Whiskey Creek Press
Two of my myths - Together! First a modern time 'shift' myth TROY - LOVERS IN THE MISTS Drawn to the ancient ruins of Troy by haunting, vivid visions of the city before the legendary Trojan War, Genia, an archaeological student, secures a position as a novice digger. Engineered by fate, her position reunites Iphigenia, Achilles and Agamemnon reincarnated into the modern world, with... Next Trojan Gold - a myth in the old tradition -An erotic myth of youth regained, a life saved, and love found by the grace of the god Apollo and the wisdom of Zeus. One mortal woman's compassion and bravery after the fall of Troy changes the course of history. Her courage and dedication touches the heart of a love-desolate god when he at last finds love in her arms. No obstacles, even the queen of...
Troy - Lovers In The Mists - Drawn to the ancient ruins of Troy by haunting, vivid visions of the city before the legendary Trojan War, Genia, an archaeological student, secures a position as a novice digger. Engineered by fate, her position reunites Iphigenia, Achilles and Agamemnon reincarnated into the modern world, with modern lives. After centuries, Iphigenia and Achilles, so cruelly ripped apart, have another chance to fulfill their love. Over the centuries, their subconscious yearnings, soul-shaking love and smoldering passion of star-crossed lovers have become undeniable. Each is drawn to the other at first sight, and they soon become engulfed in the same time slips. Remaining together in the present, they fight the power of the time slips and the Greek warriors of the past, attempting to escape the dark mists that engulf them and the professor, the reincarnation of Agamemnon intent on sacrificing his daughter, Iphigenia. At last their love will have a chance.
Trojan Gold -
An erotic myth of youth regained, a life saved, and love found by the grace of the god Apollo and the wisdom of Zeus. One mortal woman's compassion and bravery after the fall of Troy changes the course of history. Her courage and dedication touches the heart of a love-desolate god when he at last finds love in her arms. No obstacles, even the queen of heaven, can stand in the way of their happiness that will last through eternity.
Troy - Lovers In The Mists
Genia watched her first sunrise over the ruins of Troy. A rapidly brightening glow chased the stars from the clear sky. She looked back toward the distant Aegean Sea, and a dreaded sensation began to overtake her. One she had experienced several times in her life and always feared. Genia felt accelerated, pulled through a dark tunnel away from this dawn, to stand in another place, perhaps another time, certainly another dawn.
* * * *
Ground fog tendrils swirled cool around her ankles, and the smell of the Aegean Sea grew stronger. The sea, miles closer in this time period, was now visible. A gasp of wonder escaped her lips. No longer rubble, the ruins were once again an awe-inspiring, thriving city. Soldiers stood on the battlements, their sharp eyes on the horizon as the first shards of dawn lit the brilliant waters.
Just beginning their day, the citizens of Troy began to filter through the huge, thick gates. Set on delicately balanced engineering marvels, the gates opened with a push by only four of the muscular sentinels. Once closed, the gates became one with the walls that had protected the Trojans from numerous sieges in the legends of their history.
Women dressed as they had thirty-two hundred years before Genia’s birth, with baskets and children in their arms, began their daily routines. Some set up their stalls to sell wares, while others began their shopping. Men, wearing only linen kilts over their tanned bodies, walked toward the fields to tend various crops. Priests began their daily devotions to the god Apollo, patron of Troy. Another normal day for the citizens of Troy started.
Genia began to shake. This was not the first time such an experience had occurred, but this was the strongest and clearest. In a deepening daze, her legs became wobbly, preceding sweat breaking out over her body, and she looked down to find her clothes were those of the days of ancient Troy. Disbelieving her own vision, she looked skyward as the sun rose higher in the sky and the revelation, thankfully, grew dimmer.
* * * *
Returning back through the darkened tunnel was like being jerked backwards through a funnel. The sea disappeared into the distance, and she was again in modern Turkey at the archaeological dig.
Smoldering ashes, great Troy lay in waste, the gods’ faces turned away. Silence hung over the deserted ruins, not even the crows made noise fighting over the corpses. There was enough for all.
An old woman bent from age and hardship walked among the dead. Decrepit and infirmed, the few Greeks who remained paid her little heed. Fearing the wrath of the gods, none would chance doing injury to one already so burdened by the fates.
Leaning on her cane for support, she wept, not for the dead soldiers, but for the babes, perfect in form, cruelly thrown from the heights of the city walls by the victorious Greeks. Innocents left to die, not instantly from their falls, hastened from the injuries they received, still a slow, painful death from exposure. Soldiers, who afforded an enemy a swift death with a quick thrust of their sword, would pass by these suffering innocents. Cursing the soldiers as she passed each small form that had gone to the underworld, she prayed to Apollo that they would find peace.
Her cane, not always certain where she placed it, nudged a tiny body and to her shock, it stirred. The child lived! Disbelieving her rheumy eyes at the gold medallion around his neck, she glanced about but kept moving, making sure no one was watching. This one, an enemy would kill by the sword.
After a few moments, she wandered back, and stooping over, gathered the precious bundle close into the folds of her clothing. She prayed more earnestly to Apollo now, imploring him to keep the child from crying out, bringing death to them both. Thankfully, the child remained quiet.
Not wishing to draw attention to herself, she moved slowly, back toward the hovel where she had found shelter after the fighting and pillaging ceased. Preferring to live alone, she was unafraid of ghosts from the war, unlike the few residents of Troy who escaped the Greeks and fled. Helle found a dwelling against the city walls facing the Aegean Sea and made it habitable. Walking slowly back home, in sight of the now desecrated temple of Apollo, she wondered why the great god of light had not struck down the Greeks for their blasphemy.
Apollo had always held her devotion. Permitted some education, common to the class she was born into, she made her wish to enter the temple in service to Apollo known when she was of age. Her father had forbidden “such a waste”, as he put it and promptly arranged a lucrative marriage for her to a man as old as he. The marriage had been short and ended badly. Helle wondered if finding the child or the condition of the temple had recalled the specter of that sad, long-buried memory.
Reaching the safety of her pillaged dwelling, she unwrapped the child from her robes. He had not only survived the fall from the city walls, but he was unharmed, cushioned by those who had preceded him.
The old woman stared in shock, disbelieving her rheumy eyes. The medallion around the infant’s neck confirmed the symbol of the Royal House of Troy. Before her was the son of Prince Hector, Astyanax. The heir of Troy had survived the treachery of the Greeks.
Fear struck her. If he was found they both would be killed without mercy. She gazed down at the boy, sunburned and hungry. He had lived through the horrors of war, and being thrown from the pinnacle of the walls.
Helle looked at the baby’s sweet face; he looked so much like his father at that age, it brought back sharp remembrances of caring for the royal children. Knowing Astyanax had survived for a reason and their paths had been fated to meet, she no longer cared about the dangers. She was old, but she would live long enough to see him grown.
Because she had studied with her brothers’ tutors as a child, she was capable of teaching him basic math and language. After escaping her tragic marriage, she had been a caregiver to the royal children of King Priam when they were small; she knew the history of the house of Troy and could teach Astyanax of his heritage. However, the war had left her poor. It would be difficult, but she would find a way. She would pray to Apollo, she would have faith, and endure.
A sudden knock at her door caused her a terrible fright, her old heart pounding wildly in her chest. Covering the child with a light length of ragged cloth, she called out, “Who’s there?” A tremor in her voice betrayed her fear, worsened by receiving no answer. The knock came again. On shaking legs and with trembling hands, Helle answered the door.
Before her stood a tall, blond warrior, his features so classically perfect, her breath caught in her throat. His deep blue eyes became intensely fixed on her old, lined face reminding her, sadly, that she was once a beautiful young maid. He wore a garment of fine linen so white it appeared to reflect the luminosity of the sun, edged in gold embroidery. A gold belt secured his garment around his waist, and a gold band of laurel leafs sat upon his head. He held a mahogany, gold-tipped spear in one hand and carried a bow of fine silver slung across his broad shoulders. With the radiance of sunlight behind him, he appeared to glow. She gasped, overcome by the brilliance of his appearance, yet fearful of why he came.
Did the gods send him to kill the child?
“What is it you want?” she demanded boldly. Drawing upon courage she had forgotten from her youth—days long past, when as a girl, she trained and learned with her brothers. Helle’s bravado reminiscent of a time she could wield a sword with the confidence and skill of a young man. Her father had raised her as a boy. She had studied math, and languages, as well as history with her three brothers. Her father enjoyed bragging to the peers of his wealthy merchant class. His daughter could wield a sword equal to any boy her age and her intelligence and her logic were better. Until the day, her link with the moon proved she was a daughter, and then the joke was no longer funny.
“Today, you have saved Astyanax, Prince of Troy, old woman,” he said in a strong commanding voice; his deep blue eyes seemed to see into her soul. In his eyes she beheld an emotion she hadn’t seen in a man’s eyes in long years—passion.
“Ah-I ah…” She could not answer him. How could he know such a fact?
“In your heart.” His voice took on a tender timbre as he lightly touched the spot between her breasts over her heart. His words faltered, amazed by the beauty of her spirit he saw in her soul. “Your heart is pure enough to raise him as your own son, yet teach him his heritage—thus he will grow to be a leader of men.” The glow began to emanate from the Golden Warrior, as if the sun was inside him, and it filled her simple home. In that moment of awe, she realized a blessing from Zeus had been passed to her.
“But how would you know?” she asked in suspicion, even more fearful, for she suspected she stood in the presence of the god Apollo. From where he touched her, a warm glow spread through her body, relieving aches and pain from years of torturous arthritis.
“It is enough your kindness has been noticed by those who reside on Olympus.” His smile waned a little, as did the intensity of light. “There has been much discord in that High Residence of late…” He cleared his throat. “Your kindness will be rewarded with a long, happy life.”
“I have already lived a long life, though a hard one,” Helle told him. “I only wish to see this lad grown. That I might live long enough to care for him as befits who he is, that he may reclaim what was stolen from him and…” She stopped, her courage diminished, bowing her head to hide the tears in her eyes
“What else is it you wish?” he asked in a compassionate voice.
“That his mother knows he did not die.” Helle sighed sadly, as if the weight of the world was borne on her shoulders, instead of on those of mighty Atlas.
“What makes you worry for his mother?” the Golden Warrior asked her gently, touching her cheek, whisking away a tear. His touch sent a rush of consolation through her, a soothing balm.
“Once I had a son stolen from me. To this day I know not if he lived or died,” she said it quickly. The pain still as fresh as the day the child disappeared.
“She will know, I swear this to you,” he reassured her, then turned to go.
The sun grew blindingly bright. Helle shielded her eyes. When the light faded, she uncovered them and he was gone. Stepping back inside her simple shelter, supported by a portion of the Great Wall of Troy, she leaned against the closed rickety door. Weak with shock, she drew a deep breath to steady her nerves.
She poured fresh water into a large pottery bowl to bathe the child entrusted to her care. She talked to the boy who smiled back at her and cooed with a new-tooth, drooling smile.
Helle took down her small flask of olive oil to anoint him and ease his sunburn. Little oil remained in the small flask, but enough to ease his pain for the night. Tomorrow, she would face the problem of gaining more.
“What will I feed you, little prince?” Helle asked the quiet child. She would go hungry herself and give him the small loaf of bread she had saved for her own meal, but he was far too small to eat bread, even a portion soaked in water. Worrying over this serious dilemma, her heart ached for the little fellow sucking his fist hungrily. His big blue eyes looked at her with trust.
The sun had all but finished its passage for the day, just touching the blue-green water of the Aegean Sea. A disturbance outside drew her attention. Astonished, she heard a goat bleating. Slowly going outside, as not to frighten the animal, she found a nanny goat accompanied by her kid. Her utters full of milk, enough for her own kid and Astyanax.
“Where did you come from?” she asked the nanny goat. Taught never to deeply question the fates or the gods, she instead began to thank them for their benevolence when an answer to her question startled her.
“Where do you think I came from?” a coarse, sarcastic voice answered her.
“Did you speak?” Helle asked the goat, feeling foolish but willing to believe anything after today.
“Yes, I did,” the nanny goat bleated. “I was sent so the child could be fed and I am to keep an eye on things here,” the goat said.
“You were given the power of speech?” Helle asked, amazement in her voice.
“Yes, among other things,” the goat replied cryptically.
“Do you have a name?” Helle asked as she sat and took great care to gently milk the goat, not wishing to cause the creature any discomfort.
“Among the other goats and sheep now freely roaming the hills behind Troy, I am called Blotch, because of the dark spot on the end of my nose,” she explained. Briefly, Blotch looked cross-eyed at the end of her nose.
Helle laughed. “Thank you for the milk. There is fresh straw behind this house. I stole it from the last of the Greeks yesterday,” Helle said by way of invitation for the goat to remain.
“Thank you, it was good to get rid of some milkkkkk—the pressure, you know.” The goat shook her head. “As for sleep, I’ve slept in the ruins, like you have for the last two or three nights. This night I will stay here close to your,” the goat looked at the burned-out building Helle had managed to turn into a shelter outside the massive wall of Troy, “home.”
Relieved to see the child fed and made comfortable for the night, and enough milk left over, she had a cup with her bread, quelling her own hunger for the first time in many days. She pondered the talking goat, finding it strange, but a normal day in Troy wasn’t something that had occurred in many years. Helle suspected Apollo had not left them alone and now looked over them.
With Astyanax sound asleep from exhaustion and with the sun sinking into the sea, Helle made haste to the Temple of Apollo. Before she left, she met Blotch. “I am going to worship at the temple. Will you keep an eye on the boy?”