Polyphonte

Agrius and Oreius tear into the carcass while Polyphonte watches, no longer attempting to intervene. Their bodies are hulking and misshapen; blood smears their bearlike snouts. The vicious words thrown at them are all true.

They’re on the edge of her father’s lands; the twins have caught an unfortunate traveler who somehow hadn’t heard the stories. Or perhaps this traveler saw all the beasts patrolling this area and was afraid they might attack him – not realizing they’re waiting to see if Polyphonte or her brood will step one foot into the woods.

Well, his troubles are over now, at any rate. Polyphonte’s troubles only continue – growling and howling out in the woods; growling and howling here at the gate.

It’s much later when the gods approach. Agrius and Oreius are bickering with each other nearby; Polyphonte is staring off into space and doesn’t see the massive, shadowy figures of the two gods until they are nearly upon her.

She looks up at them, listless with sorrow, supposing that her troubles might finally be ending now. One of them is Lord Hermes, she can tell by his winged cap. Among other duties, he is the Lord King Zeus’ favored executioner.

The other, taller and broader, remains anonymous in the shadows.

Hermes speaks. “Polyphonte, daughter of Hipponous and Thrassa, descended of Ares and Tereine – I am commanded by Zeus to punish you for the sins that you and your children have wrought on the world.” It’s as she expected. She doesn’t bother standing up, and closes her eyes. If Thanatos – or even the terrible Furies – claim her tonight, it will be entirely as the gods please it.

“Let it be so,” she murmurs; her final words on this earth.

Lord Hermes clears his throat. “Your punishment was to be death. But your grandfather and I decided upon a compromise.”

This makes her frown, confusion cutting through sorrow. How does one compromise death? And – her grandfather? But then – the other god –

Polyphonte opens her eyes to see two great hands stretched towards her, one holding a winged rod that glows faintly. Moving vaguely, she holds her own hand up in response, and there is just enough light to allow her to see it change.

Shrinking, bending, feathers bursting from her skin and burying her fingers, which stretch and shift. There is no pain but the shock of it makes her feel as though there should be pain, and so she screams, and hears her voice change from that of a woman to – something wraithlike.

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Polyphonte had always been a bit of a rebellious child. Truly, descended from her grandfather.

She’d longed for adventure and freedom more than the loom and fireside… she’d wanted the nymphs of the forest as her companions, rather than a husband.

Probably in the back of her mind she’d been aware that this would not please Lady Aphrodite; though what does a child understand of the rage of a goddess? And anyway, surely, she would have Lady Artemis on her side, pleased with her service.

For a few blissful weeks, this is true. Lady Artemis seems approving, in a distant way, and the nymphs accept her presence. Polyphonte looks forward to every evening, and a new hunt beneath the moon.

—————

She is small, now, that much is certain.

Polyphonte sits upon the ground, arms – wings – spread out to the sides as she pants, bewildered and shocked. Her throat produces a faint chirping noise. She blinks, and suddenly the world suddenly comes into clearer focus than it ever has before.

The great war-god Ares – her grandfather - stands before her, tall and powerful and otherworldly. Hermes stands off to the side as well, tucking his caduceus away.

But where they had been looming shadows before, hidden under the cloak of darkness… now she sees them clearly. More than clearly. She sees every golden curl peeking out from under Hermes’ winged cap; every scar on the war-god’s face and torso. Every nick on the blade of his spear. Every detail, every color, in spite of the shadows of Nyx surrounding them.

She sees a movement out of the corner of her eye, and swivels her head to look. She’s so startled to find her head swiveling nearly the full way around, that she almost fails to notice the shapes of two other birds disappearing into the night sky.

Her sons.

“They’ve gone already,” Lord Ares says unnecessarily. “They seemed happy enough with their new forms.”

Polyphonte doesn’t doubt it. Agrius and Oreius were happy enough with their monstrous old forms; she can only suppose that becoming bloodthirsty birds of ill omen – strixes – would satisfy them just as well.

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A child knows nothing of the rage of the gods. Or goddesses, as the case may be.

Aphrodite had taken affront to Polyphonte’s choice – spurning the goddess of love. Spurning her womanly duties. Spurning Aphrodite.

Polyphonte hadn’t seen it that way. She’d hardly given thought to Aphrodite at all - thinking only of adventures in the moonlight. But perhaps “not thinking of Aphrodite” is all the offense needed.

She is watching a bear as it snuffles through the trees. She isn’t able to hunt a bear yet, though in her daydreams she does so easily. For now, she’s only observing it.

Aphrodite’s curse takes hold at that very moment, and – oh, the next few hours are horrible, terrifying, maddening.

An inexplicable lust overtakes her. Polyphonte doesn’t understand what is happening, and she has no control of her body as she approaches the beast. Throughout the entire ordeal, she has no idea what is happening, and sobs and prayers for mercy tear her apart.

There is no mercy, though.

Afterwards, when Lady Artemis sees what has happened, and what has resulted… she is sickened.

Not by Aphrodite’s actions, but by Polyphonte’s. Polyphonte’s terror and violation offend the Lady of the Forest.

The nymphs and beasts of the forest turn on her, and Polyphonte, now heavily pregnant with monstrous twins, flees them, sobbing in fear as the howls and hunting cries surround her. She barely flings herself through the gate of her father’s lands, a sanctuary of sorts – the beasts prowl the perimeter but do not cross.

They’re only there to prevent Polyphonte from setting one sinful foot upon Artemis’ land ever again. Polphonte, or the twins - Agrius and Oreius, who are giants with the heads and claws of bears. Monsters, who respected the laws of neither gods nor men.

This is where the life of Polyphonte has led: a pawn of the gods. Abandoned by her friends and neighbors… alone, but for her bloodthirsty sons.

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“I’ll be off then,” Lord Hermes murmurs, discreetly turning away and vanishing. Even her new eyes cannot track him as he races away.

Lord Ares doesn’t acknowledge his brother’s words or departure. Instead, he kneels, and offers Polyphonte his forearm. She hops on it, claws digging into flesh. Ares doesn’t appear to notice.

“You’ve suffered much, little Polyphonte,” the war-god says.

For one instant, her mind is flooded with memories –

Her childish flight to the forest to escape marriage and stay a maiden forever…

Aphrodite’s rage and the inexplicable, terrifying, maddening urge that had come over Polyphonte in the presence of the bear…

The rage of Artemis and the nymphs, sending beasts to drive her out of the forest as Polyphonte had fled in terror…

Her monstrous sons and the disgust of everyone around her, unable to look at her without seeing her shame, until finally the gods were sent to destroy her and her brood… and she’d looked up only with listless sorrow, expecting death…

An instant, and the emotions are blinked away, leaving her with only a cold anger. She hisses instinctively, clacking her beak at the memory of the fear and betrayals.

Lord Ares smiles mirthlessly.

“Yes. Yes, I understand. Rage, I understand well. But take heart, Polyphonte. You are not destroyed. You are a strix, now – a destroyer. Of my estate, in my service. And you are a fine and terrible creature to behold.”

She can see that, in fact. Her eyes, so well-suited to nighttime vision, take take in the dusting of silver-and-russet on her back and wings; the black-starred spots upon her creamy white breast and belly. Beautiful.

She can see the sharp talons on the ends of her toes, and heard for herself the clacking of a hard, sharp beak.

“You are a winged beauty,” Ares says to her, “and a terrifying strix of the night. No one will dare to set upon you again – and your scream will be answered with fear.”

Lord Ares stands, tall, and Polyphonte rises with him, gripping his arm tight enough to draw ichor from flesh.

“Go now, Polyphonte, with my blessing. Go, and remind the world what it means to fear.”

Polyphonte had been a defiant child, a maddened girl, and a terrified young mother in turn. Those parts of her lie behind her now, like so many molted feathers. She will take many names now – the ghost owl, the death owl, the “common barn owl” (a name mortals give her, that attempts to defang the evil of her portents)… and of course, the strix. The night-bird of ill omen.

She spreads her wings and leaps from the god’s forearm, taking to the sky without looking back. Her feathers gleam in the moonlight. She can hear everything – every footfall, every breath taken in, she hears it all. There is no sound in her own flight; she is utterly silent as she soars.

Silent, that is, until she feels an urge:

Polyphonte screams into the night and watches in satisfaction as several animals below her flinch – not even just prey animals. Mice and bears, nymphs and men alike blanch and look around for the terrifying strix who threatens blood and death.

The world unrolls before her, all open skies and endless forest. She screams again, and disappears into the darkness.