Chapter 4: Caught

“Zeus fell in love with Semele and slept with her, promising her anything she wanted, and keeping it all from Hera.”

— Apollodorus, The Library (Bibliotheca / Βιβλιοθήκη), Book 3, Section 3.4.3 (commonly cited as 3.26). Originally written c. 2nd century CE. Translated by William Aldrich. Based on the ancient Greek mythographical tradition. Public domain for the original text.

The altar still smoked from the kindling, logs, and flames all blending together under the dead animal. Fat dripped from the split carcass of the bull, hissing as it struck the coals below. The scent of blood and charred flesh as a burnt offering hung thick in the air.

Semele stood before it, head bowed.

This was the final part of her initiation into full womanhood.

Her hands were stained dark at the fingertips from the earlier oils and fats of the animal. She had helped raise this beast from an early age. This was a sacrifice, not just of the animal, but of the time and years she had given to try and raise the beast. What might have been made into food to sustain others was given to the gods as a sign that those years were given to the animal and (by extension) that time was given to the gods.

The sheer linen of her gown was wet, not from purification rites but by sweat and from the smoke and a mixture of mild humidity. The fabric clung to her body, revealing every inch and curve. She was not trying to be immodest, but there was an honesty to how these things occurred. While revealing in honesty, there was no foul intent of temptation on her part nor was there a shred of vanity. Only devotion existed in her actions.

She closed her eyes.

“Lord of the Heavens, he who gives and takes away. You, who strike and spare those he sees fit, hear me.”

The words were old. Perhaps, they were as old as Elysía herself. Some priest had told her that they had been passed down from that woman, but Semele could not know for certain. Nevertheless, from the young maid, the words were true and good.

Never did she expect an answer.

That was not the purpose of prayer.

Prayer was an offering given in a show of submission and trust. In those qualities, there was a love that few enough could understand. A gift was given without an expectation of reciprocity, and in that giving, there was a reward so rarely felt by others.

And yet, for a moment, Semele could feel the air shift before her as she had her head lowered.

There was no understanding possible from her because she was mortal and thinking far too small.

A weight was forming from this breeze. The wind went forward and backward until a small cyclone was created, and in that minute tornado, a man was before her.

Broad of shoulder, strong in form, clad in an unadorned white chiton, and sporting a white, well-kept beard, there stood a man of unparalleled distinction.

Semele’s breath caught at this being. While she could not be certain, she knew who was standing before her.

Her knees gave way before she could think to resist.

“My lord—” she began, lowering her gaze.

Her voice trembled in recognition of his greatness.

“Look at me.”

The words were not loud, for they did not need to be; after all, with the certain authority he had at his command, he understood that she would comply

Only the smallest heartbeat of Semele’s separated her actions from his order.

Her chin lifted, gently at first, to take him all in.

Then she felt his hand.

He was warm, not hot, like a cool spring morning. He was strong, not rough, like a boulder. He was gentle but not entirely soft.

He had reached for her as one who expected to be obeyed. His fingers brushed beneath her chin, guiding her upward until her eyes met his fully.

Slowly, he guided her to her feet, never allowing her to take her eyes off of him.

“You have honored me,” he said graciously

Semele swallowed.

If she was to be rewarded for her actions, she felt she should be honest.

“It is what I was taught, my lord.”

She recognized the shock in the eyes of this luminous being.

“By Elysía’s line,” he said, more to himself than to her.

Her heart skipped a beat in recognition of her ancestor.

“You know of her?” she asked.

For all of her instincts telling her that this was a god of Olympus, let alone (she hoped) the ruler of the mountain, she had her doubts as all beings did. Instinct and faith are seldom enough to make someone believe, but for Semele was holding on, and the mention of her forebear meant a lot to her.

A faint smile touched his lips.

“I remember her quite fondly,” he said.

The distinction of his words meant everything to her. His thumb brushed lightly along her jaw, brushing her cheek. The look on his face told her that she was free to pull away, but why would she? If he was who she thought he was, he was everything she could ever hope for.

“You are much like her, I think,” he continued.

His voice grew softer with an edge of intimacy that would not be tolerated by another being.

“Devotion and beauty go hand in hand for someone like you, and are all the more appreciated by me,” he said.

The word struck her harder than it should have. It was not because this was a god saying them, but rather, she had been called faithful, devoted, beautiful, even pious, but never in such a way that made her feel seen.

With him, the praise felt authentic and coming from a place that understood her to the bone.

Her lips parted slightly, uncertain of how to respond. She leaned towards him in a hope that his appearance meant that he would kiss her.

“You pray for favor,” he said, stepping closer.

She felt her hopes would come to pass. The very air seemed to tighten between them, implying an intimacy that she yearned for.

“Yes, my lord,” she managed.

“And if I were to grant it?” he asked.

Her pulse quickened. The anticipation was promising her much more than she could hope for. Every second that separated her from the result she wanted was becoming untenable.

“I ... I would be grateful beyond words,” she all but choked out.

Another step from him.

There was practically no space between them, and she wanted to remove the small expanse between them.

She could see and feel the rise and fall of his breath. The small details on his face were for her to observe. For the briefest of moments, she felt that there was a craving need in his eyes that only she could fulfill.

Yet still, those descriptors felt too small.

His hand rose again, this time not to guide, but to hold fingers resting lightly at the side of her neck, just beneath her ear.

But possessive.

“You have already pleased me,” he said.

“But...” she breathed, both afraid and desperate to ask the question on the edge of her lips. She needed to know the truth, so she pushed herself. “Who are you? How have I pleased you?”

“You have known me since before you were born, Semele. I am Zeus, king of the gods and ruler of Mount Olympus,” he said simply.