Welcome to Olympus, where the Muses of Greek Mythology are charged with the responsibility of discovering, inspiring, and guiding the young incarnations of legends past until they once again take the form of greatness.
Embark on an enchanting journey through Architects of Illusion (Echoes of Olympus, #1), a YA fantasy novel series inspired by my backyard neighbors, Biltmore Estate, in honor of George Vanderbilt‘s extraordinary legacy.
WHO IS she?” I asked Tari, gazing up at the ivory form of a woman wrapped in nothing but the clinging embrace of a lion’s skin, her hand clasped gently around that of a small bleached boy, whose steps she lovingly guided to a tune only they could hear. At any moment, they could dance off the edge of their pedestal, their celebration spilling onto the garden’s soil.
“Xanthe,” Tari replied, her tone strapped with sadness. “She’s an Oceanid who was turned to stone during the ancient wars. Her son ran to warn her…both were caught in the Gorgon’s path.”
Tari turned away and headed into the Italian garden. “Now, she presides over the pools of memory,” Tari gestured towards the three sparkling ponds dappled with delicate lily pads and streaked with the golden scales of fish. “The Muses dedicated the garden to their mother, Mnemosyne, Goddess of Memory.” Tari wound through the garden, her hand brushing against the many cherubs that flanked the low stone lagoons. “The pools are fiercely guarded. Only a few know the offerings they require.”
I didn’t consider “cherubs” terribly fierce, but who was I to judge. “Offerings for what?” I peered into the shallow depths of the center circle. “The goldfish? Are they really that picky?”
Tari sighed, her sea-glass eyes rolling back into her head. “Not the fish. The dreaming spirits of the pools. Each spirit can answer one question about the past,” Tari pointed to the first pool, “the present,” she waved her hand over the center pool, “and the future,” Tari stretched her hand towards the final pool.
“Who knows the offerings?” I asked, studying the ponds with a wary eye.
“Xanthe’s little boy,” Tari glanced over at the statues.
The stone boy in question was no longer by his mother’s side. A child’s laughter trickled like bells through the air.
Tari grinned, “He’s faster than he looks.”
© 2014 Samantha Redstreake Geary
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