Notus has spoken of how this golden god once crossed paths with his brother, the West Wind, who lives in the forest-cloaked realm of Carterhaugh. According to Notus, Apollo lost a loved one many centuries ago and never quite recovered. It is this break I seek to heal, this rupture I hope to repair. Grief, after all, is seasonal. It may abate for a time, yet when the rains arrive to douse the parched land, it inevitably springs up until the weather again turns.
Apollo circles me, hands behind his back. The goddess, Demi, steals a berry from her neighbor’s plate without their notice. “What do you wish to gift me, mortal?” he asks.
What a musical voice he has. Light in its purest form. “If it’s not too much trouble, I require a violin. To demonstrate.”
A brief whisper of conversation peaks and dies. A mortal playing the violin—for the god of music himself? The divine shake their heads, having already decided that I will embarrass myself, in addition to wasting their time.
The lightning god angles toward me with an expression of unexpected intrigue. “A violin? Why?”
Because I have dearly missed it. Because it was where I first learned to tell stories. Because I am not Sarai Al-Khatib without it.
But I only say, “Because it is my voice when I cannot speak myself.”
Apollo regards me for a long moment. Unlike the rest of the council, he doesn’t immediately dismiss my request. Does he recognize our shared grief? Does he see the holes alongside my heart?
In his hand appears a violin case, which he sets on the ground at my feet. I crouch, open the case, remove the violin and bow. After sliding the shoulder rest onto the body of the instrument, I tighten the bow hair and push to my feet.
I look to Apollo as the council watches on. A few whisper to their neighbors with light sniggers. I ignore them. “If it’s acceptable to you, I’d like to perform the Unfinished Concerto.”
“The Unfinished Concerto.” Apollo rubs at his jaw thoughtfully. Sunlight gilds the tips of his bright hair. “It’s been some time since I’ve heard it, but—” He nods, just once. “Very well. If you think yourself capable of the task.”
My mouth quirks. Itwouldbe fate that brought me here to present this piece to Apollo. Having remained incomplete due to the composer’s untimely death, it’s not widely known. And yet, it was the concerto I sought to perform at the King Idris Violin Competition, were I to have attended. The last piece I ever played prior to Fahim’s death.
I begin on the lowest string as my eyes flutter shut. No matter the years that have passed, my fingers remember. It is a slow build toward the emotional climax. It is the rising sun, the setting sun. It is the erosion of stone. The slow topple into love, security, trust. These moments of creation and wonder and completion, all shaped from musical notation. Sound bleeds out, not even vibrato capable of smoothing it, but I let it come.This farewell to Fahim, and to Father. One lastI love youandgoodbye.And when it is done, the last note fading, I turn toward my audience.
Tears stream unchecked down the twelve deities’ faces, as they stream down mine. Even the lightning god, with his hardened exterior, wipes the corner of his eyes, the tip of his nose red. For that is the power of music. To reach into our hearts and touch those pieces of ourselves we are too afraid to acknowledge.
Carefully, I return the instrument to its case, saying, “This is what I offer you, should you wake Notus from his eternal sleep: my gift of music.”
Apollo regards me with the eyes of a man who could not conceive of such an idea. “Your mastery over the violin is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.” He appears torn between confusion and awe. These emotions toward a mortal, of all people, likely leave him feeling uncomfortable. “You would sacrifice your gift for the South Wind?”
“I would,” I say.
“Why?”
“I would choose a life without music if it meant a life of love,” I say. “Wouldn’t you?”
Apollo looks to the violin, clearly hesitant. It is another moment before he finds the proper words. “After Hyacinth’s death, I feared music was forever gone from my life. But to hear the things you can do with that instrument…” He shakes his head in wonder. “The way you played portrayed exactly how I felt. How I still feel, at times.” Another tear wends down his cheek, a clear droplet against his golden skin. “You may be mortal,” he says, voice wavering, “but you also understand the pain of a broken heart, a broken spirit.”
“I do,” I whisper. More than he can possibly know.
Apollo dips his chin, tugging at his lower lip in thought. He glances at his fellow council members, who watch on in doubt and disbelief. “Your performance was everything I could hope for, but I am only one voice of the council. I alone cannot decide.”
“It’s not enough,” states the lightning god, stepping off the dais. He towers over me by at least two feet. I have to crane my neck to look athim. “The South Wind’s life for a mortal’s musical gift? You are forgetting that Notus was banished because neither he nor his brothers could be trusted not to work against us, after the old gods were overthrown. Why should we grant him this favor for so little?”
“Because you’re a decent person?” I suggest with an expressive shrug.
To this, the lightning god throws back his head and releases a great, booming laugh. The council cackles in response. “Who knew mortals had a sense of humor!”
Right. These are the divine I’m dealing with. They are not swayed by promises of power or love or security. They already have everything they need. So how to convince them to agree?
“What more do you want?” I ask.
Apollo exchanges a wordless glance with the lightning god, who says, with a knowing smile, “To gain his life, Notus must give up something in turn: his power and immortality. He will live out his days as a mortal man.”
The thought of what would be taken from him… I feel sick, knowing he will be stripped of these things. It would be a true sacrifice.
Would Notus agree? Is it right for me to make this decision for him? If our positions were reversed, what would I want him to do? What would he want for himself?
