Callisto was shocked but unafraid, and since she had her lady’s ear, she was disinclined to lose it. “You could not tell me anything I would not cherish to hear.”
Artemis wiped the last of her tears off her cheek. The bridge of her nose was dusted with freckles, and Callisto was determined to worship each one. “I met him on a hunt not long ago. I knew better, but—well, I suppose I didn’t.” The sound of her voice was different than Callisto had imagined in her dreams. It was raspier, deeper, richer. It was wine on parched lips and the moon in a pitch black sky. “He was mortal. Handsome.” She looked sharply at Callisto. “Like you.”
Callisto would learn later the more intimate details of Artemis’ brief love for the ill-fated Orion. How he was not only handsome, but the handsomest mortal in all of Greece. She’d met him as they both hunted down the same stag. After long years spent in the mountains, his strong body and stunning face captured her heart. By the time they caught the stag, she loved him, or thought she did.
In the temple, Artemis’ sadness turned swiftly into anger as she placed blame on her brother Apollo's shoulders. “I was with him on Mount Olympus, and he said, ‘Artemis, see that dark shape bobbing in the water? I bet you cannot hit it with your arrow.’” She was gorgeous in her anger, but Callisto would never wish it aimed in her direction. She doubted she could survive anything so fierce. “I hit it easily, as he knew I would, and when I went down to claim my prize, it was my Orion I had killed.”
“Why would Apollo do such a thing?”
“He claimed it was in my best interest. He is warped and selfish. I wonder how he would like it if my next target was one of his muses.” She sank her hands into the wolf closest her, burying her fingers in its fur. “I tried to revive him. I asked Apollo’s son to help me, for he is greatly gifted in the art of medicine, but my father, he struck Asclepius down with one of his thunderbolts before the job could be finished, and Orion slipped away from me.”
To hear such talk of the gods was jarring, but Callisto was determined to be steady for Artemis. And though she felt no especial sadness for the death of this handsome Orion, she felt sorrow aplenty for Artemis’ loss. Would she could create a thousand Orions for her to love. But she had only herself to offer.
“You’ve been done an injustice,” she said. “I would help to ease your pain, if you will allow me.”
Artemis looked at her again, and Callisto felt naked under her gaze. In a strong but quiet voice, she replied, “Help me.”
Callisto offered the goddess her hand and they walked outside the temple, where night had fallen. The sky was full of stars, and Callisto pointed out her favorite stories. “There is Ganymede, forever pouring his cup of wine. And there is Persephone, awaiting her love in the springtime. There is the giant crab Hera sent to kill Heracles.” She turned to Artemis and prayed she was not out of line. “You can put him in the heavens. That way, you will always remember him, and you can look on him whenever you long to see his face.”
A wind picked up, strong enough to blow back Artemis’ hair, and in the starlight she glowed only as a goddess could. “A fine idea. She lifted a hand to the sky and closed her eyes. Callisto could have watched the stars align to create Orion high above, but instead she watched her goddess, lids shut and lashes long, skin smooth, lips full. She was more pleasing to look at than the stars, and Callisto wanted to look at her always. Though she’d made her decision long ago, now was the moment to ask.
She bowed to one knee when Artemis was finished, waited until she had her eyes. “I came to your temple tonight seeking to serve you, and instead I have found you,” she began. “Let me join your nymphs and be your companion, Artemis. It is all I have ever dreamed of.”
Artemis smiled, and Callisto could have died contented. Instead, she lived, because Artemis offered her life. “You may join me,” she said. “But I’d like two things from you. The first is your name, little huntress.”
She’d forgotten the bow slung around her back until that moment, and now could feel the uncomfortable twinge as it dug into her skin, pushed there by the awkwardness of her kneeling. “My name is Callisto. I am the daughter of King Lycaon.”
“And King Lycaon will not withhold sacrifices to me in resentment for taking his daughter’s attentions?”
“No,” answered Callisto with a shake of her head. “King Lycaon has never known what to do with his daughter. I left his palace with permission to serve you, in one way or another.”
“A convenience for me, then,” Artemis said, “that I do not have to bribe him with hides in order to keep you.” She touched Callisto’s cheek. “But I would have done so.”
Callisto sighed at her soft touch, but it didn’t linger.
“The second thing I must ask of you can be asked in the presence of all my companions, if you will walk with me a little ways up the mountain.”
“I will walk with you into Hades,” Callisto whispered, taking Artemis’ offered hand and rising to her feet.
She’d left her father that morning dressed in her hunting clothes, and her shoes were fit for hiking up the mountain’s terrain. The trees were dense in some sections, and far-spaced in others, little green meadows with ponds to drink from and vining flowers, night blossoms stretching their heads up to the moonlight that shone between the treetops. It was in one of these meadows, roughly a mile or two from the temple and cradled in a dense wall of leafy trees, where Artemis finally stopped.
She took the bow off her back and leaned her quiver against a trunk, then stretched her arms high above her head in a stretch. She grinned at Callisto and whistled, and the entire meadow changed.
Suddenly, there were dozens and dozens of nymphs filling the space, singing and talking and laughing, sprawled on flat rocks or in the grass, twisting crowns of flowers or tending a pack of hunting hounds. More were at the meadow’s edge, feeding sugar cubes to horses and popping a few into their own mouths. A gold chariot sat nearby, partially obscured by curling vines, but its gleam was glittery and bold, even in the shade of night.
So much movement and activity and spirit, and it all stopped as soon as Artemis jumped atop the highest rock in the meadow and held up a hand.
Callisto’s heart raced to be amongst Artemis’ nymphs. She awaited the next moments, when Artemis would reveal the second thing she required from her companions. It was this:
“My friends,” she said. “Orion is dead and I have killed him. I pierced his heart with one of my arrows. But I have learned something from this. I know more of myself than ever before. If I had not loved him, he would still be alive. But not loving men is not enough. Not only will I never wed, I will remain chaste. No man will ever know me. And as my most treasured friends and companions, I must demand the same of you.” She leapt from the rock to walk among them, her fingers brushing golden braids and pink cheeks until she reached Callisto and played with a strand of thick curls. “Never lay with a man. Promise it, or leave me.”
No one left her. None even considered it, and after each had freshly avowed their loyalty and love, it was Callisto’s turn. Artemis kissed her when it was done, and then a cup of wine was passed around the meadow in celebration. There were some whispers of Orion amongst the nymphs that first night, and often Artemis would look up at the sky to catch sight of him shining in the heavens, but the atmosphere was one of celebration, not mourning. It felt like a new beginning, one Callisto could share in.
The nymphs put braids in her hair and draped flower necklaces around her neck, and by sunrise, she felt she belonged for the very first time. As for swearing off men, she held no grief for such a promise. It was more a relief than a hardship, and every time she glanced at Artemis and caught her smile, she forgot that men even existed.
Men, however, did not forget about Artemis.
One day, not long after the night they met, Artemis was on the hunt, and Callisto was with her. They were breathless and sweaty, weaving between trees and darting around rocks, dashi
ng around the mountainside on the heels of a great stag. A few times already, Artemis had the creature in her sights, but she’d missed easy shots, choosing to lead it further on instead, and prolong the glory of the chase. Callisto had to struggle to keep up with the goddess’ ruthless pace, but she managed well enough, scraping her knees against thorny brush, her senses honed sharply on the rustling of branches and the beat of hooves as the stag dodged and dashed ahead of them.
The stag would earn its freedom that night, though not because Artemis could not catch him. They lost its track only when the goddess stopped mid-run to grab Callisto and push her against the nearest tree. She wasn’t gentle, but her aggression was not unkindly aimed. She slapped a palm over Callisto’s mouth and leaned close to whisper in her ear.
“Someone is hunting us,” she warned.
Callisto nodded her understanding, not wanting to move and scare away Artemis’ touch. But her palm slid away anyway, after a moment longer of pressing, and Callisto breathed a ragged puff of air, her eyes darting all around them. The moon was bright and she could see well. “I see nothing,” she said, but that was no surprise. Callisto might have been skilled, but Artemis was a master. Not only could she sense they were being followed, she could look into the trees and know. Whether from scent or sight, Callisto was never sure.
“I thought it might be him,” Artemis growled, and a wicked smile split her face. “My brother warned me, and here he is. Alpheus.”
“The river god?” Callisto asked, still recovering steady breaths after having Artemis so close.
“He thinks he’s in love with me, the idiot.” She looked from the trees and back to Callisto. “Let us show him what happens to fools who try and hunt the huntress.”
A strong hand enclosed her own, and Artemis ran from the cover of the tree, tugging Callisto along. They ran faster than the wind; the goddess had been holding back before. She’d not wanted to run too far ahead during their chase. But now, Artemis’ speed sank into Callisto’s skin, down to her feet, and she ran and ran, hardly breathing for her laughter.
Artemis was laughing too, great bouts of gaiety that echoed through the forest, baiting their pursuer. Though they had strayed an hour’s length from the meadow at the beginning of their hunt, they returned within minutes, rushing into the clearing with manic, excited smiles. Artemis released Callisto’s hand and fell to the ground. She pulled from her belt a buckskin of water and poured it over a grassless spot of earth. Mud formed from her efforts, white as the tree bark surrounding the meadow.
“Gather around me,” she called to the nymphs, scooping her hands into the mud. She covered her face with it, smearing it thick across her cheeks and brow and chin, down her neck and along the top of her chest. As the nymphs gathered close and scooped mud onto each other’s faces, Artemis pulled at Callisto’s wrist until she toppled to the ground beside her. “Let me help you,” she laughed, and set her muddy palms to Callisto’s cheeks.
The white smears masked well the brightness of her blush, Artemis’ thumbs swirling over the straight line of Callisto’s nose and grazing the bottom swell of her lip. Dexterous fingers danced down her throat and smeared with greater pressure the top of Callisto’s chest. She wondered if Artemis could feel the way her heart pounded.
A moment later, the goddess cocked her head to the side, like a deer detecting danger, and then she shushed her nymphs and bid them all to lay motionless upon the ground. Callisto found a spot beside her, because it had been saved. She scooted close, lying on her back, her curving waist lined up with Artemis’ narrow one. She felt nymphs pressed against her legs and on her other side, felt the vibration of their giddiness. Artemis told them all to be as still and silent as death, but she said it through her own laughter.
When he entered the clearing, nothing stirred.
“Artemis!” the river god called.
Callisto’s eyes were closed, but she could hear him as he stalked around the meadow on pompous, entitled feet. Artemis squeezed her wrist.
“I know you’re here somewhere!” he said, his voice strained with irritation.
But still, he could not see them. They lay in the open, but Artemis’ disguise worked like magic. To him, they were moonlit rocks and pools of mud. He could not see his quarry lying only a few yards away, her chest heaving from the effort not to laugh.
“Come out, Artemis!” he tried again, kicking a rock that landed on Callisto’s knee. “You can’t keep running. You truly think you can avoid me forever? When will you learn you need a man’s guidance, Artemis? All this traipsing about the mountainside. It’s enough to drive me crazy.”
He stayed in the clearing a few minutes more, bitching, the way men do when they do not get their way. And then a sound or an idea took him further into the trees. As soon as he was clear, Artemis let out her saved laughter, and the nymphs joined her in a chorus of it.
Callisto opened her eyes. Artemis was above her, turned on her side, her head thrown back as her amusement filled the forest.
“I cannot believe a woman would have been as easily fooled by our masks,” she declared. “You would not have been, would you, Callisto?”
Callisto believed she would find Artemis, no matter how many layers of mud were stacked between them, and she answered exactly that. Her mud mask cracked when she smiled up at her goddess, having dried up as they lay in wait.
“A man’s guidance,” Artemis scoffed, her hand falling to Callisto’s hip, “is nearly as useless as the man himself.”
Sometimes, more than one man came to hunt Artemis.
Ephialtes and Otis were brothers, and their bullheaded determination to bed Artemis ended far worse than the river god’s mere humiliation.
They came one day as the sun set, stalking into the clearing and demanding her audience. Callisto had not joined Artemis on her hunt that afternoon, had stayed behind with the others to mend a tear in the skirt of Artemis’ saffron tunic. She and the others looked up at the men with distaste, though a few of them shared giggles. It was rare to see a man, let alone a pair of them, and the brothers were muscular and tall. Callisto thought them bulky and rude, and once she’d gingerly set aside the precious tunic, she was the one to rise first and address the unwelcome visitors.
“The goddess is hunting,” she said, walking up to the brothers. They stared openly at her, and she wondered vaguely what they saw. She’d been living with the nymphs for a time now. Did the ways of the forest reflect in her wild curls and the carelessly fringed hem of her tunic? Did they see the dirt on her knees and imagine her bent low, Artemis before her? “What do you want?”
“We want to speak to Artemis, not one of her whores,” spat the taller, uglier one.
A flash through the air, followed by the crack of splitting wood.
The men jumped, startled, and looked behind them at the arrow Artemis had loosed between them.
She appeared in the meadow and stalked angrily towards them. They had the audacity not to cower. They did not even bow graciously in her presence.
But Callisto did, and in return, she felt Artemis’ hand close gently over the back of her neck, giving her a squeeze of hello.
“Speak to any of my companions that way again and I will cut out your tongues and feed them to my hounds,” she said. “Why are you here?”
The taller man’s face was warped into such arrogance, Callisto wished him to lose his tongue regardless. He stepped forward, hands on his belt and hips swaggering obscenely. “I am Ephialtes,” he said.
“Yes, I know,” sniped Artemis. “And your brother is Otis. I did not ask your names. I asked why you are here.”
“You see, my lady,” the brother Otis spoke up, “I supposed only a truly great man, a man of perfect stamina and skill, could conquer you. Ephialtes thinks he is that man, but I know it is me.”
“Otis is delusional,” Ephialtes sneered. “I am the man with the strength to tumble you properly.”
Callisto feared she was
red with rage at their disrespect, but Artemis was cool and untouched by their claims. “You both think you can bed me? And that I need bedding?” she asked.
“Why else would you stay out here in the wild,” Otis inquired, “if you did not want a capable man to come and earn his rights to you?”
“Hmm.” She circled them slowly.
With a quick whistle, her nymphs scattered to the trees surrounding the meadow. They clung to tree trunks and each other, watching from the shadows. Callisto stayed where she was. She would not leave her goddess’ side when mongrels such as these were present. Artemis glanced at her and they exchanged a small, secretive smile.
“I have been lonely here, with only my companions to keep me warm at night,” Artemis said. She stopped behind the brothers and tapped their shoulders. They whipped around to face her. Callisto could no longer see their faces, but she could see Artemis’ very well. “A proposition for you both. If you are man enough to accept.”
“I am man enough,” Ephialtes said.
“Not as man enough as I,” Otis remarked.
“We will see which of you is man enough to lie with me,” said Artemis. “I see your spears.”
The men gripped their weapons tight, the shafts long and pointed.
“This is what we will do. The man who can pin me with his spear, can pin me with his spear.”
The nymphs laughed from the trees. Callisto didn’t find it nearly as funny.
“Whoever spears you first can have you?” Otis asked. His smile was sickening. His brother’s was worse. Crude and confident.
“That’s right,” Artemis said. “But it won’t be as simple as that. You have to catch me first, and I won’t be easy to catch.” She met Callisto’s eyes as her fingers deftly unclasped the sleeves of her tunic. The cloth slid down her body. She slowly removed her hunting boots, then tossed her bundle of clothing over the men’s shoulders for Callisto to catch.
She stood naked in the meadow. Supple and sleek, her skin tan and dark. A humble chest and muscular backside. A daring, dangerous grin. A flash of amusement for Callisto. And then the woman was gone, and before the brothers stood a snowy doe. She snorted at them, then ran.
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