?”

  “Well, because it’s fair.”

  “Is it?” Themis said. “Is it really?”

  “Yes,” said Maddie, sounding affronted.

  “What does it mean? Fair?” Themis said.

  This was exactly why Nora did not like the philosophy enclave. They barely been there for a few minutes, and already even the simplest of notions were being called into question. Who wanted to think about stuff like this? Everyone knew what fair meant. But if she didn’t say something, Themis would keep poking at it until it was even more complicated. “Fair means equal.”

  Themis turned to look at both Maddie and Sawyer. “Do you agree? Is that a good definition?”

  They both nodded.

  “Well then, by that definition, majority rule is decidedly unfair.” Themis folded his arms over his chest.

  “What do you mean?” asked Maddie.

  “It’s unequal, isn’t it? The majority gets what they want. The minority gets nothing.”

  Inwardly, Nora groaned. Trust Themis to twist it all up like that.

  “Okay,” said Sawyer. “Maybe fair doesn’t mean equal after all. At least, not exactly.” He appeared to be thinking really hard.

  “No,” said Maddie. “I think it does. And in that situation, it’s not equal results, but an equal voice. Everyone gets one vote. That’s why it’s fair.”

  Themis beamed. “Very good, my dear.
But a majority rule presupposes something. It presupposes that everyone is equal in the first place.”

  “How does it do that?” said Nora. She was beginning to think that Themis simply said things to be contrary, not for any real reason. Obviously majority rule was the best system. Why challenge their ideas? What was the point?

  Wait. Wasn’t that something like what Sue had been saying to them earlier? She’d said that people were frightened when their ideas were challenged. Was Nora afraid? Was that why she didn’t like the philosophy enclave? Because of fear? Nora hoped not. She sat up straighter, resolving to give Themis’ questions a chance.

  “If everyone has an equal say, then you assume that nothing else is making them unequal. Otherwise, the vote would be meaningless,” said Themis.

  “I’m not sure if I follow,” said Sawyer.

  “Perhaps I can give you an example,” said Themis. “What if there was about to be a vote on something in the council... Hmm, let’s say it had something to do with the clothing and fabric enclave.”

  Where was he going with this? Nora leaned forward.

  “What if the council was voting on whether or not the beets grown in the food enclave should be allocated entirely for eating, or whether some should be used for dyes.” Themis paused. “Now, everyone in Helicon eats, but not everyone dyes things. So everyone gets one vote, and the majority votes for food. No beets go to the clothing and fabric enclave for dyes.”

  “Well, that’s not fair,” said Maddie.

  “Why not?” asked Themis. “Everyone got a vote.”

  Maddie sighed. “Okay, think I see what you’re saying. They don’t have equal desires.”

  “Indeed,” said Themis. “And what if it were something more serious? What if the minority had special information about a danger to Helicon? What if the majority didn’t know about it? What if they voted the proposition down?”

  “So wait,” said Sawyer. “Are you saying majority rule isn’t a good way to run the government?”

  “I didn’t say anything like that,” said Themis.

  “But you’re showing us ways that it isn’t good,” said Nora.

  “I’m not trying to make a point,” said Themis. “I’m merely asking questions. You asked whether the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. I’m trying to help you explore that matter.”

  Nora chewed on her lip. “Well... I don’t think they do. I think everyone’s needs are equally important. But people have conflicting needs. If two people want different things, and it’s only possible for one thing to happen, then there has to be some way to decide whose needs get filled.”

  “But why can’t you fill everyone’s needs?” Maddie said.

  “Sometimes you can’t,” said Nora.

  “Maybe not,” said Maddie. “But that should be the first thing you try, shouldn’t it?”

  “But after you try that,” said Nora, “you have to use majority rule. Because it’s not completely fair, but it’s the fairest thing that we have.”

  Themis rubbed his hands together in delight. “Oh, Nora. You have such a practical nature about you. We really would love it if you visited us in the philosophy enclave more often.”

  Nora felt embarrassed.

  Sawyer held up a finger. “So, then it’s okay that Julian is going to have to rewrite his play?”

  “We don’t know that he’s going to have to rewrite his play,” said Nora.

  “Well, it’s going to come down to a vote, isn’t it?” Sawyer shrugged. “We all know how that’s gonna come out. Julian’s and the other muses’ needs are in conflict. According to Nora, we can only trust majority rule in this situation.”

  Themis’ eyes were bright. “Yes. It always becomes a bit more complicated when it’s applied to an actual situation, and it’s not just hypothetical.”

  Maddie folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t think Julian’s need to express himself is as important as everybody else’s need not to feel pain.”

  “Interesting idea,” said Themis. “Are some needs more important than other needs?”

  “Sure,” said Nora. “My need to eat is more important than someone else’s need to have a musical instrument.”

  Themis nodded. “And why is that?”

  Despite her resolution to give his questions a chance, Nora had to admit they were maddening. “Um, I remember this pyramid or hierarchy or something. Some guy like... Pavlow or something. And it said that the most important needs are the needs to survive. Like food, water, and shelter. And then above that are emotional needs and stuff. I can’t remember the exact order of it all, or what exactly was on it, but there’s a sort of order to needs.”

  Themis smiled. “Certainly. But what I want to know is what you think.”

  Nora sighed. “I think it makes sense. I think if you’re starving, you’re probably not worried about censorship.”

  “But we aren’t talking about survival here,” said Sawyer.

  “It doesn’t matter, though,” said Nora. “Because Themis wants to know what I think, and I might think something completely different than what you think.” She gestured to Sawyer. “Or what you think.” She gestured to Maddie. “So if everyone has a different opinion about it, then how do we decide which needs are more important?”

  Maddie grinned. “Majority rule?”

  Nora couldn’t help but smiling herself.

  “The way I see it is this,” said Sawyer, “here in Helicon, the most important thing is creative expression. Everything in this place is tailored to allow us to create more easily. Julian’s created. And we need to respect that creation. You know, maybe they could just have warnings. Like tell everybody who thinks they might be hurt or offended or whatever not to come to the play.”

  “Actually, at this point I don’t suppose it really matters,” said Nora. “I’m pretty sure everyone in Helicon has already read the script.”

  Maddie bit her lip. “You know, that’s a good point. Whatever pain the play was going to have caused, it probably already has. There probably isn’t any harm in allowing him to do the script the way it is.” She paused. “But I still don’t think it was a good thing that he did. I mean, his need to create isn’t more important than everyone else’s need not to think about the massacre.”

  “Because there are more of them than there are of him?” Sawyer said.

  Maddie narrowed her eyes. “No. Because it was thoughtless. Because he didn’t think about how people would react. And if he would have given it a moment’s thought, then he wouldn’t have done it in the first place.”

  “Yeah,” said Sawyer. “And if I would have thought about how it might upset people to be the May Queen, then I probably wouldn’t have done it either.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” said Maddie. “It’s a good thing to expose people to the idea that the May Queen doesn’t have to be gender specific. It’s good for them to think that. But thinking about the massacre isn’t good at all.”

  “Sue said it might help us deal with our collective feelings about it or something,” said Nora. “Maybe it could be a good thing.”

  Themis spread his hands. “I think Nora touched on this earlier. She spoke about how all people had their own opinions. Those opinions won’t necessarily match.”

  Nora felt frustrated. This was just like the thing with the gods. They talked and talked and talked, and in the end, they ended up nowhere. “Then there is no answer. No matter what we do, someone loses.”

  “Indeed. It often seems as if the only answer is that there is no answer,” said Themis.

  Nora looked at the confused grimaces on Maddie’s and Sawyer’s faces and realized there was probably a matching one on her own.

  When they finally left the philosophy enclave, they were quiet as they walked. They had talked themselves out. Nora wasn’t sure if anything was actually better. Sure, it had kind of been exhilarating thinking through everything, feeling as if a solution was just out of her grasp. But when it was all over, there
was no solution. Was that all philosophy led to? Confusion? Frustration? She knew now what she’d been afraid of when all these questions had started. It hadn’t been that her ideas would change. It had been that she would be left without any ideas whatsoever. And her fear had come true. She was more confused than ever.

  * * *

  Nora had never seen so many muses at a council meeting. Generally speaking, they weren’t well attended, because most muses thought they were boring. But this issue was of interest to the muses, apparently even more interest than when the holes had been ripped into the fabric of Helicon. That council meeting had seemed packed. This one was worse.

  The muses didn’t fit around the fire pit. They spilled out into the surrounding field, jostling closer, all trying to hear what was happening. Nora, Sawyer, and Maddie were close to the front, because they’d been at the fire pit for dinner. This meant that they could see and hear what was going on, but they were still uncomfortable, because they’d been pushed closer and closer to the fire by the muses behind them. They peered over the flames, wiping sweat from their foreheads.

  No one was able to sit down, because they were all pressed so close. Even the members of the council had to stand. They’d also been pushed close to the fire. When Phoebe called the council to order, she asked that someone put the fire out. Coeus saw to it immediately. With the fire doused, Nora could feel a cool breeze tickle her face.

  “All right,” said Phoebe. “Let’s get right down to this business of the play. I know that’s why everyone’s here, and if we get that out of the way, maybe we can get some breathing room.”

  Nora smiled to herself. That was a little bit of an about-face for Phoebe, who usually scolded the muses for not being more involved in the council. With everyone here, she must realize that it was impractical for every muse to come to every council meeting.

  “So,” Phoebe continued, “there are, as I understand it, two courses of action before us. One is to do nothing and to allow Julian to perform his play as is, with no modifications.”

  The crowd booed loudly. Sawyer had been right. It was easy to see which way this would go if it came down to a vote.