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    Nightsong: The Legend of Orpheus and Eurydice
    Nightsong: The Legend of Orpheus and Eurydice
    Nightsong: The Legend of Orpheus and Eurydice
    Ebook108 pages1 hour

    Nightsong: The Legend of Orpheus and Eurydice

    By Michael Cadnum

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    About this ebook

    A poet journeys into the underworld to rescue his bride 

    His name is Orpheus, and he is the greatest poet on Earth. With his lyre, he can make music so beautiful it causes the gods to weep, but they are not who he wants to impress. Orpheus has been in love with Eurydice ever since the first time he heard her voice, and to win her love he sings the most beautiful songs in history. On the day of their wedding, when Orpheus feels happiness just within his grasp, Eurydice is bitten by a snake and dies. The groom is heartbroken, but undaunted. He will rescue his beloved—even if he must battle death itself.
     
    Orpheus’s path is fraught with untold dangers, but he presses on—and a tragic yet beautiful love story emerges from this radical reworking of an ancient tale.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateOct 6, 2015
    ISBN9781504019675
    Nightsong: The Legend of Orpheus and Eurydice
    Author

    Michael Cadnum

    Michael Cadnum is the author of 35 books for adults and young adults. His work—which includes thrillers, suspense novels, historical fiction, and books about myths and legends—has been nominated for the National Book Award (The Book of the Lion), the Edgar Award (Calling Home and Breaking the Fall), and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize (In a Dark Wood). A former National Endowment for the Arts Creative Writing Fellow, he is also the author of award-winning poetry. Seize the Storm (2012) is his most recent novel.   Michael Cadnum lives in Albany, California, with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

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      Book preview

      Nightsong - Michael Cadnum

      1

      ONE

      Orpheus paused beside the river.

      The angry current churned, too hard and deep for an easy crossing, the cold white water surging through the black stones.

      Once again he heard the troubling wail in the distance.

      Are you sure this is a safe place to cross, Prince Orpheus? asked Biton, his young servant, making every effort to disguise his anxiety.

      I had heard it was a peaceful waterway, Biton, replied Orpheus, trying to sound reassuring. But now that I look at it, I have my doubts.

      It was a day when the approach of spring was still merely a hint in the sunlight. The two travelers had nearly reached their destination, the land where King Lycomede ruled with his daughter the princess Eurydice. Orpheus had sent no advance notice of his visit, but he expected a warm welcome. Monarch and shepherd alike were always glad to play host to the famous singer, and for his own part the poet was eager to set eyes on the princess, who was said to possess an ardent love of music – and a magical beauty.

      Let’s wander down the river for a while, suggested Biton. No doubt some strong-armed ferryman will offer his services.

      Orpheus was tall and sturdily built, with hair the color of amber, but he had no great faith in his own physical powers when it came to such a violent flood. The poet cocked his head, listening for the distant cry – and heard it again, faint but persistent.

      Do you hear it, too, Biton? asked Orpheus.

      I was hoping I was mistaken, the young servant responded regretfully. To my ear, I’m afraid it sounds very much like a crying baby.

      Vultures circled a rocky knoll not far up the hillside beyond the river. With each approach, the winged scavengers came closer to a tiny being apparently abandoned there, at the foot of a great ash tree.

      Look there, master, upriver! said Biton excitedly. A herd of goats is already halfway across. If goats can make it through the water, then surely we will find our footing!

      Those aren’t goats, Biton, said Orpheus grimly. He lifted his legendary silver lyre over his head, and waded out into the seething river.

      Indeed, the poet thought, the animals in question were not anything like goats. They were a pack of wild dogs fighting hungrily to swim the current, no doubt attracted by the human infant’s wail. Once there, Orpheus feared, the creatures would make quick work of the baby, and have the ferocity besides to fight over the scraps.

      Orpheus sang out a prayer, that the river god might ease the tumbling waters just long enough for a poet and his trusted attendant to reach the opposite bank. He was the most famous singer in the world; his mother was one of the Muses – Calliope, the goddess of epic poetry – and his father was the mortal king Oeagrus of Thrace.

      The Muses were daughters of Jupiter, and the nine of them empowered human talent in music, dance, and song. No poet but Orpheus could claim to be the offspring of such an immortal.

      And it did seem that at the sound of the poet’s song, the river relented in its brutal torrent – just slightly.

      Be careful, master! called Biton, already far behind.

      The poet had rescued Biton some years before, saving him from drowning in a sudden freshet in Rodos – a dry, rocky streambed had filled with a flash flood during a summer storm. Orpheus had given the orphan the affectionate name for an ox, because the boy was so strong, and even-tempered as well.

      The poet reached the midpoint, where the river was deepest. The water spun, gathering around him, surrounding him with power that had been, until hours ago, snow on one of the mountains. Upriver, the pack of wild dogs was halfway across as well, struggling but making headway.

      Orpheus lifted his voice again, in one of his favorite songs, the story of the many rivers falling out of the sky, flung by the hand of Jupiter. It was a beautiful, soothing tune, and it was wise to remind the river god that, for all his thunder and foam, he was subject to the pleasure of the sky.

      Beyond, the vultures circled, ever closer to the tiny human being.

      It was an old practice among farm laborers, when sharp poverty made it impossible to feed yet another mouth: An unwanted newborn was left alone, out under the heavens. There the Fates could determine the infant’s future, although the poet knew that many such babies lost their lives. Like many before him, Orpheus was often troubled by the flinty ways of gods and men.

      At last Orpheus reached the dry, white pebbles of the opposite bank.

      He ran as hard as he was able, through brambles and winter-bare bushes, his strong legs driving

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