“I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis. I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.”
“I accept your pledge,” Artemis said, and the Hunters’ newest recruit—a girl named Zoë Nightshade—lifted her head to look at the goddess.
“Thank you, my lady,” she said.
“Remember your pledge,” Artemis said. “It is now your life.” She gestured for one of her other Hunters to take Zoë away and show her around the camp.
Artemis didn’t know the girl’s story, but she could sense some things: betrayal, resentment, a touch of sorrow. She intrigued Artemis no little bit, as well—she was neither nymph nor mortal nor demigod, but something else entirely. She might bring it up later, when Zoë had had time to settle in.
She got her chance a few weeks later, when the Hunters were sitting around a fire, talking and laughing. Artemis seated herself beside her newest huntress and smiled at her.
“Hello,” the goddess said. “I hope you are settling in well.”
“Oh, yes, my lady,” Zoë said earnestly. “These girls…they feel like my family already. I feel very much at home.”
“I’m glad.” Artemis regarded Zoë a moment, then said, “Tell me about yourself, Zoë.”
The Hunter hesitated. “I do not have much to tell, my lady.”
Artemis smiled slightly. “I don’t mind.”
Zoë toyed with the end of her long black braid as spoke. “I lived in the Garden of the Hesperides with my sisters,” she began. “For how long I was there, I do not know. But one day, a man—a hero—came into the garden. He had a quest.” She glanced at Artemis. “He was to steal the golden apples from the tree in the garden.”
“Herakles,” Artemis murmured. Yes, she knew the name well.
“I assisted him,” Zoë went on. “I concocted the plan he used to defeat the dragon Ladon, trick my father, and steal the apples. Of course, I was found out—I did not make it much of a secret. My sisters banished me from the garden. Later, I found out this man took all the credit for his daring plan in the garden.”
“And you resent him for this?” Artemis asked gently.
“Do you blame me, my lady?”
Artemis shook her head and changed the subject. “Who is your father, if I might ask?”
Zoë’s face darkened slightly. “He is a Titan, my lady. Not a friend to thee or thy family.”
“I do not hold parentage against my Hunters,” Artemis assured her. “And if you don’t wish to tell me, I understand.”
“I do not want to keep secrets from you, my lady.”
Artemis gave her a small smile and brushed a loose hair off the girl’s tunic. “Secrets keep things interesting,” she said. “Tell me when you are ready.”
“I will, my lady.”
~~~
Some years passed. One day, Artemis’s current lieutenant approached her and requested discharge from the Hunters. Though it did not happen often, the circumstance was not new to Artemis and she let the girl go with her blessing. This, however, left her with the task of finding a new Hunter to act as her second-in-command.
Artemis spent many nights thinking about who she would choose to succeed her old lieutenant. It was not a decision to make lightly; not all Hunters were suited for leadership and not all wanted it. She needed someone who would stay with her for a long time and who could handle the responsibility of leading the Hunters when Artemis was not around.
And then, one evening, the obvious answer hit Artemis. It was so clear, in fact, that she wondered how she hadn’t thought of it before.
Zoë.
The huntress was perfect for the job. All Artemis had to do was offer the position to her and see if she accepted.
It was evening a short time later when Artemis found her opportunity to talk to Zoë. She stepped quietly up to the girl and laid a hand on her shoulder, trying to draw her out of her conversation with her fellow Hunters as gently as possible.
“Walk with me, Zoë,” Artemis said.
Zoë rose from her place beside her sisters-in-arms. “Yes, my lady.” She followed the goddess out of the glow of the fire, past the tents, and into the woods.
Artemis did not waste any time getting to the point. “I would like you to become my lieutenant.”
Zoë looked up, startled. Still, she said, “I…I am honored, my lady.”
Artemis heard the hesitation in her tone. “You are unsure of yourself?”
“I just…I did not expect thee to choose me. I am not your eldest Hunter.”
“But I believe you are the best qualified for the job,” Artemis said.
“If you wish it, my lady, I will accept the position.”
Artemis placed two fingers under Zoë’s chin and lifted it so the Hunter looked her in the eyes. “You do not have to accept if you do not wish to be my lieutenant,” she said gently. “I will think no less of you if you decline.”
Zoë remained silent for a moment, presumably thinking. Then she said, “No, my lady. I accept thy offer.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The Hunter sounded more confident this time. “I am certain.”
Artemis couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “Thank you, Zoë,” she said.
“No, I thank thee,” Zoë said. “This is a great honor.”
“You honor me by accepting,” Artemis said. “Come, let us tell your sisters-in-arms the good news.” She held out her hand.
Zoë barely hesitated before taking it. Her hand in the goddess’s was warm and soft and her grip was firm. For a moment, Artemis almost wished they didn’t have to return to the others and could stay like this, preferably for much longer. Then she shook herself. She was a goddess and the leader of the Hunters, she reminded herself, and she had duties to attend to.
The crowning ceremony occurred right after the announcement to the Hunters, all of whom naturally were excited for Zoë. Artemis hoped their reaction and support would be enough to convince Zoë that she was the right one for the job.
“Zoë Nightshade,” Artemis said, holding out the lieutenant’s silver circlet, and the Hunter knelt at the goddess’s feet.
Artemis nestled the circlet on Zoë’s head. “I know you will serve me well, my lieutenant,” she said.
Zoë looked up, her black eyes afire. “I swear I will, my lady.”
Artemis liked that fire. She took Zoë’s hand and helped her to her feet, and the girl stood in front of the rest of the Hunters, her chin lifted slightly with pride. Artemis felt a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She knew Zoë would do her proud.
~~~
Artemis watched Zoë jog easily at the head of the Hunters, leading them through the woods. Leadership came naturally to her; she wore it like a fine tunic. Despite the girl’s earlier protestations, Artemis knew she’d made the right decision for lieutenant.
Zoë came to a halt, holding up a hand. Silently, she and the other Hunters unslung their bows. Zoë nocked an arrow to hers and crept forward, carefully pushing aside a tree bough so she could peer into the clearing. Artemis knew what she would see: a giant sow, snuffling through the underbrush, a ring of woven silver through her nose. The animal would be a boast-worthy kill, to be sure, but the ring was a prize in itself. No one quite knew how it had gotten there, only that it was worth much.
Zoë used a series of hand signals to communicate her plan of attack to the rest of the Hunters. They all nodded in understanding and readied themselves, drawing arrows out of their quivers or unsheathing their hunting knives.
Zoë raised her hand and the Hunters grew still. Then she dropped it, and the closest girl on her left loosed her arrow.
It caught the sow in her left front hock, causing her to stumble and squeal in outrage. Instead of fleeing, though, the sow charged, and the Hunters that had pooled into the clearing at the initial onslaught were forced to scatter.
“Regroup!” Zoë shouted. “Aim for its vulnerable points!” She fired at the sow and caught it in the haunch. Though it was a sound hit, the arrow didn’t seem to incapacitate as much as enrage the sow. Several more Hunters loosed their arrows, but most went wide as the sow dodged.
Zoë, in an act of courage even Artemis found impressive, darted around a few Hunters and planted herself directly in front of the sow. The animal snorted and charged her, but Zoë stood her ground and calmly drew a silver arrow from her quiver. She nocked it, drew back the string, and fired. The arrow struck the sow directly between the eyes. It squealed in pain, teetered a moment, and then fell over, dead.
There was a general sigh of relief as the Hunters lowered their weapons and began congratulating each other on a good hunt. They stepped out from their positions around the clearing and behind trees and gathered around the slain animal, looking only slightly worse for the wear. Artemis slung her bow over her shoulder, still buzzing a little from the rush of the hunt.
“Well done, Zoë,” she said. “The kill is yours.”
Zoë bent her head modestly. “I could not have done it on my own. The others deserve more recognition than I.”
“Oh, stop it, Zoë,” someone said from the back, and the girls laughed.
“The prize is still yours.” Artemis knelt by the dead sow’s head and removed the filigreed ring from her nose. She held it out to her lieutenant and Zoë, after a moment, accepted it. The Hunters cheered, bringing a small smile to Zoë’s face.
Artemis loved Zoë’s smile—though it was a hesitant thing, and often fleeting, it lit up her face and made her seem much more carefree. And when she laughed, her dark eyes sparkled. Artemis didn’t think she’d ever seen anything as beautiful as Zoë when she laughed, not even on Olympus.
“Come,” Artemis said. “Let us celebrate a hunt well executed.” She nodded to Zoë. “Lead the way, lieutenant.”
Zoë lifted her chin and her eyes met the goddess’s for a brief moment before she looked away and began to lead the Hunters back to their camp. Artemis felt a small shiver go through her at the shared glance—Zoë’s eyes were black as midnight and beautifully intense. It was, Artemis mused, another thing she loved about the huntress: her energy and passion and how it manifested in every aspect of her being. It was just one of the things that made her so wonderfully, perfectly Zoë.
Later that night, as the other Hunters ate the sow and talked and laughed with each other, Zoë crept away from the other Hunters to sit beside Artemis. The goddess sat a little away from the group, observing them from afar to make sure nothing was amiss.
“My lady, I had a question for you, if you did not mind.”
“Of course I do not mind,” Artemis said. “What do you wish to know?”
Zoë hesitated a moment, then asked, “Why did you choose me, my lady?”
Artemis reached out and tucked an errant strand of black hair back into Zoë’s circlet. “Because you are a gifted Hunter,” she said. “Because you are strong and brave and a natural leader. Because you are firm in your beliefs and do not waver no matter what.” She looked into the girl’s eyes. “Because I trust you.”
“Oh,” Zoë said softly. “I see.” There was a beat of silence, then she said, “Thank…thank you, my lady.”
“Of course,” Artemis said. “Please, Zoë, if you ever want to talk to me, please do not hesitate.”
“I will not, my lady.”
Artemis touched the Hunter’s cheek. “Will you promise me?”
Zoë met the goddess’s gaze, her eyes wide and earnest. “I promise.”
~~~
Artemis did not have to wait long for Zoë to make good on her promise. It was but a few months later, as she sat in her tent and oiled her bow, when someone tapped quietly on the side of her tent.
“My lady?”
Artemis looked up to see Zoë peering through her tent flap. “Yes?”
“I would like to speak with thee, if you are not occupied.”
Artemis set aside the bow and cloth. “Certainly, Zoë. Please, come in.”
The Hunter stepped inside the tent and Artemis gestured to one of the silk pillows immediately opposite her.
“What is on your mind?” Artemis asked once Zoë was settled.
“I am not sure,” Zoë said tentatively. “It is just—”
“You still doubt my decision to make you my lieutenant,” Artemis guessed.
“Not your decision, my lady,” Zoë said.
“You lead well,” Artemis said. “Your position suits you.”
“Do you really think so, my lady?”
“Of course.” Artemis studied the girl. “Do you doubt yourself?”
Zoë shifted her weight. “I…not exactly, my lady. I just…I still do not understand why you chose me.”
“I have told you my reasons,” Artemis said mildly.
A faint blush colored Zoë’s cheeks. “I know, my lady. I am sorry to keep bothering thee.”
“You are not bothering me.”
Zoë only looked down as she ran her hand over the silken rug she sat on. Artemis watched the way her dark hair fell over her shoulder and veiled her face and suddenly felt very warm.
“Zoë, my huntress, come here.”
Artemis cupped Zoë’s cheek in her hand. The girl’s coppery skin was soft to the touch. Her dark eyes looked liquid in the flickering light from the torches. Artemis thought she had never looked more beautiful.
Artemis leaned forward and then her mouth was on Zoë’s and Zoë’s hand was on the back of her neck and it was the best feeling Artemis thought she’d ever experienced in her long life.
Zoë pulled away but kept her hand on the goddess’s neck. Her eyes were wide. “My lady, I—”
Artemis placed a finger over her lips. “Shhh,” she said. “Please, my huntress.” She leaned in so her forehead rested against Zoë’s and her lips just brushed the corner of the girl’s mouth. “Shhh.”
This time it was Zoë who initiated it, turning her head to catch Artemis’s mouth with hers. Artemis brought her hand sliding up Zoë’s neck and into her hair. Zoë’s fingertips skimmed across Artemis’s stomach, just under her tunic, making the goddess’s hand in her hair tighten somewhat. She breathed Zoë’s name into the Hunter’s mouth and was rewarded when Zoë gripped at her back, her nails pricking the goddess’s skin.
Zoë broke the kiss, pulling away enough so that she could look Artemis in the eyes. “I should rejoin the others,” she whispered, but she didn’t take her hand off Artemis’s back.
“As should I.” But Artemis didn’t move either. The two just stared at each other for a long moment. Zoë’s lips were parted slightly and her face was flushed. Artemis had to bite her lip to suppress the urge to kiss her huntress again.
At length, Zoë blinked and shifted her weight. “They will wonder where we are,” she said, her voice husky.
“Yes,” Artemis said, and stood at last. Zoë followed suit, and Artemis could feel the Hunter’s eyes on her back. She stepped aside, gesturing for her to take the lead. After a moment’s pause, Zoë did so, stepping carefully over the silk pillows on her way to the tent’s entrance.
“But Zoë,” Artemis said, catching her arm. Zoë turned to look at her. “I enjoyed our talk. Perhaps we should have them more often.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of Zoë’s mouth. “Yes, my lady,” she said. “I believe we should.”
~~~
Time passed languidly after that time in the tent. Whenever they could, Zoë and Artemis slipped away to spend a few moments together. One evening, he two of them lounged together on a small, grassy hill, Zoë on her back on the grass and Artemis seated beside her. The night was clear and breezy; the stars spread above them like a spangled blanket.
“May I ask thee a question, my lady?” Zoë asked, tipping her head back to look at Artemis.
“Of course,” Artemis said, combing her fingers through Zoë’s long black hair.
Zoë pointed upward, tracing a blocky constellation with her finger. “Orion,” she said. “Did you place him in the stars?”
“Some say I did,” Artemis said. “And some say it was my brother.”
“Do not be coy,” Zoë said, her tone half-exasperated and half-amused.
“I could say the same to you. What do you really wish to ask, my huntress?” Artemis asked, rubbing a silky lock of Zoë’s hair between her fingers.
Zoë hesitated, one of the first times Artemis had ever seen her do so. “I do not wish to seem forward, my lady, but…Orion, what did he—? Why did you—?”
“You mean to ask what Orion meant to me?” Artemis suggested gently.
“I—yes, my lady,” Zoë said, sounding a little embarrassed.
“Oh, my huntress,” Artemis said. “Orion was a gifted hunter and a good partner—but he was a man and only a man.” She stroked Zoë’s cheek with her thumb. “He could never mean as much to me as you do, brave one.”
“Really?”
Artemis leaned down and kissed Zoë’s forehead. “Would I lie to you, my huntress?”
Zoë laced their fingers together. “I do not think so.”
Artemis smiled. “Good.”
They spent the rest of the night in silence, soaking in each other’s company and looking at the stars.
~~~
Artemis found time to be an odd thing. One might expect them to pass quickly for a goddess who had lived so long and would continue to do so. In a way, they did. But Artemis also felt that some moments—the still few heartbeats just before her prey made a last, desperate bid for its life, evenings spent laughing around the fire with her Hunters, and especially the moments she spent in Zoë’s company—hung still in time, lasting for almost an eternity on their own.
It was still not enough time. Artemis had no gift of prophecy, could not have guessed that her hunt for the bane of Olympus would lead her into a trap and cause her to become imprisoned by Atlas. But she would have gladly stayed in captivity for a thousand years if it would have prevented Zoë and her companions coming to save her.
Beautiful, brave Zoë, who would sacrifice herself to save an immortal goddess, and did. Nothing had ever hurt—would ever hurt—Artemis more than seeing her beloved huntress, so strong and graceful, thrown aside by her own father after leaping in front of him to protect Artemis.
She barely remembered the battle with Atlas, so preoccupied was she with Zoë. She felt hyperaware of her huntress lying still against the rocks. Artemis knew she was alive, but only just.
As soon as Atlas was defeated, she ran over Zoë’s side and lifted her as tenderly as she could. As the goddess’s hands brushed over her side, Zoë roused enough to flinch. Artemis carefully readjusted the girl so she could look at her more closely. What she saw made her feel ill: a terrible wound, sapping away the Hunter’s life. That, along with her father’s final blow, did not bode well for Zoë.
Artemis cradled Zoë close, willing her to hold on. It cannot end this way, she thought. Not after all this.
“The wound is poisoned,” she said quietly, showing the demigods that approached the two for them the bite Ladon had given her huntress.
“Atlas poisoned her?” Percy, the son of Poseidon, asked.
“No. Not Atlas.”
“The stars,” Zoë murmured. “I cannot see them.”
Artemis brushed sweaty strands of the Hunter’s hair out of her face. A sudden commotion caused her to look up. A man—a mortal—flew by in a biplane, shooting at the monsters that congregated around the mountain.
“A brave man,” Artemis admitted. “Come. We must get Zoë away from here.” She lifted her hunting horn to her lips and blew. Soon, her chariot, pulled by her faithful deer, landed beside them. “Get in.”
She helped Thalia and Percy into the chariot and then lifted Zoë in as gently as she could. She knew no one else could handle her deer, but it was still difficult to allow the two half-bloods tend to Zoë as she drove across the sky. They landed in a nearby field as dark fell fully.
Thalia helped Artemis bind Zoë’s wounds, but something told the goddess it would not be enough. The Hunter had begun to shiver and her silver glow—the blessing of Artemis—was fading.
“Can’t you heal her with magic?” Percy asked. “I mean…you’re a goddess.”
“Life is a fragile thing, Percy,” Artemis said. She knew it well, though she wished it wasn’t true. Wished it didn’t have to be so now. “If the Fates will the string to be cut, there is little I can do. But I can try.”
She placed her hand over the wound in Zoë’s hand, calling forth her healing power. She may not have her brother’s skill with it, but she was still a goddess.
Zoë took hold of her wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. Artemis looked into her eyes—such beautiful, dark eyes—and realized: she did not wish to be healed. Artemis swallowed around the lump rising in her throat and removed her hand.
“Have I…served thee well?” Zoë whispered.
“With great honor,” Artemis said, just as softly. She was afraid that, if she spoke any louder, her voice would break. “The finest of my attendants.”
“Rest. At last,” Zoë said, and Artemis understood. Immortality seemed wonderful, but after so long, it began to weigh as heavily as Atlas’s burden.
“I can try to heal the poison, my brave one,” Artemis said, brushing a strand of hair out of Zoë’s face and willing herself not to weep.
Zoë said nothing, but she didn’t need to. As Artemis held her hand, Zoë said her goodbyes to the demigods that accompanied her on her quest. The goddess was grateful that the attention was no longer on her; it allowed her to bow her head and allow a few tears to fall, hidden by her hair and the darkness.
“Stars,” Zoë breathed, her voice barely audible. “I can see the stars again, my lady.”
Artemis felt another tear trickle down her cheek. “Yes, my brave one. They are beautiful tonight.”
“Stars,” she repeated, her eyes drifting to the night sky. She did not move again.
Artemis bowed her head, trying to blink back the tears that now pressed earnestly against her lashes. Her most beloved huntress was gone, and she would not come back. Not ever.
Artemis knew what she had to do. She bent over Zoë, wishing with all her heart that the Hunter would just open her eyes, just take in another breath. She cupped her hand over her Hunter’s mouth and whispered the words of a spell, a very old spell, one she had not used in millennia. A silvery wisp of smoke rose from Zoë’s lips, which Artemis caught. Zoë’s body shimmered and vanished.
Artemis clung to the wisp of essence—the last that remained of her Zoë—for a few moments. Then she murmured the second part of the spell, held on for one last moment, and breathed into her hand, releasing Zoë’s essence into the sky. She watched as the stars arranged themselves to form a new, glittering pattern—her Huntress, immortalized forever in the night sky.
It was the least she could do, preserving Zoë in the stars. The very least. The Hunter deserved immortality, godhood—but Artemis knew Zoë would never accept that. She wanted rest.
Let this be my last gift to you, brave one, Artemis thought, looking up at Zoë’s constellation. Rest. But I will never forget you, and neither will the world.
“Let the world honor you, my huntress.” Artemis said the words like a prayer, hoping Zoë could hear her. “Live forever in the stars.”