“Dionysus.” Silenus stumbled toward him on wobbly legs, attempting to walk on the hooves, but not quite having the hang of it. He’d dragged Syrinx out from behind the rocks and struggled to keep his balance and his hold on her at the same time. When he shoved her in front of Dionysus, she stumbled and ran toward the trees. Silenus garbled a stream of obscenities and searched the area around him. He smiled as his gaze fell on something beside the rocks.
Pan followed his line of sight and discovered that one of the warriors present had removed his armor and laid a spear down beside it. He must have been fresh from battle or on his way when he’d arrived here, but Pan didn’t have time to ponder any further. In slow motion, he could only watch as Silenus leaned down and gripped the spear. He stood up straight and threw it.
It struck true.
“No!”
Syrinx staggered, staining the green grass red upon her collapse. Pan didn’t remember moving, but he cradled her in his arms as best he could as she shuddered. The spear had caught her in the middle of her back, and she lay against his chest, facing him. The old man had surprisingly accurate aim, and Pan realized he’d underestimated the fool on many occasions. He wouldn’t again...if he lived long enough for there to be a next time.
He wasn’t sure what to do about the spearhead. If Pan were to remove it from Syrinx’s back the wound would bleed out swiftly. But to leave it in meant she’d suffer longer. Once more, he was left in a position that didn’t benefit Syrinx either way, and he was at a loss. He searched for a cure he would never find as he perused the grass and rocks in his immediate vicinity. Pan couldn’t heal a mortal wound; it wasn’t the same as stopping pain.
Of course! Her pain. He could stop her from feeling it.
Pan focused on her wound and hummed, concentrating to remove her agony. If it worked, he couldn’t tell. Syrinx caressed his face, and then she coughed. Blood dribbled out the side of her mouth, a harbinger of her time reaching its finality. “T-take me to...w-water...” Her breathing was erratic. Then she shuddered, gurgled wetly, and didn’t make a further sound. Her eyes stared at him, but she didn’t blink. The pupils lost their focus, dilating one final time as death took hold.
Oh gods, no! She couldn’t die when he’d just found her. There could have been a way around this. He could have saved her and they could have taken to the wilderness together. But now they never would. She’d belong to the Elysian Fields, and her body would belong to nature. Pan hugged her limp body close, but he refused to give into the sadness overtaking him in front of this crowd, especially not in front of Silenus or Dionysus. Through dampened eyes, he glared at the onlookers as he realized what Syrinx had meant by wanting to be taken to water.
Her body hadn’t formed a flower like Klytie’s had but remained cold in his arms. She would only seek water in death if she had been a water nymph. She must have instinctively known. “I’ll take you to the River. Don’t fret.” The words were a mere whisper, a breath against her cheek. He’d take her to where he first saw her.
“I guess this serves as adequate punishment,” Dionysus said from somewhere out of sight. As though death was even necessary! The other god had willed a curse upon him which hadn’t gone the way it had been intended, but he still sought out punishment for being denied a virgin’s blood upon his cock.
For the first time since Pan had been born to this world, there was murder in his heart. He’d start with Silenus for striking the death blow. He’d grab the man by his horns and split him in two, rip one out of his dead skull, and slice Dionysus open to spill his entrails. He’d rip the god asunder for the second time, but there would be no nymphs to nurture him back to health. Pan was preparing to make good on his fantasy when Pavlo leaped upon Silenus and began pummeling the older, taller man into the ground. Pavlo thought to rob Pan of his revenge? He delicately placed Syrinx on the ground and stood, fingers curled as though they were claws.
A flash of golden light was prelude to a gust of energy which sent Pan on his ass again. Apollo stood in the middle of the circle of newly distorted men, searching for something, disdainful at the deformities upon those he saw. Everything from his posture to his chin to his dramatically arched brows screamed of pure arrogance. Hair and eyes the color of the purest gold, his skin taking on a similar hue as well, the god was considered one of the most beautiful in creation. Even more so than the rumors of the mortal Adonis, who presently appeared so distraught over his pointy horns that he hadn’t moved from the ground and continued to touch their tips in disbelief.
Apollo’s gaze landed on Daphne, and he held out his hand. “Come to me.”
Daphne had once again taken her place beside Melancton, clinging to him as though seeking comfort or perhaps giving it. The man didn’t seem to mind and actually had one arm in front of the nymph in an effort to shield her from Apollo. Daphne didn’t move on command, and the god exhaled impatiently.
“Now.”
She hesitated at the order, but then Daphne pushed her way through the circle of men and took Apollo’s hand. Despite her earlier annoyance toward him, something like relief crossed her features. Apollo provided a means to escape the tragedy upon Kithairon, but when she glanced back to Melancton, the expression turned bleak.
“Where is Klytie?” Apollo asked, still taking in the scene, bewildered at the sight but not in the least bit concerned. Pan noted Dionysus had crept into the shadows and promptly flashed away. The nymphs in the shelter of trees no longer cared if they were seen as they poked their heads out to study the horned men and the golden god among them.
Daphne burst into tears and pointed to the hyacinth that grew in the place of the other nymph. Apollo beheld her grief-stricken face, the flower, and then Daphne again. It dawned on him slowly, as though he hadn’t remotely considered such a thing would happen unless he was the one to command it.
Overhead, a shadow had cast itself over the moon, darkening the night sky, leaving a sliver of pale light at the edge. Those who were superstitious cowered at the sight, considering it an omen of doom. And perhaps it was—darkness overtaking something of beauty, like death consuming a young maid who hadn’t yet lived her full life.
“Who did it?” Dionysus’ earlier demand was repeated, this time by yet another vengeful god. Unlike then, Daphne told him everything. Apollo narrowed his eyes at Pan as he listened to the story, nodding once or twice. The moon was completely shrouded in shadow when Apollo spoke again, “Dionysus has scampered away with his tail between his legs, but know this...”
Pan could see the pleading faces of the bystanders in the darkness, begging for release from Dionysus’ wrath, not realizing Apollo was a much crueler god. He hid it well with beauty, but underneath that golden facade, he was as vicious as they came. And when the air crackled once more with energy, Pan realized Apollo had not changed in the slightest.
“From this day forth, you are known to all as the Satyroi: men forced to walk this world forever in a partially beastlike form. Women will fear you upon the sight of your ugliness. Nymphs will abhor you and will be always hidden from your sight. And you will live your lives consumed by a raging lust that can never be sated.”
Daphne made a startled noise and said something to Apollo, who grunted as he considered her words. He then cocked his head to the side and nodded once.
“There is, of course, a way to relieve yourselves from this curse, for I am a merciful god.”
Pan barely kept himself from snorting.
Apollo raised a hand to gesture above him to the shadowed moon. “On the night of the Satyr Moon you were made into monsters, so it shall be under a Satyr Moon you can be changed back. As the nymphs shall be hidden from your sight once my decree is complete, the chances of redemption are not in your favor. Only a nymph can break your curse. A nymph must find you of her own free will, seek you out, allow you to see her, and accept you into her body under no guise of a human form. Should this happen, you will become a mortal again, fully restored to your human state to live out
a mortal life, as you were meant to.”
Nobody commented, but the expressions on everyone’s faces made it clear. They were all doomed. Dionysus had cursed them, but Apollo had laid out a sentence.
Apollo turned to Pan. “Or immortal, if that be the case. However, should you have sex with a nymph before the Satyr Moon, you will be stuck in this form eternally, as the nature of the curse would have consumed you too completely to be saved.” He smiled, looking pleased with himself for his cleverness in preventing any of them from ever breaking the wretched curse. Merciful indeed.
“As for Dionysus, for his slight, he shall be cast out of Olympus. Never again to step foot within the realm of the gods. Punishment for attempting to do so will be instant death.” He glanced at the Satyroi, sneering. “Do not think I have granted you only ill will. I’ve made you immortal. It’s a gift not given to many.”
Apollo and Daphne vanished without a further word after that final decree. True to his word, Pan no longer saw any of the nymphs in the wooded area where they had been lingering. He no longer sensed them either. It was strange not being able to do so when he had always been able to before, yet he could still see Syrinx. It may have been because she had been human that morning. Or because she was dead. There were so many things Pan didn’t understand, and he wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to.
He lifted Syrinx into his arms and tried to flash to the stream, but it wouldn’t work. He tried again. Nothing. Had he lost that power with the curse? Evidently it hadn’t affected Dionysus at all.
Feeling like he’d been made mortal, Pan carried Syrinx on unsteady, hoofed feet through the trees and down the limestone landscape in the direction of the Asopos. After what seemed like ages of stumbling, he set her body into the water and watched her sink like a rock under the surface. Moments later, seven new water reeds popped up among the many others.
A sob caught in his throat, and he choked it down. He wouldn’t cry; he had never done so in the past. It would solve nothing and would only make him more miserable. Pan sighed, startling himself when his breath made interesting sounds across the tops of the reeds—all that remained of an intriguing woman taken before her time.
Pan imagined a small dagger in his hand and was surprised when one appeared there. All of his powers hadn’t been taken from him after all. He cut the reeds where they broke the surface and bound them together with long blades of the water plants nearby and sealed the fastening with magic. The reeds were different sizes, and he arranged them shortest to tallest.
He experimented by blowing lightly on the ends of the pipes, content to hear the sound was a pleasant one. Deciding he would move on in the morning, he laid back in the grass in the same spot he’d awakened that morning to see her giggling at his nudity, and allowed himself to feel defeated.
The stars above him twinkled around the Satyr Moon in it’s the final stages. Soon the moon would be as it was, and life would continue. Pan closed his eyes and played a tune with the instrument. His syrinx. He would name it after her, a tribute to the immortal life she’d been denied. That he could have given her, had she been his.
Pan’s melody grew more frantic, darker, dripping with his despair. He wouldn’t shed tears, but he bared his soul to the stars above, knowing they would allow him to mourn without judgment.
Chapter Eleven
As the water rippled and lightened before Kat’s eyes, the images faded until only her reflection remained. Music filled the air until the final notes dissipated, but Pan didn’t speak. She blinked and tried to clear her thoughts; unfortunately, her mind was in chaos as it processed what she’d just seen. Pan really was a god. Her boss really was the Dionysus, and it had been so strange seeing him in the memories looking so different, being so cruel. Those poor women...
She reached up and discovered moisture on her cheeks and lashes. She’d felt every emotion and sensation Pan had in the memories: the shock and confusion of becoming a satyr, the intense, sexual gratification when he had his way with those women. The pleasure had coursed through her loins, bringing her to orgasm as he climaxed.
She’d felt his utter despair when Syrinx had died in his arms, when he was powerless to save her. He’d believed he loved Syrinx though he’d only known her less than the course of one day. The statue at the center of the fountain captured a pretty accurate likeness from her clothing down to her hair and the shape of her face as she leaned down, sticking her fingers into the cool water below. He’d kept her memory alive for thousands of years.
Unsure how to comment after seeing such a painful memory, Kat quit staring at the spot in the water where the images had been. Fungus grew at the bottom of the pool and gave the liquid a pale green hue. Pan’s appeared just over her left shoulder in the reflection. He didn’t have to say anything as his gaze met hers through their mirrored image, searching her expression.
It hadn’t been a walk in the park, but to Kat’s understanding of ancient Greece, the events that had occurred in the vision were not all that surprising. The tales of the gods alone were full of sex, incest, rape, and bastards being born to human mothers, but seeing Pan with other women affected her on a different level.
This confused her since she’d not expected him to have lived as a monk. It wasn’t even so much the shock of having been privy to such intimate moments in his past, not really. How could she ever—if she decided to give him a go, and she wasn’t saying she would—live up to the insatiable nymphs he’d once known? They were the only ones who could break his curse, and she was pretty damned sure she wasn’t one. She’d know, wouldn’t she? Kat had never turned into a tulip or a pussy willow or anything crazy like that.
As far as Pan’s hand in what happened to Syrinx, Kat couldn’t find it in her heart to blame him for being unable to stop the horror of that night. He’d tried to find the best way to spare Syrinx, not himself, and every option had been risky. Kat understood why he blamed himself, but she didn’t think it was really his fault. Syrinx had tricked him into having sex with her, and that had been the catalyst for the whole disaster. Not that it was entirely Syrinx’s fault, because she was a victim too, but she’d put Pan in the situation he’d been in because she’d deceived him.
There were too many people that could be blamed: Syrinx for her dishonesty, Silenus for offering his wife to Dionysus, Pavlo for using his sister to bargain with, and Dionysus for being a pig. Sure, Pan could have done something more, but considering how Dionysus reacted, people would have been hurt regardless. And everyone who’d witnessed the proceedings that night could have acted as well. No one had stood up for Syrinx, and that had been the worst part of it all. Pan, who’d had the most cause to do it, had taken the responsibility of shouldering that guilt onto himself.
“Thank you for trusting me with that memory.”
Pan’s reflection inclined his head back at her.
“I have questions, though.” Things had been nagging at Kat’s thoughts since the water cleared.
“Ask.” Pan betrayed no emotion behind the word. “If you didn’t have any questions, I would have worried.”
She turned to face him and paused to unstick her sleeve where sticky, sweet scented pine sap remained from helping clear the fountain of branches. “Why was the dialect so modern?” Some of it had sounded like casual, present-day English. They’d had accents, but the dialect itself hadn’t felt particularly old. She understood everything like it had been a movie she rented for the weekend, only set in Greece. At least no one had a British accent.
Pan smiled wryly. “Would you have preferred I kept it in the ancient Greek tongue?” He muttered something afterward in what she assumed was Greek.
“What?”
“I said, ‘Can you hear me now?’”
Kat snorted. “You translated your memories for me?” She stretched out her scarred leg, which felt tight and achy, as she stood. That was very thoughtful of him and...sweet, in a way. Pan considered how the best way of sharing his secrets should be presented to her, but it
was pretty astounding he shared it at all. He had no reason to.
“It would defeat the purpose of showing you the memory if you couldn’t decipher it. I could change the words to modern equivalents, but I couldn’t produce subtitles. Cinema Pan can only do so much.”
“That’s sort of amazing. They didn’t even look like they were originally speaking a different language, like in the old Godzilla movies.” The way he could work illusion was fascinating. Kat eyed the panpipes in his hand, forgotten after the song had completed. They didn’t look the same as the syrinx in the memory. These were made of some type of shoot, maybe bamboo, and they were slightly smaller. The color was darker and a leather cord tied them together. “You really are quite the musician.”
“I tried to tell you before, but you didn’t want to listen.” One side of his mouth tipped up. He noted her gaze upon his instrument, “This isn’t the syrinx.” At her puzzled look, he added, “You think it’s strange I don’t have it on me, don’t you? It’s hidden away.” He didn’t offer any more information.
“One other question?”
“Of course.”
“The curse itself, how did speaking it make it happen? You aren’t, like, wizards or anything, are you?”
“No, we aren’t wizards. But it’s a fair assessment. In short, we do perform magic, in the sense that we can conjure items and create illusion, among other things. As to the curse, a decree from a god cannot be broken. Some call it the will of the gods, and that ability is part of the reason we were labeled as deities. Our word is law when we want it to be, and making the human race bow down and obey was made easy with this power. It’s hard to explain how it works. Though, it is most often only accessible to us when we get really angry.” He frowned. “At least, with me it is. I, uh, never took learning what I could do seriously. As you can see, I sort of screwed up the counter curse.”
“You did your best. You can’t allow the past to rule your present.”
The Cursed Satyroi: Volume One Collection Page 13