Into the Looking Pool

“By the Heavens, she’s eating again! Curse this lazy miscreant!” Darcinian shouted into the Looking Pool, grasping its marble frame. The shallow waters of divinity glimmered and gleamed along the edges, yet the center was clear, as were the projected images of the earthly world below.

“Yes, sire. Would you prefer a plague of boils? Chased by hounds? Or, perhaps something more innovative, such as everything she drinks turning to blood?”

“What? No! I was being hyperbolic, not literal!”

“Ah, indeed. Apologies,” Marquis nodded, scratching out the recent notes in his scroll. His black-feathered wings waved gently behind him, often fluttering with each of Darcinian’s outbursts.

“And now she’s having a nap! In the gardens of the Aristoi of all places. Not yet sixteen and she wonders the land like a geriatric. Were not my signs clear?”

“We conjured the owl grasping a willow branch, as well as the serpent choking on a pheasant. Perhaps cloud signals would be more effective?” Marquis scratched his head with his golden quill, yet no ink soiled his jet-black locks.

“Ha! Not with this one. She’ll likely snort them out the sky than realize their significance. No, we must be more blunt.” Darcinian placed his forearms on the rim of the Looking Pool, contemplating. His silver-white hair scrapped the divine liquid, sending gentle ripples throughout the image. “A prophet?”

“All reserved, and none nearby. Closest is Solon, two days away. However, he is addressing the drummer guild’s woes to the local archon. Shall I have him switch tasks?”

“No, no. That matter has long been awaited. Blasts! What of our oracle?”

“Hosting the lead harpist of the Suxian court. Muse crisis.”

“Of course, of course. Hmmm…” Darcinian’s eyes narrowed. The Looking Pool began to slowly swirl and churn, as if mimicking his thoughts.

“Perhaps a strike from a musician’s pandoura would suffice?” One of Marquis’ eyebrows peaked.

“We wish to encourage the girl, not maim her…although the thought is tempting. No! We are not a god of wrath, but of song and music! As much as I wish to yank the voice from her idle throat, I could not bring myself to harm such a capable heroine.”

“Dare I ask, what makes this one so special, sire? Your followers are many. You’ve prophets and champions in courts of kings in all nations, even those where we are unknown. Why take on such strife due to this seemingly insignificant girl?”

“You dare indeed, to question my choice of champion?”

“I—forgive your humble servant, I meant no offense.”

Darcinian waved away the remark. “Bah! Your confusion is to be expected. Among all my worshipers, all my subjects, why would I take an interest in such a miniscule little creature? Well, my dear Marquis, the answer lies—within.” He slowly reached down to the Looking Pool, pointing to the young girl’s chest as she lay in a bed of flowers. Her snores echoed to the heavens, almost making their own ripples in the Looking Pool.

“…In that ghastly trumpet of a sleep song? Sire, we’ve heard greater music emit from a sow giving birth.” Marquis looked at his master with disappointment and shame.

“No, you fool! Not the sleep song, but what lies behind it.”

At that, Marquis shrugged and stepped closer to the Looking Pool. Mere seconds to them, but hours to the girl, passed by in an instant. Then he heard it: an angelic voice of wonder. Marquis’ eyes suddenly grew wide with the sound of the girl’s soft lullaby as she lay looking to the clouds. Never before had he heard such an intoxicating resonance. He could taste the sweetness of her croon, flooding his ears with euphoric passion. “Jesus Christ.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. She is—godsent.”

“Truly? How could I have not known?” Darcinian said, placing both hands on his cheeks with an air of sarcasm so thick it could be cut with a xiphos.

“I now understand completely.”

“And I now remember why I took you into my court.”

“Apologies, sire. I simply never heard her song. She is, unprecedented.”

“And why I must get her tan hide to the Athenian School of Arts so she can show them how to truly sing! But the indolent damsel won't move her barely used feet!” Darcinian cupped his mouth and yelled into the Looking Pool. “Proceed to Athens you procrastinating rogue! I command thee!”

“She cannot hear us, sire.”

“I know that!”

Suddenly, staggering footsteps could be heard from behind them, along with laughter and the occasional sound of wine spilling to the floor.

“Ugh, by the Gods…” Darcinian turned to find his three brothers, the twins Vergo and Thrux, as well as Nikos stumbling into the Looking Pool temple. They were singing something awful with arms wrapped around each other.

“Darcininan, brother! Marquis! Come join us for supper, yes? Thrux speared a succulent boar in the Netherfields,” Nikos, god of wine and mirth called to them.

“It was a beautiful sight, brother Darcinian!” Thrux, god of the hunt stepped forward, barely able to stand on his own two feet. “The tall grass was swaying in the warm breeze…much like I am now. The boar was foraging, never awares. I sneak up, not an armlengths away before it finally takes notice. And, just as it’s about to bolt, pow! Right in the heart. Cleanest hunt I've ad…adme…administered!”

“You say that of every hunt, Thrux,” Darcinian pursed his lips.

“And yet, ‘tis true,” Thrux smiled, taking a massive gulp of wine from his giant kylix.

“Come now, brother.” Vergo stepped up. As god of mercantilism, he was always the wedge of diplomacy between the brothers. “The boar is plump and Thrux keeps us fed. Have some kindness in you.”

“Yes,” Darcinian relented. “I'm sure the hunt was a most courageous feat, young brother. I will be happy to partake in your feast.”

Thrux simply held up a finger while gulping more wine. Then, without skipping a beat, he let out a loud fart that echoed across the marbled volutes of the temple’s ceiling.

“By the heavens! You have no digestive tract, how is one even capable of such a thing?” Darcinian covered his nose, waving away the air. He couldn’t help but laugh at his little brother’s antics.

“It’s a gift, a calling,” Thrux closed his eyes and bowed his head in humorous contemplation.

“That’s our little brother. Fool among fools! To tonight’s festivities!” Nikos laughed, holding up his own ornate kylix.

“Hear, hear!” Vergo slammed cups with Nikos, spilling more wine on the floor.

“Yes, yes. I will accompany you at the feasting table. For now, I must usher in a new era of song with this wretched clout I call a champion. Alleged champion really…” Darcinian turned back to the Looking Pool, gazing at the girl who was now drunkenly passed out in a riverbed. This woman…

“What? You still working on that heroine of yours?” Nikos stumbled up to the Looking Pool, leaning over the edge. “I do admit she has a voice unmatched by any, perhaps even yours, ha! But come now brother, you see how the human is. Can't read a sign or take even the most candid of hints from her deities. Leave her to the god of contentment and let live her simple life, the poor thing.

“Never! I can't let such a prodigy slip through my fingers. I will not be defeated. She must lead nations in song. Her voice should be heard among all, uniting them in peace and prosperity. If it weren’t for your meddling spirits, the girl would be singing at the Greater Dionysia pompe by now.”

“I merely bring warmth to the chest and courage to the weak with my wine. Much as your music, young brother. Besides, have you not enough champions? Among us here you host three champions and prophets to our combined one. The entire world sings songs and plays music, brother. Perhaps leave some worshippers for the rest of us, ha!” Nikos playfully slapped Darcinian on the back before turning and putting his arms around his other brothers’ shoulders. “Either way, the feast is soon to start. Be sure to have some wine and boar with your brothers. Your face has been plastered to the Looking Pool for eons now. We always defend you when the rest of the pantheon constantly asks us if you still exist in our plane. Be sure to prove to them we aren’t liars. And you as well, Marquis! We long for your stories at the feasting table.”

Marquis bowed respectfully, “I will be sure to attend, sires.”

Nikos and the others waved goodbye as they passed the temple’s threshold, holding up their sloshing cups.

“Good riddance. Now, back to the task at hand. A rampaging bull with a flute stuck to its horn—will that awaken the fire in her?” Darcinian rubbed his hands together, a look of mischief washing over his visage.

“It may cause harm to others. And honestly, I doubt she would understand the message, sire.” Marquis tapped the scroll with his golden quill. “It may require force. The Furies, perhaps?”

“No! Free will is paramount. I would not approve, even though the pantheon might. One must be persuaded, not forced. What music could she make, what songs could she sing if but a slave? They would be no more than wails of torment.”

“Indeed.”

More contemplation. Darcinian tapped his fingers together, staring deeply into the Looking Pool. The soft glow of the pool’s edge reflected in the two galaxies of wonder that were his eyes. “I must make an appearance. It is the only way.”

“Divine intervention? Do you think that wise? You remember what happened the last time.”

“That was of no fault of my own. The fool fell off the stage and onto that group of heifers due to eyeing a buxom shepherdess. His being trampled was not only unfortunate, but the will of the Moirai it seems. None can escape the Fates.”

“Yes, but you did persuade him to take the chance. ‘Unheard talents will go unknown,’ I believe you told him.”

“And before he was turned into mulch, he performed fantastically! He should be thanking me from the underworld.”   

“Of course, sire.” Marquis simply bowed his head.

“That settles it! I shall be back in time for the feast. Just in case, tell my brothers not to wait!”

“As you wish.”

Darcinian took the easy route and shed his robes before dipping into the Looking Pool. Marquis picked up the heavenly garb and laid it across one of the marbled benches that sat around the temple. He then stepped to the pool and observed his master’s work.

Darcinian chose to take the form of a boy of similar age—handsome and charming. By that point, the girl was eating yet again. Marquis watched as the glorified deity walked up to her and introduced himself. She looked to him, a mouthful of bread surrounded by protruding cheeks. Darcinian hopped and skipped around her, flirting and engaging her girly instincts with his handsome look. She smiled, then giggled, still chomping down on the brick of bread in her hand.

Then, the god grew impatient and playfully snatched the bread from her hands. She was on him in an instant—a volatile maelstrom of flying fists and stamping feet. Darcinian apparently didn’t expect such a reaction, as he cried out, trying to run before being tackled to the ground. She wrestled him almost expertly, flipping him over and yanking her bread out his hands while straddling his chest.

The god looked about, no doubt wondering how this girl could bestow such fury upon any who dared take her food. But then, with a gleeful chuckle, she tore off some of the bread and gently placed it in his mouth. Stunned, Darcinian began chewing, his eyes lighting up at the texture. Then, with an unprecedented turn of events, the girl bent down and planted a crumby kiss on his forehead.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Marquis quipped; not entirely shocked by the turn of events. Amused, however.

“He finally did it then?” a womanly voice was heard from behind Marquis.

Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos sauntered up to the Looking Pool, leaning over and glancing at Darcinian with playful smiles.

“Sisters Moirai,” Marquis bowed his head in respect. “I did not expect to see you here in the temple of all places.”

“Yes, we know what comes of all, blah, blah, blah,” Atropos waved away his comment.

“We wanted to see firsthand the fruition of a most anticipated thread line,” Clotho added. “Our sweet Darcinian has met his own muse!”

“He has been watching her for quite some time, yes,” Marquis nodded.

“Oh indeed,” Lachesis spoke, sliding a soft finger over the still waters of the Looking Pool. The ripples conformed to her touch. “We’ve taken notice. Our boy has grown quite fond of this little creature. Quite fond.”

“Are you implying—”

“—Love, dear boy. Love!”

“Sweet love!” Clotho fluttered her eyes and clasped her hands together. “Our Darcinian is smitten.”

“Huh…” Marquis suddenly found himself somewhat taken aback. “I would have never guessed.”

“Truly?” Lachesis tilted her head. “Your keen eyes and observant wit didn’t see his infatuation? His longing to see her, moment after moment? Recently, he spends more time in this temple than with the pantheon.”

“It must be her voice.”

“Naturally,” Clotho winked at Marquis. If he could blush, he would’ve. “Her golden song. Powerful enough to capture a god. Not many capable of that. Oh, how I wish my own loves had such passionate resonance. Teehee!” The goddess hugged herself, swaying back and forth.

“Thus,” Lachesis interjected, “we took it upon ourselves to give the boy some happiness. This is his first love, after all.”

“Well, I thank you, mistresses,” Marquis bowed his head yet again. “And being it was the work of fate, the philosophy of free will should go unquestioned. I'm sure he will be most pleased.”

“He must be. Look at him.”

They all leaned over the edge of the Looking Pool. Darcinian and the girl were now lying in a field of grass and flowers. They were talking of the work she’d done in dog kennels, taking care of the pups for some nobles. Then she told him of how she grew tired of that life and decided to wonder. And wonder she did, from city to city, village to village, singing for coin when she needed food or shelter. Then she showed him what she meant, standing up in the field and unwittingly gracing them all with the exhilarating sound of her heavenly voice. The group of gods were utterly speechless upon hearing the girl’s stirring vocals. The vibrations echoed off the columns of the temple, enveloping them all in its warm embrace.

“This girl belongs up here with the pantheon. That voice is wasted on a human,” Atropos muttered.

“How so? Look at the joy it brings those around her,” Clotho reprimanded her sister.

“Either way,” Marquis added, “I believe my young master has finally achieved his goal.”

Looking back to the pool, they observed the two young companions traveling the roads, having adventures along the way. They fought off bandits and wolves, assisted old farmers with tasks and even met a king who took a liking to their musical talents, offering a great sum to play in his court. But that was not meant to be, for they finally arrived at their destination: the Athenian School of Arts. Darcinian waited on its steps, watching as the girl approached the entrance. But before she stepped inside, she turned and ran down to him, embracing him tightly and planting a long, sweet kiss on his divine lips. Then she turned and stepped through the threshold, leaving him to his thoughts.

Darcinian took a moment before vanishing from the earthly plane and pulling himself out of the Looking Pool. He was surprised to see the Moirai standing with Marquis, and even more surprised to see Clotho crying tears of joy.

“Oh, our sweet Darcinian! You have found love!” She hopped up and down, clasping her hands to her chest.

“Well!” Darcinian exclaimed while dressing himself. “I supposed I had an audience then? And no doubt this was all your doing.”

“We do tend to pry,” Lachesis smirked. “We are the Fates after all.”

“They held me hostage, sire. I had no choice but to watch under threat of destiny altering consequences,” Marquis quipped.

“That we did!” Lachesis put an arm around the assistant and ushered him to the temple entrance. “Now come! The feast has begun and I wish to claim the boar’s hock before the rest of them ravage it. Let us be away!”

“Yes madam,” Marquis nodded while being pushed along by the powerful deity.

Clotho breathed a sigh of exhilaration before skipping after them.

Atropos crossed her arms, looking to Darcinian. “You know what comes of falling in love with humans? Pain, young one. Much pain.”

“Pain is merely a part of life, yes?” Darcinian asked.

“But their life is quite different to ours.”

“Yet still life. In this instance, I choose to spend some of mine with hers. And, dear Atropos, when she succumbs to the human condition, and her thread is cut, I ask that you be kind enough to allow her to join the pantheon. I think all would find her worthy.”

“Perhaps. Just be sure to not neglect your other duties, young master of music. For what would the world become if there are no songs?” She held up her hands and walked out of the temple.

Darcinian followed close behind, brushing the last of the Looking Pool’s water out of his brilliant hair. Before he stepped past the threshold, he heard her golden voice coming from the pool once more, echoing off the ceiling, wishing him well. A smile crossed his face as he made his way to the feasting table.