Windstorm: Sun Oracle Burning: Windstorm: A Game of Gods Trilogy, #1

By Rosetta M. Overman

Born to the god Apollo, Aello was raised with all the priviledge of a goddess. Despite this, she knows her future is among the mortals of Gaia with her mother. Her upbringing doesn't prepare her for the life of a royal or how cruel humans can be.
      Trapped under the thumb of a brutal husband, Aello has little hope for happiness until a trip to Egypt brings her together with kindred spirits. Treated in much the same way she is, the goddess Sahure quickly becomes a cherished friend and protector. But it's the companionship of an ostracized god that proves the strongest of temptations in her sea of misfortunes.
      As their bond grows,  more forces come together to destroy them and all they hold dear. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosetta M. Overman
• Release date: Aug 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386169758

Book preview

Prologue

Compromise

October 31, 12,654 BC

T

he marble of the most fanciful home on Mount Olympus glistened sinisterly as Apollo stared at his father, a tiny babe clutched to his chest. With a little coo, the child reached up from the tunic he used to swath it and wrapped a long lock of sun-colored hair in her hand, tugging gently. He bent forward marginally, smiling at the babe as covertly as possible in the presence of Zeus, Hera and his sister.  None of them were pleased with him. His father bellowed, Think of what you have done, you bastard. Though Zeus had fathered many a child outside of his bond with his consort, the god felt very little real love for any of them. Cutting him with words was almost better than using one of the many bronze blades he owned, for the wound lasted longer when it went straight to the heart.

Swallowing, he glanced to Artemis, who had almost always been on his side throughout their lives. Her face was hard and unyielding, a life of power and prestige had done nothing to improve her personality. If anything, the goddess was more embittered by her centuries of existence than any other creature that he could remember coming across, including the Titans thrown deep in Hades’ blackest, most dismal pits. Knowing there would be no assistance from her on this matter, he returned his attention to his father, completely ignoring Hera. Could he kill the bitch without bringing the wrath of Zeus for what she had attempted to do to his mother upon his birth, he surely would have.

Father, please. It’s not the babe’s fault, but mine. Do not blame her for my folly. His plea was strained, for he had never in all his millennia begged for anything with such desperation. In fact, it wouldn’t be wrong to claim that he had never begged at all. But for the sake of the beautiful child that had charmed his heart with her adorable pink face and unconditional adoration, he would do whatever need be. I beg of you. With this last frantic plea, he dropped to one knee before his king and hung his head.

With a cascade of blond locks hiding his face, he was free to beam at the babe, his daughter, for as long as he pleased until Zeus became annoyed with his despondence. Since he’d never known his father to love anything more than the adoration and surrender of another being, he imagined he would have quite a while before he was called to look away from the sparkling blue eyes that matched his so perfectly any time soon.

Now Artemis did take pity on him, moving forward to whisper something to their father quietly. From where he kneeled on the polished floor, he couldn’t hear the words, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Never before had he been so enamored with one of his offspring. Zeus knew he had enough of them to fill the entirety of this monstrous home, but none of them had ever seemed so precious or so unusually understanding. Even as an infant she stared up at him, clutching his hair as though trying to soothe his tumultuous emotions. There was no way to warrant this as neither of her parents was empathetic to the emotions of others.

After a moment, Zeus called out to his son, drawing the blond’s attention from the wiggling bundle in his arm. He arose, smile faded to nothing more than an uncertain shell of his usually playful smirk. Clio, the only of his muses to treat him like a sibling rather than a possible lover, sauntered over, lifting her hand to indicate that he follow her out of the hall.

A lake glistened next to a marble seeing pool placed upon a simple bronze pedestal, well away from the prying eyes of his father. It took little time for them to travel, a simple want to be gone from Zeus’s sight had him here with his most trusted and beloved historian. What’s this? he inquired, watching warily as she conjured a glass pitcher and dipped it into the lake, bringing the water to the emptied seeing pool. His heart dropped as he realized what his sister had suggested, a suggestion that Zeus had been only too pleased to agree to. Holding his daughter closer, he muttered, The Moirai are to decide? Though he phrased it as a question, he was well aware of the answer and it twisted something deep inside him.

A grim expression on her face, Clio motioned him over to her side. He bent to set his girl on the ground, fingers curling protectively around the back of her head. Bring the babe with you, she called softly, stopping him before he had a chance to settle her on the soft grass a little away from the lake. He did as he was told, once again cradling her lovingly. The goddess smiled down on her as she gazed into crystalline blue eyes, a soul deep ache working its way into each of them. She’s beautiful, like her mother, she commented, voice still soft so as not to rapture the tranquility of the moment. When she lifted her gaze to Apollo, there was none of the judgment he had seen in the eyes of the few others who now knew of his imprudent choice.

Yes, he agreed, pushing the tunic away from her head to expose wisps of vibrant red-gold hair. The goddess plucked one from the little girl’s scalp quickly, drawing a startled cry from the babe. A cry that became a tortured wail. Apollo brought her to his shoulder, bouncing her as he had once witnessed Aphrodite doing to an unhappy Eros. She let out a little hiccup, tiny hands fisting in his hair in an attempt to find some form of comfort.

Clio stroked the infant’s back reassuringly, her expression sympathetic as she dropped the hair into the seeing pool. Closer, Apollo, they need to behold her. The words again twisted something inside him in a manner almost painful. The Moirai were not known for their kindness, not even to their fellow gods and even Zeus himself tread carefully around the trio. Reluctantly, he held his babe over the seeing pool, certain that he felt the malicious eyes of the three goddesses staring up through it with their molten gold eyes.

The surface of the water rippled, the pool breaking into a new image. Leaning closer, the trio stared down at a beautiful blonde woman dressed in a gown of rich crimson. She stood before the palace of Macedon, which towered behind her. Pella, he whispered, mouth going dry at the sight of the capitol. Then, with another glance at the woman, he breathed, Lysimache, in disbelief.

Clio nodded sharply, saying, Her mother. You will keep the girl here until she comes of age, but then you must send her to live with her people. The monotonous drone of her voice made it clear that she was channeling one, if not all, of the Moirai. Her dark eyes, usually keen and sharp, were distant.

We are her people, Apollo argued, knowing it was pointless. If they wanted this for his babe, if this was the future Fate had chosen for her, there was nothing he could do about it save comply.

Those dead eyes turned in his direction, followed by her stoic face, as she droned, Is she? He wanted to argue, to say that his girl belonged on Mount Olympus more than any other creature that ever lived, but arguing could make her fate worse, so he simply lowered his head, pressing a kiss to the side of his daughter’s head gently. Taking that as his answer, the Moirai receded back to their depths in Hades and he hoped they never again darkened his door.

Clio lifted the babe from his arms, something he allowed after several reluctant seconds and a promise of, I would never hurt her, from his muse. Unwrapping her from the tunic and bearing her to the world, Clio inquired, What name has she been gifted?

His brows furrowed, for in all the time from August to now, he had been too concerned about hiding her existence to give her a decent name. Damn Artemis for her inquisitiveness when it came to a crying babe in his home. If not for her, this would not have occurred to begin with. Realizing that this was another mistake to add to his long line of them, he moved closer, stroking his fingers along her brow as he admitted shamefully, She hasn’t one.

With an encouraging smile, Clio moved closer to him, the tiny infant girl still naked in her arms. Her father scooped her up, holding her out with her body rested over the length of his forearm, head braced carefully in his palm as his fingers curled over her ears like a wreath of laurel.  She cooed at him again, giggling softly at his smile. Then let us give her one, the goddess beseeched, clearly pleased at the sight of the pair. She was the only one to understand how he felt, yet she never bore a child of her own or held such a tiny, perfect creature in her arms knowing that it had been created in part by her. How curious.

With another kiss to the babe’s temple, he lowered her into the tepid water of the seeing pool, shocking Clio with the action. They exchanged a look as she asked, Are you sure this is what you wish to do, Apollo? Once the gift has been given it cannot be recanted. He was aware as she was not the first he had given a gift, powerful or otherwise.

Yes, he replied gently, cupping his hand under the water and drawing it out, spilling the life giving essence over his daughter’s forehead. Some trickled into her eyes, causing her to blink in confusion, but she didn’t cry out again. Already she trusted her father to the point that she was convinced that he would protect her from everything. One day he would tell her the truth. The truth that in life – even the life of an immortal – there was no way that anyone could protect her from everyone. Not even her father, as much as it pained him to admit his weakness.

Leaning over, Clio whispered, You have a hard road ahead of you, child, her tone melancholic. Hard and painful. The Moirai have seen you and they will do everything in their power to break you down, little one. You must be strong. The babe simply cooed at her, seemingly marveled by the dark curls spiraling around the muse’s shoulders.

Fighting back traitorous tears that might wipe away the joyous expression on his daughter’s face, he leaned down, whispering, Yes, Aello, daughter of Apollo, you have a very trying life ahead of you. He hated the admission, but loved the innocent glee in her eyes as he finally gave her a proper name. But it will never beat you down, my little windstorm, for you are too strong to be broken. He directed the last words at Clio and, as his curse had made impossible for him to lie, the words could be nothing less than the truth.

Clio smiled again, whispering, Welcome to Mouth Olympus, Aello.

And on that day, following the bittersweet note that clung to Clio’s words, Aello became a temporary lodger in a place filled with enemies and secrets.

Chapter One

A Time for Cajoling

P

apa paused in strumming on his lyre as he realized that I wasn’t singing along as I normally did. It was difficult for me to focus on words for such a pleasant tune when all I could think about was my upcoming birthday – and the fact that I would be separated from my family the day it arrived to become Princess of Macedonia. Though I had been down to Gaia on sparse occasions, I had never been there for more than a few days, and always with my Papa by my side until we returned home. Nerves twisted in my stomach as I moved toward him. His arms opened to accommodate me. He knew just as well as I did that I was thoroughly terrified of leaving and the only thing I could concentrate on was the inevitable. Why did Zeus have to pick on me of all of the people living on Mount Olympus? He was even Zeus-nice to Phobos and Deimos and he despised them with a disconcerting passion.

Flopping down on the plush cushion Papa sat upon, curling up on his lap as I had as a child, I leaned into him. Six and ten was such a young age. Many of the gods around me were thousands of years my seniors, yet the moment I was considered marrying age by Zeus, I was to be sent to live with my mother. She was a human woman I had never met but had seen once in a portrait painted by none other than my papa, who had a way of embellishing a person’s more aesthetically pleasing attributes. All I knew was that she was blonde and had eyes a blanched green that I couldn’t bring myself to find beautiful after seeing my Aunt Artemis’s gemstone-colored ones peering at me since I could remember.

With a gentle sigh, I admitted to Papa aloud, I don’t wish to leave you. My voice sounded small and wounded, even to my own ears, but I knew that he had protested as vehemently as he could and I didn’t wish for him to be flung from the top of Mount Olympus as Hephaestus had a few years ago for angering Zeus. Hera had been unable to stop him, but since he wasn’t Ares, I doubted that she had been too broken up about his injuries. And she would never step in for the illegitimate son of her husband and another goddess, especially not Leto, who had always been Zeus’s favorite, even before they married.

Pushing away from his chest, I inquired, Do you believe it possible that I might return? There was a long pause in which Papa stroked his hand through my loose red tresses. Leaning his forehead against the side of my head, he discarded the lyre completely. It thudded next to the cushion, skidding over one of the massive marble tiles that made up the floor.

The smile that twitched over his lips as he pulled away to gaze at me with so much adoration in his eyes that it pained me slightly to look back at him, he responded, "Anything is possible, kopela mou. His voice was but a gentle whisper that made me wonder if he believed he would choke on the words. He hadn’t lied, Papa was incapable of lying. Yet I knew from sharing his curse that there were ways to word things so that it wasn’t a lie, but the truth was still hidden. I learned this was referred to as double talking. One day, I believe we will be together again."  While the words themselves warmed me, the dismal tone he used was enough to destroy any happiness that they might have brought me as soon as it had formed.

That would be lovely, I said softly, closing my eyes as a ray of sunlight reached in through the window, brushing my face. Papa could look directly into the sun without so much as a squint, something he passed on to me. The warmth on my face was pleasant, returning some of what had fled me. He was one of the few that I would miss, though I was quite fond of Hermes and found the automations that Hephaestus created quite entertaining. The friends I found most endearing were actually the ones that very few others bothered to visit and I made a mental note to do just that before my birthday. It could very well be the last time that I saw any of them again and I couldn’t bring myself to pass up the chance.

A shadow fell long over us, blocking out the comforting rays I basked in. My eyes drifted open and I stared at the silhouette of a woman in a short tunic, wondering who was coming to see us. Aunt Artemis never wore anything short, but there were plenty of goddesses that came to visit Papa. He had always been quite popular with the ladies. It wasn’t until she stepped closer, the halo of sunlight dropping away, that I could make out the identity of our visitor.

With a gleeful cry, I leaped up from the floor, bounding toward the woman with a broad smile on my face. My arms wrapped around her tightly, hers returning the pressure as she dropped a kiss upon my crown. "Ah, asteraki mou, she breathed, fingers stroking through my straight, thick hair just as Papa had moments before. Her little star, she had called me that since I was a babe. How I have missed you." There was nothing quite like the adoration of a grandmother, or perhaps that was simply because I had never known the love of a mother and she had given me the closest thing I had ever come to it.

Still smiling adoringly, I responded, Oh, but I have missed you more, Leto! And I had, as far as I was concerned. Because of Hera’s earlier hostility, despite the fact that Leto was now absolved of any fault and no longer being punished, she rarely ever bothered to come to Mount Olympus. As much as Zeus adored her, she wasn’t comfortable so close to our queen, though neither her twins nor I would allow anything to befall her. Yet, the time in which I could keep an eye on her was waning by the second. I fought down the depression. My grandmother had come to see me and I refused to bring her anymore discomfort than she felt from simply being here, this close to the huge palace that rested on the crest of the mountain.

Behind me, Papa chuckled, relief at my lifted spirits clear in the cadence of the sound. Leto leaned close to my ear, whispering, I do not believe that is possible, young one. Her hands rested themselves lightly on my shoulders, thumbs stroking the skin of them soothingly before she moved around me to embrace Papa just as warmly. Leto may have only had two children, but she was the most incredible mother I had ever met and I loved watching her with both of them, even when Aunt Artemis was in a mood.

Dark auburn, nearly black, curls brushed over my shoulder as she turned to look at me again, lush tresses swinging freely with the motion. A memory of my fingers twinning in the strands as I sat on her lap, staring out at the ocean from her modest home on Delos as a child, flitted through my mind, teasing a smile from me. It had been too long since we could enjoy such simplicity, but I was glad that Papa had informed me of the deal he made with Zeus when I turned ten and five last year.

Separation was much easier to bear when there was forewarning.

We settled down in front of Papa on a pair of lush blue cushions he conjured up, watching as he picked up his lyre again. Music always soothed him and the sound of it had always been enough to make me join in with words. Now that Leto was here, I felt inspiration swell up inside of me and I opened my mouth, the words pouring forth. However, this was no ordinary song, that much I could tell as my vision clouded over and the ground trembled beneath me, something that only ever happened when Zeus was angry. Being that the humans were having a festival in his honor on Gaia as the strains of Papa’s song faded to nothingness, I knew that wasn’t the case. An enraged cry echoed through my mind, pain lancing up my side, but still I saw nothing. Never had I experienced such an occurrence. Most commonly I saw instead of hearing if one of my senses was missing. How I loathed this new feeling, trapped in a state of unknowing even as the knowledge of premonition washed over me, slipping away too swiftly to catch.

Blindness was only forced upon those meant to judge and that was solely when they were in the process of fulfilling a judgment. Never had a visionary such as myself been forced to go without seeing the path the world would take. How could I, as a future Priestess of Apollo, not see what was clearly a devastating event?

As quickly as the confusing happening began, it ebbed, leaving me lying haphazardly on my side, a result of the phantom jolts that sent me sprawling over the floor. Golden strands of hair caressed the side of my face, indicating that Papa was leaning over me, checking to see what ailed me. That was...quite unusual, I muttered, my tongue lethargic, tripping over the words. That, at least, was something that I was familiar with. With a small groan, I pushed myself up on my throbbing arm. Having fallen on this marble since I was a babe, I was somewhat used to the lance of pain that came and died away rather quickly. That didn’t mean that I particularly enjoyed the painful jolt that never failed to knock the wind out of me upon impact.

Hands pulled me up, settling me properly on the cushion I slid off of. My eyes lifted, meeting with Papa’s. He seemed worried and I knew it had everything to do with the violence of the...experience. "What, what is it you saw, i kopela mou?" he questioned, anxiety clear in his voice.

But what was I to tell him when there really was nothing to tell? No visions to describe? Nothing, I answered, running a hand through red-gold tresses anxiously. Absolutely nothing, Papa. Everything went black and the ground trembled. Though I’d already convinced myself that Zeus wouldn’t be upset today, I couldn’t help but glance around and see if perhaps I was wrong. Nothing in the room was overturned, not even Papa’s beloved seeing dish, which sat upon a carved ledge jutting from the wall.

Silence pervaded the room as both of them contemplated what this might mean, but it was clear that they didn’t understand either and that bothered me more than I would let on. How could Papa not understand the gift he himself had given me mere months after my birth? Then again, it was hard to know exactly what a gift would flourish into, even for the god of oracles and knowledge. He himself wasn’t privy to the secrets of The Moirai.

As the confused silence stretched on, Papa wrapped an arm around me, pulling me to his side and holding me tightly. My eyes closed, his body heat chasing off the chill that I hadn’t even realized had seized me as I allowed myself to relax into him. I couldn’t imagine that anyone else could ever make me feel so comfortable and adored. Eros had convinced me that love was something that was simply contrived. Being that his mother was the goddess of love and beauty, I found it strange that he believed that until I realized how Aphrodite’s infidelities had shaped his views. But I imaged that, if I ever found love and could prove him wrong, my consort would make me feel much this same way.

Seeming to sense the direction of my thoughts, Leto squeezed my hand gently. Like so many other goddesses, she had been wronged terribly by our king. Her story was one that left me wondering if perhaps gods were simply not meant to find real love. While it was depressing, in a way I understood. Gods were selfish and cruel when they felt that they’d been wronged, why would soul mates exist for them – for us, seeing as I was raised as one of them – if that was the way they were? But Leto was gentle and sweet, the opposite of most goddesses, and I felt she deserved something special, like Papa did. Unfortunately, that didn’t really mean much to The Moirai, who wove whatever patterns they saw fit into our lives with only thoughts for their own entertainment. Even Zeus refused to defy them.

Often, I wondered what the point of living a life already mapped out for us was. If our destinies were predetermined, then why face each day and suffer if our choices and the outcomes weren’t really of our own making? And if there wasn’t one, then why were we even here in the first place?

While they were all decent questions, I knew I would receive no answers to them and worrying myself would do nothing but surround me in negativity. So I pushed all of that away and smiled at my grandmother and papa. Mayhap we’ll understand it eventually, I told them with a little smile, pushing away from Papa. What say you to going down to Gaia and joining in on the festivities? A little birdy informed me that they are quite enjoyable. With a mischievous grin and a quick wink at Leto, I mentioned, And I hear they have roasted boar.

At that, Papa stood, wrapping an arm around each of us in turn. "That, kopela mou, sounds delightful."

T

he heavy braid I’d coaxed my tresses into swayed over my backside, the weight of it surprisingly reassuring as I walked along between Leto and Papa. Unlike me, they were both in disguise. While I came here often enough to be recognized, the Achaeans weren’t aware of my parentage and I wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. Behind me, Leto paused to fix the thin, red scarf she wrapped around her head and neck loosely. Upon catching my gaze, she smiled fondly. Her deep indigo chiton twisted around her ankles in a much appreciated breeze. Returning her smile, I turned back around, watching as a chariot rumbled by, carrying a pair of armor clad soldiers. It was led by two small bay horses that I could not place a name to, though I was sure that Poseidon would’ve been more than happy to inform me of had he been so inclined to participate in the festivities.

Spotting a pair of lovers slipping off into a shadowy alcove, I giggled quietly, slipping my arm through Papa’s. He had come in the guise of a middle-aged man, such an unusual appearance for him. Perhaps that was the purpose of it. His eyes sparkled as he inquired, And what, pray tell, has you so amused? I smiled secretively, knowing there was no fun in having to explain it. His decision not to press further was followed by a gentle smile and a shake of his head.

We walked around for several hours, Papa consuming so much roasted boar from various vendors that I was sure that he would make himself sick. He hadn’t strayed from my side except for a handful of times in which he went to gather more food. He was gnawing on the last bit of meat he’d taken from a cart, scanning the area lazily. It wasn’t until his steps faltered that I bothered to see what had captured his attention.

The woman was slight in build and stature, her hair a tumbling mass of wheat-hued curls twisting down her back. A wreath of gold-cast laurel encircled the back of her head, left open at her brow. It was the same kind of crown that the Achaeans often depicted Papa wearing in their many sculptures. But that was far from what had all of us frozen in place. The woman was none other than Queen Lysimache of Macedonia. My mother.

After a moment my chest began to burn, reminding me that I needed to breathe. This was the first time that I had ever seen her in the flesh rather than just through the crystalline waters of the seeing dish. My heart fluttered in my chest like hummingbird wings as I watched her join a man far into his years. Their interactions were terse, but it was clear that he was her king. They also had a son, my brother, but he was nowhere to be seen. I ducked my head, not wanting to be seen. What if she decided to take me away from Papa earlier than anticipated?

Backing away like a coward, which, in retrospect, I very well may have been at the time, I muttered a