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No man had ever solved her riddles before. Those arrogant enough to try always ended up as lunch. On one hand, free food was free food, and the entertainment that came with it was nice as well. On the other hand, humans weren’t quite as tasty as she expected. Either way, the Sphinx had little need of anything more.
That is, until a young woman came stumbling down the mountainside, heading straight for the cave where the Sphinx slept. She cracked open a lazy eye as they came face to face, the woman with nary a tremble. Battered and scratched by the shrubbery, her eyes radiated a defiance and quickness that her body did not.
“O Sphinx!” she declared. “I ask of you a boon!”
The Sphinx huffed with amusement. The greediness of humanity never got old. She’d heard this a thousand times already. True, if they could answer her riddle, she would grant their wish. None had succeeded thus far, and so the Sphinx ruffled her eagle wings and reared her head in all her terrible glory.
Opposite souls alike in heaven, to each their shadow cast
The first will birth the second, and the second births the last
The woman barely blinked before answering.
“Day and night.”
The Sphinx had already gotten off her haunches, poised and ready to pounce on her freshly delivered snack. She blinked, stupefied, for none dared to answer her questions so quickly, not to mention with such brazen confidence. But she was bound to her word, so she skidded to a halt, swallowed her displeasure, and sat back down.
“That is correct,” she growled, still reeling with shock. “Ask me your boon.”
“I ask for your protection, O Sphinx. I ask for a warm place to rest and lay my head.”
The Sphinx tilted her head in confusion. Wealth. Power. Knowledge. Out of all the things she could have asked for. Out of everything desired by mankind’s unlimited greed. The Sphinx grunted and moved aside, folding her wings back.
“Then you shall have it. I will protect you from harm until the light climbs down the trees.”
The woman looked into the cave, squinting with hesitation. She hurried in, brushing past the Sphinx. What could a mortal woman possibly want protection from? Who would be desperate enough to ask for it from a Sphinx?
She got her answer a moment later, when a cluster of armored men came hooting and hollering down the mountainside, following the woman’s tracks with swords drawn and torches ablaze.
“Monster!” the lead man declared, hefting his sword. “You shelter a woman who is rightfully mine! Move aside!”
“Perhaps,” the Sphinx replied, tapping her paw nonchalantly. “Answer my question and I will consider your request.”
She started to recite another riddle, but the man and his compatriots charged, hoping to catch her off guard. She slew them all, pouncing from one to the next to tear them to shreds with her lioness’ claws. In the aftermath of the scuffle, she batted away one of the helms and watched as it clattered and rolled away. The crunch of gravel sounded from behind her and the Sphinx turned to assess the new threat, stopping when she saw the woman leaning against the cave entrance, pale with shock.
A sudden flare of pain stabbed out from her right paw. The Sphinx looked down, huffing with annoyance at the shard of armor lodged in her flesh. She limped back to the cave entrance, eyeing the woman with distrust.
“Your protection has been granted,” the Sphinx spat.
The woman looked down at the leaking wound, wide-eyed and fearful. “Y-you … you’re hurt. Let me—”
“Greedy human, what more do you desire? Leave me be.” The Sphinx roared in anger and the woman dashed away, terrified.
When she could no longer see the woman’s retreating form, the Sphinx gingerly took the shard of metal between her teeth and extracted it, spitting it vengefully as far as she could. The wound continued to cry, and she did her best to ignore it and go to sleep.
The sound of footsteps woke her sometime after, and she looked up to see a familiar figure carrying a bundle. “You again. Mankind’s greed knows no bounds, does it?”
“Ask me a riddle,” the woman insisted.
“You dare ask for more?”
The woman shook with fear, everything trembling except her voice. “Ask me a riddle.”
The Sphinx could only glare at her with baleful eyes.
By widened mouth or narrowed bed
By war is when I run with red
Thin in summer and fat in spring
Till then will fertile birth I bring
The woman thought for a moment, and the Sphinx licked her chops, wondering if her first guess had merely been luck.
“A river.”
The Sphinx made a muted grunt of confirmation. “And your boon, greedy one?”
“Allow me to bandage your wound.”
The Sphinx’s mouth fell open, taking a moment to process the words. She raised her injured paw and laid it on the rock in front of her, prompting the woman to inch carefully forward with her bundle of rags and bandages. Her touch was gentle as she inspected the wound. She left for a moment and returned with a bucket of water from the river, carefully washing out the wound. The Sphinx watched with suspicion, suppressing any noise of discomfort as the woman wrapped the wound tightly. When she was done, she got up wordlessly and left, leaving the Sphinx alone with her thoughts.
The woman returned the next day, and once more they stared at each other from a modest distance apart while the Sphinx wondered.
“I must inspect the wound, lest it fester,” she insisted softly.
The Sphinx didn’t react, chewing silently on her thoughts. After a moment, she relaxed and spoke.
A gift to you, most used by others
Though freely shared, and dear ‘tween lovers
The woman tapped her chin for a few moments before answering. “A name.”
The Sphinx grumbled in acknowledgment but did not move, giving her a pointed look.
“Oh. Oh. I am Alcinea.”
With a snort, the Sphinx slapped her bandaged paw onto the rock in front of her and let Alcinea tend to the injury. She unwrapped the bandages, applied an herbal poultice, and rewrapped it.
Day after day, Alcinea returned. And day after day, she answered every one of the Sphinx’s questions, much to her great surprise. In addition to asking her riddles, the Sphinx did something she had never done before.
She fell in love.
And ever so gradually, so did Alcinea. When the Sphinx’s wound was finally healed, Alcinea asked once more for a warm place to rest. For the first time in her life, the Sphinx dreaded the pregnant pause while Alcinea thought, praying to every god that she would answer it correctly. She did, of course, and the Sphinx was more than happy to oblige her.
Alcinea found her warmth by the Sphinx’s side, and would fall asleep to the comfort of her eagle wing draping over her body. She, in turn, introduced the Sphinx to the wonders of human comforts, the first and foremost being human cooking and cuisine. The Sphinx would hunt and bring back hare or deer, more than enough for them both, while Alcinea tended the hearth.
It didn’t take long for the Sphinx to decide that she vastly preferred this over human flesh. After all, it definitely beat having to pull scraps of bone, clothing, or armor out of her teeth.
From the bones of a deer, Alcinea fashioned a comb. One morning, the Sphinx awoke to the low susurration of her combing her hair. She stayed as still as possible, quietly appreciating Alcinea’s beauty in the soft morning light. When Alcinea turned around and met her eyes, she found herself dumbstruck by her rueful smile. It took several heartbeats for the Sphinx to find her words again.
It grows with no leaves, It flows without water
Snowy white or black as night
Long as life but sometimes shorter
But beauty in my humble sight
Alcinea smiled and reached out to run her fingers down the Sphinx’s back. “Hair.”
The Sphinx shivered at the touch, relaxing into it and letting Alcinea comb both her human hair and lioness fur. After a moment, Alcinea stopped and leaned over to check on the Sphinx, concerned at the guilty expression across her face.
The Sphinx shuffled her paws, extending and retracting her claws into the ground. “May I ask you a boon instead?”
“Anything.”
“Keep doing that.”
Alcinea laughed, a bright bird-like chirp that had the Sphinx’s heart skittering. She found her rhythm again, encouraged by the throaty purr that rumbled out from the Sphinx’s body.
From the sinew of the deer, Alcinea fashioned a lyre. One hazy morning, she got up and sat at the mouth of the cave to carefully pluck at it, letting her hushed warble ripple through the trees. At the close of her song, she turned to see the Sphinx stirring from her sleep, cracking open a single drowsy eye.
“I’m sorry, my love, did I wake you?”
The Sphinx padded over and sat next to her, giving her a sleepy nudge.
It carries without arms
It rings and it charms
My soul from Hades’ wrath
It could deliver
Yet for all its warmth I shiver
Alcinea smiled wryly. “My voice?”
The Sphinx closed her eyes again and laid her head on Alcinea’s lap with an expectant huff.
“Then I bid you listen. And I bid you to love.”
And so she did. Alcinea sang for the Sphinx, imbuing her song with the certainty in her heart. She sang of their love and the place they’d found in each other, and the Sphinx was happy.
On warm summer nights, Alcinea and the Sphinx would walk side by side through the groves nearby. Oftentimes, they were content with the company of each other’s silence. The Sphinx preferred the clarity of the evening twilight whenever she needed to renew her vow to Alcinea. By now, she no longer had any doubts about Alcinea’s wit. Even when she needed to think about the riddles, the Sphinx trusted her to always answer correctly.
Orion’s mighty sword and shield
Ne’er leading man astray
In darkest night, they’ll never yield
To retreat once more by day
Alcinea smiled and reached out to tickle the Sphinx’s chin, tilting her head upwards. “The stars, of course.” She pointed at the brightest one, its reflection twinkling in her eye. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
In all her eternity, the Sphinx had never thought much of the constellations. They were just there, placed by the arrogance of Hera herself. Alcinea drank in the night sky for a few moments more before asking her boon.
“I ask for a warm place to rest, and for your love and your trust.”
“And you shall have it as you always have.” The Sphinx looked up at the stars again, quietly marveling at the wisps of color texturing the sky around them. “Come! The stars entice me, let us touch them or fall trying.”
She got down and shuffled next to Alcinea, ignoring her bemused expression as she gingerly clambered over the Sphinx’s back. With two powerful leaps, the Sphinx hopped onto a boulder and shot into the air, taking them over the trees with a thunderous flap of her wings. Alcinea clung to her neck and buried her face into her nape as they circled into the sky, gliding from one updraft to the next.
A light shimmer of moisture across her skin prompted her to take a peek as they burst through an errant cloud. Alcinea reached out a hand, but no matter how high they flew, the stars never seemed to get any closer. Even as the air grew thin and cold, the stars stayed distant motes, floating in the endless depths of an unreachable sea.
With all of Greece laid out before them, Alcinea and the Sphinx stared wondrously as they soared through the night sky. Gradually, Alcinea overcame her initial fear and her racing heartbeat slowed, synchronizing with the flapping of Sphinx’s wings. When she was sure Alcinea had fully acclimated, the Sphinx broke the silence.
Swift as a bird but devoid of flight
Dark but not evil, ne’er there without light
Crossing the seas without getting wet
It follows the lark like an eternal pet
“If it’s not the lark, then it’s the lark’s shadow.” Feeling cold, Alcinea flattened herself against the Sphinx’s back again. “Sphinx, will you tell me a story?”
The Sphinx could think of no greater pleasure. She nodded upwards and began to recount the grand tales of the constellations while Alcinea pressed a cheek against the fur on her back.
She listened to the plight of Andromeda, and the great tale of Heracles. She listened to the stories of Lyra, Perseus, and Cassiopeia. The Sphinx regaled Alcinea with story after story until she felt her breathing slow as she gradually fell asleep. With a smile, she banked her wings gently to turn around. There would be plenty of time for the rest of the stories, for she had many more to tell. The stars would always be there. After all, they were as timeless as the Sphinx herself.
Though the Sphinx was immortal, Alcinea was not. As time passed, Alcinea went from walking on two legs to walking on three. Soon after, dementia as well as age began to wrinkle her lovely face. It took longer and longer for Alcinea to answer the Sphinx’s riddles, and no matter how hard she tried to make them easier, it would only be a matter of time before Alcinea could no longer comprehend them.
The Sphinx knew it was the beginning of the end when she awoke one morning to find Alcinea slowly tottering towards the cave entrance. She got up and padded over silently, heartbroken by the momentary flash of fear in Alcinea’s gaze when they made eye contact. The Sphinx settled back into as non-threatening a position as possible and lowered her voice.
Lover with thine gaze lost oh so far
Do you remember where you are?
Alcinea paused and cocked her head, her thoughts fighting against the muddle in her head. “A warm place where … I can rest and lay my head. Somewhere … somewhere I am safe.”
The Sphinx exhaled softly. “That … that is correct.” She’d memorized Alcinea’s boon by heart by now, and she vowed to herself that Alcinea would always be safe, until the stars had blinked their last.
There were fearful moments when Alcinea could not recognize the Sphinx, but also intermittent moments of clarity that the Sphinx cherished and clung desperately to. The riddles, which had gone from expressions of their shared love and trust, now left a bitter taste in her mouth whenever she had to voice them.
How I fear the end is near
And how I dread this fated game
Dearest love I beg of you
Do you recall your name?
Alcinea’s brow creased, and the Sphinx despaired in the ensuing silence. The wingbeat of a passing bird distracted her, and she looked out of the cave and smiled.
“Dove…” she muttered distractedly.
The Sphinx lowered her head despondently. She thought, and thought, and thought, but then she realized. What is a name? What is a name, but the dye by which our clay is colored? What is a name, but a chord struck by a lover’s lips? For what is a name, but an honored gift held dear between lovers?
“Yes, my darling dove. That is correct.”
Alcinea continued to deteriorate, despite the Sphinx’s best efforts to care for her. Most evenings, she could no longer comprehend where she was, and all the Sphinx could do was keep her warm through the long winter nights. The moments of clarity became few and far between, and though the Sphinx continued to feed her and tell her stories, the despair anchoring her heart grew heavier and heavier as Alcinea slowly faded away.
On a cold winter night, the Sphinx awoke to the feeling of Alcinea’s fingers slowly stroking her wing. She turned slowly to her, relieved to see the fleeting spark of lucidity in her eyes.
“My dear Sphinx, my time is up.”
The Sphinx readjusted her wing and pulled her frail body close. “Rest, Alcinea, you must preserve your energy.” But even as she said those words, she knew it wouldn’t help.
Alcinea cupped the Sphinx’s cheek gently and allowed her to press their foreheads together. With her final breath, Alcinea whispered her last words to her lover.
Beaten or broken, it works without pause
The one I call mine, has always been yours