Silent Echo (21 page)

“I don’t usually fly through walls, Portia. It would be better if we started from outside.”

Portia ignored the remark, which just emphasized how much she still had to learn. The two Goddesses walked out through a wide set of double doors, which opened onto a generous stone veranda. The night sky was clear, a black velvet case strewn with diamonds.

“Ready?” Leucosia asked her terrified charge.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she perched herself onto Leucosia’s back, wrapping her arms around the slender neck of the woman who, until recently, was just an incidental fixture in the backdrop of her life.

Closing her eyes, she suddenly felt herself soaring up into the air, her stomach lurching as they flew higher and higher. She dared not ask her mentor where exactly they were headed.

The truth was she didn’t really want to know.

Portia counted fifty-two peaks jutting out of the mountain range toward which they were headed.

No, not headed—flying!

Some peaks were covered with frost, some densely blanketed with lush forests of trees. Some of the peaks were sprinkled with cattle grazing off their green carpets of grass. But as they neared the peak where it appeared Leucosia was planning to make her landing, Portia couldn’t make it out at all for the thick fog that thwarted any bird’s-eye view.

And I certainly can’t get any more bird’s-eye than this…

She learned later that the mountain peak was known as Mytikas. Apparently Poseidon, a.k.a. the Great Earth Shaker, blew an eternal fog onto Mytikas so that mortals would think that this Grecian mountaintop was uninhabitable. But when they landed softly on the velvety grass of Mytikas, Portia realized that in terms of habitability, no other place on earth could compare.

Her senses were immediately flooded by the wonders of the unfamiliar surroundings. The aroma, a combination of wildflowers and herbs, was intoxicating. No wonder this was a favorite dwelling of the Gods.

Oh no, did I just form a thought with the word ‘dwelling’ in it?

Her ears filled up with the soothing gush of distant waterfalls and cicadas singing out to one another. And the views! Though the mountaintop was sheathed in fog, the views were crystal clear, stretching to the four corners of the earth.

As she marveled at the vista, she was also struck by a distinct sense of timelessness. She felt caught somewhere between dawn and dusk, sun and moon, suddenly completely unsure of how long her journey on Leucosia’s back had taken. Though this ambiguity was disorienting, Portia found it refreshing to have a brief respite from the tethers of time.

While she was gaining her bearings, a statuesque woman approached to welcome them, clad in a column of ice blue silk, which reflected the colorlessness of her eyes. Leucosia introduced the Goddess as Athena, embracing her heartily and chatting her up like a silly schoolgirl.

Leucosia was right—her eyes are actually gray
, Portia thought as she stood in her faded jeans and Abercrombie sweatshirt, a complete fish out of water.

I should have grabbed something from Leucosia’s closet
, she admonished herself, remembering the vast array of dated garb that had been ripe for the picking.

About five minutes into her conversation with Athena, Leucosia suddenly remembered the real purpose for their visit and began to make formal introductions.

“Zeus, allow me to introduce my young charge, Portia Griffin. Portia, this is Zeus, the father of Athena and king of all the Gods.”

The sharp eyes of the impressive God scrutinized her, but there was a kindness in his gaze that stopped her knees from completely buckling beneath her.

“So you are ‘the next one’?” he questioned.

Portia could have sworn she felt the earth quake when Zeus spoke to her, his voice thunderous though not quite threatening.

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I think…yes, I am,” she said meekly. An awkward silence ensued for a moment until Leucosia broke it by introducing the God who had been filling Zeus’s goblet.

“Portia, this is Dionysus, the God of Wine and Pleasure.”

“And Madness,” added the effeminate God.

“Yes, well I try not to think about that part, Dion,” Leucosia responded.

Dion
?

Dionysus appeared slight next to Zeus’s imposing form. Though what he did not possess in girth, he made up for in color. He wore a velvet robe in the richest shade of purple Portia had ever seen. She wondered for a moment how the color would be named in a Crayola box—
Violent Violet?
Alarming Amethyst?

Dionysus offered Portia a warm, slightly inebriated smile. His eyes were as chromatic as his robe, a rich deep blue, and his lips were stained burgundy, which Portia could only assume was because he was constantly sampling his own wares.

She liked him instantly.

Uncertain if she should bow down or extend her hand, she did something that could have been classified as a sort of a curtsy.

Did I actually just curtsy?!

She looked to Leucosia for some much-needed counsel.

“Leucosia,” she whispered, “please help me out here. I have no idea what to do.”

Leucosia smiled at her reassuringly. “Just do as I do, Portia. We begin with a material gift.”

The elder Siren then presented both Zeus and Dionysus with a golden pendant. For Zeus there was the shape of a crown, boasting tiny rubies and sapphires. For Dionysus, a tiny goblet overflowing with diamond champagne bubbles.

“When did you get those?” Portia whispered. “You’re making me look really bad! And what about for Athena?”

“Oh, Athena would never accept a gift from me. We are way past gift exchanging.”

Portia looked over at the Goddess with the clear gray eyes. Indeed she did not look at all expectant of anything more than Leucosia’s friendship.

“My fellow cherished immortals,” Leucosia began, “please accept these gifts which have been bestowed upon you not only by myself, but also by my young charge, Portia Griffin.”

Portia curtsied again at the mention of her name.

I have got to get a grip!

Zeus spoke out and this time, Portia definitely felt a rustle underfoot.

“Leucosia, we offer you many thanks for these lovely tokens of gold. You have our full attentions, for even now have we heard from Athena that your heart is heavy with worry—”

Just then two other figures emerged from the thick fog.

“What gathering is this?” asked one of the newcomers. “If of dreams you do speak, let me provide counsel, for no one knows the world of dreams as I do. Though Leonardo DiCaprio might think he does.”

He directed his joke at Portia, who actually smiled at the God’s reference to the movie
Inception
.

“Many young girls of Leo do dream,” he explained.

Portia surmised that this must be the famous Morpheus who had been Leucosia’s accomplice in invading the privacy of her dreams. The God looked much like Portia had expected, boasting a long white beard and silvery white curls. But he moved with a sprightliness that did not jibe with the color of his hair. Still, Portia was mildly intimidated by the God of Dreams, knowing that he had been privy to her most secret thoughts.

Not wanting to be upstaged by Morpheus’s modern humor, Ares, the God of War, introduced himself by raising his shield and sword with great fanfare.

“But should you seek guidance in matters of battle or warfare, I am surely the God to whom you must turn, for many great battles have I known even among mortals and immortals.”

Portia tried offering Ares a smile but had to admit she was more than a little put off by the way he was brandishing his weaponry. A blinding glint of light bounced off the steel of the sword, and Portia remembered Leucosia telling her that Ares’s sword had been blessed with a spell from Zeus, enabling it to actually take the life of another immortal, which apparently was no easy feat. She wondered, though, what the blade could do to immortals who were already deceased. Immortals named Parthenope and Ligeia, to be specific.

Leucosia addressed the new Gods:

“Our deepest gratitude, Morpheus and Ares, for meeting with us here today.”

At that, Leucosia presented Ares with a golden locket in the shape of a shield. When opened, the locket revealed a tiny sword with a ruby-encrusted handle. The God of War was delighted with the gift. For Morpheus she had an intricate pendant of a tiny child enjoying a blissful slumber on a billowy cloud of sapphires and aquamarines. The God of Dreams was equally thrilled.

Leucosia continued:

“Wise are you all in knowing that we will be calling upon you to aid us in our battle against my evil sisters, Parthenope and Ligeia. Before we make known to you our deepest woes, however, may we not sing for you a song to show our gratitude for your wise counsel?”

“Ummm, excuse me, Leucosia, could you come over here a minute?” Portia stepped out of earshot of the intimidating gathering of deities. “With all due respect, and I do mean respect—because what I am seeing here is awe-inspiring, to say the least—but, um, are you crazy? I’m not going to sing in front of all of these Gods! Why would you even offer such a thing?!”

Leucosia’s expression remained steadfast. “Portia, it is customary among Gods to bestow gifts, not only of a material nature but also of a spiritual nature. Let us not deny the Gods the beauty of our voices, which have been ever blessed with immeasurable glory.”

Portia noted Leucosia’s regression back to her ancient vernacular. She had some trouble following her mentor’s words but got the basic gist—singing for the Gods would be happening.

Dionysus approached them, offering up a glistening golden lyre, which Leucosia plucked at gently.

“A lyre?” Portia whispered. “Really?”

Leucosia flashed her a mischievous smile and then turned the lyre sideways. She started to strum it like a guitar and brought forth a timeless sound peppered with modernity.

“Dear friends, today let us not concern ourselves with the trials of Helen of Troy or the chronicles of Orpheus. Today I would like to sing a song of a more, um, current nature. You see, I would like to reassure the young Portia Griffin that the world is filled with flaws. Hardships are a tale as old as time. And yet time marches on and we overcome. There is no such thing as a perfect world—or a perfect anything—”

Zeus let out a gruff “ahem.”

“Well, perhaps excepting you, Zeus. Anyway, I hope that this song does remind Portia, and all of us here, that we mustn’t take life too seriously. Somehow we will muddle through.”

Portia couldn’t imagine where this was headed. Leucosia tuned the lyre a bit more and then exacted a compelling rhythm.

The ancient Goddess then began a delicate melody.

“The greenest of emeralds

Are most often flawed,

And you might cry ‘fake,’

And you might cry ‘fraud.’

But look into that stone,

It’s plain to see,

That flaws are a part

Of our reality.”

She paused for a moment, catching the eye of all who were gathered, and then began what could only be described as, well, a glorious melodic form of rapping:

“Sing it—

Why must a salmon

Swim up the stream,

Only to realize

A procreational dream?

And what about Krispy Kreme—

Why can’t it just be

That iced, glazed, and sprinkled

Has one calorie?”

She picked up lyrical speed, shocking her fellow Gods, who looked more than a little discomfited. She was a freestyling Sarah Brightman. Seeing her mentor this way made Portia feel like everything was just a little bit less dire.

“The price of good shoes—

Oh, such a pity!

I blame it on Carrie

From Sex and the City.

Let’s face it head on:

The system is flawed.

But at least there’s a system,

And for that we applaud.”

Leucosia gestured to Portia as though passing her a microphone. Portia could think of a few grievances she had with the world these days and found, to her great disbelief, she couldn’t wait to chime in:

“The GW Bridge toll

Is up to twelve dollars!

Try posing that one

To wise men and scholars!

“And why SATs?

I mean, let’s be real!

A standardized test score—

What does it reveal?”

They joined in on the chorus together, Leucosia manipulating the golden lyre, Portia drumming out a beat on the leg of her jeans.

Leucosia took the reins again:

“Rainbows can erase

Most feelings of pain,

But to behold a rainbow

You gotta traipse through the rain!

‘Like’ is now standard

In every teen’s diction—”

Knowing she was guilty of this particular transgression, Portia chimed in to try to salvage her intelligence:

“Newspapers purport

Less fact and more fiction.”

“Nice one, Portia!” Athena called out.

“I thought so, thanks.”

Portia and Leucosia started giggling, heady with their clever lyrics and magical voices.

The two Sirens looked at each other, reading one another’s thoughts. In unison they harmonized the last verses, the sound of their combined voices explosive and powerful. There was an indescribable high in knowing that without ever rehearsing or even discussing the song, the Sirens could intuit what the other would say:

“Some turn to evil

To get their kicks,

So we gotta keep figuring

New defensive tricks.”

Leucosia offered the last verse:

“And that’s why we’re here,

Because I must uphold

This contract that binds me,

What my mother foretold.”

And in unison they completed:

“To show you firsthand

That the system is flawed,

But we have all of you,

And for that we applaud…”

And just for good measure, from Portia:

“Word.”

♪

Dionysus was the first to speak.

“Well, so long has it been since I have heard the blessed voices of the Sirens. Now do I remember that no other sound in heaven or on earth can compete with your glorious song, though it was—um—modern, to say the least. My deepest gratitude for this priceless gift, fairest Leucosia and beautiful young Portia.”