Origin of the Sphinx by Raye Wagner Page B

face…her face was cherubic. Damon felt his heart expand.
    “How,” he started, and looked up. But the beautiful woman was gone. Stunned with the events, he sank to the ground.
    Little arms pushed at the confines of the cocoon, and Damon pulled his daughter free of the blanket. His eyes caught a silvery mark on her arm. He looked closer and was surprised to see a perfect outline of a peacock imprinted on his daughter’s inner forearm. His finger traced the figure, and his mind whirled. What had he done? What was he to do now? He spent the remaining daylight in a daze.
    Just as the moon rose, a bell-like voice startled him.
    “Hello, Damon.”
    A petite young woman stood in a pool of moonlight. Her midnight eyes and dark skin contrasted with the pale silver of her hair. Damon blinked as if the apparition would disappear, wondering if he was in the middle of a dream.
    “Who are you?” Overwhelmed, his civility disappeared, and he stood, cradling his daughter in his arms.
    “My name is Artemis,” the girl replied. Her features were delicate and fine, and when she smiled, the darkness of the night withdrew as the moon grew brighter. “The maid you hold is a demigod, so I have come to give you instruction.”
    “A demigod? But that means her mother…” He was unable to vocalize the reality as it hit him. A sinking feeling, starting in his chest, pulled until he hit the ground. His knowledge of mythology was not strong, despite the education he had received when he was young. He had never really believed, though.
    The girl nodded. “Hera. Her mother is Hera.”
    “Hera.” His voice was hoarse, full of shock.
    “Damon, listen. My time is limited, and there are things you must know.” The small figure of Artemis took a step towards him. He could see that she carried a silver bow on her back, her fitted leather clothing was that of a hunter. His disbelief ebbed as she drew near.
    Artemis explained that the demigod he held in his arms was his daughter, and would be his responsibility; to care for her, to raise her, and to teach her.
    “This child is the first demigod born to Hera.”
    Damon blushed as he thought of the previous summer.
    “You need to know, Damon, there are certain dangers to demigods.” Her voice dropped, and she said more to herself, “Not the least of which is the jealousy of other gods.” Artemis shook her head and continued, “Demigods do not get sick, and nothing mortal will kill one. There are, however, immortal weapons, monsters, and, of course, the gods can all kill a demigod.”
    “How will I protect her?” His anxiety was real, palpable. How was he to do anything?
    “What is her name?” Artemis, on her tip-toes, was attempting to look at the babe in Damon’s arms.
    “Phoibe,” Damon whispered. His eyes were drawn back to the bundle, and he lowered his daughter so Artemis could see.
    “Ah, yes. Truly a shining one.” Artemis brushed the baby’s cheek, then looked up at the father. “Damon,” she addressed him firmly now, “the maid will be free from harm from any realm until the age of womanhood, and then as such she will need to be able to care for herself.”
    The immediacy of this burden felt lifted, and Damon inquired after Hera.
    “I’m truly sorry, Damon. We may be gods, but we are far from perfect. My own opinion: Our immortality doesn’t actually lend towards self-improvement. Sadly, many of us, well, all of us at times, do things without thought of the consequences. We will outlive the consequences, so to us, sometimes, they don’t matter. Well, at least not as much as they should.”
    He was trying to decipher the meaning behind her monologue; his face reflected his confusion.
    “You will likely not see Hera again,” Artemis spoke plainly. “She had to make certain agreements to prevent war within her immortal family. I’m sorry, Damon.”
    Artemis looked empathetic, but it couldn’t touch the hole in Damon’s heart. He nodded, his only response that he