Danny

by Steven Piziks

  “Shhh,” Zeus soothed, mistaking Ganymede tears for something else. “There’s nothing to fear with me.”

  “It’s not that,” Ganymede said. “I’m just … happy.”

  Zeus smiled, filling Ganymede’s world with sunshine. “Let me show you how happy a god can be.”

  A long, long time later, Zeus finally allowed a sore and exhausted Ganymede to fall asleep.

  When he awoke, the sun was still shining overhead, but Zeus was gone. Ganymede felt a little empty at that, even a little ticked off, and he chided himself over it—Zeus couldn’t be expected to hang around with Ganymede all the time. Still naked, he swung his feet over the side of the bed, expecting to feel last night’s soreness again but feeling none. He felt perfectly fine, in fact. He didn’t have to pee, and he didn’t have morning mouth. Being an immortal had advantages.

  He wondered where his wine-red tunic had gone, and before the thought had finished, he was wearing it. On the table beside the bed Ganymede also found Zeus’s golden goblet along with a bone-handled knife and a small wineskin. Ganymede dressed, slid the knife and goblet into his belt, and slung the wineskin over his shoulder.

  And then he realized he had no idea what he was supposed to do next. He supposed if Zeus wanted him, he’d know somehow. But what was he supposed to do the rest of the time? He had nothing to do, no place to be, and it felt weird.

  If nothing else, then, he could explore the rest of Olympus.

  The hallway outside Zeus’s bedroom started off as a misty corridor of stone, but it quickly changed into a breezeway, and then a carpeted walk through a narrow garden with a burbling fountain in it. Side corridors sprouted and twisted off in dozens of directions. By all rights, Ganymede should have become instantly lost, but he didn’t. He knew exactly where he was, even if he had no idea where he was going.

  He rounded a corner and found a pleasure garden. Lush vines sprinkled with honey-scented pink flowers hung down from heavy trees. A brook wound over stones, laughing to itself under a warm, golden sun. And on a couch beneath one of the trees reclined Aphrodite, the goddess of love herself. Long white-blond hair spilled down her back, falling in waves to her feet and gleaming with tiny sapphires and emeralds. Her wide blue eyes brimmed with dew and longing, and her pink lips parted just enough to show a smile as fine as rare pearls. Her hands, soft and delicate as flowers, trailed languidly down a blue gown that was almost, but not quite, transparent. Her full, curvy body moved tantalizingly beneath rustling silk. Ganymede stood, transfixed. Aphrodite caught sight of him and a small smile crossed her face. Ganymede gasped—he had made this lovely, impossibly perfect woman smile. His heart beat faster and a thin trickle of sweat slipped down his back.

  “Hello, Ganymede,” she said in a low voice covered in velvet promises. “Please come closer. Do you like my garden?”

  Ganymede managed to make himself approach. His groin felt tight, and he gripped the bone handle of the knife at his belt with white fingers. Aphrodite gestured to him, and an entire world of sensuality opened in her hand.

  “Very beautiful,” he managed to croak. Then the manners that had been pounded into him at court took over. “Would you like something to drink, great lady?”

  “I would, thank you,” Aphrodite said with a smile that nearly melted him into a puddle. She produced a silver cup out of nothing and held it out to him. Ganymede unslung the wineskin from his shoulder.

  “Just cold water, please,” she said.

  Without thinking about it, Ganymede poured. Ice-cold water sparkled from the spout, neatly filling Aphrodite’s cup. She drank deeply, making little purring noises that sent shivers over Ganymede’s skin. Then she ran a warm finger down Ganymede’s bare arm. Ganymede nearly fainted, and his hard-on nearly burst through his tunic. A part of him was aware that if he were a mortal, he would have died of a heart attack or burst into flame on the spot.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “You’re such a handsome young man, and believe me, I know beauty. I understand why Zeus chose you.”

  “Th-thank you,” Ganymede stammered.

  She patted the couch the next to her, and Ganymede gingerly sat down. The soft scent of her was overpowering, and only awe prevented him from trying to take her in his arms.

  “You must be so lonely,” she said. “Snatched up here like this, and all your friends left back on Earth.”

  “A little bit,” he replied.

  “I’ll let you in on a secret.” She leaned toward him. The front of her gown lowered slightly, and Ganymede thought his heart might break out of his ribs. “My son Eros gets lonely, too. He’s thousands of years old, but deep down, he’s still a teenage boy like you. It would be so nice if he had someone like himself to be friends with, don’t you think?”

  “Uh, sure,” Ganymede said, a little surprised. “I mean, I met him at the feast last night, and he seemed pretty cool.”

  Aphrodite leaned back again. “Wonderful! He likes to hang around the orchards. I think he’s there now. Why don’t you go see?”

  “Yeah, all right.”

  “But don’t tell him I said so, darling. He’d be dreadfully embarrassed that I told you he’s lonely.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  She blew him a kiss that was more than half orgasm. “Our little secret.”

  And then the garden was gone. Ganymede found himself standing on an empty, flat lawn surrounded by a high stone wall. A single iron gate provided an exit. Ganymede had been through too much to be surprised at this, though he did wonder how to find the orchard. Then he remembered the goblet. He removed it from his belt and looked deep into the golden depths, concentrating on Eros and the orchards. Almost instantly, he knew where to go and how to get there. This immortal stuff wasn’t that hard after all. He was glad to figure out where Eros was—he had seemed like a nice guy, and Ganymede himself needed a friend.

  A short walk through more halls and pathways, and Ganymede found the orchard. It was huge, covering acres of hilly ground beneath a clear blue sky. Every kind of fruit tree imaginable grew there, creating a crazy quilt of smells and colors, and bright blossoms bloomed beside fully ripe fruit on the same trees.

  Ganymede heard the zip and thup of someone shooting a bow. He followed the noise to Eros. His back was to Ganymede, and his white wings shone brilliantly in the golden sunlight. As Ganymede watched, he threw an apple high into the air, then snatched an arrow from the quiver on his back, nocked it, and let fly. The arrow shot straight to the arcing apple and sliced it cleanly in two.

  “Nice shot,” Ganymede said.

  “Thanks,” Eros said without turning around. He flicked a lock of red hair out of his eyes, tossed another apple, cut it in half. “Gets boring after a while, though.”

  Ganymede leaned against a tree. “I’ve heard everything does.”

  “You wanna do something?” Eros asked. He dropped the bow, and it vanished before it hit the ground.

  “Like what?”

  “I dunno. You figure out how to travel down to earth yet?”

  “No. I went last night, but Iris took me.”

  “I could show you. We could mess around down there for a while. Come here and take out that goblet.”

  Ganymede obeyed. “Is it hard?”

  “Nah. You ever been to Athens?” Eros asked, and Ganymede shook his head. “Then let’s go there. Okay, you’re the cup bearer, so that means you can see and go anywhere there’s liquid, which is pretty much the whole damn world, right? So think about Athens. Reach out and find the water there.”

  “But I’ve never been to Athens,” Ganymede protested. “I don’t know what it’s like.”

  “It comes naturally to us immortals,” Eros explained patiently. “You’re a part of the world, and it’s a part of you. Moving around in it is like touching your own foot or your own ear. You just reach out and do it. Don’t worry—I’ll follow you.”

  Ganymede looked into the goblet and tried to do as Eros said, thinking about Athens, a place he’d only
heard of but never visited. He didn’t see how it would be possible. But then suddenly it was possible. He felt all the water in the world, all the swirls and eddies, and he knew the names of all the places where water gathered, and he felt like he could reach any one of them, just like a baby reaches for a shiny toy. He reached for Athens. There was a rush of water, and he was there, in the middle of the stone city of Athens. Crowds of people dressed in tunics, dresses, and togas swirled around them. Horses, donkeys, chariots, and carts moved slowly down the streets. Women filled jugs at the fountains, merchants shouted from booths at the tops of their lungs, food smells drifted across the breeze, and hot steam leaked from bath houses.

  “Wow!” Ganymede said. “It worked.”

  “Not bad,” Eros agreed beside him. They were standing in the middle of a busy street, but everyone walked around them. “In case you’re wondering, the mortals won’t see us unless we want them too. We aren’t invisible—that takes a lot of energy—but we’re too cool for them to comprehend, so they ignore us.”

  Ganymede waved his hand in front of a passing woman. She moved around him, clearly aware that he was there but not acknowledging him, either. “Wow,” he said again. “Why was my brother Ilos able to see me yesterday?”

  “You wanted him to see you, duh.”

  “Oh. So now what do we do?”

  Eros grabbed his arm and pointed. “Hey, a wedding! I love weddings! Come on.”

  He drew Ganymede into a small temple. The front was columns and stone walls, painted bright colors Iris would have loved. A line of people was trailing into the front door, laughing and shouting and banging tambourines. Once everyone was inside, a priestess of Hera called the bride and groom up to the altar, and she started the ceremony while the crowd of friends and family watched. Heavy, sweet incense smoke hung in the still air. The wedding couple were both Ganymede’s age and dressed in their best clothes. The bride wore flowers in her hair. Eros and Ganymede stood to one side of the temple, and once again, everyone avoided them.

  “Watch this,” Eros said with a wide, mischievous grin. He drew a bright, golden arrow from his quiver, nocked it to the bow that had appeared in his hands, aimed, and held it. “Give it just a second.”

  “A second for what?” Ganymede asked, a little nervous. “I’ve heard all about your love arrows. You even get scratched with one and you fall in love with next person you see, right?”

  “Yeah. See that good-looking guy with dark hair and eyes standing near the front?” Eros said. “His name is Aison, and he’s the groom’s best friend. The bride’s name is Evadne.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Water is your thing, relationships are mine.” His grin stretched wider. “Wait for it …”

  As the priestess chanted over the wedding couple, Evadne glanced over at Aison. The second she did, Eros let fly. The arrow streaked across the chamber, thudded into her chest, and vanished, leaving no visible wound. His hands a blur, Eros drew another arrow and shot it at Aison. It struck his chest just as his gaze met Evadne’s. Their eyes both widened, and Aison stiffened. They held the look for a long, aching moment. Then Evadne remembered herself and turned back to the ceremony. Eros burst out laughing, though no one in the room seemed to notice.

  “What’s going on?” Ganymede demanded.

  “The groom’s best friend has suddenly developed a hard-on for the bride,” Eros said. He was bent double now, holding his stomach with laughter. The priestess of Hera spoke the final words, marrying Evadne to her new husband. They kissed, but Ganymede saw her looking at Aison out of the corner of her eye. Aison’s eyes were full of desire.

  “It’ll be great!” Eros chortled. “Aison’ll do it doggie style with his best friend’s wife on a regular basis, starting tonight. They’re gonna sneak out during the party this very evening and pound each other in the courtyard while the groom drinks his wedding wine. Half of Evadne’s children will come from Aison’s balls, and that poor shlub will never know. What a chump!”

  Ganymede stared at him. “That’s a shitty thing to do.”

  “Fun, though.” Eros wiped his eyes. “Come on—let’s see what other trouble we can make.” He grabbed Ganymede’s shoulder and drew him out of the temple, back into the busy streets. Eros seemed to be looking for something.

  “There,” he said, pointing.

  Ganymede followed his finger. A group of teenagers, boys and girls, walked together, talking and laughing.

  “That brown-haired boy on the edge—the one eating the apple—has been in love with that redheaded girl in the middle for their entire lives, but she’s barely aware he’s alive,” Ganymede said. He shot another golden arrow into the little group just as the girl in question shot a quick glance at the brown-haired boy just as he took a bite of apple. A strange expression came over her face.

  “They’ll be married within the year,” Eros predicted with a little smile.

  “So you’re not a total asshole,” Ganymede said, feeling a little better about his new friend.

  Eros thwapped Ganymede on the shoulder. “Nah. It’s just the nature of love and lust. Hey—how about you choose the next one?”

  “Me?” Ganymede felt a little honored. “Sure! Let’s see.” He scanned the crowd and picked out a muscular man in his twenties wearing the leather skirt and bronze breastplate of a Greek warrior. Two spears crossed in an X across his back. “What about him?”

  “Oooo, good choice. That’s Linus, son of Leander. His last girlfriend left him for another guy and broke his heart. It’s killing him, and he’s sworn he’ll never love any woman ever again.”

  Linus approached another warrior who was standing on a corner. The two of them briefly clasped each other’s forearms, the Greek way of shaking hands, and headed toward a building that emitted drunken laughter.

  “Who’s his friend?” Ganymede asked.

  “Phrixus. He just joined Linus’s division and they became friends yesterday. He’s a country boy who’s never been off the farm until he joined the army.”

  Feeling a little mischievous himself, Ganymede said, “Linus swore he’d never love any woman, right? So do them both.”

  “You got it.” Two golden arrows flashed across the street. Linus and Phrixus both paused in the doorway of the bar they were entering and stared at each other for a long moment. Then they slowly went inside. Eros clapped Ganymede on the back. “Good one, guy. How about—uh oh.”

  Ganymede, still glowing in the praise he’d received from Eros and unexpectedly wishing Iris was there to see it, turned. “What’s the matter?”

  “Her.” A woman in her thirties was just passing them. Her lower lip was puffy and bruises had darkened around her left eye. Her face was filled with fear and sorrow. “Yuck.”

  “What’s her deal?” Ganymede asked.

  “Husband hits her. She could leave him—her sister’s family has said they’d take her in—but she still loves her husband. Or thinks she does.” Eros drew a different arrow, an ugly gray stick of lead, and shot it at the bruised woman. She halted in mid-stride, oblivious to the foot traffic now swirling around her. New expressions crossed her face—dislike, disbelief, determination. Then she moved on, her stride quicker.

  “She’ll leave him now,” Eros said.

  They spent the rest of the day wandering around the city, Eros making people fall in and out of love. Ganymede discovered it was kind of fun eavesdropping in bits of people’s lives, even if he didn’t always like the pairings Eros made or broke. Eros, for his part, was as capricious as a monkey, sometimes making his choices at total random, sometimes choosing carefully, and sometimes going strictly for laughs.

  As the sun started to set, Eros grew quieter. “Want to see something really interesting?” he said.

  “Sure!” Ganymede said.

  “Then take hold.” Eros grabbed Ganymede’s hand and the world twisted. Then they were standing on a lightly-wooded mountainside. A herd of sheep graced among the trees, and rocks poked up throu
gh the grass like gray bones. In front of them gaped the opening to a cave.

  “What are we doing here?” Ganymede asked.

  Eros put up a finger. “Not so loud,” he whispered. “You’ll ruin it.” He led Ganymede toward the cave and they slipped inside. Though it was dark, Ganymede had no trouble seeing. He noticed he was still holding Eros’s hand. It was warm and smooth, and he could feel the bowman’s calluses on his fingers. He liked holding Eros’s hand, and for some reason, thoughts of Iris came to mind. Eros tightened his grip on Ganymede’s hand, and Ganymede swallowed, wondering what Eros wanted to show him. Was it just a ploy to get him alone? Eros was amazingly handsome, with his sunset hair and sky-blue eyes and shining white wings, and he knew how to have fun. The idea of spending time alone with Eros made his heart beat faster with both anticipation and a little uncertainty.

  Then he heard voices coming from the cave tunnel ahead of him—a man and a woman. Eros put a finger to his lips and brought Ganymede farther forward. The tunnel made a turn, and the two of them peered carefully around it. There, on the cave’s sandy floor, lay a beautiful blond woman. Her homespun woolen dress gaped open, revealing round breasts. It came to Ganymede that she was a shepherdess and her sheep were grazing outside the cave.

  Lying beside her on the cave floor was Zeus.

  He was naked, and completely hard. He was staring into the shepherdess’s eyes, and she was staring back with a look of absolute, adoring love. Ganymede’s mouth fell open. Even as he watched, Zeus stroked the woman’s hair and face and breasts, then rolled on top of her and pushed into her. She cried out and arched up to meet him.

  “You’re my favorite,” Zeus gasped in his deep voice as his buttocks worked up and down. “Now and forever, my favorite. For as long as the sun shines and moon glides through the sky, my favorite.”

  Ganymede felt sick. His stomach turned and he was afraid he’d throw up. He didn’t want to be there, hear the noises, see the sight. He wanted to be somewhere else. With that thought, he was suddenly back in the orchard on Mount Olympus. He dropped to his knees, smashed down by the weight of what he’d seen.