Mariah Matthews

Mariah Matthews


("Myth is not a distortion of fact, but the womb through which fact must come.", Jane Roberts, THE INDIVIDUAL AND THE NATURE OF MASS EVENTS)


I love Mythology, always have, can't remember when I didn't. My name is Mariah Matthews. I live in the USA, and this blog is about a novel that I'm currently writing, working title: : MYTHS OF HELICON MOUNTAIN.

12 November, 2007



Only in recent years had Macedon’s rule against the presence of the Nephilim in Macedonia been lifted. Fear and suspicion of the Titans, particularly Athena, still ranked high in settlements northeast of Mount Olympus and the mention of Athena’s name brought stony silence. Quickly moving on, Asterion called his Human daughter Hyrie to the circle. Hyrie had been living among these people for the past two years. She took her predetermined place beside the menstone on the south side of the star-wheel. Flimsy linen, fluttering in the dreamlike glow of a quarter moon, covered her lithe, young figure.

“I am Iris, the mortal offspring of the South Wind,” she sang out in a voice equal to the daughters of Pierus who claimed to be the greatest singers of the region. “And I bring you greetings from the rain-blessed realms of Thaumis and Phoebe.”

Ah, yes! If Asterion’s heart had been Human his chest would have swelled with pride! The science may be his, but the pageantry belonged to his daughter who on every occasion considered the feelings of an audience before she stepped upon his stages. The Macedonians greeted her with polite applause and accepted her parody about the Titans of an earlier period with open interest while a second person marched into the circle, also ceremoniously attired in linen, and carrying a bird-bone flute.

“I am Boris, the mortal offspring of the North Wind, and I bring you greetings from the frozen realms of Nereus and Tethys,” the trim young man announced in a clear, dramatic voice as he took his stand by the menstone on the north side of the circle.

The Macedonians began to cheer, throwing caution to the wind! “Linus! Linus!” they called, recognizing the son of their own King Oeagrus. And then a third youth, similarly attired and carrying a lyre made of tortoise shell and ram horns, appeared upon the west side of the circle.

“I am Zephyrus, the mortal offspring of the West Wind,” he sang, “and I bring you greetings from the ancient realms of Phorcys and Mnemosyne.”

Again they cheered. “Orpheus! Orpheus!” they shouted, abandoning all restraint, for this actor was none other than Linus’s brother, two years older, half a head taller, and equally as handsome. To them the appearances of Linus and Orpheus could mean but one thing: Oeagrus had sanctioned this event!

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