The Arrow of Apollo
By Philip Womack
An epic children's adventure set in the legendary past: three friends must find the magical Arrow of Apollo before evil consumes the world
Publication date: May 2020Support this project
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The gods are leaving the earth, tempted by other worlds where they can live in peace. Only a few retain an interest in the mortals left behind, including Hermes, the messenger god, and Apollo, Lord of Light. Other, darker, more ancient forces are wakening, and threatening to take over.
In The Arrow of Apollo three teenagers encounter increasingly perilous situations in order to defeat Python, the most terrible enemy of all. It draws freely on Greek and Roman myth, whilst telling stories that have not been told before in a gripping, fast-flowing tale for boys and girls aged eleven plus, combining literary quality with an absorbing plot.
In The Arrow of Apollo, two opposing houses are forced to come together to face a terrible danger. Silvius, son of Aeneas, of the Italian House of the Wolf, is given a task by a dying centaur. The dark god Python is rising and massing an army of unstoppable force. The only thing that can save the world is the Arrow of Apollo - but it was split into two.
Against his father’s wishes, Silvius and his friend Elissa must travel to the land of their enemies, the Achaeans.
Meanwhile, Tisamenos, the son of Orestes, is facing his own dangers in the kinghouse of Mykenai. A plot is afoot against both him and his father, and he is the only one who can stop it.
When Silvius, Elissa and Tisamenos meet, they enter a final, terrifying race to reunite Arrowhead and Shaft, and destroy the army of the Python.
There’s one more problem: a prophecy tells that one of them will die.
Philip Womack is the author of six critically acclaimed books for children, including The Broken King and The Double Axe. He was born in Chichester and was educated at Lancing and Oriel College, Oxford, where he read Classics and English. He has always had a passion for myths, loves teaching Latin and Greek, and hopes that The Arrow of Apollo will help to provide a new way in to the old stories. He teaches Creative Writing and Children’s Literature at Royal Holloway, University of London, and contributes to many newspapers and magazines, including The Times Literary Supplement, Literary Review, The Financial Times and Tatler.
An eagle cast its shadow over Silvius’ eyes as he gazed at the sun sinking behind the hills. The raptor hung on a thermal for a moment, before swooping down onto its prey, out of sight.
Silvius turned his attention back to the dusty, stony road spooling out eastwards in front of him, past the marshes and into the wooded, grey-green hills. He adjusted the leather straps of his helmet, which was beginning to weigh down on his black curls, and paced the length of his wall patrol once more. High wooden palisades, taller than he was, rose on either side of a narrow path.
He’d been on duty since the early afternoon, whilst the citizens of Lavinium went about their business below him, safe within the wooden city walls, bartering, selling, sharing jokes, starting fights, solving them. The sound of saws cutting through wood was constant, of timber being hauled and stone being hammered. The smell of sawdust carried to him on the breeze.
There had only been a few traders, coming from the other small settlements scattered near Lavinium, bringing deer skins, bear pelts, wines, olive oils, clay jars and bronze weapons. Silvius’ older brother Iulus had arrived with a party of riders from his nearby colony of Alba Longa, strutting in on a fine dark stallion. Silvius had watched him, unnoticed, from above.
Silvius longed for something more. Maybe a raiding party, bronze spears glittering like stars. Or better still, if he could see one of the creatures that his father Aeneas talked about with wonder. Aeneas said he’d seen one of the last of the fauns after a boar hunt earlier that year, shy, awkward, and beautiful, disappearing into the woods, human head and torso shading into the shaggy legs of a goat.
But Silvius hadn’t yet been allowed to fight, even in a skirmish, though it was his thirteenth birthday soon, and he was going to be given his first sword.
It wasn’t fair. Iulus had been leading the army by the time he was fourteen, when the Trojans had first come to Italian soil, fifteen years ago now, after their long journey over the seas after their city had been burnt to the ground by the Achaeans.
Silvius lifted his spear, sighting along its length as if about to hurl it at an imaginary opponent; he shouted “Yah!”, and then let it drop to his side.
Almost twilight, and time for his watch to end. The stars were beginning to glimmer, and Silvius stood for a second watching them. His favourite was Orion, the hunter, and he looked for the three stars that made up his belt, before feeling for the studded leather one that held his own tunic together.
He was looking forward to going home, where a bowl of warm venison stew would be waiting for him. Then he would go to the small wooden room he shared with his younger brother Brutus, and his hard, straw-covered bed.
Turning to go, his eye was caught by movement in the distance.
At first he thought it might be another merchant, rushing late towards the city, eager to get into the walls before the gates were barred. It was no good to be out after dark.
He looked again. The rider was moving fast, faster than any he’d ever seen before, even at the games they held for funerals. Was he running from something?
The horse’s hooves were kicking up a huge cloud of dust, pounding the dirt road, and in the dying light it was harder to make anything out. He squinted.
The rider’s chest was bare, which was odd.
There was also something strange about the horse’s movement. It was maddened, clearly, but also totally in control, the rider seeming a part of it, to flow with it in a way that showed mastery.
Horse and rider came to the end of the straight section of road that led to the city gates. The rays of the setting sun gleamed off the horse’s chestnut flank.
A horn sounded nearby. Drusus, the boy on duty on the other side of the gates from Silvius, was making the alarm. A shout went down to the guards below. ‘Close the gates! Bar them! Stranger approaching!’
Silvius heard the hinges beginning to creak shut.
‘Let me in!’ came the rider’s voice, loud, foreign and deep. ‘Let me in!’
As the sun went down, and the bright moon’s shining beams took over, Silvius realised that coming up the road at full gallop, was a centaur. How could it be? The centaurs were all meant to be gone, ridden into the stars with the gods. Yet this was a fully grown, male centaur. Fascinated, he watched the centaur’s rippling movements.
‘Let me in!’ the centaur called again.
There was an arrow sticking out of his flesh, in his right side.
Silvius gripped the top of the wooden palisade.
He was not meant to desert his post. After a second’s agony of indecision, he went racing down the stairs to the gates.
The two guards were already drawing them shut.
‘What are you doing? Let him in!’ Silvius hung onto the banister.
‘Orders of Aeneas!’ barked one of the guards, a skinny, cold-looking man, face smeared with smuts and dust. ‘No strangers after twilight. And that is definitely a stranger.’
Silvius couldn’t let that happen. He had to see this centaur, talk to him, find out what he wanted. So he leapt down the final two steps to the dusty ground, and pushed his way in front of the guards.
The other one, thickset and dark, muscles bulging as he heaved the bolt across, turned to swat him away.
And that gave Silvius enough time to dodge him, set his shoulder to the bolt, push it upwards, and kick the left hand gate open as hard as he could.
‘What are you doing?’ shouted the thickset guard, roughly. ‘I’ll have you up before Aeneas! You’re deserting your post!’
But before the guard could say anything more, the centaur was through the gap and into the city, scattering the dispersing citizens. The guards rushed, too late, to close the gate behind him.
Silvius caught a glimpse of a long tawny mane of hair, a sweating, ridged, hairy torso, and a steaming chestnut flank, bloodied and foaming.
The magnificent being swayed, and then, his front forelegs crumpling, he fell to the ground, sending dust flying upwards, his noble head crashing into the dirt.
- 30th May 2018 The Arrow of Apollo: 70 % of the way to its target
I've been quiet on this project for a month or two, but I'm delighted to see that THE ARROW OF APOLLO has now reached 72 % of its funding target.
This is a very important moment, as I have heard a rumour that all Unbound books which reach 70 % have a very high chance of becomming funded.
Having already raised a considerable sum, there is now a relatively small stretch to go. I…9th April 2018 A Sisyphean Task
I hope you have enjoyed a wonderful Easter: perhaps you are still enjoying the holidays.
The Arrow of Apollo has now reached 67 % of its funding target.
I will be writing about the characters in the book, weekly, here on my website. First up is Aeneas, the prince who escaped Troy and founded Rome; second is his wife Lavinia. When finished, the edited mini-bios will be part of…1st March 2018 The Arrow of Apollo: 61 %
As the snow rages outside, you may be thinking: now's the time I'd like to sit down and curl up with a book. You may even be wondering how long it will take for this one to appear.
Funding is progressing well, and my target is to reach completion within the next 4 months. Having reached 60 % it now seems a lot more achievable. Once that has happened, the book, which is currently in…27th December 2017 Thank you and Merry Christmas
A very short update from THE ARROW OF APOLLO: thank you once again for all your generous support in this project. We are making strides, and are now at 37 per cent funded.
I wish you all a very merry Christmas - and Saturnalia, too.
Philip6th December 2017 Introducing: Python
We have reached 25 per cent funded! Thank you so much to you all for your generosity to this project.
As you will know, THE ARROW OF APOLLO is set in the legendary past. One of the things that has always interested me is: causes and consequences. What if Eris had been invited to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis? Then she would never have thrown down the golden apple, and would never…
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Fritzi von Preussen