Chapter 6: The Silence Between the Seasons

How very special are we
To have on our fam’ly tree
Mother Earth and Father Time

— Charlotte (voiced by Debbie Reynolds), Charlotte’s Web (1973). Adapted from the novel Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White (1952); screenplay adaptation by E.B. White. Directed by Charles A. Nichols. Copyright © 1973 Paramount Pictures.

Dawn was a unique feature on Olympus. Golden light would cascade and reflect off the waters of the fountains and waterfalls onto the columns of palaces while also just kissing the plant life with more nutrients.

Numerous gods could lounge about all day without any cause for concern. Other deities had plans for their day and could be up before the chariot in the sky heralded morning. For his part, Zeus walked towards his palace. He had a lot to do and much to think about. He might have been too harsh on Prometheus. His storm-gray robes moved with the wind as he rushed to his home.

At the entrance to the palace stood Cratus. If there was ever a too rigid, bronze-wrought god with a stick up their ass, it was Cratus. However, when it came to loyalty, Zeus knew Cratus was second to none.

As per his way, Cratus did not waste time on pleasantries.

“My king,” he said, bowing his head. “I have news.”

“Then don’t let me keep you, Cratus,” Zeus said, motioning the protector to follow him as he walked. Wasting time to do one thing at a time would do the son of Cronos absolutely no good. “Speak.”

“First,” Cratus remarked as if going down a list in his mind. “Apollo came looking for you.”

“Most do, on Olympus,” Zeus countered, trying to seem humorous when he was annoyed.

“He seems altogether too expectant of your time, my king,” Cratus explained.

“Oh?” Zeus asked, raising an eyebrow. Even as they walked into the palace, Zeus barely looked at his own throne.

“In my estimation. It is as though he has a right to your time rather than understanding an audience with you is your choice.”

A rumbling chuckle escaped Zeus. He shook his head at the arrogance of his son. If he had not bested Python on Delos, so many would not have loved him. Then again, elevating Apollo might have been a mistake in that way.

“Oh, that boy does get ahead of himself, doesn’t he?” For a moment, he considered chastising his son. In the end, however, he waved a dismissive hand. He knew it would do no good to divide his attention at the moment. “Let him expect. Most of the gods want my attention. What else is new? I’ve yet to see one of them die from impatience. This could be a good lesson for him.”

Cratus dipped his head into a bow at the acknowledgement of his sovereign. “At your will, my king.”

Zeus navigated his hallway to a private chamber in his palace. He lifted a hand to keep Cratus where he was. Zeus walked into the room. While within, he raised his voice so Cratus could hear him.

“Is that all there was to say?”

“There is another matter,” Cratus replied. He seemed unsure at first. After a moment, he raised his voice in response to his king. “My sister, Bia, saw Prometheus in private discourse with Athena.”

Zeus was in the room, looking for the right cabinet in the messy room filled with scrolls, bottles, and tokens. He found a large glass container of the liquid starlight. He poured it into a small vial.

“Oh?” he asked, showing only a mild curiosity. “Is it a crime for gods to converse openly? Prometheus has not left the shore with his toys”

“It was secretive in my sister’s opinion, my king,” Cratus insisted. “I fear the nature of their conversation may not be in your best interest.”

Zeus exhaled through his nose. He did not want Cratus to hear his irritation. Athena would never do anything to harm him. She was the daughter of his dearest Metis. Prometheus was obsessed with his making. He was a more people-friendly version of Hephaestus.

“Voice your concerns, Cratus. What is wrong?”

After checking the vial to make sure the ambrosia was in the container, he put it in his robes. He put the big glass container away and sealed it with his magic, so no one could take it from him.

“It is my, and my siblings’, job to ensure there is no sedition on or under Olympus. Many gods would like to sit where you and your sires have, my king.”

Zeus emerged from the room, appearing unchanged to the protector. However, Zeus was his king, so he questioned none of his habits. What might seem ridiculous or small to others might be greater still from the king.

“Sedition?” he wondered.

“Not to be rude, my king, but do you forget so easily that the other sons of Iapetus bore you ill will?” Cratus answered, unsure. “Atlas and Menoetius sided with the Titans against you in the Great War.”

“Ah, yes. And for this, you dislike Prometheus and his brother. Isn’t this not also because I showed him favor even when I raised him up?” Zeus countered curiously. “Prometheus has stood by my side longer than most others in Olympus can even remember. He helped our side during and after the Great War.”

Cratus did not flinch, but it was clear from his face, as they walked, that he felt chastised. Because of this admonishment, he paused before he answered.

“I recall,” Cratus replied. He held his tongue and anger, but he could see how that made him seem so weak.

“Then, this should serve as a shield for any doubts you may have, Cratus. Prometheus is not a fool, so he knows better than to turn on me.” When Zeus saw this answer did not seem sufficient for Cratus, Zeus went on. “If Prometheus is plotting anything, it is for what he believes to be the good of us all.”

Cratus dipped his head, but the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed his doubt.

Zeus sighed, rubbing his temple with two fingers. He was trying harder than he had in a long time to withhold his temper.

“What would you have me do, Cratus? Tear down the halls of Olympus because two of its wisest minds spoke in hushed voices? Shall I call down my wrath every time a whisper is spoken in the dark? When I did this last time, not only did I look like a fool, but that was how my daughter was born.”

“I see,” Cratus replied in concession. “If nothing else,” Cratus went on, trying to find some solution, “should we not keep an eye on Athena?”

The shift in Zeus was immediate. His expression darkened at the mention of his daughter. Recollections of Metis flashed through his mind. He thought of the kisses he shared, the many times they made love, and the life they might have had. His voice turned sharp as a crack of lightning when he thought of his protectors threatening his daughter.

“No.”

The word struck like a hammer. Cratus recoiled. Even Zeus had enough sight to recognize that. Zeus exhaled slowly to let go of his anger.

“Watch Prometheus all you like, Cratus, if that puts your mind at ease” he murmured at last. His voice was quieter than before, but no less firm. “But don’t you dare harass my daughter.”

“Yes, my king,” Cratus said, bowing his head.

“Might I also warn you to be careful where your suspicions take you,” Zeus said. “Some bells cannot be unrung.”

Cratus bowed low. “As you will it, my king.”

Zeus said nothing more. Rather, he turned and vanished in a bolt of lightning.

For his part, Cratus prepared himself to get to his siblings. While he might have upset his king, he could still do his job of protecting him.

As the chariot was near its dusk for the Mortal Realm, Demeter looked out from the entrance of her palace. She could see Olympus in the distance. There was no rumbling or thunder over the great mountain, yet in her heart, Demeter could sense something was amiss.

Perhaps it was some preternatural power within her or she could have simply been paranoid. She could not know for certain in either situation. However, she felt that some unknown quantity was at play in Olympus.

When she turned away from the peak that housed the gods. The longer she looked, the more she feared she might give into despair. Her eyes went to the forests closer to home.

Those gifted eyes allowed Demeter to see the nymphs relaxing and lounging after a long day. She smiled at this part of existence, for it was hers. She had purposefully prepared this part of the Realm for herself and the nymphs. It had created a peaceful fondness in her. Where Olympus had made her ambitious, angry, and driven in the worst ways, helping these lesser immortal beings had brought her a goal for her initiative to give herself to fully.

Outside of Persephone ... Zeus’ flagrant use of Demeter had stirred a raging hatred at him, Rhea, and Hera, and yet, in the end, she could not but love the creation that she had grown in her womb.

Her darling daughter had been all she had wanted in life once she had been born. The ambition she had once had on Olympus had dissipated for Demeter. That was not to say that she did not acquit herself in every task. Still, she used her power over the weather and the land to make Greece more fertile, and for the clouds to block that stupid chariot in the sky when her nymphs felt like it was an egregiously hot day.

She laughed at that. How simple a thing her love for her daughter was. One moment, she worried for the Realm because of Olympus, and then, it was ... gone.

Demeter let out a simple laugh when she raised her head. Just as soon as the concern had left her, it returned in abundance. She saw something amiss in the distance.

Farther, deep in the forests under her protection, she saw some malevolent creature of darkness. His visage was that of a male god. He had black hair, miss-matching colored eyes, and wore, she thought, a red tunic of animal’s blood while being covered in a cloak of dripping, unending liquid darkness.

Just as quickly as she believed she saw the intruder, his cloak closed, and he vanished from her sight.

This was clearly a cause for concern. She wanted to run to her daughter, yet the discipline instilled in her by Rhea won. She straightened up, ever the dutiful daughter and royal line of Ouranos, and she turned from the fragrant wind, which carried the scent of wheat and wildflowers, to enter her palace.

Demeter entered her young daughter’s room. It had been hundreds of years since Persephone’s birth. However, her daughter had the appearance of a child nearing its eighth birthday. At first, Demeter had halted the aging process of her daughter for Persephone’s sake. If Zeus knew that Demeter had conceived a child by him, he might demand to be in that child’s life, or worse, given how Zeus flitted from goddess to goddess like a hummingbird went from flower to flower.

No! Demeter would not allow that for her little girl. Persephone deserved a life distanced from Zeus, if not altogether away from his reach, but the only Realm far enough from Zeus’ grasp would have been the Underworld, but Demeter would freeze Olympus long before she allowed her daughter to be dragged off to a place of the dead.

Slowly, she sat beside her daughter’s bed. Ever the dutiful daughter, Persephone was ready for bedtime, even getting under the blankets.

Demeter’s fingers glided through Persephone’s strawberry blonde curls as the child nestled beneath a blanket of finely spun flax.

The girl’s eyelids fluttered with the weight of sleep despite her battle against it. In that way, Demeter could always predict her daughter. She scarcely changed. In that, Demeter felt a pang of guilt. She had no right to keep Persephone at such a young age, not forever at any rate. Soon, very soon, she would need to allow time to touch her daughter as it did all other beings.

“I am not tired, Mother,” Persephone murmured. Her young voice was barely louder than the song of a distant nightingale.

Demeter chuckled, brushing another one of her daughter’s curls away from her forehead. “No? Are you not, my dear child? Then why do your eyes close even as you speak?”

Persephone pouted, which warned Demeter that her daughter was becoming more intelligent for the body she had stunted her in.

The truth was, for Demeter, these moments were worth more than any throne on Olympus. She might have made a better queen than Hera, and Persephone would definitely make a better princess than Hephaestus or Ares made for princes, but these solitary moments where she did not have to have to concern herself with the going-ons of Olympus made everything worth it.

Persephone, for all her complainings, seemed to enjoy her mother’s affection. In the end, she was a daughter who loved her mother.