Read Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) Online
Authors: Janell Rhiannon
Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1)
Songs of Princes
Copyright 2016 © Janell Rhiannon
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any format without the express permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction based on mythology. All characters are fictional. Any semblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design and photography by
MaeIDesign and Photography
Book design by
Inkstain Interior Book Designing
I am the son of Zeus and Leto, much to Hera’s dismay. That raving she-bitch of a step-mother left my mother no place on earth to birth my twin sister, Artemis, and myself. The island of Delos was the only speck of dirt offering my mother protection and sanctuary. We are fully immortal, so Hera could not prevent our eventual inclusion into the family fold. I am god of many things envied, even necessary, to mortals. Music. Poetry. Healing. I am god of plagues as well. Worship me and I may keep pestilence at bay and put sweet songs in your mouth. Refuse me? Well, you might regret that. Cassandra did. I gave her the gift of prophecy. Why humans want to know what the future is brings only heart-ache and danger, but they want to know. They beg to know. They pray and sacrifice to know. When Cassandra spurned me, I opened her mind to the future, but closed the ears of anyone to her meaning. So she suffers as a mortal should.
I also built the famous walls of Troy with the aide of Poseidon and the Greek mortal, Aeacus. We quite enjoyed the pitiful grunts of his sweaty labor. Why a mortal man? To show our superiority, to give forewarning, why else? The goddess blessed the walls divinely built making them impervious to dragons, snakes and foreign assault. The portion built by the unfortunate Greek stood unblessed. In their stupidity, the mortals missed the omen, the god-sign we left behind. We gods speak in signs. A bird here. A snake there. An apparent oversight. After all, speaking to a mortal is dangerous, not for us, but for them. They are fragile and exhausted by the effect of us on their flesh. Close contact can drive some humans mad. So we must use god- signs to guide them, instruct them. Some mortals understand better than others. We compel them to our temples, calling them our oracles. We watch them closely, whisper fragmented phrases in their ears, and echo our voices in the temples they build, and in the caves they hollow.
The Fate of Troy screamed furiously from the sands. Yet, no one, save poor Cassandra heard the warning. True, the Trojans revered me more than other gods, save Zeus, so I sided with them most often when the Great War burst through the Dardanelles in a fleet of Argive, Achaean, and Danaan triremes. But eventually, all mortals fail and Fate suffocates them despite our protection. I suppose Fate is goddess of us all.
I am Artemis, the huntress, sister to Apollo. I am goddess of child birth and guardian of mortal women’s virginity. The sacred preservation of my own chastity I take with extreme seriousness. There is no mortal man worthy of plucking the ripe fruit between my thighs. And thought of mortal flesh crushing my prized flower serves only to induce vomiting. I find amusement in new life, but at times tire of it. Mortal women must bear the pains of birth and we gods must suffer their endless requests for protection, honor and relief.
I, too, favor the Trojans and detest the western tribes of Greeks who think they can rise above the divine line drawn for them by Fate. Some of them, like Agamemnon, gorge on hubris until they are bloated like fattened pigs for butcher. Others believe themselves overly protected by one of us, like Odysseus and his precious Athena, goddess of wisdom. We all make war, but not all can bring forth life. Mortals are, in the end, all fools. Our favor is fickle at best. Their fortunes and their pains serve equally to delight and distress us.