14 • Philosophy

Ganymede felt the gentle breeze on his ankles and thighs as he approached the wooden skeleton. Upon its outstretched arms were all the layers of Zeus’s green and gold kimono. The raiment had a more rectangular shape than he had previously known, so geometrically poised on its wooden stand. The air pulled the corners of the blanket around him, giving flight to the embroidered cranes. 

Ganymede’s head tilted, and then the blanket slipped off his shoulders. It landed with a plomp on the floor while he gripped the layers all at once. The silk was heavy around him, and none of it appropriately tied or sized, but they smelled like the god still in bed behind him. Their love had been simple and gentle the evening before, but even the touch of Zeus’s mouth and fingers lingered on Ganymede’s skin.

Slithering and rustling sounded behind him before tangible arms folded around him. The collars of the many robes had been pulled up around Ganymede’s nose, now trapped around his face. “You could stay in bed and have the real thing around you.”

Ganymede only hummed an acknowledgment, content as he was to have both. He relaxed in Zeus’s arms, feeling the nose in his hair and the expanse of Zeus’s chest upon his inhalation. “Come with me.”

Ganymede let himself be pulled to the terrace, where Zeus commanded the clouds to move aside. Like gates parting, the horizon below opened for them. Orange and gold gleamed off waters. The dark blues and greens over the land smelled fresh and damp; the night slowly baked away during the morning’s rise.

His eyes could only observe it for so long. Ganymede turned in Zeus’s arms, pressing his face to the god’s chest. “Would you like to see it from a more comfortable view?”

He nodded, and felt the familiar descent into slumber. Just as quickly, soft lips on his forehead coaxed his eyes open. They were outside: the sky a dull grey while foliage crowded around the exhaling water—

“Another bath?”

Ganymede startled at Dionysus’ answering, “The cleansing appreciation is excellent in these parts.”

“Dion! I’m naked!”

Dionysus’ waving hand flicked drops at him before he gestured along his own body. “Don’t flirt with me. I’m not inviting you to touch my temple, either.”

“Gany.”

He rotated in the opaque, white water to see Zeus gazing over the edge of the bath into a small ravine. The creek below was a green bed for clear waters and pink petals despite the soft paleness of their bath concealing their bodies.

“We’re in the southern part of the island now,” Zeus informed. He leaned in to kiss Ganymede’s lips. “Do you smell the summer?”

But Ganymede’s nose somewhat wrinkled as he peered around. “I don’t smell…plants, if that’s what you mean.”

A trill of water was his only warning to know Dionysus moved right beside him. “The stink is good for your skin.”

“Are you making it stink?” he accused.

“I’m perfectly serious.”

Zeus laughed and assured, “It is an ingredient from deep underground. A little unpleasant, perhaps, but Dion is right.”

“And don’t you dare urinate in these waters.”

“I know a bath is not a piss pot. Leave me alone,” Ganymede retorted, earning a deep chuckle from Zeus. With most of the pools in the palace being occupied by naiads of some kind…Ganymede needed only one memory that he cared not to revisit.

He knew it would not be long before his stomach made its demands. “What do they break their fast with here?”

On the dark wooden deck around them, Dionysus swung one of his customary, oversized silk robes around himself. He unveiled a steaming bamboo dish of rice, another of filled buns, and fine porcelain bowls of grilled fish and pickled vegetables. After Ganymede accepted a cashmere robe from Zeus, he gratefully took a bowl of soup. The murky gold broth swam with mushrooms new to his eyes, as well as a green material he had since learned was a weed from the ocean.

Ganymede did miss Hephaestus’ spicy rice, but there was something delicious about the sticky, short-grained rice and the way it paired with the savory soup. He favored the buns most of all. The grilled meat filling the bread’s confines, smooth and tacky from the steam, were spicy in the way he enjoyed. The tea was nectar, and as sweet as milk.

Dionysus smirked when a second bamboo dish was procured after the first emptied. “I wonder what you would have done if I’d given you rice porridge.”

Caught with a bun in his teeth, Ganymede made no reply. Zeus reclined on one of the long benches. “He would seek Priam’s breakfast table and word would spread across Troy of Lord Dionysus’ being a sham host.”

Ganymede swallowed and asked, “What is wrong with porridge?”

“Nothing at all,” Zeus crooned while rubbing his back. Ganymede’s body was warm from the hot spring, so much so that he pulled the robe apart for his chest to cool. “It is only blander than your palette is accustomed.”

“I like the rice, especially sticky like this. It’s easier to eat and goes well with the sour pickles, the salty soup, and the spicy...”

Dionysus began pounding the table with his palms, his excited drumming growing louder as he exclaimed, “Yes! Pairings! It is the perfect starch! Wait until you have it in dessert—”

“Dion,” Zeus purred with a smile. His son stopped at once, staring at him with wide eyes. “Remember that he has limited space.”

Dionysus processed this and then threw himself back in his seat. “Digestion! Digestion is overrated. You don’t need to shit from ambrosia!”

“Don’t be foul,” Apollo scolded, now sitting beside him and tearing open a bun. “I had a thought.”

He waited until he had swallowed to continue, “We are in a time of many flower festivals, including Troy’s. Ganymede, would you like to lend a hand in mine and your city’s decorations?”

Ganymede stared at him, puzzled. He knew next to nothing about flowers.

Then the full impact of the god’s offer boiled up and over. Ganymede’s mouth opened for his jaw to move, but nothing emerged. “I…” he breathed, shaking his head. I can’t.

Apollo laughed, “You’re not deciding something for the next thousand years. I’m not tasking you with customs or traditions. I want your help with decorations.”

Ganymede knew he had leaned forward too far, but could not put his shoulders back, let alone lift his chest for breath. “I…an’t…I don’t know anything about…decorating.”

“Good! The free mind is the most experimental! There aren’t any ruts of habit to dictate what you do—”

Ganymede blinked, knowing in an instant that he had been moved someplace else, but his lungs felt like the darkness between stars.

“I am sorry about him,” Athena’s calm voice said. “When Apollo is excited, he becomes rather insensitive to everyone else. Turn your head.”

He had a flash of something blue, but he doubled over a conveniently placed bucket, vomiting up his breakfast. Ragged and wrung out, he was grateful for the arm around his shoulders, steadying him against her so he did not fall off the stool on which she had placed him.

“I apologize. We’re on the continent now. I had thought the elevation would be physiologically familiar, but our speeds are still unkind to you.”

A strange sound drew his gaze up, familiar but infrequent in his memory…

He stared at a lamb, and the curly white-haired creature nibbled on his…cloak? It encompassed him like the largest of blankets, the sleeves tied up so his hands were free.

“I am teaching you one of my crafts today.”

“Does it involve retching?”

“It does not.”

“I won’t be much good at it.”

“I disagree. We’ll start with the cleaning.”

A simultaneous crack! and rustle made Ganymede jump. Hephaestus had set down a massive woven basket of sheered hair on the fine, dark gravel underfoot. He looked mightily unhappy about it. “You’ll be ceasing this incessant invitation to cold climes, sister.”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind if we were in your mountains,” she replied sweetly. Hephaestus made a gruff sound as he loped to the other side of a…garden? Ganymede peered around the lush valley Athena had taken him. It was freezing, yet full of greenery. Beyond in all directions stood snowy peaks instead of a flat horizon line, as if they sat in a bowl of the world; a porcelain dish with a jagged rim. Ganymede stiffly twisted around to see a river narrowed down to a rushing creek that fed into canals and…

“What are those?” he exhaled in wonder.

“Rice paddies,” Athena informed before his attention pulled to an outstretched hand holding a dish. Ganymede looked between the black glazed pottery, the long-fingered hand holding it, and the woman smiling at him with eyes like Hades’ but hair as black as the dish. She held up one of the morsels, bit it in demonstration, and gestured again for him to take it. Ganymede stared at her teeth; one of them was missing.

“It is a root that will calm your stomach,” Athena elaborated.

Ganymede accepted the dish, his eyes widening at the woman’s bow and retreating away. “Is she all right?”

Athena perked up from the pile of wool. “She is not injured. The bow is an integral part of formality, respect, and politeness on this side of the world. You are not unfamiliar.”

The pieces of Ganymede’s mind slowly fit into place. “To me? She’s bowing to me? I’m a servant.”

“You are a guest, and an ill one.”

“Eat the bloody ginger,” Hephaestus barked.

Athena giggled while Ganymede rushed to obey. Fearing that his stomach would react poorly, relief washed through him as the powerful vegetable opened Ganymede’s senses and filled his belly with heat. He scrutinized the yellow pieces which sparkled with granules like sugar. “Ginger?”

“It has been candied to make it more palatable,” Athena nodded.

“How do I thank her?” Ganymede asked, his fingers moving along the dish while he gazed at the woman taking a basket to the tunnel of trellises.

Athena whispered in his ear words he had never heard. Her chin bobbed a nod of encouragement, and then she was shooing him off the stool. Ganymede strode toward the arching trellis covered in various orbs of vegetation. His heart fumbled downward as he saw the woman sit upon her ankles to pick lower items, but then she was looking at him, and there was nowhere to go.

He bowed at the waist with the dish outstretched. He uttered the words as he had heard them, or at least how he thought he heard them. A throaty giggle made him blush all the way through his chest as the woman stood and took the ginger. “You are welcome. You feel better?”

Her words mimicked the way Hephaestus walked. One word at a time, almost jarring in their stop and go quality. But Ganymede’s head jerked up to find similar embarrassment on her features. “My grandpapa taught me some. You feel better?”

One of her hands touched her abdomen. Ganymede nodded. “Yes, thank you very much.”

She grinned, and Ganymede felt dazed as he went to land once more in his stool. Athena smirked. “Yes?”

Ganymede blinked as if he did not quite understand. “She’s so pretty.”

The goddess giggled. “Yes, she is.”

“Hera said I’m the most beautiful human. Even Aphrodite said the same thing. I…I should have known they were making fun of me.”

“Does beauty matter to you?”

“Not in my liking or respecting someone, but they made it seem like…that’s why I am with the gods…but I can’t be the most beautiful human. She’s beautiful. Hector and Paris are handsome. So many humans are lovely to look at.”

“What do you know about Aphrodite?”

Ganymede peered at her. “What do you mean?”

“Without looking deeper into semantics, in terms of beauty and the aesthetic ability to look at something, describe Aphrodite.”

“I…” he frowned, unsure how to respond. “I can’t. Her figure and face are constantly different. I always thought it was a problem of my mortal eyes, or that she did not care to settle on a single human form.”

“She doesn’t,” Athena muttered as if this had been an on-going vexation. “However, that is also the very reason she is the epitome of beauty: it is not one face.”

Ganymede absorbed this, and after a long drawn breath, exhaled relief.

Athena showed him how to pick briars and other unwanted items out of the wool, and once it was all in a pot, she poured boiling water over it. While it soaked, she walked with him to a section of the garden where clusters of berries grew so red they shined black. Ganymede held the basket while she harvested, taking the occasional peek at Hephaestus brushing the wool between two brushes before spreading it along a pan of woven reeds. The fibers visibly dried into fluffy strips while the young woman spoke to him. Her language widened his gaze, the fascinating sound of it seeming to rest in the back of her throat before she laughed. After a nod from Hephaestus, she went under a roofed area, where the sounds of a heavy knife on wood could be heard.

“She’s not afraid of him,” Ganymede muttered to himself. Then louder, “Who is the grandfather she mentioned?”

“Hephaestus, of course.”

“What?” Ganymede piped, much to the disgruntlement of a chicken nearby.

Athena’s voice fell into a softness that Ganymede had to lean in to hear. “Your patience will forgive my brother for his usual bristled nature, but I would have you understand further. This place is special. It is like Troy: not unfamiliar with godly company.”

Ganymede frowned, letting his annoyance seep into his words. “I’m beginning to wonder what a place without a god’s influence looks like. He’s annoyed by visiting his own granddaughter?”

“He’s annoyed at my invasion of his privacy. Although, granddaughter is not entirely accurate. There are hundreds of generations between them, but it is the cold he grumbles about, not his offspring. Before you ask, or suppress asking because you’re the most decent thing to come out of papa’s house: no, she is not of Aphrodite’s line. And without prying too far into my brother’s past, before his marriage, he kept the company of nymphs. Quite a favorite among oceanids, in fact.”

Ganymede felt his stomach swoop through his torso when the god himself stood next to them, taking the basket from his arms. “No point in being polite when I could hear you on any of these mountains. Come over here.”

Ganymede obeyed, arriving at the wool no longer discolored or tangled. Hephaestus poured the berries into a large mortar next to one of the stools. “Mash ‘em.”

It seemed easy enough. Ganymede alternated hands twisting the pestle among the berries. He peeked up when Hephaestus remarked, “Go on, ask.”

“Huh?”

“I can hear your thoughts like someone screaming through a wall. Ask.”

“Oh…sorry.” Hephaestus gave him a sharp look that slammed his heart against his spine. “Just—oceanids are of the sea. Why is a descended on an oceanid all the way in the mountains?”

“One of your forefathers is a river god. But you were born just as mortal as she is. Divinity is an arbitrary ingredient. Sometimes it’s stronger in the babes than the parents. Sometimes it fades entirely. Land changes. Mountains rise. Rivers dry up. Sometimes it changes faster than the humans can learn to change with it. So they leave. Or they die. I made this place so my line wouldn’t have to leave.”

“That was very kind of you.”

“Nothing wrong with the nomadic life. But for those who want to stay, they can stay.”

Ganymede’s mouth opened, but he decidedly closed it. He wondered if Hephaestus had given him the summation of his philosophy with people. A small smile worked its way onto his face while he ground the berries to a wet paste. His arms warm, he removed the expansive cloak to see the close fitting attire underneath. It reminded him of his clothes back home: loose for joints, but cinched closely around his forearms, shins, and waist—

“Go on.”

Ganymede peeked up at him, almost apologizing for his loud contemplation before he ventured further, “You live in Olympus now.”

“I do.”

“But you spent time with oceanids. You spent time on the shore?”

“I landed in the ocean. The maids swam me to shore.”

That left Ganymede’s mouth hanging open. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“No reason to be sorry. You’re wondering why I choose a mountain now instead of a beach?”

“You didn’t like the sea?”

“I liked the company more than the water.”

Ganymede hummed a receptive sound before he agreed, “I like the company too. It’s usually the freshwater naiads in the palace, but the saltwater women and men have always been kind to me.”

“With brains full of sparkly bubbles, what’s not to like?”

Ganymede laughed despite himself, and then pitched a higher sound at realizing Hephaestus made a joke.

“Focus, you’re splashing the dye.”

“Sorry! Sorry, what do I do with the seeds?”

“Athena will do the rest. You’re about to be put to work.”

Ganymede looked at him to see what he meant. As far as he could tell, they were all working…

The woman was staring at him from her place within the trellis. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No. You’ve been training for this your whole life.”

He did not understand until a nod from Hephaestus granted the woman’s coming forward and pulling Ganymede to his feet. He quickly lost track of all the things she made him carry. A beam went over his shoulders, buckets heavy with liquid hanging from either end. Alternatively, baskets were hung from the rod while she filled them up with crops. To and fro along the fields, he followed her with a basket as large as himself carried on his back. Over the tiled canal bridges, he balanced everything from an urn of beans, to a basket of puppies intermingled with chickens.

He quickly learned her words for various commands as well as the things he carried. He learned her words rain, and river; for dog and chicken, and that her name was Feiyan. Ganymede apologized as often as he said it, but she found great amusement in his blunders.

“Done,” she announced suddenly.

Ganymede swayed from heaving a sack of milled something or other into a storage room. “What?”

“Done! Come.”

“What?” he exhaled raggedly at Athena, who turned his shoulders to follow her. It was some moments later that he realized it was starting to rain. Once inside, she set him down before the pile of cleaned wool and a machine.

“I’ve started it for you. Crank the lever and be sure the fibers do not tangle.”

And so the wool twisted into thread and yarn, the lot of it dyed a robust pink, and finally Ganymede was handed a bowl of rice alongside a frothy glass of amber-yellow liquid. He grimaced at the latter’s taste. “This is something Dion made, isn’t it?”

Athena chuckled but simply dropped a ladle-full of toppings over his rice and assured, “He does have a talent for crafting things which taste better the more you drink them.”

Ganymede was not entirely sure what he was eating but he hardly cared. Every bite was delicious and more than made up for the beer. When his empty bowl contrasted full satiation, he stood by the doorway to watch the cold rain drift over the garden and fields. All at once, he realized the color and feeling of the sky had changed.

Glancing behind him, he gauged Feiyan’s disinterest, and stepped out of sight upon the short deck outside. Lowering to his knees and bowing his forehead over his fingertips, Ganymede prayed.

My King, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time, and I didn’t mean to leave in the first place—

I know, sweet Gany. He felt the warm ghost of fingertips through his hair. Apollo sends his apologies. Enjoy yourself. I will see to your aches when you return to me. Or are you not comfortable?

Gany smiled at the wood against his nose. I understand why Dion likes this part of the world.

And it likes you.

The hand left his head like nothing more than a breeze moving on.

* * * * * * *

“She’s scary with the chutou.”

Zeus chuckled. The oil was warm, almost too hot between his hand and Ganymede’s shin. He grimaced as fingertips pressed like claws between the long bones of his feet, sliding all the way over his foot and through his toes, where Zeus flexed and stretched his foot. Beside the bed in a tall urn, a large pink blossom stood with leaves larger than his face. Zeus had scooped him up for a long kiss when Ganymede showed it to him, the foliage rustling against their faces. “I’ve never been given flowers before.”

Now, as he worked his hand back up the underside of the calf, Zeus uttered, “She comes from a strong lineage, nymphs and Hephaestus alike, but a human’s labors for food keep their bodies strong.”

“She does all that alone? I didn’t see anyone else there.”

“It is an entire village scattered throughout that valley. I’m sure my children gave them a gentle nudge to trade elsewhere today. Familiar with gods, they may be, but not outsiders.”

Ganymede breathed through the tight squeeze on his thigh. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the valley is secluded from the rest of the world. Most of those people have never seen one of darker skin, pinker skin, or eyes without hoods. Of course some have, and they would not have treated you without respect, but you were there for respite and to learn, not to be stared at. And not to cause gossip that would mold itself into a legend for the ages to retell.”

Ganymede contemplated while Zeus turned his body and maneuvered his leg to stretch the finer muscles in his hip. “Or did you want to be the subject of myth?”

Ganymede gave a little shrug. “If it was a nice one.”

Zeus smiled while he set Ganymede to rights and moved to the other leg. “Normally you would feel worse tomorrow before you healed, but nectar will resolve that—”

“I’m already a figure of legend, aren’t I?” Zeus peered at the overlapped hands on Ganymede’s abdomen. The fingers pulsed a senseless rhythm, thoughtful. “I never thought about it properly. The hiding, the taunts. Priam’s horses. Everyone already knows me.”

“Taunts? Who taunts you?”

Ganymede gave him a look. “The gods have always taunted me.”

“They tease me through you. That doesn’t make it any less indecent, but you are never at fault—Exhale slowly.”

Ganymede gasped when he gripped an especially sore muscle in his backside. After a long moment, Zeus wiggled his elbow up and down, jostling the rigid muscle to relax. “Are you saying you don’t want to hide?”

He gave Ganymede the time he needed to consider, excruciating though it was. “I would go back to being a prince…wouldn’t I?”

“That would be your decision.”

“Does it make me a coward for saying no?”

“Why a coward?” Zeus’s brows furrowed.

Ganymede’s fingers gripped each other. “I want to do right by my family, but I don’t know anything about ruling…responsibility over thousands… I don’t want it.”

“You are far behind Priam’s children when it comes to succession. It is highly unlikely you would ever rule Troy,” Zeus soothed despite himself. He bent Ganymede’s leg, folding it to his chest until he heard the hip pop.

“But I would be a diplomat of some sort. Ambassador between mortals and the gods makes sense. People would pray to me. Expect things of me, and be angry with me when they did not get their way.”

Zeus was quiet as he turned Ganymede’s pelvis, hearing the gentle pops of his fragile spine. “You’ve devoted a lot of thought to this.”

He sighed through his nose. “What does it mean…preparing the flower festival?”

Zeus pinched each flexor in turn, careful to gauge Ganymede’s tolerance while he spoke. “It would mean prolonged time in Troy for you to explore and observe its people, much like the Dionysia. Apollo would let you choose the flowers for the sacrificial bouquet. These blossoms change each year, to signify the diversity of Persephone’s power, so you would not be defining anything more than what might be made into wine for the next season.”

“Flower wine?”

“Dion does enjoy your input,” Zeus crooned.

“That’s…that’s all?” he all but whispered.

“That’s all,” Zeus purred, taking one of his hands. Splaying the fingers and stretching the palm, he massaged with as much care as he did the rest of him.

“Lady Persephone won’t get angry?”

Zeus could not help but smile. “Do not assume her behavior based on Demeter. She is Hades’ wife, after all, and Queen of fallen heroes and gentle souls alike. She is strong, but kind, and will like your input as much as Apollo. She enjoys seeing what humans create. Dionysus and Apollo are far more…involved.”

Ganymede’s eyes found him. “You don’t want that?”

Zeus mulled it over, pressing spirals into Ganymede’s wrist. “I prefer minimal interference in humanity’s goings-on. They have always had a remarkable…independence to them. Our partiality has always caused problems. It is why Hephaestus moved his lineage to such a secluded place. It is why Troy has a wasteland around it.”

The muscles in his hand flexed ever so slightly, inciting the grey eyes to meet his. “People attack Troy because the gods like it,” Ganymede interpreted.

“They attack Troy because it has fields that always reap a good harvest. It has an infrastructure which grants them fountains, the removal of sewage, and therefore maintains healthy people. Troy has the greatest defenses this side of the world can have, both physical and yes, divine.”

“It never occurs to anyone how breaking those defenses will anger Apollo? That harm done to Troy would remove the gods’ blessing?”

“It does on occasion, but every side in a war has its reasons.”

Ganymede shifted his shoulders and offered him the other hand. “Just seems…ill advised. Nearly destroying a place to take what it has. Burn the field for its harvest.”

“Look at you,” Zeus smirked. “A man of agriculture already.”

“I feel like one,” Gany sighed as Zeus kissed his fingertips. The punctured skin from the sharp vines of guards and vegetables healed against his lips.

“Turn over. You’ll really be wanting my assistance back here.”

“Are you seducing me?”

“How I wish, darling,” Zeus purred with a kiss to his nape. Ganymede yelped against the elbow pressing again into the same sore place in his bottom. The wings of muscle on either side of his spine hardly fared better. Zeus eventually turned him back over for his head to rest in his lap, the ropes flowing from his shoulders into his neck getting the same, languorous treatment.

Ganymede fell deep asleep with Zeus’s fingers in his hair, tickling his scalp while the pads of his thumbs dragged over his forehead.

* * * * * * *

Ganymede’s mouth was full of nectar, causing his sinuses to burn as he rushed to swallow. “You’re coming? When was this decided?”

Zeus smiled around the walnuts he popped into his mouth. “I negotiated with Apollo. Do you not want me there?”

“I want you there!” Gany exclaimed, but his voice softened. “Is it all right for you to be in Troy?”

“The same aversions will be on me to keep people from looking too long. I will be forgotten instantly.”

“Are you coming because of how I reacted yesterday?”

“Not at all. It was already decided between my son and I. I’m joining of my own self-serving volition.”

Dionysus’ arm reached between them for the dish of dates stuffed with sweet cheese. “Oh! Dates!”

Zeus moved his wrist like an unwanted article of clothing. “Out.”