The Path to Victory

Chapter 22


At first Zeus refused to believe it, but every time he looked upon his reflection in the mirror, the evidence seemed to mock him. The hair on his head and his beard alike was turning grey, and when studying his face, the thin lines around his eyes and mouth had definitely become deeper and even spawned new ones, delicate as a spider’s web.

He was aging. Zeus, king of the gods and ruler of the skies, was developing signs of old age. Thinking back, he would have liked to believe that the ‘birth’ of his daughter Athena a few years back was what caused the downward spiral that resulted in his weakening, but Zeus couldn’t lie to himself for very long. The signs had been there before, and he had simply chosen to ignore them.

The lightning god did not let his gaze stray from his reflection when Hera entered their joint bedchamber, and without even looking her way, Zeus could tell that his wife was displeased. In fact, Hera had been in a state of chronic displeasure ever since her brother and husband spawned a child without her involvement.

“When will you come out of hiding and start acting like the ruler of Olympus?” Hera inquired, hands on her hips. She yearned to break the mirror her husband seemed to have become so fixated with in recent times. Did Zeus really have nothing better to do than admire his own reflection?

Zeus finally turned his head to look at her. His gaze was scrutinizing. “Hera, come sit down next to me,” he said. “Let me look upon you.”

Oblivious to his reasoning, Hera did as told, her confusion clear on her handsome countenance. Zeus took her face in his hands and inspected it, brow knit in concentrated scrutiny.

“It is just as I feared,” he said with regret, the pads of his thumbs stroking against the telltale lines under his wife’s eyes.

“What is?” Hera asked, perplexed.

“We are aging, my dear.”

Realizing what her sibling had been looking for, she pushed his hands away from her face, quite annoyed. “You insult me, husband,” she retorted. “Is this why you gaze in the mirror everyday for so long? If so, then you look far worse than I!”

Zeus would have been much angrier if what Hera said was not true. Perhaps it had been bringing Athena into the world, much like the way Hades’ appearance had changed for the worse when creating the Kraken, which had increased Zeus’ age. Whatever the reason, Zeus was not the only one growing old, and he was beginning to fear what this would mean for the Olympians. How much longer would he live? If so, who would take his place as leader of the gods and lord of the heavens? Hephaestus had already developed the potential as a god of creating weapons and crafting by hand, despite his disfigurements. If he became leader, who would take on his former duties, and who would replace that replacement?

The very fears frustrated and overwhelmed Zeus, and he grabbed the mirror in front of him and tossed it aside, letting it shatter to pieces.

“We cannot grow old,” he growled, more to himself than Hera, “We cannot die.”

“This is ridiculous,” Hera said, rising from her seat. She tried to act as though Zeus’ revelation had not affected her, but beneath the surface she feared old age just as much as her husband. The idea of becoming grey and brittle and watch her own skin sag from her bones was a terrifying notion. If this was indeed where they were all headed, there had to be some way to stop it.

“It is not ridiculous, and you know it,” Zeus replied, realizing Hera was going through the same phase of denial that he had already passed. “The signs are there, and you have to be blind not to see them.”

“So what do you propose we do?” Hera retorted. “I can’t imagine how hiding in your quarters with your mirror would help any of us.”

“I will think of something,” Zeus murmured absent-mindedly, once again lost in thought. “I will ask Athena… She is bound to have an answer for me.”

Hera’s countenance turned into a scowl which clearly signaled how she felt about consulting the daughter Zeus had birthed without her involvement. It was almost as if the bastard child of a Titaness had been given a higher place on both Olympus and in Zeus’ heart than Hera herself, and this angered her.

“And if she doesn’t?” Hera asked coldly.

“I have faith in my daughter. She’ll know what to do.”

*

Athena, steely-eyed and beautiful, was as fierce in combat as she was wise, traits she had inherited from both of her parents. Appointed goddess of wisdom and battle stratagem, her insight was sought by god and titan alike. When Zeus found her, thankfully his daughter was alone, save for a gray owl she was attempting to tame.

“Daughter,” the god addressed her. “I seek your counsel.”

Scratching the owl beneath its chin, Athena turned to her father, eager to hear his inquiry. Zeus had to think carefully on his question, as his child’s wisdom had many answers and many paths which could be taken. One merely had to decide which was the right path.

“How does one live forever?”

Athena remained silent for quite some time, but Zeus did not ask her to answer. He knew better than to interrupt her as she considered the question. She heaved her arm upward from where the owl perched, encouraging it to take off into the clouds.

“Become something that is beyond love. Become a creator.”

The owl had returned, and Athena turned her back to her father, her answer given. With nothing else to say - he knew she would not elaborate her statement - Zeus left his daughter alone.

*

While Zeus went to consult his daughter, Hera spent her time aimlessly wandering the palace, thoughts of aging and eventual death grinding in her head. Could it really be true, what her husband said? That even gods would get worn down and perish from the course of time alone? When Hera wandered within earshot of the smithy, she could hear a very familiar and also very aggravating sound from it; Hephaestus was there again, no doubt working on some useless project purely for his own enjoyment.

On a better day, the goddess could have overlooked her disfigured son’s doings, but not today. Fury boiling in her heart, Hera entered the source of the banging and smashing, and as she had already guessed, Hephaestus was busy behind his anvil, shaping a piece of molten iron with his hammer. The child she had thrown down from Olympus in disgust was no longer a boy; thirty years had passed, and Hephaestus had grown into a man surpassing even his father’s formidable height, and his body was hardened and muscular from all the time he spent in the smithy, working his tools. His face, however, was still an unsavory sight, and the broken ankle, though mended by Zeus, had never fully healed thus and left the god of the blacksmiths with a noticeable limp.

Hephaestus peered at Hera from under his heavy brow ridges when he heard her enter and grunted out a greeting. “Good day, mother. What can I do for you?”

Hera, annoyed by the mere sight of the god, sneered at him. “Must you persist on and on with such trivial work?” she asked him.

Hephaestus tried to ignore the bite in his mother’s voice. He knew he disappointed the Olympian queen with his mere presence, and he instead focused on his work. “I do not think it is trivial,” he answered, banging away at metal with a massive sledgehammer. “I make weapons. I make armor.”

Hera glanced at the pieces of armor her son had already completed, until a movement caught her eye. Inspecting further, she looked beyond the metal wear and found a peculiar sight.

Animals. Not true animals, not ones of flesh, but of mud and clay. Somehow Hephaestus had willed his little sculptures to life and they moved in place, acting as though they were true living creatures. Hera grimaced. The god was an adult and still he made toys.

“And the purpose of these??” Hera demanded, getting her son’s attention enough to make him turn and watch as his creations were stomped on. Only earthen clay, they easily shattered and flattened under even the goddess’ weight.

Hephaestus’ eyes widened, and he dropped his work, careless to the harm it might do, and charged at the figure who birthed him, but never treated him as a true son.

“HOW COULD YOU?!” he roared, and he saw fear flicker in Hera’s eyes as he approached. He knew he sounded like a petulant child, but he did not care. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!”

Hera had not expected such rage from her son and recoiled from him, intimidated by his size alone. She realized now that she had overstepped her boundaries and finally managed to provoke him into fury, perhaps even to the point of causing her harm.

Hephaestus’ callused hand, covered in soot and grime, grasped Hera’s upper arm, and she was unable to hide the disgust his mere touch instigated in her.

“Take your hands off me, you filthy brute!” she cried, shoving against his thick chest with her free hand, but he ignored her attempts at resistance and proceeded to shake his mother.

“You had no right!” Hephaestus bellowed at the frightened goddess. “They were mine, and you had no right to destroy them!”

“They were toys!” Hera shouted back. “You are a grown man, and yet you spend your time making toys for your own amusement?! Your father would be ashamed of you if he knew!”

The perpetual wrinkle between the blacksmith’s brows thickened; a sign that his rage was growing and Hera feared he would actually strike her this time. Unlike her, Zeus had always carried love for his disfigured yet resourceful son, and she was well-aware that disappointing his father would mean infinitely more to Hephaestus than anything she said or did.

“And why is that, Hera?” Zeus’ voice suddenly asked from the doorway, and they both paused to gaze at him. At the sight of his father, Hephaestus finally released his mother and let his arms drop to his sides, his anger spent.

Zeus stared at both son and wife, perplexed. “What is the meaning of this quarrel?” he finally asked.

“Your son,” Hera answered, placing emphasis on the words. “He attacked me with unfounded reason.”

“That is a lie!” Hephaestus exclaimed, though this time his anger was tempered by his father, whose stern look made him feel like a child again. Despite his son’s greater height, Zeus could still control Hephaestus with a mere stern eye.

“And what is the story according to you, my son?” he asked the younger god.

“Hera… she interrupted me and destroyed my work,” Hephaestus answered.

Lifting an eyebrow, Zeus gazed around his son’s workspace, wondering what Hera could have destroyed amongst the weapons and armor. At Hephaestus’ waving hand, he looked beyond Hera and saw the broken remains of several muddy figures.

“I see…” he muttered, stroking at his beard, which was going grey in these recent times. He took his hand away, feeling grave at the thought.

“Well… one should show a certain level of restrain in their anger, but I know what it is like to lose a temper,” he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, a gesture of reassurance. “Nevertheless, this is your mother, and you would regret causing her harm, as much as your anger tells you otherwise.”

Hephaestus sighed, not wishing to believe his father, but knowing well enough to mind his wisdom.

“As for you, my dear,” Zeus continued, turning to his wife, who already looked quite incensed that the younger god received such a forgiving reprimand. “Would you react so calmly if someone were to destroy anything you had made? These are Hephaestus’ creations, and…”

Zeus stopped mid-sentence, considering his words. He thought back on Athena’s answer and gave a small smile, turning toward his son. “Hephaestus,” he said. “You may have solved our predicament.”

Upon hearing these words, the younger god looked utterly bemused. “What predicament do you speak of, father?” he asked.

Zeus forgot he had not yet discussed the issue with anyone except Hera and Athena, and that Hephaestus was completely oblivious of his father’s battle with time. Upon realizing his mistake, he quickly explained the nature of his problem – which in reality was becoming all of their problem – and watched his son’s face assume an expression of awe as he gained greater insight.

“And you believe that by creating new subjects…?”

“I do. This is a matter that requires much and careful planning. I must hold council, as soon as possible. Everyone must attend.”

As soon as he had spoken the words, Zeus realized that “everyone” indeed meant everyone, including his brother Hades, who had not visited Olympus for over a decade. Nevertheless, this concerned him as well, and Hades did have a seat in the palace for occasions like this one.

“Hera, go see if you can find our sisters and bring the news to them,” he said. “I will… I will take it upon myself to inform our brothers… both of them.”

*

Hades slumped in his throne, busying himself by throwing little rocks toward a spider’s web in one of the corners. Nothing had happened in the Underworld for a period of either days or weeks; without the outside world to use a reference, one could not keep track of time very well down here. A while had passed since any of Gaia’s children was brought into his care, and the god of the dead was sinking into boredom.

Hades was just about to give up his attempts to hit the spider’s web in favor of going to bed when a hurried knock sounded on his door.

“Yes, Charon?” he asked wearily, already knowing the identity of his visitor.

The little wretch entered, and a strange kind of excitement shone in his beady, black eyes. “I bring word from Zeus, my lord,” he informed. “Your presence is requested on Olympus.”

Hades sat up straight at the news, regarding his servant with a mix of confusion and scrutiny. Charon was not one to jest, and even if he were, he would know better than to play tricks on his master.

“Did he give a reason?” the god asked, suspicion in his voice. Hades had hardly been invited to Olympus ever since his descent into the Underworld, the most recent being a decade ago. He had not even been asked to attend the birth of Athena or Hephaestus. Were he an optimistic individual, he might have assumed his fellow Olympians knew he had too much responsibility in his domain to attend, but what responsibilities were there? Hardly anything had passed the River Styx ever since he became god of the dead. The realist in Hades’ reasoning reassured him that he had become all but forgotten in his realm of death.

“None, my lord.” Charon gurgled out. “Only that it was important that all gods be present.”

“Hmm…” Hades’ eyes narrowed at the reply. For a moment he almost said he would decline the offer out of spite, but attending would certainly bring him out of his perpetual state of monotony. The idea of seeing his siblings again was also a chance he did not want to ignore. Though he had been determined to break himself of the bond he had with Poseidon, a part of him yearned to see his brother’s face again.

“Very well,” he said. “I shall leave at once. Considering how time passes here, I might already be delayed.”

Hades looked through his meager collection of clothes for something more suitable to wear during his visit, but it seemed as if the mere atmosphere of the Underworld had already ruined every outfit in his possession, so it really did not make a difference what he chose. Sighing, the lord of the dead decided to go as he was. His long, dry, tangled locks, now more grey than black, hung down his back in lifeless chunks, but Hades did not even bother to brush his hair. In fact, he had not looked at himself in the mirror for a very long time, loathing his reflection more every time he laid eyes on it.

Though leaving the Underworld was a welcome reprieve, Hades’ ascent to Mount Olympus was a dreary trek, which left the god unable to appreciate the beauty which surrounded him. His stay with his siblings would most likely be brief, and he did not want to feel regret when he had to return to his own gloomy realm, though it would likely be unavoidable.

Demeter was the first one to greet Hades when he entered the palace, a warm smile on her face. She embraced her brother tightly despite the dank odor of smoke and decay that clung to him and urged him to follow her and meet the others. Hades could not help but sigh at the thought of having to face Zeus, and not to mention Hera, who had never quite forgiven him for supposedly “seducing” her consort just before the great battle.

It then occurred to him that Olympus had one resident whom he was to meet for the first time. Hades had never seen Athena in the flesh, only heard tales of her harrowing entry into this world and the wisdom she was rumored to possess.

A young woman stepped forward to great him and her anonymity brought Hades to realize she was indeed the daughter of Zeus and Metis. She was tall, though not quite as tall as her father, but her height suggested that she was indeed the offspring of a Titan. Hades had the feeling his stooping posture was not the only reason he had to look up to see her eyes, just as pale and fierce as her father’s.

“You must be Hades,” the woman addressed him.

“And you must be Athena. You have your father’s eyes…” Hades replied. “And your mother’s beauty, if you do not mind my saying so.”

“I do not,” Athena said, her expression passive. “I am aware of my parentage. My birth was just as much of a surprise to me as it was to Zeus.”

“He and I have that in common,” Hades mused aloud, a darkness passing in his eyes.

Athena lifted an eyebrow, but her voice was not judgmental, only observational. “You are not fond of him. I can see it in your face. My uncle has spoken of you before. He has often said you often found his company much more agreeable than that of my father.”

At this remark, Hades looked at Athena in deep sincerity. “Poseidon? He… speaks of me?”

The goddess nodded.

A smile was almost present at Hades’ lips, but he restrained his feelings. “What else does he say about me?”

Athena was interrupted before she could answer, a male voice coming from behind the two Olympians. “He says he misses you very much.”

Hades jolted at the sound of his brother’s voice and looked past Athena at the ocean god. Poseidon looked almost exactly as Hades remembered him, tall and broad and with a head full of curly hair. Time had obviously been much more gentle with the younger god than with Hades himself.

“Hades, I cannot believe how long it’s been,” Poseidon exclaimed, grinning broadly as he enveloped the other’s frail form in a nearly crushing embrace, which briefly shocked the god of the dead. Hades remained very still in his brother’s grasp, not returning the embrace, until the arms wrapped around him finally relented and Poseidon stepped back.

“How are you faring, dearest?” the younger god asked, lifting his hands to cup Hades’ face, but the other avoided his touch.

“Please, don’t look at me…” Hades whispered, averting his gaze. “I… I know I look horrible.”

“You do not,” Poseidon insisted, saddened by the response in his brother. Apparently Hades’ self-esteem had not improved since he was given a realm to rule over. Indeed the grey hairs had taken over most of the older god’s long mane, but Poseidon had noticed that Hades was not the only one graying anymore.

“So, now we are finally all gathered,” Zeus’ voice said from behind them, and Hades closed his eyes, preparing to greet the lord of Olympus with the respect he knew Zeus expected to be shown.

Rather than wear the long robes adorned on his fellow gods, Zeus was festooned in the most immaculate of armor, polished nearly to the point of casting a better reflection than that of the water’s very surface.

Begrudgingly, Hades bowed to his youngest sibling, muttering a greeting as he did. He only looked up when he felt a large hand lift him by the chin. Looking up into his brother’s visage, he began to realize the purpose of his youngest brother’s choice of dress. Lines had formed on Zeus’ face, and his hair was turning gray, much like Hades’ already had. With such stunning attire, who could linger for very long on signs of age?

“It is good to see you, Hades,” Zeus stated, though he did not look as overjoyed as Demeter and Poseidon had.

Hades only nodded. He was not in any mood to falsely reciprocate. “I am curious as to the reason for the gathering,” he said.

“All in good time, brother,” Zeus replied. “Now that we are all met, we shall convene and discuss the matter in the throne room.”

As he entered the room with his family, Hades noticed his nephew and niece now had their own thrones, likely much to the disparagement of Hera. The notion made him smirk. Looking around, he noted his throne still remained, just as well kept as the others. In his cynicism he often presumed the others would simply disregard his throne and dispose of it, as he only had use of it on these few occasions.

“I am surprised my throne was not given to you or your brother,” he mentioned aloud to Athena as she took her own seat.

“You are still an Olympian, uncle,” she said plainly. “As long as you remain so, your throne stays where it is.”

Eight Olympians were expected at the council, but so far, only seven were present. The missing one was Hestia, and even Hades had to wonder as to the reason for his sister’s absence; she had not been in place to greet him at his arrival, and now she was late for the gathering as well. Zeus patiently waited for some time, but he was anxious to start the council and Hestia’s absence eventually began to aggravate him.

Leaning toward Poseidon, who sat on his right, he said, “Brother, would you be so kind and go see what our dear sister is up to? Surely Hestia hasn’t forgotten where she is expected.”

Poseidon nodded and was about to descend from his throne when the subject of their discussion entered the room. Hestia offered her brother a respectful and apologetic bow, clearly aware of the delay she had caused.

“How kind of you to join us, sister,” Zeus remarked dryly. “Now please take your seat.”

The goddess went to do as she was told, but her movements were slow, unusually so, and when Hestia climbed the steps to her throne, she was forced to rest for a few agonizing seconds before mustering enough strength to ease herself into her seat. Once seated, a series of raw, hacking coughs erupted from her throat, and as the other Olympians looked on in uneasy silence, Hades, who had so far been unaware of his sister’s poor health, stood up in concern.

“Hestia, how long have you been ill?” he asked.

“You always worry,” Hestia murmured, although she sounded as though she could not even pay attention to who had addressed her. “You worry too much…” and she coughed again, though this time she gripped the armrests of her throne.

“As much as she wished it were not so,” Zeus said, answering Hades in their sister’s stead, “Hestia has been ill for quite some time. I noticed the first signs of her condition because I was looking for them. I have been even since I saw it in myself. Which leads me to the reason I have gathered you all here.”

The grave look on Hera’s face led the others to know she was fully aware of what Zeus was talking about, and they all felt an icy grip on their insides as they waited with bated breath for their leader to speak again.

“We are growing old, my dear family. And if we are to wither and die, what next? Where shall our legacy wander? Who will become the god of the skies…” He gazed at Hestia’s weak, sad form. “… the goddess of the hearth? I cannot demand Athena or Hephaestus to step in any of our places, not when they have their own duties. However, my beloved children have brought us what may be the only solution…”

All of Zeus’ subjects were quiet in the throne room, eager to hear the answer and with no inkling of what their salvation could be. All except one.

“I hope you do not expect me to give you an heir,” a cynical voice rose from the silence.

Zeus closed his eyes at the sound of his brother’s question, which was without doubt meant to mock him. Hades, who had indeed aged more than Zeus himself, peered toward his leader from his seat, his already thin lips a mere line in his pale, lined face.

Before Zeus could counter the scornful question with a reprimand, Hera beat him to it.

“Your days of lying with my husband are thankfully over,” the goddess snapped, glaring daggers at the brother she had not seen for so many years. “If such a question were to come up, it is my duty, and mine alone, to give Zeus an heir, should he desire one!”

Zeus merely lifted a hand; a signal to Hera to be quiet, and she grudgingly backed down, feeling just as displeased as her posture suggested. Why had Zeus insisted on Hades joining them? It was not as though the god of the dead would have anything to contribute in any case, and Hera’s jealous nature could not help but wonder if Zeus had requested Hades’ presence for other reasons than the council.

“Be calm, brother,” Zeus said. “I would never ask that of you, and considering how time has treated you, you would be unlikely to survive bearing another child, should you even wish to.”

Hades’ form seemed to shrink beneath his dark, heavy robes, and he did his best to swallow down the lump his brother’s answer had caused in his chest. He would not show weakness in front of his siblings, no matter what Zeus decided to throw at him.

“I am aware of how I look,” Hades croaked out. “You needn’t remind me. Tell us instead why you have summoned us here?”

“Very well,” Zeus replied solemnly. “I believe the answer to our predicament lies in what fuels us. Food and drink can only nourish us to a certain point and do nothing to prevent the course of time.”

“So what would fuel us, Zeus? What could give us immortality?” Poseidon asked.

The leader of the Olympians gave a secretive smile. “Prayers,” he said.

Hephaestus spoke up as everyone else digested the answer. “How did you come up with that based on what Athena said and what I had done?”

“Athena spoke of creating something which would respect us far beyond love. You, my son, solved the riddle of her solution through your sculptures.”

Zeus gazed out to the rest of his family, a triumphant smile on his face as though he had planned the path to their immortality by himself alone.

“We shall create a race of men and women,” he announced. “In our own image, so that they may recognize us as their creators. They will be able to survive and think for themselves, but they will know who made them, and in turn for their existence… they will worship us. They will have no power, save the power to live and breed, but they will know their place on the earth. And in doing so, we shall be in their prayers, we shall be that which they respect, fear, and love. When they believe in us, it shall be eternal. As long as there will be a man, woman, or child alive, we will be immortal.”

He looked at each of his family as he spoke, his determination and conviction stronger than the armor he wore.

“We will not grow old,” he said, looking at Hera. “We will not grow sick,” he looked at Hestia. “And we will not die,” he finally looked at Hades.

For a moment, the council was silent while the inhabitants of Olympus digested and thought over their leader’s words. While Zeus seemed absolutely confident that his idea would work, there were those who were more doubtful.

“You said they would be able to think for themselves,” Demeter said. “We have never been able to create anything sentient before, brother. What makes you think you can do it now?”

“We are more powerful now than we were during our previous failed attempts,” Zeus replied. “And if we do not get it right the first time, there is no reason to despair. Eventually we will be successful.”

Hephaestus thought back on his little clay animals, which his mother had so cruelly crushed beneath her sandals. They were mere toys, nothing living, but he could not help but wonder if they were somehow able to experience their own demise, feel their animated clay bodies shatter as they were stomped on.

“Why do you wish to create them in our image?” Hera asked. She was not particularly fond of the thought of beings – sentient creatures – walking the earth and looking indistinguishable from the gods themselves. “If you give them free will, they might not even behave as you wish them to!”

“They will when they realize who made them,” Zeus said, his voice gravely certain, “and who can unmake them.”

Demeter lifted an eyebrow at the promise. “One can only hope we make them intelligent enough to understand such a threat.”

“This is why they cannot be mere dumb beasts,” Zeus replied. “They cannot be immortal such as we are, but they must be able to think for themselves, to be aware of what goes on around and above them. If so, they will know we are superior, and they will have faith in us. They will give us fear, respect, and love.”

No argument came for several moments. The gods simply sat at their thrones, contemplating the proposal.

“All those in favor…?” Zeus asked, and for those fleeting seconds where none responded, he feared his plan was for nothing. But he feared in vain, as first Hephaestus raised his hand, indicating his approval. To the lord of the heavens’ surprise, his wife was the next to do so, followed by Athena, Poseidon, then Demeter and Hestia, and finally Hades.

“A race of worshippers,” the god of the dead mused. “My Underworld will finally have residents.”

“I knew you would see reason, brother,” Zeus answered with a broad smile that Hades tried to ignore.

Supercilious bastard…


TBC...