Original Fiction -- "A Name for Silva"
"One never really thinks about where satyrs come from..."
One never really thinks about where satyrs come from. Does someone give birth to them, or do they just appear out of nowhere? But people don’t ask these questions. Satyrs are just there, chasing the dryads and the village girls, tootling on panpipes and dancing with the grapevines, goat hooves beating the ground as their fingers trill on their wooden flutes. But we are born, and we don’t all chase maidens. Or, at least, I don’t.
We are born whenever Dionysus sings a drunken song, the bouncy melodies and the heady vapors suffusing into the very soil. When enough of this potent, life-giving mixture is absorbed into Mother Gaia’s pliant earthy flesh, a satyr is born, pipes in hand and ready to play.
And they’re always male, too. Think about it: have you ever heard of a female satyr? Well, I am one.
***
The gods do not know why I came to be, and so different from my brothers. My hair is curly, like theirs, but it is smooth rather than coarse and a deep auburn. Rather than the legs of goats, I have those of a fawn, fur soft and auburn with white dappling across the flanks. I even have a deer-like tail, and, of course, no horns.
At first, Artemis thought I was the first of a new magical race and, since I am more serious than my brothers, she let me follow her for a time. But her maidens laughed at me, so I disappeared back into the woods. I spent many seasons playing duets with birds, alone when my brothers would travel in groups. It was a lonely life, but it was better than the jeering of my brothers or the sympathetic looks of Dionysus, Artemis, and the naiads. The birds and deer were company enough.
***
It was late spring and I was playing a duet with a robin, the woods a vibrant green around us. I had been pausing between melodies when I heard singers, heavenly voices coming from an area I knew to be a clearing.
I crept forward to investigate, my hooves silent among the brush. I’m usually a shy creature, since I’m so strange, but the music called to me, seeming to whisper that everything was alright. Finally reaching the edge of the clearing, I hid behind a large oak to watch.
In the clearing were nine women dancing in a circle with one singing a strange, beautiful melody as the rest sang a refrain. They were all very beautiful, with tall, thin bodies, pixie-ish faces, and pointed chins. They all wore long robes and flowers in their hair, but that it where the similarities ended.
The main singer stopped and turned her face towards my hiding place, the sun shining on her opalescent hair. “Come out, little one,” she called in a beautifully melodic voice. I didn’t move, and another laughed, her mahogany hair shining in the sunlight. The first spoke again, saying, “We will not harm you.”
They had all turned to look at my hiding place by this point and I stepped out hesitantly, ready to run at a moment’s notice. I stopped a few feet away from the nearest women, a trio of blondes with pansies in their hair, purple, red, or pink. I looked at the others carefully. “You’re Muses, aren’t you?” I asked softly.
The brunette, the white daffodils in her hair a strong contrast, smiled, laughter in her brown eyes. “You are a smart one. Can you guess who I am?”
Before I could answer another spoke, and identical twin to the first brunette but for black robes and what seemed like black daffodils. “She’s Thalia and I’m Melpomene,” she said and the other brunette pouted, her game foiled. Gesturing at the singer, she continued, “That’s Euterpe. Those three are Erato, Kalliope, and Terpsicore,” and the blondes bowed, first purple then red then pink.
“I can introduce myself, sister,” another said, her hair black but glittering silver in places. “Ourania,” she said, silver eyes shining as the sunlight fell on the tiger lilies in her hair. Another with dark copper hair threaded through with ivy and forget-me-nots nodded to Ourania, who said, “And that would be Klio.”
I nodded; most of the Muses ‘looked’ their specialty. “I am Polyhymnia,” the last said, flipping her bright red hair back over her shoulder. “Come, sisters, let the little one dance with us.”
I vehemently shook my head, beginning to back away. I was so small and they so tall; I could never keep up and they would step on me. Was it not enough that I had left my camouflaging trees enough to speak with them at all? This was the most contact I had had with anyone in many years, so the instinct to run was still very strong.
“Then you can play,” Thalia suggested with a newly mischievous smile. “It was your flute we heard, correct?” I nodded shyly, and her smile widened triumphantly. “Then play for us, little fawn. Do you know the Dance of the Naiads?” I did, and hesitantly began to play.
***
It was many hours later that the Muses stopped to rest. Helios’ chariot had left the sky, and Selene was past her zenith. “Oh, we should stop,” Polyhymnia said, collapsing with all the grace of her dancing devotees onto a large stone. “And if I say we must stop dancing, you know it is true.”
The others laughed and I put down my flute, stretching my fingers, which only then began to feel fatigue. I had played every song I knew and then had begun making up melodies, but somehow it all sounded right. “That was beautifully played, little one,” Euterpe said as she sat down on a nearby patch of grass. The moonlight caught on the strange gold and silver roses in her hair, causing them to shine like metal. “You should play for Zeus and his court.”
Before I could argue, Klio yawned, something I had never seen an immortal do, and I have met quite a few. “I am off to bed,” she said, stretching before brushing down her green and brown robes. “Good night, my sisters, and thank you for your playing,” she added, looking right at me with piercing amber eyes. The others made similar farewells and dispersed, until only Thalia and I remained.
“Have you a name, skilled piper of the quick fingers?” she asked, tone light but still serious.
I shook my head. Satyrs don’t name themselves; it isn’t something they find necessary. I was enough of a satyr that no one had named me and, spending so much time alone, I never saw the need to name myself. I looked away, stretching the fingers of my left hand and then my right.
Thalia clapped her hands with a laugh and I looked up at her in surprise. “We’ll give you a name, then,” she said, jumping up from where she’d been sitting. “Such a skilled and beautiful creature deserves an equally interesting name.” I blushed. “Only if you would like one, of course,” she added quickly.
I nodded slowly and Thalia clapped her hands. “Now, to pick a name,” she said, beginning to pace. “Fawn would be too simple,” she said, more to herself than to me. “Hmm.”
As she paced, a trio of clear balls appeared in her hands and she began juggling them. It was quite a feat, juggling and pacing at the same time, but she did it seemingly without thought.
By this point, my fingers felt ready to move again, and I began to play, a tune inspired by trilling birdsong. As I played, Eos began to paint the sky the colors of the dawn, and a few birds joined my song.
“That’s it!” Thalia said, snapping her fingers and then catching the three spheres in one hand, where they popped and disappeared like bubbles on contact. I stopped playing abruptly but the birds continued to sing, filling the air with sound. “How about Silva?” she asked, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.
‘Woodland maid.’ It was fitting, in a way. Satyrs, as much as I was one, were forest creatures. The woods where my home. I nodded shyly. “It’s pretty. I like it.”
Thalia clapped and broke into happy laughter. “Then, with this bright dawn as witness,” she began solemnly, eyes twinkling, “I name you Silva, the most beautiful piper in the land.”
I blushed happily. No one had ever been so nice to me; no one had ever complimented me. I stared at the pink and gold dawn; this would forever be my favorite time of day. “What will you do now, Lady?” I asked Thalia, turning back to her. The day was beginning; the Muse probably had work to do. But I realized I did not want to just disappear back into the forest; it was nice to use words again.
“Inspire some playwright to create the comedy of the decade,” she said with a negligent gesture. “Then perhaps go tease Melpomene. She can be so gloomy sometimes.” She looked at me closely, and her dark eyes were old and wise. “What will you now, little Silva?” she asked softly.
“Go back to my woods, like I always do,” I replied, surprised at how bitter my voice sounded. “It’s my home.”
“You are such a strange creature,” Thalia said with a smile. “A female satyr, more like a deer than a goat, who likes quiet company but wants out of her woods.” She sat down, leaning her back on the stone I was sitting on. “You are like me, in a way. I have never fit in with my sisters. They are so calm and graceful, helping create masterpieces that last for hundreds of years. I am clumsy. I like to play tricks on gods and mortals alike. And the mortals say that comedy doesn’t last, anyway.”
She stared off into the trees for a few moments, her face almost sad. Then her face brightened. “We are a lot alike. It’s better than my wildest farce: the Muse of the ethereal art and a creature of ultimate, impossible paradox. We are a perfect match.” The dark haired Muse leapt up and held out her hand to me. “Silva, will you join me in causing mischief and mayhem? I would love your company, and my sisters really like you.”
I thought for a moment. I would miss my solitary existence, the quiet forest perfect for playing. But the Muses were nice and I liked playing for an audience that wasn’t birds or squirrels. And, alone, there would be no one to use my beautiful new name. So I stood and took Thalia’s had with a smile.
One never really thinks about where satyrs come from. Does someone give birth to them, or do they just appear out of nowhere? But people don’t ask these questions. Satyrs are just there, chasing the dryads and the village girls, tootling on panpipes and dancing with the grapevines, goat hooves beating the ground as their fingers trill on their wooden flutes. But we are born, and we don’t all chase maidens. Or, at least, I don’t.
We are born whenever Dionysus sings a drunken song, the bouncy melodies and the heady vapors suffusing into the very soil. When enough of this potent, life-giving mixture is absorbed into Mother Gaia’s pliant earthy flesh, a satyr is born, pipes in hand and ready to play.
And they’re always male, too. Think about it: have you ever heard of a female satyr? Well, I am one.
***
The gods do not know why I came to be, and so different from my brothers. My hair is curly, like theirs, but it is smooth rather than coarse and a deep auburn. Rather than the legs of goats, I have those of a fawn, fur soft and auburn with white dappling across the flanks. I even have a deer-like tail, and, of course, no horns.
At first, Artemis thought I was the first of a new magical race and, since I am more serious than my brothers, she let me follow her for a time. But her maidens laughed at me, so I disappeared back into the woods. I spent many seasons playing duets with birds, alone when my brothers would travel in groups. It was a lonely life, but it was better than the jeering of my brothers or the sympathetic looks of Dionysus, Artemis, and the naiads. The birds and deer were company enough.
***
It was late spring and I was playing a duet with a robin, the woods a vibrant green around us. I had been pausing between melodies when I heard singers, heavenly voices coming from an area I knew to be a clearing.
I crept forward to investigate, my hooves silent among the brush. I’m usually a shy creature, since I’m so strange, but the music called to me, seeming to whisper that everything was alright. Finally reaching the edge of the clearing, I hid behind a large oak to watch.
In the clearing were nine women dancing in a circle with one singing a strange, beautiful melody as the rest sang a refrain. They were all very beautiful, with tall, thin bodies, pixie-ish faces, and pointed chins. They all wore long robes and flowers in their hair, but that it where the similarities ended.
The main singer stopped and turned her face towards my hiding place, the sun shining on her opalescent hair. “Come out, little one,” she called in a beautifully melodic voice. I didn’t move, and another laughed, her mahogany hair shining in the sunlight. The first spoke again, saying, “We will not harm you.”
They had all turned to look at my hiding place by this point and I stepped out hesitantly, ready to run at a moment’s notice. I stopped a few feet away from the nearest women, a trio of blondes with pansies in their hair, purple, red, or pink. I looked at the others carefully. “You’re Muses, aren’t you?” I asked softly.
The brunette, the white daffodils in her hair a strong contrast, smiled, laughter in her brown eyes. “You are a smart one. Can you guess who I am?”
Before I could answer another spoke, and identical twin to the first brunette but for black robes and what seemed like black daffodils. “She’s Thalia and I’m Melpomene,” she said and the other brunette pouted, her game foiled. Gesturing at the singer, she continued, “That’s Euterpe. Those three are Erato, Kalliope, and Terpsicore,” and the blondes bowed, first purple then red then pink.
“I can introduce myself, sister,” another said, her hair black but glittering silver in places. “Ourania,” she said, silver eyes shining as the sunlight fell on the tiger lilies in her hair. Another with dark copper hair threaded through with ivy and forget-me-nots nodded to Ourania, who said, “And that would be Klio.”
I nodded; most of the Muses ‘looked’ their specialty. “I am Polyhymnia,” the last said, flipping her bright red hair back over her shoulder. “Come, sisters, let the little one dance with us.”
I vehemently shook my head, beginning to back away. I was so small and they so tall; I could never keep up and they would step on me. Was it not enough that I had left my camouflaging trees enough to speak with them at all? This was the most contact I had had with anyone in many years, so the instinct to run was still very strong.
“Then you can play,” Thalia suggested with a newly mischievous smile. “It was your flute we heard, correct?” I nodded shyly, and her smile widened triumphantly. “Then play for us, little fawn. Do you know the Dance of the Naiads?” I did, and hesitantly began to play.
***
It was many hours later that the Muses stopped to rest. Helios’ chariot had left the sky, and Selene was past her zenith. “Oh, we should stop,” Polyhymnia said, collapsing with all the grace of her dancing devotees onto a large stone. “And if I say we must stop dancing, you know it is true.”
The others laughed and I put down my flute, stretching my fingers, which only then began to feel fatigue. I had played every song I knew and then had begun making up melodies, but somehow it all sounded right. “That was beautifully played, little one,” Euterpe said as she sat down on a nearby patch of grass. The moonlight caught on the strange gold and silver roses in her hair, causing them to shine like metal. “You should play for Zeus and his court.”
Before I could argue, Klio yawned, something I had never seen an immortal do, and I have met quite a few. “I am off to bed,” she said, stretching before brushing down her green and brown robes. “Good night, my sisters, and thank you for your playing,” she added, looking right at me with piercing amber eyes. The others made similar farewells and dispersed, until only Thalia and I remained.
“Have you a name, skilled piper of the quick fingers?” she asked, tone light but still serious.
I shook my head. Satyrs don’t name themselves; it isn’t something they find necessary. I was enough of a satyr that no one had named me and, spending so much time alone, I never saw the need to name myself. I looked away, stretching the fingers of my left hand and then my right.
Thalia clapped her hands with a laugh and I looked up at her in surprise. “We’ll give you a name, then,” she said, jumping up from where she’d been sitting. “Such a skilled and beautiful creature deserves an equally interesting name.” I blushed. “Only if you would like one, of course,” she added quickly.
I nodded slowly and Thalia clapped her hands. “Now, to pick a name,” she said, beginning to pace. “Fawn would be too simple,” she said, more to herself than to me. “Hmm.”
As she paced, a trio of clear balls appeared in her hands and she began juggling them. It was quite a feat, juggling and pacing at the same time, but she did it seemingly without thought.
By this point, my fingers felt ready to move again, and I began to play, a tune inspired by trilling birdsong. As I played, Eos began to paint the sky the colors of the dawn, and a few birds joined my song.
“That’s it!” Thalia said, snapping her fingers and then catching the three spheres in one hand, where they popped and disappeared like bubbles on contact. I stopped playing abruptly but the birds continued to sing, filling the air with sound. “How about Silva?” she asked, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.
‘Woodland maid.’ It was fitting, in a way. Satyrs, as much as I was one, were forest creatures. The woods where my home. I nodded shyly. “It’s pretty. I like it.”
Thalia clapped and broke into happy laughter. “Then, with this bright dawn as witness,” she began solemnly, eyes twinkling, “I name you Silva, the most beautiful piper in the land.”
I blushed happily. No one had ever been so nice to me; no one had ever complimented me. I stared at the pink and gold dawn; this would forever be my favorite time of day. “What will you do now, Lady?” I asked Thalia, turning back to her. The day was beginning; the Muse probably had work to do. But I realized I did not want to just disappear back into the forest; it was nice to use words again.
“Inspire some playwright to create the comedy of the decade,” she said with a negligent gesture. “Then perhaps go tease Melpomene. She can be so gloomy sometimes.” She looked at me closely, and her dark eyes were old and wise. “What will you now, little Silva?” she asked softly.
“Go back to my woods, like I always do,” I replied, surprised at how bitter my voice sounded. “It’s my home.”
“You are such a strange creature,” Thalia said with a smile. “A female satyr, more like a deer than a goat, who likes quiet company but wants out of her woods.” She sat down, leaning her back on the stone I was sitting on. “You are like me, in a way. I have never fit in with my sisters. They are so calm and graceful, helping create masterpieces that last for hundreds of years. I am clumsy. I like to play tricks on gods and mortals alike. And the mortals say that comedy doesn’t last, anyway.”
She stared off into the trees for a few moments, her face almost sad. Then her face brightened. “We are a lot alike. It’s better than my wildest farce: the Muse of the ethereal art and a creature of ultimate, impossible paradox. We are a perfect match.” The dark haired Muse leapt up and held out her hand to me. “Silva, will you join me in causing mischief and mayhem? I would love your company, and my sisters really like you.”
I thought for a moment. I would miss my solitary existence, the quiet forest perfect for playing. But the Muses were nice and I liked playing for an audience that wasn’t birds or squirrels. And, alone, there would be no one to use my beautiful new name. So I stood and took Thalia’s had with a smile.