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This is for Ada, who took me to Bernini’s Apollo.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraphs
1. Apollo
2. Simmea
3. Maia
4. Simmea
5. Maia
6. Simmea
7. Apollo
8. Simmea
9. Maia
10. Simmea
11. Maia
12. Simmea
13. Apollo
14. Simmea
15. Maia
16. Simmea
17. Maia
18. Simmea
19. Apollo
20. Simmea
21. Maia
22. Simmea
23. Maia
24. Simmea
25. Apollo
26. Simmea
27. Maia
28. Simmea
29. Maia
30. Simmea
31. Apollo
32. Simmea
33. Maia
34. Simmea
35. Maia
36. Simmea
37. Apollo
Thanks and Notes
Books by Jo Walton
About the Author
Copyright
Wherever you go, there are plenty of places where you will find a welcome; and if you choose to go to Thessaly, I have friends there who will make much of you and give you complete protection, so that no one in Thessaly can interfere with you.
—PLATO, Crito
The triremes which defended Greece at Salamis defended Mars too.
—ADA PALMER, Dogs of Peace
Yes, I know, Plato; but if you always take the steps in threes, one day you will miss a cracked one.
—MARY RENAULT, The Last of the Wine
If you could take that first step
You could dance with Artemis
Beside Apollo Eleven.
—JO WALTON, “Submersible Moonphase”
1
APOLLO
She turned into a tree. It was a Mystery. It must have been. Nothing else made sense, because I didn’t understand it. I hate not understanding something. I put myself through all of this because I didn’t understand why she turned into a tree—why she chose to turn into a tree. Her name was Daphne, and so is the tree she became, my sacred laurel with which poets and victors crown themselves.
I asked my sister Artemis first. “Why did you turn Daphne into a tree?” She just looked at me with her eyes full of moonlight. She’s my full-blooded sister, which you’d think would count for something, but we couldn’t be more different. She was ice-cold, with one arched brow, reclining on a chilly silver moonscape.
“She implored me. She wanted it so much. And you were right there. I had to do something drastic.”
“Her son would have been a hero, or even a god.”
“You really don’t understand about virginity,” she said, uncurling and extending an ice-cold leg. Virginity is one of Artemis’s big things, along with bows, hunting and the moon.
“She hadn’t made a vow of virginity. She hadn’t dedicated herself to you. She wasn’t a priestess. I would never—”
“You really are missing something. It might be Hera you should be talking to,” Artemis said, looking at me over her shoulder.
“Hera hates me! She hates both of us.”
“I know.” Artemis was poised now, ready to be off. “But what you don’t understand falls within her domain. Ask Athene.” And she was off, like an arrow from a bow or a white deer from a covert, bounding across the dusty plains of the moon and swooping down somewhere in the only slightly less dusty plains of Scythia. She hasn’t forgiven me for the moon missions being called the Apollo Program when they should have been called after her.
My domain is wide, both in power and knowledge. I am patron of inspiration, creativity, poetry and music. I am also in charge of the sun, and light. And I am lord of healing, mice, dolphins, and sundry other specialties I’ve gathered up, some of which I’ve devolved to sons and others, but all of which I continue to keep half an eye on. But one of my most important aspects, to myself anyway, has always been knowledge. And that’s where I overlap with owl-carrying Athene, who is goddess of wisdom and knowledge and learning. If I am intuition, the leap of logic, she is the plodding slog that fills in all the steps along the way. When it comes to knowledge, together we’re a great team. I am, like my sister Artemis, a hunter. It’s the chase that thrills me, the chase after knowledge as much as the chase after an animal or a nymph. (Why had she preferred becoming a tree?) For Athene it’s different. She loves the afternoon in the library searching through footnotes and linking up two tiny pieces of inference. I am all about the “Eureka” and she is all about displacing and measuring actual weights of gold and silver.
I admire her. I really do. She’s a half-sister. All of us Olympians are pretty much related. She’s another virgin goddess, but unlike Artemis she doesn’t make a fetish of her virginity. I always thought she was just too busy working on wisdom to get involved with all that love and sex stuff. Maybe she’d get around to it in a few millennia, if it seemed interesting at that point. Or maybe she wouldn’t. She’s very self-contained. Artemis is always bathing naked in forest pools and then punishing hunters who happen to see her. Athene isn’t like that at all. I’m not sure she’s ever been naked, or even thought about it. And nobody would think about it when they’re around her. When you’re around Athene what you think about is new ways of thinking about fascinating bits of knowledge you happen to have, and how you might be able to fit them together to make exciting new knowledge. And that’s so interesting that the whole sex thing seems like a bit of relatively insignificant trivia. So there were a whole host of reasons I was reluctant to bring up the Daphne incident with her.
But I really was burning with the need to know why Daphne turned into a tree in preference to mating with me.
I went to see Athene, who was exactly where I expected her to be and doing exactly what I expected her to be doing. She fights when she needs to, of course, and she’s absolutely deadly when she does—she has the spear and the gorgon shield and she knows everything about strategy. But most of the time she’s in libraries, either mortal libraries or Olympian ones. She lives in a library. It looks like the Parthenon in Athens on the outside, and on the inside it looks like … a giant book cave. That’s the only way to describe it.
There’s one short stumpy pillar just inside, where the owl sits napping with its head curled around under its wing. Generally the spear and shield and helmet are leaning against that pillar. There’s also a desk, where she sits, which is absolutely covered with scrolls and codices and keyboards and wires and screens. There’s exactly one beam of sunlight that comes in between two of the outside pillars and falls in exactly the right place on the desk to illuminate whatever she’s using at the moment. The rest of the room is just books. There are bookcases around the walls, and there are piles of books on the floor, and there are nets of scrolls hanging from the ceiling. The worst of it is that everything is organized—alphabetized, filed, sorted, even labelled, but nothing is squared off and it all looks like the most awful mess. I never go in there without wanting to straighten it all out. It bothers me. If I’m going to see her, often I ask her to meet somewhere comfortable to both of us, like the Great Library, or the Laurentian Library, or Widener.