The Western Wind

The Western Wind There was an island that floated in the middle of the sea; on it there was a villa, a richly decorated home hidden from the eyes of most mortal men. The island itself, once called Aeolia, was shrouded continually by a dense cloud of fog and mist that hovered around the perimeter, clearing once the sea met the sandy beach. This house that was perched atop a steep and rocky hill in the middle of the isle had four large doors made of gold, each pointing in a different direction; there were no windows in this strange abode, nor any other opening save the colossal golden entrances. Behind them there was a sound like a tempest raging, a noise like wind rushing swiftly through narrow marble corridors. This was the home of Aeolus, the keeper of the winds, and his charges roamed his sealed house like unfettered prisoners. When one of them was needed, called for by some god to call up a storm or a favorable breeze, one of the great doors would open to let him out, remaining as such until his task was complete. Then the anemos would return, bound by his duty and the will of the gods to remain locked up unless needed. So they remained within, restless and impatient, desiring only the world beyond their goldand-marble prison. Boreas, the North Wind, often rampaged around the hallways in a perpetual rage, continually agitated and fierce. His half-corporeal form left flawless ice along the walls and floor, turned the air bitterly cold simply from the beating of his silver-white wings. Notus, the second-eldest of the winds, tended to haunt the southern passages, followed by a hot breeze that made the tiles shimmer. His hair was always long and dripped with water; it was the color of the sky before a heavy summer storm. The feathers of his wings were an equally stormy hue, and he had a tendency to be as brash and volatile as the summer weather. Eurus, the East Wind, was a rather gentle and slightly melancholy thing; he wandered much of the palace, though most often stayed in his eastern halls. The breezes which mixed in his footsteps were warm but had the heaviness of oncoming rain, like a late spring shower that forever waited to roll in. Though he was a mild wind, there were times that he had been worked into a frenzy of bitterly cold storms and driving snows, much of the kind that Boreas would have made. His form was much the same as the North Wind’s, only half corporeal and half ethereal, a strange and shifting being much like the winds he embodied. The last was Zephyrus, the West Wind, and he out of all of the brothers was mildest and most temperate. He was the gentlest of them, the messenger of spring. There were no wild blasts that accompanied his flight, but only the soft play of sweet breezes. He was most often sent out into the world, for he was not prone to destruction or unwarranted tempests; only by the decree of the gods would he ever consider some violent blast. The western corridors were his to traverse, except for the times that he visited his brothers. This anemos had decided to take corporeal form, and much of the time stayed in the guise of a youthful boy, dark-haired and grey-eyed, appearing very human except for the wings on his back that in color tapered from brilliant white to soft grey. Zephyrus was the only of the brothers that would visit the others with any frequency; it was not often that they would meet save for some great and violent tempest,

but the West Wind was mild enough that he could bear even Boreas’ blustering with good humor. The other three agreed on little other than their fondness for the youngest; often they cautioned him not to stray too far when out in the world. There were realms to the far east that held their own gods, lands that were not very safe for the winds and their western deities. There were lands there where Aeolus could not protect any of them, and, gods forbid it, a careless being could come to some harm. But the golden doors in the western halls had opened one beautiful spring day, allowing the mild anemos to leave his prison and finally stretch his wings a little, and the warnings of his brothers and his keeper were quickly forgotten once he was out in the sun. He flew, eager to leave Aeolus’ halls, the folds of his chiton catching the wind of his flight; in his path there came a warm breeze, one that made the people below look up and remark on the pleasant weather. It had been a long while since he had been able to fly without boundaries, since he had been allowed out simply to herald the coming of spring; he roamed the countryside with no inhibitions, glad to have some semblance of freedom even though he would have to return to his prison before too long. Zephyrus swiftly lost track of how far he had gone, and did not care much to keep count of such things. He had gone steadily towards the east, and was soon flying far beyond the safe lands that he had known. Below him were strange towns and villages, very different from the kinds that he had normally flown over. The people in them were strangely dressed and spoke languages far removed from his native Greek, though there was no language on the earth that a god-child like he could not understand. Zephyrus and his brothers were the sons of Astraeus, the titan-god of the dusk, and Eos, the goddess of the dawn. Presently he found himself above a garden of particular magnificence, and, finding that he was a little tired from his long wanderings, he landed gently in the middle of a small pavilion. The garden was beautiful, but not in the forced way that other gardens were structured; it maintained elegance, flowing in a natural and progressive manner that was not ritualized. Zephyrus’ attention was first caught by the flowering pear trees, and he could not help but wander over to them, folding his white-and-grey wings carefully to avoid disturbing the branches. He looked up through the dark branches, watching as the breeze that continually swirled gently around his frame stirred the pale flowers; a few petals fell and landed softly on his sable hair. After a little while he continued on, following the pathway until he came to a lotus pond, the large, delicate flowers brilliant against the dark green foliage that floated in the water. The anemos knelt down in the grass and leaned over the water, his hand extended to touch one of the floating flowers, wings spread for balance. The pads of his fingers were just able to brush a few of the soft petals of the nearest blossom… “What are you doing?” The anemos jerked his hand away, startled by the sudden appearance of another man. The language he spoke in was the same strange tongue that the wind had heard as he had flown overhead, and he was dressed in a spectacular array of fine embroidered silks. It appeared to be a sort of robe with wide sleeves and bold colors, beautiful in some foreign manner. The man approached, inclining his silver head to look down at the kneeling figure. Zephyrus saw that there was a book in his hand, covered with foreign symbols

that was, apparently, this nation’s form of writing. The man was close now, however, and the anemos drew his attention away from the peculiar novel and directed it instead towards the one before him; at such a close range, the wind couldn’t help but notice that this man was more of a boy than anything. He was young and fair, his silvery hair gently framing a pale, oval face; jade-green eyes watched the kneeling anemos thoughtfully, his soft, plush lips set into a firm line. “How did you get into Changdeokgung? You are not allowed to be here.” His voice was imperious; his tone implied that he was not one to ever be disobeyed. Zephyrus tilted his head slightly to the side, and his dark hair shifted lightly in the perpetual breeze. “There is nowhere that I am not allowed to go.” Jade eyes narrowed at that for a brief fraction before he reached out and touched Zephyrus’ wings, his fingers gently raking through the neat feathers. “Are you some form of spirit?” His voice was contemplative, as though considering the benefits of having such a being in his garden. “No, I am not a spirit,” Zephyrus said, shifting the wing away from wandering fingers. “Then tell me what you are,” the boy said, “since you are trespassing in the prince’s garden, and the penalty for that is death.” The anemos stood, dusting off his chiton where he had knelt on it. “I am Zephyrus, the Western wind, son of Astraeus the dusk and Eos the dawn. And who are you to distribute such punishment to gods?” “I am Prince Anjang, the eldest son of Emperor Munjamyeong.” The boy had adopted a noble and dignified air, somehow managing to look down on Zephyrus even though the anemos was taller than he. “And you are far from the lands where your gods reign, Zephyrus.” With slow, measured steps he walked around the dark-haired figure, one slender hand reaching out again to brush against his wings. “You have either come here for a specific purpose, or you have gotten lost and are trying to return home. Which is it, Western wind?” Zephyrus saw no need to lie to the prince; he was in his garden, after all, and did not have the permission of its owner to be there... homes were something sacred. He owed this imperious boy the truth for his trespassing. “I have wandered too far, and I have been trying to find my way back to Greece.” He turned to watch the path of the young prince, pulling his feathered wings away from errant hands. It was strange to have someone touching them. “Hm.” Anjang glanced the wind up and down, as though assessing him. “Very well. I have a proposition for you, Zephyrus.” He put his hands into his long sleeves, hiding them and his novel from view. “I shall tell you the way back to Greece, but before I do you must stay and answer one question for every step you took in my garden without my leave.” The anemos had taken no small amount of steps between his starting place and this spot that he now occupied; the prince could ask a fair number of questions from him that, should he agree to this, he would be bound to answer truthfully. If he refused, however, he would be forced to try to find his way back home… and it was a long way to Greece. Zephyrus did not know the path back, and it would not have been difficult to miss his home entirely.

“I agree to your terms,” the anemos said after a few moments of consideration. The prince smiled a little, pleased to have this god-creature here for the time being. He could have so much useful information, and all that Anjang had to do was ask the right questions. And he could prolong this being’s stay for as long as he wished—he would just have to draw out his queries over many days. “Please, sit, Western wind,” the prince said, gesturing for the anemos to obey. “I think we should begin.” He was obeyed, if only because Zephyrus thought it would be more polite to do so. “What are your gods like?” --That one question had spawned several others, and by the time Zephyrus had answered them all, the sun had fallen below the horizon and the night sky was studded with brilliant stars. The pale moon cast enough illumination for the two figures to see by, and, since it was so late at present, there was the light of approaching lanterns coming down the path. Undoubtedly Anjang’s keepers were coming to find him, because of his long absence. Hurriedly he turned to the wind, telling him to hide so that his servants would not see his white-grey wings. Such a thing would startle them greatly, and they were more likely to think he was some sort of malign spirit than the gentle god-child that he was. Zephyrus only laughed softly at his anxieties, the sound coming like the soft murmur of a warm spring breeze. There was no need for alarm over something as trivial as his wings; they were there because he willed for them to be there, and, if he so desired, they could disappear at a thought. To avoid detection as Anjang wished, the anemos made the feathery things disappear, allowing them to fade away until there wasn’t the slightest trace of them on his body. By the time Anjang’s servants approached, he appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary human boy, albeit a foreign one in strange clothing. There were many expressions of worry at the prince’s long absence, though he dispelled them all with a wave of his hand. After all, Anjang was safe inside the palace walls, and there was little that could enter without being noticed—except, perhaps, for an anemos or some other being. Since Zephyrus meant no harm, there was nothing to fear from his presence in the garden. In fact, he brought a pleasant, cooling breeze with him, so perhaps he was quite useful to have around. There was a continual flow of air around his youthful form, quite refreshing on the warm night. The anemos was introduced as a messenger from a distant nation, coming here to deliver tidings from its king. It was plausible enough, and the prince’s keepers believed it enough to stop asking questions. The prince ordered for a room to be prepared for his guest, and, by the time he had walked back to the palace with Zephyrus, his quarters had already been readied. For several days the prince often was in the company of the anemos, asking him questions and listening intently to his replies. He wanted to know everything that this being could tell him, whether about the lands he came from or other subjects. The wind, in his lonely days locked in Aeolus’ home, had little to do and had amused himself by reading; there was much that he had learned in his long years about any conceivable

subject. He grew fond of the god-child’s presence, the gentle tone of his voice as he spoke, the smooth grace as he walked the pathways of the garden. Then there was only one last question that Anjang could ask. He had avoided Zephyrus for a little while, trying to think of something that would be suitable for the final query. After this, he was bound to tell Zephyrus how to get home to Greece, and Zephyrus could simply… leave. This was unacceptable—the prince tried to drag the days out for as long as he could. For some reason he wanted to keep the anemos with him for as long as was possible, even though that was a terribly selfish thing for him to do. Anjang had been careful not to ask a single question of the wind, for fear of accidentally releasing him by idly inquiring after his health or whether he would want more tea. Presently they were in his quarters, lavish things bedecked in all sorts of finery, drinking tea at a low table. It was conducted with the atmosphere of a ceremony, and, though Zephyrus had not learned much about tea ceremonies in Greek libraries, he managed to get through it reasonably well with only a little instruction. He had not drunk very much tea in his years, since it was not exactly common in the western lands, but the slightly sweet taste to it was not objectionable to him. It was quite quiet as they drank the tea from the white porcelain cups, Zephyrus’ breeze stirring the robes that he wore. It would have been unseemly to keep him in the Greek chiton that he normally wore, and robes had been provided for him, beautifully embroidered and made of fine materials. If felt strange on him, but the anemos still donned the clothes set out for him every morning. “You have only one more question to ask of me.” Anjang looked up from his empty teacup and into the face of the anemos across from him. He was stalling and the both of them knew it; the prince had a question but did not wish to ask it, because then… he would have to let the dark-haired being go. “So I do.” he said, setting down the delicate cup. “I might need to devote more time to finding a suitable question.” He was stalling for a few more minutes, just a little bit more time to have this being here. “You need more time, prince? I would have thought that the past few days was enough.” He sipped almost delicately at the warm tea. “You’ll have whatever you desire, though, won’t you.” It was not so much a question as a statement—Anjang did always get what he wanted… but he was the prince. He was the emperor’s son. The prince reached out then, noticing that the collar on Zephyrus’ robe had flipped the wrong way; the anemos must not have realized it and it looked a little ridiculous. His fingertips brushed over smooth skin as he adjusted the cloth, and, instead of withdrawing afterwards, he continued to let his fingers touch the god-child’s throat. There was something fascinating about the soft texture of his skin, the silken way his fingertips would glide over its surface. Almost with a mind of its own, his hand traveled up to trace along the wind’s jaw, the pad of his thumb passing over Zephyrus’ cheekbone. All the while the anemos sat quietly, allowing Anjang to touch as he pleased. His other hand rose to push away some of the layered cloth, exposing one strong, pale shoulder to Anjang’s sight, and the prince traced the defined ridge of his collarbone, the smooth curve of his shoulder. There was something so perfect about this anemos’ skin, something that the prince had never come across before. This being was the child of gods; his body was perfection.

“Prince…” There was a note of hesitance in Zephyrus’ voice, as though unsure of the proceedings. Anjang did not heed it at the moment, but both hands flew down to pull open the robes, revealing more pale skin. The anemos startled and tried to move away; the prince followed after and pushed him to the floor, sliding over him to pull the robes apart until he was entirely exposed. The anemos looked at him with wide grey eyes filled with shock and surprise; he had not expected this sudden assault, nor the soft lips that decided to press against his throat. He made a small noise of alarm, his hands rising to press against Anjang’s thin chest, to push him away. The prince reached down and grabbed his wrists, pinning them onto the wooden floor. Plush lips latched onto a section of the anemos’ skin, suckling until a sharp stab of pain affirmed the formation of a bruise. Zephyrus’ struggles eventually ceased, as they were quite useless; he had no leverage in his position. The prince continued to kiss along his skin, pressing them down his neck and along the defined ridge of his collarbone. A few marks were made along it before he went further, and his hands left Zephyrus’ wrists. The anemos still held them in the same position, however, as though those slender hands were pinning them down. Despite how much trepidation filled Zephyrus at the contact, he found that, bit by bit, his body began to relax and even enjoy the feeling of soft lips wandering down his throat and along his collarbone, doling out slight nips that turned his pale skin pink. Plush lips closed around one of his dusky nipples, and the anemos gasped and arched at the sudden unexpected pleasure. Zephyrus had been locked up in his guardian’s house for basically the entirety of his existence; the only consistent company he had ever had was his brothers. No one had ever touched him like this, made his body become heated and his breath come short. Soft lips continued their way downward, tracing along the edges of firm muscle and ghosting across smooth skin, and Zephyrus felt a blush rise on his pale cheeks. His face was not the only part of him that became suddenly heated, however, and such a thing did not escape Anjang’s notice. The prince slid down Zephyrus’ body, gently pushing open his legs and smiling as they parted willingly for him. The anemos was beautiful in his own way, his dark hair lying in inky tendrils on the wooden floor, the brightly colored robes thrown open to reveal his pale body. And it was too easy to see that the anemos was enjoying everything that Anjang did to him, despite his protests earlier. His silvery head dipped down and his lips pressed gently against the dark-haired anemos’ lower stomach, just barely brushing against the soft, sensitive skin. He could feel the slight shift of firm, defined muscle as the anemos moved a little in something like impatience; the gesture was amusing to the prince. Anjang did not want to keep this beautiful little god-child waiting for too long, however, and soon slid down to something that was greatly demanding his attention. Before him there was a hard and rather impressive erection, and, as his silvery head dipped to lave along the underside of it, translucent beads of precum gathered at the tip. With a small smile, the prince dragged his tongue across the head, as well, to sample those clear droplets; he found the taste to be musky and pleasing. Zephyrus moaned softly as the prince took the hard length back into his mouth, warm heat surrounding him. Slowly, bit by bit, he devoured the dark-haired anemos, and his lean body trembled with unaccustomed pleasure. Pale cheeks became flushed,

turning vivid crimson, and a soft moan left his lips – the noise was delicious and a bit unchaste and entirely appealing. The prince decided that he wanted to hear more – much more – of these sounds, and, with the hard length entirely in his mouth, he searched for every sensitive place along it to draw them out. Every sigh and groan of pleasure was taken note of, and every responsive area was put into memory so that they could be found again; Zephyrus had such a beautiful voice that Anjang wanted to be sure that he would be able to hear it say his name in that alluring breathy gasp whenever he pleased. The muscles in the anemos’ form began to tense, signaling that he would soon be driven to completion – but the prince was not quite done with the handsome creature, and it simply would not do to have him achieve such bliss so soon. He allowed the length to slide out of his mouth, and there was a disappointed sound from Zephyrus; who knew that a seemingly chaste god-child could have such a need for physical pleasure? As the prince moved up his body again, occasionally pressing soft kisses against his skin, Zephyrus appeared to be beginning to regain some of his sensibilities; there was a slight glimmer of confusion and perhaps shock in his grey eyes, as though realizing that this should not occur. “Prince…” “You talk too much.” Anjang’s silvery head dipped as he captured the anemos’ lips, savoring their softness and the sweetness that lay behind them. He felt the firm body beneath him almost melt at his touches, as though that contact alone was able to dispel his reservations. Zephyrus’ hands rose to splay across his back, pulling him closer, his fingers pressing into the smooth cloth of his robes. Then those hands moved in between their bodies, and for a few moments Anjang thought that he was going to push them apart. There was a brief fumble with the vivid material at the front of his robes before they fell open, the anemos’ hands pushing the cloth over his slim shoulders and off of his slender figure. The prince broke their kiss briefly so that he could completely remove the garment and toss it aside before returning to crush their lips together again. More than one moan or gasp was lost in their kiss, destined to remain unheard. Anjang’s hands had moved to grasp either side of Zephyrus’ face, holding him still as he ravished his mouth. The anemos’ hands pressed hard into his shoulders, unable to do anything but submit to the insistent push of the prince’s tongue. They only parted once the need for air became too insistent to ignore, and the prince pulled away from Zephyrus’ grasp. There was so much more that he wanted to do with this beautiful god-child, so many pleasures that he had yet to experience… or to inflict on the anemos. The prince looked down at the youthful form below him, smiling at the tousled dark hair, the soft blush on pale cheeks, the depraved way his legs were spread. One of those long, delectable legs was lifted onto the prince’s slim shoulder, a hand holding it in place so that it would not slip down. He gently stroked the smooth skin of Zephyrus’ thigh in some effort to calm him, so that he would not become alarmed and try to pull away. That was undesirable in several ways, especially because it might cause harm to the delicious creature – that was simply unacceptable. The other hand returned to the anemos’ hard length, his slender fingers gliding over the slit to collect translucent droplets that had again gathered there. The anemos’

dark eyes were on him all the while, watching to see what exactly he was going to do now; his fingers, slick with precum, dropped down to press against the dark-haired youth’s entrance. His lean body tensed at the touch, and the prince had to softly murmur to him to get him to relax again. He told the young god that what he was going to do would bring him pleasure, and, though still uncertain, Zephyrus allowed him to continue. One slick digit pushed through the tight ring of muscle, sliding in smoothly with the aid of the liquid on his fingertips; Zephyrus forced himself to say relaxed and prevented himself from tensing too much with the invasion. It felt strange to have Anjang doing this to him, and he was uncertain about the unusual sensations that the prince imparted. After a few moments of mild discomfort, however, the prince’s finger brushed over something that made Zephyrus’ body shiver with pleasure. Anjang smiled darkly at the supine figure and pressed harder onto that one spot; Zephyrus’ grey eyes fluttered closed as he moaned softly, his thin hips arching upward. His body writhed slightly on the brightly colored robes beneath him, causing the fabric to wrinkle and bunch with his impatience. The prince added another finger so that he could stretch Zephyrus’ tight body. “I can do better things than this to you,” he said softly, watching as grey eyes opened again to regard him. “You must have patience.” His lips curved into a bit more of a smile, enjoying thoroughly the warm body beneath him. This god-child was so amusing and so desirable; it was amazing that it had taken Anjang this long to ravish him. The stretching caused some minor ache to the supine anemos, but the occasional press or brush over that spot inside of him made it all more than bearable; it was not long before Anjang deemed him ready for more amorous attentions. The prince withdrew his fingers and guided something far more substantial to Zephyrus’ entrance, and, though there was some hesitance in the anemos’ expression, he did not tense his body. Anjang took that as a good sign and pushed his hips forward, the head of his own throbbing length piercing into velvet heat. It required almost all of his self-control to refrain from simply thrusting forward heedlessly, but that would have caused undue pain to this beautiful creature. For a few moments he waited, fully seated within Zephyrus, to allow him to adjust to the invasion. The prince heard the labored breathing that came from the figure beneath him, saw his hands grasp at the vivid fabric on the floor. Only once he was ready did the prince pull back and thrust forward again, moaning at the friction that the motion caused. Below him, Zephyrus’ body bucked into the thrust as it struck him perfectly, a surge of pure pleasure coursing through his form. After that it was impossible for Anjang to stop, and he began to thrust into the anemos’ body with abandon, moaning as pleasure built swiftly between them. Noises came freely from both of them, filling the room with sounds of pleasure. Zephyrus’ hips arched to meet every fierce drive from the silver-haired prince, some moan or cry accompanying each inward thrust. His pale skin was soon glistening from perspiration, little beads that gathered and slid with even the slightest shift of his figure. Steel-grey eyes were closed again so that he could focus entirely on the pleasure and allow it to consume him; there was a tight coil in his stomach that kept winding tighter with each passing moment. Anjang felt the body below him start to spasm, and, grasping the anemos’ long legs, he pushed them forward to angle his thrusts deeper. This earned him a most

satisfying cry of his name, falling from Zephyrus’ lips in a manner that sounded almost desperate. Soon the anemos’ body tensed around the length embedded in him, and his figure shook and shuddered as he was finally driven into ecstasy. The sudden tightness around Anjang’s length was too much to keep him from following after Zephyrus, and, with one final thrust in to the hilt, he filled the beautiful creature beneath him to completion. Zephyrus gave a soft noise as warmth flooded his lower body, his mind already hazy from afterglow. Anjang sighed at the blissful warmth that had overtaken him, his senses muffled and muted from his own afterglow. Taking care not to harm this disheveled anemos, Anjang pulled out of him and let his legs gently fall back to the floor. Zephyrus’ chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, and his grey eyes remained closed as he rested his aching body. A few droplets of perspiration glided down the side of his neck, and Anjang leaned forward to lave them away with a smooth glide of his tongue. The anemos’ eyes opened again at the touch and turned towards the prince. Anjang reached forward and brushed away a few locks of sable hair, then gathered his fallen robe and pulled it over his shoulders. He stood, and Zephyrus looked up at him with some confusion in his grey eyes, wondering why the prince would leave so soon. Anjang was not gone for long, however, and returned with a cloth that he used to clean the strands of opalescent cum from Zephyrus’ stomach. “Come, this is no place for you to rest.” Anjang helped the anemos to stand, though his sore backside hampered movement somewhat. The prince’s bed consisted of a kind of mattress on the floor in the traditional style of his country, piled with pillows of all colors and covered in sheets and blankets according to the weather; he brought the sore anemos over to it so that he could lie down and rest there. Zephyrus must have been quite tired, however, because when he slid down into the mound of pillows and blankets, his grey eyes fluttered closed and he was asleep within minutes. Anjang pulled the robe off of his slender body again and joined the dark-haired youth in his bed, slipping underneath the covers and drawing the warm figure to himself. Zephyrus’ sable head was pulled to rest against the prince’s slim chest, and, in his sleep, the anemos wrapped an arm around his waist and moved closer. The movement was almost endearing, and, for a few minutes before he fell asleep, Anjang smiled and stroked his dark hair. -Zephyrus stayed for several more days after that, even after he had answered Anjang’s last question and had been told the way back to Greece. There was nothing that bound him to remain, but he was with Anjang during the day and was in his bed every night. In the morning he would awaken to the silver-haired prince, his body sore but pleased, held in a warm embrace that he did not want to move from. After these few days he realized that he was becoming far too attached… and one morning he felt the tug in his chest that signaled that he had to return. Zephyrus knew that he would never be able to stay here with Anjang forever, but he had hoped that he would have had a little more time than this. When he rose from bed that morning, the prince knew that something was amiss. Zephyrus was quiet and a little withdrawn, and, instead of pulling on the robes that he had every other morning, he searched to find the chiton that he had not worn since he

arrived. The white cloth was pulled up and wrapped around his lean figure, secured with a little golden clasp. “I have to leave.” Anjang sat up amongst the pillows and covers of his bed, the brilliant cloth pooling around his waist. “What do you mean, you have to? You do not have to leave if you do not want to.” The white-and-grey wings, which had not been seen since his arrival, again reappeared. “I do not have a choice. I am only allowed to herald the coming of spring, and then I must return to my prison.” He sighed and then walked back over to the prince; he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his silver hair. “I am sorry that I have to go. I will return to you as soon as I am able.” Then he turned and walked towards the sliding door that led to the garden, pulling it open smoothly. A cool morning breeze drifted into the room, causing the slender prince to shiver a little. White-grey wings unfolded and, as Zephyrus stepped out into the garden, he was aloft with one heavy beat that sent a few soft feathers drifting down. In a few moments he was gone, the only evidence that he had been there at all the downy feathers that had floated into Anjang’s room. -It was several months before Zephyrus had the opportunity to return; he had been sent out to provide a few ships with favorable winds for a journey to the East. They were not going as far as Zephyrus would, but so long as he had the time, the anemos would travel to that garden and find his prince again. He, after all, did not have to remain with the ships to give them favorable winds. The path to Anjang’s garden was neither short nor easy, but, perhaps exerting himself more than he normally would have in his haste, Zephyrus caught sight of the prince’s pear trees before nightfall. He did not know it at the time, but Anjang had not been idle in the time that his anemos was gone. Every time there was a breeze from the west, Anjang had waited to see the appearance of a winged figure – only this time had that figure actually arrived. Smiling, Anjang walked towards Zephyrus, and reached out to draw the anemos into an embrace. The pull of his arms was not resisted, and Anjang held onto his anemos as though he never wanted to let go – he never wanted his Zephyrus to have to return to a prison. A being like him was not meant for a cage, no matter how beautiful the cage was. He brought the anemos back to his rooms and gave him some tea to help refresh him after his long journey. His travels had certainly tired him, because soon the wind appeared to be almost asleep on his feet; Anjang gently steered him towards his bed, and it was not long before Zephyrus was fast asleep in it. Anjang did not join him immediately, however; he had not spent months simply pining over the loss of his anemos. He had spent that time in study, and on his desk there was the final product of all his research. It appeared to be nothing more than a simple bracelet made of gold, but there was an enchantment in the metal that could not be seen. It was taken from its position on the desk and was brought over to the slumbering anemos; Anjang carefully lifted one of Zephyrus’ hands and slid the golden ring onto it.

The dark-haired figure stirred in his sleep, as though encountering some unpleasant dream, but he soon settled back down and was peaceful again. The magic that he had put into this bracelet after many weeks of study would keep Zephyrus here with him; the anemos would never have to return to his prison now that Anjang had bound him. He would not leave this palace unless Anjang willed it, and they could be proper lovers – there would be no long periods of absence to wait through. The prince smiled a little as he lay down with his anemos, drawing the covers up over them in preparation for sleep. The next morning, Zephyrus felt the tell-tale tug in his chest that meant that his keeper wanted him to return; after giving Anjang a soft and gentle kiss, he stood to open the door to the garden and leave. When his wings reappeared, however, he found that he could not open them; it was as though they were bound tight with invisible chains. Startled, he turned towards the prince, who sat calmly on the bed as though nothing was the matter. After a few moments he stood and pulled a robe over his shoulders to provide some protection from the cool morning air. “Come back to bed, Zephyrus,” he said, taking hold of the anemos’ wrist to pull him back. “You don’t have to go back anymore… just stay here with me.” Zephyrus caught sight of the golden bracelet around his wrist, and recognized it for what it was – it was just another chain. Anjang had taken one prison and replaced it with another, and the anemos followed him when he was pulled. “Why… why did you do this?” Anjang pulled him down to sit on the soft mattress and pillows, smiling at him and stroking his dark hair. “You do not want to go back to a cage, do you? Now you can stay here with me. Do you not love me?” It was useless to argue with the prince, to try to make him see that he had not done any service to the anemos. Zephyrus’ dark head nodded briefly in response; he did love Anjang, even though the prince was going to cause him much pain and trouble. There was still that slight tugging feeling in his chest, and it would never leave unless he answered the call and returned to Aeolia. “Get some rest, Zephyrus,” the prince’s fingers gently brushed over one of his cheeks. “You look so tired.” The anemos obeyed him – there was little else he could do – and the prince lay down with him and held him. Slender fingers glided through his dark hair, and the anemos resigned himself to whatever might come. His gods and his guardian would be displeased when he did not return. -With every day that passed, the ache in his chest became greater and greater. Undoubtedly after several weeks Aeolus was worried about what had become of him; it had now been several months, and there had certainly been an uproar at Olympus. Every night he stayed with Anjang, but he ached too much to find much pleasure in it, and truthfully he just wanted to return home. Even if it was a prison, Zephyrus wanted to return so that he would stop hurting for it; he was in no less of a cage now than before. After a while he decided that he would take matters into his own hands; no one was coming to retrieve him, because no one knew where he had gone. Zephyrus had not told anyone about his trip to the east, for fear of being forbidden from coming back.

Even if all the gods were looking for him and all of his brothers were released, they would never find him. This country was far from Greece, and his gods would not be willing to wander too far into these foreign lands—there were other gods who ruled here. Early one morning, before the sun had risen and Anjang still slept peacefully, Zephyrus walked out into the garden. He waited until the sun began to rise and dawn broke, then lifted his pale arms up towards the brightening horizon. The anemos called out as only gods can call, silent to those who were not of their stock, a prayer to his mother to help him. If she heard him, Eos gave no signal of it; Zephyrus could only hope that some aid would come to him, and he then turned and went back to the prince. The golden light of dawn fell on the pillows and covers of the bed, making Anjang’s hair glimmer. That day, a storm began to roll in from the west, and heavy clouds covered the blue sky and obscured the sun. Rain fell, lightly at first, but soon began to fall harder with the passing of the day. By the time evening came, it had truly become a storm; the wind even began to pick up and tore around the garden, casting flower petals and leaves about in a wild mess. The roar of the winds was familiar, though, and Zephyrus could hear voices in the howl; they sounded like the voices of his brothers. He had been drinking tea with Anjang when he heard them, calling to him from out in the garden, and he stood and walked out without a word, almost as though possessed. The prince was startled by his sudden departure towards the storm and followed after, calling for him to stop. Zephyrus opened the door, heedless of the rain that poured into Anjang’s room, and stepped out; the colorful robes were soon soaked, but he was unmindful of them. Even Anjang could see the figures that stood in the rain, tall and winged, Zephyrus standing amongst them. He called out to his anemos, but his words were swallowed by a sudden crash of thunder; clutching his robes closer to his body, Anjang ventured out into the storm to follow after. Sudden gusts of fierce wind prevented him from getting too close, but he could clearly see the sad expression on Zephyrus’ face. “I’m sorry,” his voice was clear even over the storm, “but I cannot exchange one prison for another.” Wings in shades of blue and grey suddenly spread, shielding the youngest of the anemoi. Zephyrus’ three brothers were close by him, their slightly translucent hands steadying his all-too corporeal form. One of his brothers, large and covered with ice, reached out for his wrist, grasping with shining fingers the golden bracelet; it shattered in his hands like glass. Then, with a sudden flash of lightning that blinded the prince and a fierce, twisting blast of wind, all of them were gone. The wind died away and the raging storm lessened, until, after only a few minutes, the sun pierced through the diminishing clouds. Anjang knelt down on the wet earth, holding the soaked robes around his body as though they could provide some warmth; he had lost his Zephyrus, his anemos, by trying to force him to stay. Some time later his servants searched for him, and found him still kneeling in the garden; they helped to pull him out of the mud and earth, tugging him inside to change out of the soaked and ruined clothing. “I want you to prepare a ship for me immediately,” he said, as he pulled a fresh robe onto his shoulders, a new resolution apparent in his features. “I am going to Greece.”

His tone was imperious and brooked no arguments; his servants complied with his wishes, and it did not take long for a ship to be prepared for him to sail to Greece. He did not bring much by way or servants or luxuries, but only what would be needed for him to travel to his destination. Zephyrus had once told him about the island that he lived on, a place called Aeolia in the Ionian Sea. That was his destination, and, though the island was located on no map that he could acquire, Anjang was determined to find it. Even in his fastest ship and taking the shortest route, the journey to Greece took weeks. There were many dangers along the way, ranging from storms to sea monsters to sirens that sang from distant, rocky shores. Anjang, however, did not stray from his course, and soon found himself entering the Ionian Sea, which lay between Greece and Italy. As he looked to the horizon, however, he saw that the morning sky was red; there were heavy clouds gathering there, as well, dark and foreboding. A storm would be upon them soon, and the crew was already preparing for it. They could, perhaps, have made port in one of the Greek coastal towns, but Anjang would hear none of it. Perhaps despite better judgment, he continued on towards the middle of the sea, to find the elusive Aeolian isle. Before long the waves began to grow higher and were capped with white foam, and the wind grew harsh and swift, tearing at the sails. Dark clouds were rapidly approaching, bringing with them a powerful deluge of rain; the closer those heavy clouds came, the rougher the sea was. There waves grew high enough to wash over the deck of the ship, nearly dragging some of the crew into the water. Rain pelted them and soaked their clothing through, leaving them all shivering and cold. The winds chilled them further and whipped the waves into a frenzy, sending the ship careening on the precarious water. More than one good man was flung into the depths. Anjang held on to anything that would remain stable, be it a railing or the mast or whatever happened to be at hand; the ship was careening and staggering across the violent sea; lightning cut through the blackened sky with blinding intensity. Thunder swallowed the shouts of the mariners as they moved about, bracing themselves against the water that surged over the deck in foaming waves. The prince did not know much about sailing, and left everything in the competent hands of the captain. There was a sudden cry from one of the sailors, pointing to what appeared to be some sort of land mass rising from the darkness of the storm; it was a sheer rock face. Shouts increased in frequency and intensity, and the men scrambled across the slick deck to try to avoid dashing against the rocks. The ship lurched sickly in the frenzied waters, carried along with no control. The stark cliffs rose suddenly before him, and then the ship struck and there was the ear-splitting sound of wooden beams tearing asunder. Anjang was thrown from the deck and into the water, the current and the waves battering his form as he tried to keep his head above the sea. The last thing he saw was a wave rising up above him like a colossus, and then there was no more. -When the prince awoke he was lying on a sandy beach, battered and bruised and sore. His clothes were tattered and stained with salt, and there was no sign on the stretch of sand of his ship or his crew. Anjang pulled himself to his knees with some difficulty,

retching and coughing up water that was tinged slightly pink with blood. After a little while he was able to stand, though he was unsteady on his feet from being so battered in the rough water. When he turned to look behind him at the sea, he found that it was obscured by a veil of mist and fog; it seemed as though there was a shroud around the entire island, blocking it from the view of any ships or boats. Hope welled in his chest that he had finally reached Aeolia, the place that his lover was held captive. Turning inland, Anjang found that there was a steep and rocky hill that rose upwards, and at its summit there was a large palace made of marble and gold. This, surely, had to be Zephyrus’ prison. The prince wasted no time in lingering on the beach and instead began the trek to the hill, his face unwaveringly turned towards the summit. It took the rest of the day for Anjang to make it up the steep hill, climbing up rock faces that soared above the verdant landscape. After his many difficulties, however, he gazed up at the magnificent golden doors, looking nothing like the prince that had left his kingdom. His clothes, once beautiful and ornately embroidered, hung in tatters on his bruised body and had a whitish film of encrusted salt. His silvery hair was now grayish and tangled, matted with sea water and sweat. The prince approached the great doors and raised a fist to pound upon its surface; he found, however, that even before his hand touched the metal the door swung open silently as though to admit him. Anjang hesitated for a brief moment before stepping inside, cautious and alert. Marble halls stretched out before him and to either side, long and echoing and empty. The golden doors swung shut behind him, causing a low breeze to stir his tattered clothing. He chose indiscriminately a direction to go in, and began to walk down the empty and lonely hallway. There were strange breezes that mixed in those corridors, seemingly without any origin; there were no other doors and no windows in this place. More than once Anjang thought that he caught a glimpse of winged figures, but the image did not last long enough for him to be sure. After a time he realized that he was being herded; there would be a sudden decrease in temperature when he turned towards certain halls, dissuading him from taking those paths. When he tried to turn back he was met with a similar icy breeze, and, finding that he had no real choice, the prince allowed himself to be led towards the center of the palace. He soon found himself before a great set of doors, the only others that he had found in this house, and they opened at his hesitant approach. Inside there was a wide hall, made of the same flawless marble and gold that the rest of this place was constructed of, lit by a multitude of minute flames in uncounted candelabra. Doric columns rose from the floor in two parallel rows, forming almost a pathway for the prince to walk through. His footsteps, soft though they were, echoed in the vast and silent room; the sound reverberated off of the walls and returned, distorted, to his own ears. Rising up before him on a series of platforms that increased in height was a marble throne, intricately engraved and studded with a variety of precious jewels that glimmered in the light of a thousand candles. Before the throne there stood a figure of remarkable magnificence, tall and strong, with all the bearing of a regent. There was a circlet crossing his brow made of fine-spun gold, glinting in the light against his skin as pale as the marble of his halls. At such a distance the prince could not see his eyes, but he saw the hard line that his lips made and the harsh set of his jaw. There was a slight rustle of his himation, a cloak that was

wrapped around his body over the pure white chiton, colored a deep wine-red with the edges trimmed in patterns of gold. Anjang approached the bottom tiers, standing before the imposing figure of Aeolus. The regent’s eyes, the color of a cold winter ocean, gazed down at him solemnly, never speaking a word to the prince who climbed the marble levels. A light breeze stirred some of his dark hair. “Now that you have arrived in Aeolia, what do you plan to do, foreign prince?” The words were imperious and dignified, echoing around the hall before fading to a whisper, then to nothing. It felt as though the air was thick, a sort of tension in the room; it was almost like there was a crowd of people waiting, holding their breath. “I have come for Zephyrus.” “You have come for him? Then you have cast your men into the sea for nothing,” the regent’s face betrayed no emotion. “Zephyrus remains here and will remain here, where he is safe from those who would foolishly interfere.” Anjang felt a slight rush of color to his face; he was the fool here, foolish for trying to bind his lover to him. Foolish, but with good intentions… intentions which, as the proverb goes, pave the path to Hell. “Is this his choice, or yours?” the prince asked, feeling some bravery return to him at the thought of leaving here without his anemos. “Would you turn me away without any hope of forgiveness? Is there no labor I can perform, no task to redeem me?” The regent appeared to consider his words. “What would you do for Zephyrus, little prince?” “Anything that you could demand of me.” This reply seemed to be the right one, as the regent turned slightly away from him, apparently in thought. Aeolus did not want to lose his anemos to some foreign prince, especially not one who had imprisoned him in his palace. By the time his brothers had gotten him back to the island, he was weak and ill; no small feat for a god such as himself. Even now, after weeks had passed, he was not as strong as he had been. “I will give you three tasks,” he said, regarding the prince again. “If you should complete them, then, so long as Zephyrus is willing, I will allow you to be with him.” This was not the first time that a mortal had come for the love of a god, and, in the past, only the most diligent had managed to gain it. Anjang was not afraid of any task that this regent could send him on, though, and it was apparent in his determined face. “On the island of Delos there is a sacred grove where the goddess Artemis hunts,” Aeolus said. “Go there and fetch for me one of her silver arrows.” It seemed a simple enough task for a prince who knew little of the Greek gods; Artemis was the goddess of the hunt and was known for her fickle temper. There were times when she was a kind and merciful goddess, but she had a darker side to her that had once let her rain arrows down on proud Niobe’s fourteen children. Anjang would certainly get an arrow from her if he encountered her in those woods, but it might not be in the manner that he expected. “Tomorrow I shall have a ship waiting for you in the harbor, and it will take you to Delos,” the regent said gravely. “Should you wish to reconsider, you have until the morning. There are rooms prepared for you already should you wish to rest and refresh yourself. You will be guided there.”

With that, there was a soft rustle of wind and the regent disappeared, melting away into the breeze itself. The hall was quiet and empty, the only sound the soft guttering of the candles in their brackets. Anjang felt a slight brush of cool air against his skin, and he knew that it was one of the lesser anemoi sent to guide him to his quarters for the night. In some ways he was grateful that he was led through the winding halls, but he would have liked to have wandered them himself. Perhaps he could have found Zephyrus, then… though what could he have said that would have redeemed himself? He had done the anemos a great disservice by trying to keep him in his palace, even though he had done it to try to protect his lover. Once he finished these tasks, though, he could explain everything to Zephyrus, and, perhaps, he would get his forgiveness… and then things would be well again. The prince was guided down the marble corridors until he reached another set of golden doors; these opened into a series of rooms that had been prepared for an occupant. The first room he entered was dominated mostly by the large table in the center, which held a large meal that was undoubtedly for him. After being tossed about by the sea and then climbing up the steep hill all day, Anjang was famished. There were dolmades stacked neatly on one decorated plate, grapevine leaves stuffed with rice and vegetables; there was a kind of soup called Fakes, with a small dish of olives beside. There was kleftiko, lamb marinated in garlic and lemon juice and then cooked in a pit oven until it was tender enough to almost fall off of the bone, sitting beside a plate of fried zucchini. There was a plate covered with little pastries that were made of many flaky layers filled with sweet nuts, honey, and cloves. A jar of wine was ready for the prince to drink, along with a cup that appeared to be made of hammered gold; on its handle and bowl were the images of grape leaves and olive branches, worked exquisitely into the metal. Anjang was starving by that point in time, having gone through a great trial earlier that day in being shipwrecked and then scaling the mountain; he reached forward and popped the cork from the wine jar, seeking to sate his thirst before going any further. The liquid he poured into the golden cup was dark and tawny, golden-brown and shimmering and sweet-smelling. It had already been diluted before being put into this container, as drinking it in its concentrated form was only for barbarians; no Greek host would offend his guest so much as to serve him undiluted wine. It was a sweet and refreshing drink, so much so that in the back of his mind the prince could almost see the vineyards where the grapes had been grown, sun-dappled leaves of the most verdant green and heavy dark fruit hanging low on the vines. It was strange, but the wine almost tasted like sunlight and smooth breezes and the gentle fall of summer rain. Anjang set his cup down onto the table, the lingering taste of sunlight playing across his tongue; if, perhaps, he had not been starving, he would have savored the flavor better. But there was all of this food waiting for him, a feast laid out for a man nearly dying from hunger, and he couldn’t resist it. He ate until he was finally sated, and then wandered into an adjoining room, to see what else was contained in these apartments. The one he entered had a large bed; the prince approached it and pressed his hand against the mattress, testing its softness. It had been filled with goose down and his hand sank into the soft sheets and mattress quite satisfactorily. Presently he heard the gentle noise of splashing water, and followed the sound until he encountered a large bath. The room that contained it was tiled in white marble,

smooth and flawless, with the bath itself in the center; it was large enough to almost be considered a pool. Steam rose from the surface of the water in curling tendrils, adding to the faint haze of steam that made the tiles slick with condensation. There was a long bench against one wall, not far from the edge of the bath, and on it were a few soft towels and a change of clothing. The prince hastily removed his tattered and soiled garments, casting them aside like the salty rags that they now were. A bath, a real, steaming-hot bath… it had been weeks since he had been able to enjoy a proper one. The prince hurried to step into the heated water, sighing at the sensation of warmth lapping against his skin. It was a blissful, wonderful luxury… he sank into the water up to his neck, lounging on a ledge that protruded from the side of the bath. Another soft noise rang out in the quiet room, like more water splashing into a container. Anjang looked around but thought that he could see nothing; the room had begun to fill with steam very quickly and his sight was obscured by it. Then… there was something indistinct that made the hazy air swirl, appearing almost like a human form. It was dim and vague, as though not entirely solid, and seemed to be carrying something in its hands; the prince startled and turned in the bath to face the stranger. The figure knelt and Anjang’s green eyes widened as he saw the face of his lover come into view; it was most certainly Zephyrus, clad in that pure white chiton, smiling softly and serenely. He had a jug filled with hot water in his hands, which he placed on the tile floor beside his knees. “Come here,” he said, beckoning to the prince. “I’ll wash your hair for you.” He reached over and gently grasped a lock of dull silver hair between his fingers. “Look, it’s all covered in salt.” Anjang was almost too startled for words; he had been thinking about finding his anemos somewhere in this place, and, just like that, he appeared. The prince moved close to the edge of the bath and reached up, as though to grab his lover and perhaps pull him in as well. His hands could not touch the anemos’ skin, however, and simply passed through him as though he was nothing but air and light. Zephyrus, still smiling, cupped his face in one hand. The prince noticed that he felt strange, as though he was not really there… and if he closed his jade-green eyes, he found that he could not feel the anemos at all. “You cannot touch me, but I can touch you.” He reached over and grasped the handle of the jug, then upended it over the prince’s head. Anjang sputtered at the sudden deluge of water than poured over him, plastering his hair to his face and making him wipe at his eyes hastily. There was the sound of gentle laughter, like the wind on a warm summer morning, and the anemos picked up a bar of fragrant soap, working it into lather in his hands. Then he reached forward and ran his fingers through the prince’s hair, working the soap into the salty locks to clean all of the dirt and grime from it. His hands were gentle and strong, his expression almost tranquil as he bathed the man who had caused him so many difficulties. The jug was dipped beneath the surface of the water to gather some of it up; the next moment he had turned it over Anjang’s head again, to rinse away the lather and bubbles from his hair. Again the prince sputtered, unused to such treatment in his baths, and hurriedly wiped the water out of his eyes.

Anjang then heard the soft sound of cloth falling to the tiled floor, and glanced up to see Zephyrus unpin his chiton; the anemos eased himself into the steaming water, and, as he did so, the prince noticed that the pale skin of one wrist was marred by a stripe of bruised flesh. He felt a jolt of guilt. Soon those feelings were dispelled, as the anemos slid up beside him and took up the bar of soap again, this time rubbing his neck, his shoulders, down his aching back. The prince felt himself relaxing into the expert motions of his hands, their smooth glide and the strange way they seemed to be able to make tension simply melt away. Anjang sighed, pleased with the firm touches and the sensation of finally having his anemos near again. Zephyrus’ lips brushed lightly over the back of his neck, taking the prince quite by surprise. He turned his silver head, looking back at the dark-haired anemos questioningly; his lover only smiled, and then leaned forward to kiss him. The prince’s slim figure twisted around and he wrapped his arms around Zephyrus’ shoulders, trying to pull him closer even though it felt as though he was grasping air. There was something about his taste… the strange way that he was there and not there… that forced Anjang to grasp him as though he would disappear entirely. “What did Aeolus speak to you about?” The anemos only spoke after their lips had parted, his arms securely wrapped around the prince’s waist. For a few moments Anjang blinked, processing this new query after being lost in a most delicious kiss; he tilted his silver head slightly to one side. “Three tasks,” he said, moving closer. “Why?” “Nothing important,” the anemos said, kissing his temple and his wet hair. “He wants an arrow from a goddess on Delos,” the prince continued, his cheek resting against the anemos’ chest. “Her name was Artemis, perhaps.” There was a slight stiffening of the anemos’ form, but Anjang did not notice it. Zephyrus knew the consequences of meeting with Artemis, even if the prince did not; the goddess was known to kill any mortal man who disturbed her. Should Anjang meet her… it was likely that he would soon be meeting with Hades, as well. Quickly the anemos’ mind began to think of some way to help, to solve this problem without sacrificing his lover or making his interference known. Perhaps… perhaps he could ask for the aid of his cousin… “Zephyrus?” The anemos made a vague noise of affirmation, still lost a little in his own thoughts. “Are you… all right?” His only answer took the form of a kiss, pressed reassuringly to the prince’s soft lips. -The hour was late and there was a sweet breeze playing gently through Anjang’s room; it was a mundane sort of wind, however, and had no anemos accompanying it. The prince lay in his bed, the warm covers pulled up around his shoulders, sleeping peacefully and deeply. A few locks of silver hair fell into his eyes; Zephyrus reached over to push them away.

Zephyrus sat at the edge of the feather mattress, his weight not even substantial enough to depress the fabric. He was worried about Anjang, and the night was swiftly passing and soon the prince would be heading out towards Delos… there had to be something he could do. He could not allow his prince to set off on a journey that would lead to his death… not when he the sole reason for his departure was for Zephyrus’ sake. With a soft sigh the anemos stood, adjusting slightly the white cloth of his chiton. There was one person he could go to for help, since he could never have directly interfered; it would be difficult, but even in his weakened state, Zephyrus was determined. There was a way out of here other than the golden doors—there had to be. Sighing again, the anemos listened to the sound of water draining from the bath in the other room. He paused, listening more intently; it rushed and gurgled hastily through the copper drains. Swiftly he ran towards the bath, gliding smoothly over cool, slick tiles, until he knelt by the water’s edge and peered through the liquid that grew ever shallower. At the bottom there was a drain with large holes, which allowed all of the used bathwater to flow down and out to sea… The anemos smiled, reaching his hand down towards the cooled water. Suddenly he was gone, and all that remained was a little silver-grey feather that floated gently on the swirling surface of the bath. It soon was sucked down with the rest of the water, tumbling end-over-end through the copper pipes towards the sea. -When Anjang awoke it was mid-morning, and the table was set with breakfast. Tea steamed in a ceramic teapot next to a mound of light bread with thick jams and honey. A warm tyropita was settled on a colorful blue plate, a light and flaky pastry which he found had egg and cheese on the inside, like a wrapped-up omelet. There was also a pot of Greek coffee there, but the prince found it to be too bitter for his tastes and stayed with the tea. For a few minutes he searched for Zephyrus, but saw no sign of the dark-haired anemos; it could not be helped, however, and Anjang instead gave up his looking and started to prepare for his journey. He donned new clothes, Greek in style, the cloth falling in a strange manner on his form. Today he would travel to the island of Delos, where he would see this goddess Artemis and try to gain from her a silver arrow. Again he was guided by the cool, unseen winds, down through many passages and winding staircases until he entered a vast cavern. Its mouth opened into the sea, and tied to its smooth wooden dock was a stocked ship. There was no other vessel in the massive space, just the one that would bear Anjang to Delos and back. The prince stepped up the gangplank and onto its deck, glancing around his transport. There was not a living soul to be seen, but he had only been aboard for a few minutes before the rope that secured the craft loosened and fell away, and the white sails unfurled themselves in a rush of heavy cloth. They billowed and filled with a steady breeze which began to carry him out of the cavern and into the bright morning sunlight. The ocean was calm and serene, little white-capped waves lapping against the lacquered sides of the vessel. There was no navigator to guide the ship, but it did not need one to steer it towards the distant island.

The prince looked upwards as a shadow fell across the deck; it was a seagull that, high above him, had flown briefly across the path of the sun. It circled once or twice around the ship before continuing on its way with a raucous cry, disappearing into the snow-white clouds. -Many hours earlier, before Anjang had even awoken, there was a sudden burst of dark water from the sea, leaping into the air in a shower of white foam and salty spray. A winged figure had emerged, strangely dry and untouched by the water, into the cool air, beating heavy grey wings to get aloft. The silver-grey appendages folded suddenly, and instead of a dark-haired anemos there was a gray-white seagull, which flapped hastily away, headed for a high mountain far in the distance. -Mt. Olympus was no small hill, and for a small seagull the journey was long, even if that seagull was an anemos in disguise. In another form he could have made the distance go by much faster, but at the risk of being seen; he was so close to the gods that he could not take any chances. As one of the anemoi, he was supposed to be kept within Aeolus’ halls until he was sent for, and he was certain that Zeus would not take kindly to being disobeyed in such a fashion. The king of the gods could often be cruel, and should anything happen to Anjang because of his discovery… The little grey-white wings beat faster, carrying him on his unerring path. He had to reach his cousin, Apollo… only he could help Zephyrus deal with a goddess like Artemis. After all, she was his twin; if there was anyone who could give advice on how to get a silver arrow from her while keeping his life, it was Apollo. After an exhausting flight, the little grey-white bird settled on the railing of a golden balcony, which was connected to a villa of flawless white marble. Beyond that there was a whole shining city made of marble and gemstones, silver and gold—it was the home of the gods atop of Mt. Olympus. Zephyrus rested briefly from his flight, and heard the soft strains of music coming from within the house. It sounded like a lyre… and a male voice accompanying it in a clear, pure tenor. A few more flaps of tired wings brought him through the wide-open doors and into Apollo’s villa, where he found the god lounging on a sofa with his lyre in hand, composing as he often did. Zephyrus landed on a mahogany table, his little claws scrabbling on its smooth surface, and the god stopped in mid-song to glance up at him. “Hm,” his golden head tilted slightly, sending brilliant curls bouncing and glimmering. “A seagull, on Olympus? You’re far from the sea, my friend.” Then Apollo blinked his brilliant blue eyes, peering closer at the bird whose little black claws scratched his shiny table. “You… are not a seagull, are you?” He stood, setting his lyre down on the couch, and approached; Zephyrus took a few little hops away, maintaining some distance between himself and the god. “If I did not know any better, I would think that you are one of the anemoi,” Apollo leaned over to get a closer look. “It would be wise for you to change back, anemos, before I decide to send word to Aeolus.” There was a sudden burst of grey-white wings and a figure growing upwards from the little seagull; soon Zephyrus stood, still pale and slightly transparent, in Apollo’s

home. He appeared tired, and his long flight had taken a heavy toll on his already exhausted form—this did not escape the god’s notice. “Zephyrus…” he looked the anemos over, apparently startled by the anemic and anodyne figure he saw before him. “So the rumors are true?” “What rumors?” the anemos tilted his dark head slightly to one side; he did not know that people were talking about him. “Olympus was in an uproar just a few weeks ago,” Apollo said, going to fetch a golden pitcher of ambrosia to refresh the exhausted anemos. “You had been missing for a very long time, Zephyrus, and no one knew where you were. We sent all of your brothers out to find you,” he set a golden cup on the table and poured some of the rosyred liquid into it, “and even the lesser anemoi, but no one could. Everyone was trying to locate you… Hermes was quite worried, you know.” The cup was handed to Zephyrus, who took a grateful sip of it; the ambrosia was cool and soothing. “I have heard that you were taken prisoner by some Easterner. Is there any truth to that?” the god looked at him expectantly. Zephyrus paused, holding the cup in both of his hands. “…I… I need to ask a favor of you.” He looked down, and even in the crystal-clear surface of the ambrosia, his face was not reflected. “There is… a boy going to Delos to retrieve an arrow from your sister for Aeolus. He shall be killed if he finds her… please… I need you to help him.” Apollo paused, watching the anemos’ face intently. “Is this your Easterner, Zephyrus? I wouldn’t be surprised if she killed him, after what he has done to you. To think, some foreign boy thought he could keep you like a caged bird.” “Will you do this or not, cousin?” Zephyrus’ grip had tightened on the golden cup. “Tell me why you want to save him so badly.” “I seem to remember, Apollo,” the anemos said softly, “a long time ago, that you chased after a nymph who was sworn to chastity until she begged her father to change her into a laurel tree… Why, then, did you pursue her so, if you knew she was chaste?” The god smiled wryly then, and nodded his head gently. “Has Eros made a fool of you, as well? Those golden darts of his are sharp.” Then he turned away, looking out past his golden balcony. “I shall help you, cousin. Your Eastern boy will leave Delos unharmed with his trifle. My sister will not harm him.” Zephyrus smiled, relief written into his features. There were no words that he could have spoken to thank Apollo; but that was fine, because the god did not need his spoken thanks to know that he was grateful beyond measure. “Can you make it back to Aeolia?” Apollo glanced over his weak figure again. “I could take you there… I need to speak with Aeolus myself.” The anemos nodded his dark head, and took another sip of the cooling draught; it perhaps did him some good, and a little bit of color returned to his pale cheeks. -The little unmanned ship reached the island of Delos at nightfall; the stars had begun to come out, twinkling almost cheerfully in the deepening sky. The island itself was lush and verdant, almost entirely covered by dense forests and picturesque green meadows. Above the canopy Anjang could see the top of a marble building, perhaps a

temple of some sort; its golden dome gleamed in the faint moonlight, the patterns of dark clouds drifting across its mirror-like surface. The ship docked itself at a stone wharf, tying itself and folding in its own sails without the prince even raising a hand. A gangplank slid down from the deck, forming a bridge for Anjang to cross onto the dock’s stone platform, so that he would not have to jump to get over the gap. His footsteps were soft and muted as he walked forward, moving with determination towards his newest goal—the goddess Artemis, and wherever she might be on the island. In the sky above, he caught sight of a sudden streak of silver that sliced across the inky heavens like the blade of a knife; he watched its path until it fell out of his sight. It was a good omen, he thought, and stepped off of the stone dock and onto soft grass. -The island of Delos was no small island, and, as Anjang searched it through the night, he discovered that finding the goddess amidst the wilderness was going to be difficult. Artemis left no tracks, being a skilled huntress, and was as silent as a cat when stalking prey. He found no footprints and heard nothing but woodland sounds, watching every shadow for some indication of where the goddess had gone. Sometime later he stopped at a clear, flowing stream, kneeling down to splash some of the cool water onto his face. He had been traveling for a few hours, searching relentlessly, but it was not easy to make his way through the dense vegetation. He cupped his hands and drank, savoring the clear and almost sweet taste. Anjang sighed, looking at the forest around him; his task, which had before seemed so easy, now appeared almost impossible. Though he continued towards the marble temple and judged it to be quite close now, he was unsure of whether he was making much progress. Who knew where the goddess liked to hunt but the goddess herself? Standing, he again fixed his gaze on the golden dome and continued towards it, pushing his way through brambles and the grasping vines of plants. He could see empty space up ahead, perhaps a clearing of some sort, and hastened towards it. In the darkness the thorns and briars tore at his shins and make him stumble, but he was determined not to fall. There was a light, as well, and he could see it shining between trunks of trees and the leaves of low-growing plants. Silvery light, like a star that fell to earth… Anjang pushed out, finally, into clear space, his shadow falling starkly behind him as he stood in a strange and ethereal glow. Before him stood a figure entirely cloaked in grey, and in his hand was a lantern that emitted the silver light. The prince could not see his face, as it was hidden entirely by the shadow of his cowl. The figure turned to face him, holding the lantern up a little to cast its light further. “Well met, Easterner,” the cloaked form said, his voice smooth and golden and almost melodic. “What business do you have on the island of Delos?” Behind him, in the middle of the vast, empty clearing, there was the white-marble temple, rising up towards the studded skies like a cold guardian. “I am looking for Artemis,” Anjang said, his voice steady. “Where might I find her?” “The same place that you would find death and folly,” the figure replied.

“I need to get a silver arrow from her,” the prince continued, anger beginning to creep into his tone. “You would get one, too, if you found her,” the figure nearly laughed, “but you wouldn’t live to take it anywhere.” For a moment Apollo’s brilliant blue eyes flashed in the silver light of his lamp. “If it pleases you, insolent boy, I could retrieve one for you.” Anjang’s eyes narrowed at the cloaked figure, not knowing that he was another of the Olympian gods. “I should trust you when I cannot even see your face?” He turned as though to go back into the forest. “I shall take my chances with Artemis.” “I suppose I cannot stop you, if you choose to be so stubborn,” he said, his lantern dropped down and casting only a small sphere of light around him. Anjang stepped towards the forest, hindered slightly by the now deeper gloom, but found that the branches and brambles knotted together at his approach to form an impenetrable barrier. He pulled at the vegetation, but it would not move and the thorns cut into the skin of his hands. Turning sharply, he advanced upon the grey-cloaked form. “You are trying to trap me here, now? Let me go. You will not stop me, I will find this goddess and get one of her arrows, even if I have to uproot every last sapling on this island!” His jade eyes flashed in the silver light. Apollo smiled in the shadows of his cowl, pleased at the vehemence that this easterner showed. Perhaps, then, he really did mean to go through with all of this and win back the anemos’ favors… had he not been serious, then Apollo would have been sorely tempted to allow him to face Artemis’ cruel arrows. After all, this eastern prince had done the unthinkable—binding a creature like Zephyrus to himself, selfishly keeping him away from his home for so long… many of the other gods would have killed him on the spot for such an offense. Even Apollo might have, if Zephyrus had not begged him to do otherwise. “Perhaps you should let me help you.” Apollo turned and began to walk across the grassy field, gesturing with one hand for Anjang to follow. “Artemis will soon be finished with her hunt. If you hurry, we can find her before she leaves.” The prince hesitated for a moment, considering… and then followed after the cloaked god, his shadow, its edges sharp from the silver light, jerking and dancing beside him. He walked beside and a little bit behind the tall figure, keeping a distrustful and watchful eye on him all the while. Anjang was led into another section of the forest, this one less dense than other parts, and it seemed to almost have a little path winding through the gloomy trees. To the right of the path there was a small stream that ran gently beside, jumping and splashing along its way. After a short while the prince could hear louder splashing up ahead, and thought that the stream must connect to a larger body of water… perhaps a pool or a lake. The cloaked Apollo held out one hand for him to stop, and pushed the prince behind himself; the next moment, something silver streaked past them, embedding itself deeply in the wood of a tree. “Take your arrow, little prince, and go back to Aeolia,” Apollo turned and whispered to Anjang, his voice low and soft. In the light of the silver lamp, the prince could see his bright blue eyes and the faint glimmer of golden hair; then the god turned and walked out between the trees. Anjang slid behind a thick trunk and peered around it, looking out into a clearing where a woman stood, dripping wet, as though just emerging

from a bath. She had a tunic hastily donned and held a silver bow, a quiver full of glimmering arrows at her feet. “My sister,” the cloaked figure said, pulling the cowl off of his head to reveal handsome features and burnished gold hair, “is that any way to greet your brother?” The prince hesitated, though he knew that remaining there left him in a very vulnerable position; Artemis would not take kindly to noticing him there. But… this figure… Artemis’ brother… he did not know why, but one of the gods who should have hated him had aided him greatly. The silver arrow was then pulled out of the tree’s wood, though the prince had to tug and heave on it to get it out. The bow that it had been released from must have been powerful indeed to drive an arrow so deeply into such hard material; its tip was razor sharp, as well, and had not been blunted by its journey in the slightest. Bearing his precious arrow, Anjang headed towards the sea, using the temple as a reference point. The horizon was getting lighter now, the deep blue-black of the nighttime sky fading away to brighter hues. It seemed to take much less time to reach the ship than it had to find Artemis, but the prince was tired from his searches and perhaps exhaustion made time go faster. When he got back onto the ship the sun had already started to climb into the sky, and the prince, still holding his burden as though it was priceless, stepped up the gangplank and onto the deck. The sails unfurled and the rope untied itself, and soon the vessel had started out to sea and towards Aeolia. The prince retired below deck to get some rest, placing his silver prize onto a table before falling into a low bed. -When Anjang awoke again, he was not in the low bed on the ship, but in the large, comfortable bed that he had slept in before leaving for Delos. He sat up, blinking in the morning sunlight, and looked around. Had it… had it all been a dream? The verdant island and the marble temple and the grey-cloaked god with the silver lamp… had any of it been real? The prince stood, leaving the warmth and comfort of the feather mattress and soft sheets behind to look for the silver arrow. It had to have been real… it was so vivid, so clear and sharp… he remembered, especially, those brilliant blue eyes that were underneath the figure’s grey cowl and the glimmering golden curls. He glanced down at him and almost laughed; it had to have been real, because now he was dressed in something entirely different than when he had gone to bed. The clothes that Zephyrus had given him to sleep in were not the same as these, so it could not have been a dream… he had really completed this first task of his, and was one step closer to being reunited with his lover. He felt beyond relieved. It was not long before he was summoned by an airy spirit, who told him to get dressed properly—Aeolus wished to speak to him again. Some clothes were laid out on a desk, ready and waiting for him, so the prince donned them and let himself be guided by the cool breezes towards the magnificent hall. The long hall and its pure white marble did not seem to be so intimidating anymore; Anjang had completed his first task and could not be dismissed as a ‘little

prince’ now. Though he had gotten help, he had retrieved the silver arrow that Aeolus had commanded him to get. Again Aeolus stood before the throne, imposing and impassive and statuesque. He gazed down at the prince with cool, ancient eyes, and before him Anjang felt very young, a mere child before this being who had lived for centuries upon centuries. “Well done, little prince,” the keeper of the anemoi said. “Your second task is to bring me one of Ares’ birds, which guard the Amazons’ shrine to him. Rest for today, and your ship will be ready in the morning tomorrow.” Again the keeper of the winds disappeared, his body seeming to dissolve into the air; Anjang nodded his head softly, considering this new task before him. Ares’ birds… he remembered some things from the conversations with Zephyrus about him. Ares was a god of war, violent and arrogant—capturing anything sacred to him would be no small task. He hadn’t been told anything about these birds of his, but they would likely be as vicious as the god they served. The prince went back through the winding halls towards his rooms, guided only faintly by the lesser anemoi. He knew the way better now, and the marble corridors were beginning to become more familiar, since he had traversed them so many times. There were parts of this place that he had never been through, though, and even if he tried to go there, a barrier of chill air and wild wind would block him. Perhaps Zephyrus was somewhere beyond those airy barricades, or perhaps not. With a sigh the prince headed for the room that held his bath, intending to relax in the hot water for a little while. His muscles were sore from scrambling and struggling through the dense forests, and his shins and arms were scratched from sharp thorns and brambles. As he removed his clothes and placed them neatly on a bench, he glanced down to see that the pale skin of his legs was criss-crossed with a lattice of vivid red cuts and gashes. The bath was filled and waiting for him, just as it had been before. When he slid into the steaming water and seated himself on a ledge, he expected to hear the sounds of water filling a jar again, and to see the hazy form of his lover in the steam-filled room… Zephyrus never came. Eventually Anjang left the bath, resigning himself to the fact that the anemos was not going to come again. He missed Zephyrus’ youthful features, his clear grey eyes and ink-black hair… and his gentleness. Never had he ever intended to hurt the youthful western wind… he had only wanted to have him stay, so that he would always be there, and wouldn’t have to go back and forth from the palace and Aeolia. All he had ever really wanted was… Zephyrus. It was this desire that had gotten him into this terrible mess and had harmed his gentle anemos… but at least the had the chance to make things right again. When he had dried himself off and changed into fresh clothes, Anjang left the bathroom to find that there was another meal prepared for him, waiting on the table. He tried a little of this and a little of that, but he did not have a large appetite and did not consume much. There was so much for him to worry about now, both the task that he had to do tomorrow and the whereabouts of his anemos, his gentle, beautiful Zephyrus. Surely he was safe, because his keeper would never have let him leave after what had already happened to him. Surely his brothers were watching him ceaselessly, keeping vigil over their brethren…

Since there was nothing else to do during the day, Anjang took the opportunity to explore the large marble halls, to see what was here in the other rooms. Some places he was permitted to wander, like the large library with its shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls, and the spacious bathhouse and pool. There was much more here than Anjang saw, and knowing that it existed but was out of his reach was frustrating; one of the rooms here must have contained Zephyrus. He was allowed near none of those rooms, and instead spent the daylight hours in the library, reading all the material he could find on Ares and the Amazons and these birds that guarded the temple. If he was to capture one of them, he wanted to know everything about them that he could, so that he would be as prepared as possible. There was not much specifically on these birds, but there were plenty of works and stories about Ares and the Amazons, however, and Anjang was at least able to get some grasp on the culture of the Amazons. They were a group of warrior-women who were known to be extremely ferocious and vicious and had a temple built to Ares, their patron god. Ares himself was a particularly violent character as well, the god of chaotic warfare, followed always by Phobos and Deimos, Fear and Dread respectively, his two sons. With a sigh he closed the large, dusty tome that he had been perusing. Though the information was of some help, there was nothing in them that spoke about Ares’ birds save for a passing mention. The only help came from an ancient book called Theogony, written by some long-dead poet named Hesiod. Ares’ birds were described there as vicious, malicious creatures who guarded the temples dedicated to their god; their feathers were sharp as darts and the birds were known to shoot them out like arrows at intruders.