A Swallow in the North (Greek Mythology) - Chapter 6

Under the tearful and disbelieving gaze of Procne, Yan Beibei stepped forward. The wind swept through her black hair and white gown; despite the simplicity of her attire, her radiant beauty lent her a majesty that rivalled the most magnificent robes.

Tereus’s eyes ignited instantly with a terrifying brilliance. He stared at the young princess with a hunger so naked and predatory it was as if a starving wolf had sighted a fawn in the woods.

Yan Beibei did not grant him even a fleeting glance. She walked directly to the throne of the King of Athens and spoke to the man who was the father of both Procne and her current body:

“Father, during the day, when the Thebans nearly breached our walls, my sister and I sought refuge in the temple of Artemis the Goddess of the Hunt, Protector of Virgins, and Mistress of the Moon. There, we made a vow: if our kingdom were preserved, we would dedicate our lives to the service of the Virgin Goddess and never speak of marriage again.”

These words struck Pandion and Tereus like a thunderclap on a clear day.

For Pandion, it was manageable; a daughter remaining unwed was hardly a catastrophe, and many women who had no heart for marriage found sanctuary in Artemis’s service. But for Tereus, it was a different matter. Having laid eyes on the even more beautiful younger princess, hearing that both were now off-limits and that his betrothal to the elder was effectively void was a blow more painful than death itself.

Yet the authority of Artemis was too formidable to ignore. Not long ago, she had descended to the mortal realm with her brother Apollo to strike down the fourteen children of the arrogant Niobe, who had dared insult their mother. Niobe, stripped of all she prided herself on, now sat by the sea as a pale marble statue, every trace of life drained from her form.

With such a bloody precedent fresh in his mind, no matter how much lust clouded his judgment, Tereus did not dare while sober to demand that the princesses break a vow made to Artemis.

He could only raise his cup to them—primarily to Yan Beibei—and praise their bravery, though he couldn’t resist a subtle attempt to sway their resolve:

“I have never seen such valiant princesses. Even the service of Hera, Queen of Heaven and protector of marriage and power, would not be beyond you. It seems if my Thracian reinforcements had arrived but a moment sooner, I might have witnessed an even more enlightened decision.”

However, Pandion, moved by his love for his daughters, did not share these thoughts. While he had political considerations, he cared more for his daughters’ future happiness. If there was a destination better than Thrace, his daughters did not have to marry Tereus. At most, he harboured a tiny grievance: “Why did you not tell me of such a grand decision sooner, before I nearly made a mess of things?”

Among the Olympian gods, there are three virgin goddesses: Hestia, who guards the eternal hearth; Athena, the wise and invincible; and Artemis, who wanders the moonlit forests. Of the three, Artemis was known to be the most clear-cut in her loves and hates.

If Procne and Philomela could serve Artemis and gain the protection of the Goddess of the Hunt and the Moon, the divine blessings they would receive would be a thousand times better than anything a mere mortal man could offer!

Pandion was now only too eager to pack his daughters off to Artemis’s temple to ensure their lives were securely settled. He couldn’t care less about the theological nuances Tereus was hinting at.

Pandion immediately changed the subject and gestured for Procne and Yan Beibei to leave. Once the sisters stepped out of the brightly lit hall, Procne finally let out a long, shaky breath. Only then did she realize her back was drenched in a cold sweat.

She turned to Yan Beibei, but couldn’t bring herself to utter a single word of reproach. After all, her sister had risked everything, exposing herself to the gaze of a man like Tereus, solely to help her. What could she possibly say?

In the end, Procne could only sigh deeply, her voice thick with worry:

“When did we ever vow to serve Artemis for life? While it is a clever way to avoid Tereus, you were far too bold to use a goddess as a shield. If the Goddess of the Hunt finds out, she will surely be enraged.”

The more she spoke, the more her anxiety grew. She clutched Yan Beibei’s hand and urged:

“If the Goddess Artemis seeks to punish us, you must push all the blame onto me. Say that I was unwilling to marry far away to Thrace and begged you to lie for me.”

“As your elder sister, it is my duty to protect you. Furthermore, when Artemis struck down Niobe’s children, she began with the eldest. If she is truly angered, I will offer my life to appease her. You must. you must live well and worry for me no longer.”

“Sister, do not worry. I have weighed this carefully,” Yan Beibei replied calmly. “Artemis’s brother, Apollo, the god of light and medicine, rules over prophecy. Seers can glimpse the future in the smoke that rises from the tripod in his temple.”

She led Procne around a corner, taking a path that was definitely not the way back to their sleeping quarters.

“If Artemis had intended to punish me at that moment, it would have meant she was watching and could hear our words. I would have used that chance to beg for her aid. Any seer in Apollo’s temple could testify that my words were born of a desperate need to avoid the tragic fate I have foreseen.”

Procne thought about it and conceded it was a viable logic, but this only made her more concerned:

“But she did not punish us then. Does that not mean the Goddess has no idea what is happening here?”

“Is that not even better?” Yan Beibei finally stopped. Before them stood the temple of Artemis. Its pure, white marble, free of any blemish, glowed with a celestial light under the moon’s radiance.

She stepped forward and pushed open the great doors. The eternal flames within flickered and danced in the sudden draft as they entered.

“This is the reason we are here tonight.”

The temple should have been guarded by women who had sworn to serve the goddess keepers of the doors and the sacred flames. But tonight, with the King’s banquet celebrating the victory over Thebes, many had gone to join the festivities. Only a few young girls remained, nodding off against the altars.

Yan Beibei quietly dismissed them all. Gathering her long skirt, she knelt before the altar amidst the blooming flowers and curling incense.

However, before she could even begin her prayer, an irrepressible gasp sounded from behind her.

Procne rarely lost her composure like this. Even during the day, when the kingdom was falling and they faced capture or death, she had remained calm enough to comfort Yan Beibei.

But now, her voice trembled so violently she could hardly speak the name:

“Artemis. the Goddess Artemis has descended!”

Yan Beibei looked up in shock. The incense smoke on the altar had shifted direction, flowing toward the statue carved from obsidian. Amidst the swirling mist, the black statue—which seemed to swallow all light opened eyes that shimmered with a silver radiance.

The moment she opened her eyes, countless flowers withered and bloomed anew in an instant. The fresh fruit fermented into flowing wine, and the lamps that had been nearly extinguished by the wind flared up with a magnificent, grand brilliance. Not even the national banquet for the Thracian King could match half the light in this room.

Procne was so overwhelmed by the beauty and majesty that she was speechless. She hurriedly prostrated herself beside her sister to show her reverence. Yan Beibei didn’t dare say a word either; she was the one who had used the Goddess as a pretext, and no amount of excuses would help now.

Beyond that, Yan Beibei felt a primal fear at the very core of her being:

She had once died by Artemis’s arrow.

Even if Yan Beibei knew rationally that it was the result of Niobe’s hubris a story that had to happen in the tapestry of Greek myth—how could reason ever truly conquer emotion?

Why was it I who died? Why was it I who felt the pain? Why must I suffer a grief that was not mine, and why was I displaced from my own world to this one?

Resentment flared within her, but to whom could she speak of her bitterness?

In the silence that no mortal dared break, the Olympian Goddess spoke. The voice from the stone was like the clashing of blades—metallic, resonant, and cold:

“I know you did not lie.”

With those words, Yan Beibei was acquitted of her deception, and her safety was guaranteed.

Procne wept with joy, bowing repeatedly in gratitude. Yan Beibei kept her head lowered until she heard Artemis call to her:

“Philomela, lift your head so that I may look upon you.”

Trembling, Yan Beibei raised her eyes slightly. She heard the Goddess—whose eyes saw through all speak again. In that metallic, inhuman voice, there was a trace of a smile:

“Princess of Athens, ‘Singer’ whose voice is peerless but whose wisdom is even more exceptional—you are actually afraid of me.”*

Under extreme pressure, Yan Beibei found herself becoming unnaturally calm. It felt as if her soul had drifted from her shell; the person kneeling and answering at the altar was merely a mechanical vessel.

“I am merely struck by the majesty of a god.”

The Goddess of the Hunt fell silent for a moment, then added: “You did not receive an oracle from my brother’s tripod.”

She gazed at the dark-haired girl through the obsidian statue. “Your eyes are clear and bright, unlike those of the blind seers. How then did you catch a glimpse of your own future?”

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