The Path to Victory

Chapter 21


Poseidon followed the dead river out of the Underworld until he was no longer in his brother’s domain, and ascended onto the riverbank, once again on Gaia’s green earth. Though the river Styx was nowhere near as devoid of healthy, natural life at this end, it was still an inhospitable current far from ideal for bathing.

Though he could physically clear himself of every drop of water from Styx with a mere thought, Poseidon felt filthy and unclean after exiting the river. Perhaps his state of mind had a hand in how he felt, as well. Thoughts of Hades lingered in his head as he made his way back toward Olympus, where Zeus was no doubt waiting for him. Poseidon still could not figure out a valid reason for his younger brother’s anger, but he suspected with a sense of dread that he would not have to remain ignorant for very long.

Indeed, when Zeus arrived to meet his brother at the entrance to their now nearly finished palace, a thick wrinkle between his brows already signaled his emotional state more than well.

“I ought to ask you where you have dwelled, but since I already know the answer to that, I might as well not,” the lighting god growled out, shoving Poseidon back by planting a large hand flat against his chest. “How very irresponsible of you to leave for days without even informing me of your whereabouts!”

“Now you wait just a minute!” the sea god objected, baffled at his brother’s words. “Days? I was gone for one day at the most, and all I did was escort Hades to his new realm, as he was fearful to go there alone. What could I have possibly missed that awoke such fury in you, Zeus?”

Zeus’ scowl became a confused frown but the expression was quickly erased and replaced by a look of condescending superiority.

“Now I remember, Poseidon… You have never been to the Underworld before, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. But what has that to do with—”

“Time is fluent down there,” Zeus interrupted. “What you believe to be a day in the Underworld, is actually several here on earth. You have not been gone for one day, but six!”

Poseidon blinked, staring dumbly at his youngest sibling. “What? Truly?”

Zeus nodded, eyebrow lifted. The surprise in his brother’s countenance was genuine, albeit rather comical.

“Truly,” the god of the heavens answered. “Hera is due to give birth soon, and you had vanished from sight.”

Poseidon shook his head, regret in his eyes. “Believe me when I say that I had no inkling of the time in which I was absent.”

“Your sisters were very worried for you, you know,” Zeus said casually. “The last anyone had heard from you, you were asking of the whereabouts of our brother. We could only presume you were spending time with him, but where exactly was anyone’s guess. If not on Gaia’s green surface and not within my clouds, you could only be in the Underworld. By the way… what did you think of it?”

“The Underworld?” Poseidon replied. “Dreary. Absolutely dreary. Except for the Elysian Fields. It shall be intriguing to see what would be welcome within that place. And who would be sent to Tartarus…”

Zeus remained silent as he listened, gazing over what he had made of Olympus. Poseidon was equally an eager audience for such an astounding sight, and thus did not notice the wince upon the youngest Olympian’s face. Zeus tried to will the ache away from his eyes before he spoke, though his efforts were mostly in vain.

“How is our brother?” he asked. “Is he adjusting to his duties?”

There was a pause between Zeus’ question and Poseidon’s answer while the sea god thought over exactly how truthful he should be. While Hades was technically “adjusting to his duties”, their older brother was absolutely miserable, and the level of despondence in Hades’ face and voice when he sent Poseidon away had been downright frightening.

“Hades has accepted his place in this world,” Poseidon hesitantly said. “He will become a just ruler for the Underworld, I’m sure.”

Seemingly pleased with the answer, Zeus allowed a small smile to grace his lips and proceeded to place his hand on Poseidon’s shoulder, leading his brother on.

“It pleases me to know Hades is adjusting,” he said as they walked along the long, wide hallway. “I know our brother thinks I have treated him unfairly, but in time he will see that this was the best solution for us all. Tell me, Poseidon…” Zeus paused for a moment, as if he was uncertain of whether to continue pursuing the matter. “I am well aware of the strong emotional bond between him and you, which is why I must ask if you ever considered making Hades your consort?”

“I did, but I never brought it up to him, as I was afraid he would reject me. Also, would you have approved? You ridiculed me for the mere idea last time we discussed it.”

“Such matters were different then…” Zeus’ visage became sad in contemplation for a brief moment. “I was different. I treated Hades like something less than an individual… less than a god. And all which was connected to him felt my cruelty as well…”

Zeus’ newfound wisdom was still a surprise to Poseidon, who knew that his youngest sibling was not one for apologies, especially before Metis had vanished. As such, Poseidon felt bold enough to counter his brother’s words.

“Brother. This is all well and good that you admit your wrongdoing,” he said carefully. “But why not speak such an apology to Hades?”

Zeus gave his brother a smile which Poseidon at first surmised to be one of arrogance, but he quickly realized that the youngest Olympian had already thought of the gesture. “Do you believe he would accept such an apology?”

Poseidon permitted himself a quiet sigh. “Perhaps he would appreciate the effort.”

The two gods could not further discuss the matter, as they were interrupted by Hestia, who was running towards them in quite haste. Her eyes held urgency.

“Brothers…” she exclaimed. “Hera’s child is coming!”

Zeus felt a momentary stab of guilt for straying from Hera’s side in the first place, and he and Poseidon exchanged a quick, nervous glance before following Hestia to the quarters shared by the king and queen of the gods.

Hera, now unclothed, was on her back in the large bed, half-sitting propped up against a stack of pillows rather than lying down, and a keening, tormented moan escaped her lips just as Hestia and her two brothers entered. Zeus immediately took his place by her side, wetting a piece of cloth which he used to dab her sweating brow and grasping the hand he knew was reaching out for him.

“How is she doing?” Zeus asked Demeter, who was kneeling between her sister’s parted legs to continuously inspect her progress. After the nothing short of disastrous birth of the Kraken which nearly claimed their brother’s life, the gods could not help being anxious over Hera, even though the goddess was much more well equipped to birth a child than Hades had been.

“Her body is preparing for the birth,” Demeter replied, one hand on Hera’s distended belly and the other exploring her sister’s now dilated insides. “The child should have enough room to pass through.”

“Does she have long to wait?” the youngest god asked. He was incredibly fond of Hera, and seeing her in such a state made him uneasy.

“Her progress has been quick, actually,” Demeter said, not taking her eyes off of her work. “She has come rather far since I sent Hestia to retrieve you.”

As Hera moaned and wailed through the pains, Zeus by her side and her sisters assisting her, Poseidon remained several feet away, observing the whole mess. He reasoned his sister had more than enough help and that he would only get in the way. Taking a seat in the corner, he felt uncomfortable as he watched the birth taking place. He could not help but wonder if Hades would have wanted to be present. Would he have wanted to attend the coming of his sister’s child, or would such a sight be too upsetting of a reminder of his own birth? Would the fact that Hera eagerly welcomed a child without pretense of creating a weapon against the Titans instill some breed of jealousy in Hades?

Poseidon was lost in thought and had not noticed the time passing. By the time Demeter was announcing – with much excitement – that she could see the child’s head, Hera looked quite different, exhausted and dripping in sweat, much like Hades had been when he had birthed the Kraken, with the exception that Hera was still quite healthy despite the situation.

There was, of course, blood, but not even close to the amounts Hades had bled during his excruciating birth. Demeter, who was acting midwife, had her hands covered in it, but it was still obvious that Hera did not risk bleeding out anytime soon.

“Come on, sister, push!” Demeter urged, holding Hera’s thighs even further apart to make room for the baby’s head to pass through. “You are almost there.”

And Hera did, bearing down with an effort that brought fresh beads of sweat on her forehead, while she squeezed her husband’s hand with brutal strength. Zeus felt the pain but stoically kept it from showing on his face, well aware that his pain was nothing compared to that of his consort.

“One more like that,” Demeter commanded, and this time Hera screamed at the top of her lungs, the hand not held by Zeus tearing pieces of fabric from the sheets. Her efforts, however, proved successful. After what seemed like an eternity, her child’s head was forced through the narrow birth canal and Demeter was able to pull the newborn god out of its mother. She then quickly tied the umbilical cord with a piece of thread and severed it while she could only wait for Hera to expel the afterbirth as well.

Demeter turned her attention to the newborn, giving away small, mewling cries in her hands. It was covered in blood and remains of the water sack and its features were thus difficult to see, but his little penis and testes gave mute evidence of his sex. Hera had birthed Zeus a son. The goddess of seasons and growth proceeded to wash her sister’s child, and once the blood and other substances came off, her heart quickly sank.

“What is wrong?” Hera asked, her exhaustion not keeping her from seeing the look on her sister’s face. Her fellow goddess was clearly taken aback.

“You have a son, sister,” Demeter finally said.

“A son,” Zeus echoed, and the very news brought him a sense of pride. Hera’s pregnancy had given him enough time to accept that he would become a father quite sooner than planned, and he was ready to welcome the next generation of Olympians into the world he had created for his race.

“Let me see him,” Hera urged. “Is he healthy?”

Demeter hesitated, and the group went uncomfortably silent, save for the cries of the newborn god. “I… am not certain.”

“Give him here,” Zeus demanded, now almost as worried as his wife. “Let us see him!”

Demeter obeyed, although before she could, Poseidon had stepped up behind her to catch a peek and the look of shock on his face did not help the situation.

“NO!” Hera exclaimed when her son was finally in Zeus’ arms and they could both plainly see the infant’s features. Rather than see the smaller proportioned features of a godly baby, they saw a misshapen head on a newborn’s body. The tiny boy’s brow was a permanent furrow as it bawled, red-faced, lumped onto a malformed head.

Hera continued to cry out her displeasure at the sight and began to shove her husband, dumbfounded as he held the child, away from her, shrieking out a demand to take the baby from her sight.

Demeter would have wanted to point out that the baby’s head was a little misshapen due to the pressures of birth and that itself was no cause for alarm; it would right itself soon enough. However, Hera’s reaction to her son drove all other thoughts from her head. The goddess’ sense of disgust was painfully obvious as she cried at Zeus to take it away, take it away, far away from her.

Shocked at his wife’s blatant rejection of her newborn son, Zeus backed away from her, the child still in his arms. There was no denying that Hera had given birth to a child with an unfavorable appearance, but the boy seemed healthy despite his deformities; his cries were loud and strong, and he was almost able to hold his head up, despite the lumpy nature of it together with his scrawny infant neck.

Zeus knew what his son was crying for, and it was something he was unable to provide; milk from his mother’s breast.

Hestia had joined Hera on the bed, taking her shocked sister in her arms to provide comfort as Hera wept and cried out her misery.

“Why me?” she sobbed, face buried in her hands. “My son is a monster! A monster! What have I done to deserve this?”

“He is not a monster, Hera,” Poseidon carefully pointed out. “He is your son, and if you accept him for what he is, you will eventually learn to overlook his unfortunate features.”

Hera looked up at her brother with contemptuous disbelief. “That is easy for you to say, as you had no hand in his creation! Mark my words when I say the Kraken was fair compared to my ‘son’!”

Zeus stepped forth again, disheartened and angered by her words. The child was not only Hera’s but also Zeus’ own, and he was determined to make her accept her duties as a mother. Holding the baby out to her, he said, “You haven’t even touched your son. Hopefully you will have a change of heart once you put him to your chest.”

Though she hesitated, looking upon the newborn with disgust as she did, Hera finally took the child into her arms. Still unclothed from giving birth, her breasts lay bare to all in the room, and she held the small body against them. However, when the child sensed food and reached for it, Hera avoided the contact, moving him away from the milk he desired.

“I must have some privacy,” she said plainly before anyone could inquire about her actions. “I wish to do this alone.”

“Dear sister,” Demeter said, trying to be helpful. “If he is willing to take your milk, then let him”—

“I am the goddess of motherhood, NOT you,” Hera snapped at her fellow goddess. “Now leave at once. All of you.”

Zeus was the last to vacate the room, and he gave his wife a long, regretful glance before he left, perhaps as a gesture of apology for her state of distress. He did not regret his son, nor his son’s appearance, only the sadness brought by it.

The child had stopped wailing its discomfort in Hera’s arms, but hardly remained silent. He whimpered for sustenance, his misshapen face magnifying his displeasure, but Hera continued to refuse him milk. She had wanted this child, and yet she was rewarded with a horrible thing that pretended to be a god. How had she deserved this?

Something had to be done. And now that Hera was alone, she would do it.

The idea of raising this thing as one of them, to look upon his grotesque excuse for a face each day and be reminded of how cruel the fates had been toward her was more than Hera could bear. She would rather get rid of the child and forget it ever existed before accepting it as her own.

The goddess rose from bed and hastily dressed; the blood loss had made her slightly light-headed and there was a stabbing ache in her nether regions, but she was nonetheless confident that she could go through with her plans.

Knowing that her siblings were most likely waiting just outside, she made a conscious decision to slip out of her quarters through a backdoor, carrying her deformed child on one arm. He was still bawling for sustenance, and for a moment Hera was worried that his damned cries would alert Zeus and the others of her plans.

Limping as she ran, the goddess hurried along the long hallway that led out to the large balcony Zeus had built to help him keep watch over the skies. Hera could see the sun setting in the horizon and what appeared to be a carpet of soft clouds down far below her, as far as the eye could reach. It was a beautiful afternoon, but she was not in any state to appreciate the beauty. A solitary tear trickled down her cheek as she lifted the shrieking bundle above her head and prepared to do what she knew she had to.

Just as she was about to drop the infant, Zeus had entered the room to see how the feeding was coming along. The muffled cries beyond the door had never ceased, and he came in against his wife-sister’s orders to inspect what might have been the trouble. The bed was empty, but his son’s cries remained, and Zeus panicked.

“Hera??” he called out, running to the source of the noise.

Hearing her name called, Hera hesitated, but only for a moment. Crying out, she hurled the child off the balcony, just when Zeus arrived. He barely caught the sight of a small bundle falling from the balcony, disappearing as it perforated the clouds.

The remaining gods hastily entered Zeus and Hera’s living quarters when they heard the most agonized wailing possible, coming doubtlessly from the youngest Olympian himself. By the time Poseidon, Hestia, and Demeter made it to the balcony, they found Zeus gripping Hera by the shoulders and shaking her violently.

“How could you? HOW COULD YOU?!” he screamed at her, fighting at his sibling’s arms which pulled him away from his wife.

“How could you do such a thing, Hera??” he cried. Looking around, his brother and sisters realized that the newborn was gone, and that Hera must have been responsible.

Poseidon continued to restrain Zeus to the best of his ability, as he feared his brother would strike Hera down were he able. At the moment, however, he could hardly sympathize with her. Had the goddess truly thrown her own child down from Olympus??

“He was a monster!” Hera cried back, her face red from both anger and physical exertion. “I had to get rid of him! He was deformed! I couldn’t raise him as one of us!”

“You murdered my SON, you wretched woman!” Zeus bellowed at his sister and made another attempt to break free from Poseidon’s hold. “I ought to throw YOU down from Olympus for what you did!”

“Zeus, please…” Hera’s voice dropped to a mere whisper. “I… You must forgive me. He was a mistake. We can have another child, as many as you like! Do not grieve for that unhealthy spawn. He was never meant to be!”

Zeus finally shoved his brother back, freeing himself, and white-hot coils of electricity immediately crackled from his hands. As if fearing a debilitating blow, Hera covered her head with her hands in a vain attempt to shield herself, knowing it would do little good in case Zeus wished to strike her.

For a brief moment, the king of the gods was going to do just that and more; his hands itched to break Hera’s neck like a twig for what she’d done, for she deserved no less in his opinion.

“Zeus, don’t!” Poseidon called out, fearful of the outcome.

Initially, Zeus ignored his brother’s pleas, but within seconds, his temper faded in favor of thoughts of the newborn. Was he still alive? He had fallen a great way, but he was still a god. Perhaps a chance of his survival still remained.

“We must hurry,” he finally said, nearly shoving his wife aside. “We must find my son.”

*

Hestia was permitted to remain by Hera’s side to look after her, but the other Olympians descended upon the earth in search of the child. As he searched, Zeus considered asking Hades if he had seen his son, but the idea filled him with dread. Remaining in his Underworld, the elder god would only have seen the child if he had died. When and only when they had search everywhere else would the Olympians consult the god of the dead.

Zeus was beginning to lose hope in finding the newborn as he and his siblings reached the coast when he suddenly heard Poseidon, bobbing along the sea, call out to him.

“Zeus! I have found him!”

“Is he alive?” Zeus called back, anxious over the news.

Sure enough, Poseidon lifted his arms and held aloft a squalling, flailing figure, clearly displeased at its predicament, and possibly in pain. Zeus exhaled as though he had not breathed since he began his search. His son lived.

“Bring him to me! Let me see him,” he demanded, running toward the water’s edge to meet up with Poseidon as his brother ascended from deeper waters, carrying his son. The Olympian leader impatiently waded out into the sea until water reached his mid-shins before the tiny creature, rejected by its mother, was finally placed in his arms.

Zeus quickly inspected the newborn for injuries, and to his great relief, his son seemed unharmed, except for one thing; the baby’s left foot was bent at an unnatural angle which signaled a broken ankle. Confident that the injury could be mended, Zeus exhaled once more, placing a tender kiss just above his son’s heavy brow ridges.

“I thank you, Poseidon,” Zeus told his brother as they walked toward the shore. “If not for you, my son would not have been found or even survived the ordeal.”

Rather than accepting the thanks, Poseidon looked troubled or perhaps even downright bothered by the words. “I am not the one you should be thanking, brother,” he said slowly.

Looking up from his son to inquire the reasoning, Zeus noticed his brother’s gaze was directed back at the sea. Following the glance, the youngest Olympian peered at the water’s surface and noticed something interrupting the watery plane. A distant figure, titan in shape, likely female, stared back at them. Though small in the distance, she looked as though she might be very big if much closer.

“Thetis,” Poseidon informed his brother as they watched the unmoving Titaness. “Her home is the sea. She took your son up in her arms and kept him safe until I encountered her.”

Watching Thetis, Zeus grunted in agreement. “Ah yes. You are right,” he mused aloud. “He might have drowned if someone was not there to watch over him before we were reunited.”

Looking at the figure on the horizon, he took a bow, hoping Thetis could see his gesture of gratitude. The Titaness appeared to understand, and she sank into the water, disappearing from sight, although a school of dolphins surfaced in her place as they headed for even deeper waters.

The infant still cried in Zeus’ arms, and he instinctively held his son closer. “All will be better soon, my child,” he cooed. “Let’s go home and mend that leg of yours."

*

Hera felt dread coil in her stomach when she heard the return of her husband and other two siblings. She could only hope they had not found her misshapen son, but at the same time she feared what Zeus would do in retaliation in case they had failed to locate the child, or found him dead. Either way, she was fairly certain that some kind of punishment awaited her.

When Zeus entered their joint quarters moments later, the first thing Hera saw was the infant he carried in his arms, and she was forced to hold back a cry of disappointment. The damned thing still lived, and it did not even seem to have acquired any notable injuries.

“Leave us,” Zeus curtly ordered Hestia, who had remained with Hera while the others went searching for the newborn. “I have matters to discuss with my wife.”

The Olympian leader stayed by the door even after Hestia had vacated the room, staring coldly down at his sister and consort. Hera could not bring herself to meet his gaze and instead looked down at her own tightly wound hands.

“What you did was unforgivable,” Zeus finally spoke, his voice low and even, but just as cold as his disposition suggested. “Our child cannot help his appearance, and you discarded him like scraps from your table.”

Hera still said nothing.

“As luck would have it, we were able to retrieve him. He landed in the sea, where he was cared for by a Titaness. Without her interference, you would have succeeded in killing him.”

“If you’re going to punish me, husband, do let me know what you have in mind,” Hera said, aggravated by Zeus’ attempts to make her feel remorse.

Zeus’ expression remained unchanging, looking down at his wife-sister with a vague sort of superiority. “You expect me to cause you great harm,” he observed. “There is no need to show such boldness in front of me. You are still mother to my son, and he needs his mother… despite all she has done to prevent that.”

Hera’s expression was also unchanging, though hers was one of uncertain anticipation. “So…” she said, her tone flat. “What shall be the decision of my lord?” Strangely enough, her voice carried no condescending sarcasm. It remained the same tone throughout.

The infant remained still and amazingly silent in Zeus’ arms, and he glanced down at his son contemplatively. He had managed to mend the broken ankle with the help of his siblings and soothe his child beyond recognition of pain. Now the tiny boy lay sleeping in the safety of his father’s strong but gentle grasp.

“Our child needs sustenance. Were I able, I would feed him myself. Sadly I am not. That is your duty.”

Hera’s lips thinned in a small grimace. Clearly she was unable to tolerate the mere thought of this child suckling from her breast.

“There will be no argument,” Zeus added. “It is not a request.”

“And if I refuse?” Hera asked, crossing her arms over her chest, as if attempting to block Zeus from placing the child at her breast.

The lightning god’s face darkened. “Then I will have no choice but to consider a more… corporeal punishment,” he said. “Be wise, Hera. Do what is right and we will speak of this no further.”

Hera, of course, knew that simply because the matter was not discussed, it would not be forgotten by either of them. It was obvious that Zeus resented her for throwing the unhealthy spawn down from Olympus, and in a way she resented him for conceiving and having her birth a deformed son.

“Open your gown, Hera,” Zeus ordered, and when his wife did not immediately comply, he reached out and manually removed her arms from her bosom. Seeing the twin spots of milk that had soaked through the front of her gown on both sides, he couldn’t help but smirk.

“Your body will expel the milk regardless,” he said. “Now you have no reason at all to refuse your son.”

Zeus placed the still sleeping newborn in its mother’s still reluctant arms and seeing that she had now no choice, Hera just as reluctantly freed her left breast from its confines, and as soon as the infant sensed its presence, its little mouth adhered to the source of food and eagerly began to suckle.

Zeus waited until the child finished feeding, falling back asleep once full, and took his son once more. “Now that you are finished, I will take him to relatives who would gladly welcome him,” he said, leaving the room and his wife to wallow and stew in her own misery.

Though the child’s appearance was still a surprise, the other Olympians were becoming used to his face. Now that the infant was sleeping, Zeus’ remaining brother and sisters were able to look on a peaceful visage, not in pain or crying, just blissfully quiet. In his slumber he subconsciously closed his tiny fingers around Hestia’s finger when she played with his chubby hands, and the tiny boy was passed around without him so much as stirring in his sleep. Clearly the Olympians had one thing in mind: Zeus’ son was much easier to get along with than the Kraken had ever been.

“Have you thought of what he shall be named?” Poseidon asked, looking over the once broken ankle. They had done their best to mend the bone, and now only time would tell if the child’s delicate, growing body would be able to adapt.

Zeus looked down at the sleeping baby and smiled. “Hephaestus,” he replied.


TBC...