Demo suddenly heard thrashing, mixed with the distress call of
a bird. Rounding a bend in the mountain trail he quickly
stopped. Before him was a scene of impending tragedy.
An owl, beautiful, with white feathers, struggled. Enmeshed in
a clever trap it was unable to break free. A cunning net had
extended above the narrow ravine, and the bird had triggered an
ingenious mechanism that released the net. Its wings threshed
uselessly as it tumbled on the rocky ground.
And creeping ever closer, a fox. Its eyes gleamed in
anticipation. Saliva dripped from its open mouth. The sun's rays
reflected from the glistening fangs. Brown and white matted fur
clung tightly to its body. Gaunt and hungry, its every muscle
tensed, it waited eagerly for the right moment to strike.
It crouched to spring, inched closer to its prey.
"No you don't." Demo whispered the words. Laying aside the
staff, smoothly, with hardly a thought, Demo drew an arrow from
its pouch. Notching it to the string he drew the bow.
Even as he did so the fox sprang, jaws open wide.
With a whistle the arrow flew through the air!
The fox, startled, twisted to avoid the danger.
Too late!
The arrow struck him at the peak of his leap. It struck high on
his haunch, cut deep into the upper leg. The arrow's force
knocked the animal sideward, and he fell short of his victim.
Even as the fox fell the world burst asunder in a thunderclap
of sound. The force of a sudden wind drove Demo to his knee,
almost stunned.
He froze in that position, starred in consternation at the
scene in front of him.
Where the fox had fallen an imp stands, looking at him in
anger. It's hand pulls dagger from sheath. The long twisted
blade is raised threateningly. Demo takes another arrow from the
quiver.
A louder blast of thunder feels the air and the imp looks up in
fear. With another glance of hate he dashes away into the bushes.
But Demo's eyes are focused on another, and the imp is not now
the center of Demo's attention. The cynosure of his gaze is the
beautiful white owl. For the beautiful white owl is now more
beautiful still.
Standing free from the trap is the princess of the forest
nymphs. She has shed the white feathers of the owl and stands
before him in innocent beauty. She smiles as his face reddens,
then steps behind some obscuring bushes.
"What, what is it . . . !" he stammered.
Dazed, Demo backed away. "This is unreal. It can not be
happening. Imps, and Goddesses - these are but stories. Where am
I? This is not the world I know. Who am I that I meet with imps
and Goddesses. Enough that this day I have seen death. " He
mouthed the words, but no sound came.
He closed his eyes, opened them.
She did not go away.
"You have saved me from the minions of Pluto, the God of
Hades. And for that you shall be rewarded. I shall take you as
my husband, and you shall live with me forever. We will dwell
among the Gods, and you shall ever be my protector."
The lilting beauty of her voice entranced him. It caressed him
as the gentle notes of a favorite song. Bewitched, he ignored
the content of her words, merely listened to tone of her voice..
"Come with me. I am Athena, Goddess of Wisdom. We must tell
Zeus. There will be great rejoicing on Olympus. Zeus feared I
should never find a suitable husband! Yet, here you are!"
She reached out for his hand. They never touched, for then,
twice in this one day, a mysterious force intervened. Looking
upward he saw great dark clouds boiling. From their depth a
streak of lightning sundered the ground between him and Athena.
Dust and rubble filled the air, and the ground shook beneath his
feet.
A mighty voice, deep and vibrant, rumbled from the heavens.
"Mortal, dare you even think to consort with the Gods!"
For a moment he heard no other sound. He looked up in awe at
the darkened sky. The silence enwrapped him as a shroud. Even
the wind whispered not.
"On your way! Back to your valley!"
Lightless, the sky seemed only a black blanket drawn over his
head. The winds once more gusted, tearing angrily at trees and
bushes. The thunder rumbled ominously in preparation for another
lightning strike.
"Marry for yourself a simple galleymaid. Do not anger the
mighty Zeus! Husband to Athena? Bah!"
He shrank back in dismay, wide-eyed.
Though he was silent, Athena bravely replied. "He has saved me
from your evil brother, Pluto. He has risked his life for mine.
He shall be rewarded. Oh mighty Zeus, if you love me, grant this
to me."
Rumblings reverberated from the walls of the mountain canyon.
Finally they give way to silence. Then, with brief lightning
flashes from cloud to cloud, there is a response.
"Very well, my dear. Perhaps it shall be as you desire. He's a
brave young man. Striking down a minion of Pluto alone does not,
of itself, make him deserving. Nevertheless, he may indeed join
us on Olympus."
The voice stopped, the clouds darkened even more. The mountain,
in the midst of day, is black as midnight.
By the sound alone he knows that Athena again reaches her hand
to him. And again a bolt from the sky separates the two.
"No! First he must prove himself worthy." The voice once more
thunders. "To win the hand of a Goddess is not an easy chore.
But, if you prove yourself, it shall be as you desire. First,
though, . . .," - and now the voice grew soft and warm with an
assumed kindness.
"Yes, first you must perform some minor chores. A few little
tasks, perhaps. Yes, that's it! A dozen or so little tasks.
Piddling things, actually. Hmmm, let me give some thought to
this."
The skies were beginning to lighten. The voice of Zeus had
softened indeed, as had his mood. The clouds were rapidly
dissipating. Blue patches of sky emerged. The dark clouds
dissipated, and small white clouds drifted gently above.
"Go home! Prepare yourself! And when I call be quick to begin
your sojourn. - Eh, yes, I think minor little chores."
It almost sounds like Zeus is humming happily to himself.
The wind whipped the leaves along the pathway, the clouds tore
asunder. And, even as he glanced back to earth, Athena, too, had
departed.
Nothing remained to reflect the tragedy that might have been.
Nothing remained to reflect the beauty and wonder of Athena. Yet
. . . .
On the ground, fluttering in the now gentle breeze, a single
memento - a pure white feather. He picked it up gently,
reverently.
What to do?
What to do? "This is madness. I am dreaming. Death and imps!
Goddesses and Gods. What has happened today? Can it be real!" He
looked around at the forest, at the sky. All was calm, normal.
Except for one thing.
In his hand he held a white feather.
Reluctantly he continued his hunt. There must be food for his
mother and himself. In spite of himself, because of the day's
events, his thoughts strayed.
He blushed again as he thought of the beautiful Goddess. "Can I
return to my hut, live as a simple hunter, having seen her?"
"No! As Zeus has spoken, I shall return and await his command.
After all, how difficult can be a few little chores?"
He thought he saw the imp dancing through the bushes, chortling
in glee.
Suddenly he tossed away the white feather. Even as it floated
down the side of the mountain he took up his weapons, returned
to the hunt.
"How foolish can I be," he muttered to himself. "Even if it
were real. I to wed a Goddess! It cannot be!"
Shadows were lengthening, soon night would fall. Nights on the
high mountain are cold and forlorn. Already the sun, hidden by
the storm clouds, neared the horizon. The sky, an angry red,
peaked through rents in the dark clouds. Large drops of rain
pelted him, cold with the hint of hail.
Yet, swiftly, the body of the storm had swept by. The remaining
clouds drifted high above, each in its solitary domain. The wind
still gusted from time to time, momentarily, then faded.
Tree leaves fluttered as the evening breeze began its soft
caress. In the eastern sky a single star began to shine. One of
the heaven's wanderers, not unlike himself on the earth below.
He halted. In the copse ahead a creature moved. Sensing his
presence it froze in position. A tawny hide, revealed
momentarily between the leaves, brought a gleam to Demo's eye.
A buck!
Demo notched his arrow, waited silently.
The antlered head extended above the bushes. The moist nostrils
sniffed the air. Then the buck bounded across the trail.
The arrow flew, and without glancing at the prey he unstrung
his bow.
As he moved toward the copse a falling leaf drifted down,
dressed in the yellow-brown of the coming season. His eyes
followed it, then he glanced toward the copse. In astonishment,
he noted that the buck was no where to be seen. Quickly he
rushed forward. Nothing! No buck, and no sign of life!
"Not possible, not possible that I have missed! Now, where is
the deer," Demo wondered aloud.
The light glinted on an object. He saw, lying on the forest
floor, that object. An object that caused him to freeze in
place. A beautiful white feather. And beneath it on the ground,
his arrow. Athena will not be rejected!
Uncertainly he stared from side to side, hesitated. Finally he
picked up the feather, pressed it to his heart.
"It is the will of the Gods!"
He returned the arrow to its pouch, rushed through the
darkening forest to the mountain hut far below.
"I must prepare myself. I must be ready to perform the tasks of
Zeus!"
Olympus is a world far removed from this, our earthly abode.
Its laws are not as our laws, its inhabitants not as those of
earth. Here dwelt, from time to time, the twelve major Gods.
Here ruled Zeus, the ThunderGod.
It is said the Gods, all powerful, do what they will, act as
they wish, and answer to none.
Not true!
Moira, to whose edicts even mighty Zeus must acquiesce, had
long before Olympus' birth assigned duties. Assigned those
duties that ever were to weigh upon the celestial house. Duties
that seemed, to those who bore them, merely whims of their own
devising.
Zeus, forever to nudge the earth, to keep that sphere spinning
in its little space. Poseidon, ever to keep the busy waters
flowing, mixing, changing. Pluto, to warden the whole of Hades,
dealing out evenhandedly to each of the ferryman's charges that
portion of eternal punishment that each had earned.
And each lesser God, also duties had.
Of the Gods only Zeus sensed that strange and ever-present
being, realized that responsibilities had been assigned. He knew
not Fate by name, but knew full well the chores ever to be done.
At times he chafed under their weight, yet always returned to
his given work. Where others might have rebelled Zeus pondered,
understood, and acquiesced. And as these duties were laid on
him, he laid also duties on man. Pride, a strange duty indeed.
Yet each must be proud of himself, of his selfworth. And work he
imposed, for pride comes from work well done. The duty to love,
and to seek love were there. The duty to be gentle, and to be
harsh - and the wisdom to choose the time for each.
Yes, Zeus tempered duties imposed, with wisdom for their
performance.
When Zeus had looked on Demo he had been troubled. This
earthling would, of course, fail in one or all the tasks to be
imposed.
And still, within, he felt the might of Moira and knew
misgivings.
What must lie ahead, not given even for Zeus to foresee? The
plans of man and Gods go astray when Fate's dictates are ignored.
"Theresa, I'm so glad you came by. Perhaps you can stay for
evening meal. Demo should return by nightfall. He's out chasing
deer. I'm sure we'll have venison. Ah, your hair! What have you
done to it! It's so different, and yet so nice. Come in. Rough!"
She shouted at the dog, who growled low at the visitor, then
approached stiff-legged to sniff at her legs. Satisfied he
wagged his tail, deigned to graciously accept the pats the
visitor bestowed.
"My, look how you have grown! Let me see, you're 15 now. Do you
know, I was married at 15. Such a silly girl. I knew nothing.
But he was so attentive, so kind. I fell madly in love. Are you
in love, Theresa? Every young girl should fall in love! It is a
wonderful, sad, happy experience! Do sit down."
"I haven't seen Demo in ages. Is he well? What does he do?"
Theresa paused for a moment, adding "Has he a girl friend?"
Metaneira smiled.
"I'm glad you came. Here, let me get some sweetmeats and
drinks. I don't have company often. Girl friend? No, I think
not. He's too wild! What girl would want him! He fishes and
hunts and disappears into the forest for days at a time. Ah, the
poor girl who gets him for a husband!"
Theresa sat demurely on the proffered chair. Rough lay down
beside her, comfortable that she was no threat to him, or to the
family he protected.
"Oh, I think he is a fine boy. How old is he now? He seems so
big and strong. And he's handsome. He looks much like his
mother."
Metaneira accepted with pleasure the compliments for her son.
After all, she herself was sure they were true.
"No, he is his Father's image. His Father was very handsome.
Very handsome." She was silent for a moment, remembering.
"So long ago! Theresa, do you like Demo? I think it would be
well for him to find a good woman, to settle down." She looked
searchingly into the girl's eyes.
Theresa blushed, looked down, then looked at her.
"I've always liked him. Still, at times he is so young and
childish. He seldom glances at me, or even at any of the girls.
The other boys chase us madly. I could have my choice, you
know!" Her voice suggested that she expected doubt.
"You stay for supper, dear. My, I like the way you are dressed.
Come here, there are a few changes needed. Trust me."
She examined the girl carefully. "Turn around, my dear, slowly.
Hmmm, can we tighten it ever so slightly here?" She adjusted the
girl's waistband.
"And it is so warm. Why not leave this just a bit more open to
the air - that much. No, a little more yet." She loosed
Theresa's bodice slightly, then a bit more, suggesting rather
than exposing the smooth rise of her breasts.
Theresa, red-faced, looked searchingly at her, then giggled.
"We're terrible, aren't we. It isn't our fault, since a young
man is so insensitive. Sometimes you must be very forward to
wake them up. Besides, I know he likes you. He's just very shy,
and he truly knows nothing about real life. My, my, I shouldn't
be talking like this. After all, I am his mother. Don't you feel
like a conspirator?"
They laughed together.
Demo entered the yard, face flushed. Rough barked joyously,
jumped up and down in excitement. He rushed to his master,
leaped up, to receive a happy hug.
"Mother, I must tell you what happened. I . . . ?" He paused as
both his Mother and Theresa came through the door.
"Oh, hello, Theresa. Eh, Mother, I'll hang the venison."
He cut and hung up the meat while the women worked and talked
in the kitchen. Once done he washed up, sat at the oaken table.
"Theresa is staying for supper. She helped me cook. Isn't that
a lovely dress. Turn around for him Theresa. Isn't she pretty
and slender. My, Theresa, some boy will be carrying you off
before we know it!"
Theresa twirled, blushing but smiling. Demo blinked, swallowed.
She was a very pretty girl. Yet he could not help but think of
the vision he had seen this day, and compare the two.
The aroma of cooking meat reminded him of how long since he had
eaten. The meal of venison and vegetables, with sweetbread his
mother cooked, all washed down with wine he finished swiftly.
"How hungry I was, and how good it is! Mother, you are such a
good cook!"
"I don't know where you can put so much food. Poor woman who
catches you. She'll spend all her time in the kitchen. Well, if
she looks like Theresa, she may spend some time in the bedroom."
Theresa blushed, glanced under lowered eyes at Demo.
"Demo, walk her home, will you. The moon is bright tonight, but
I've heard there are brigands about. Besides, I'm sure you could
find no lovelier company."
They walked slowly beneath the moonlight. Theresa stumbled and
he caught her arm. She leaned close against him, took his hand.
"Thank you. I might have fallen."
"It's all right," he responded gruffly, moving away.
Nevertheless, he left his hand in hers.
"Demo, the moon is so beautiful tonight. Almost bright as day.
I love the moonlight. My, you are so tall. And such strong
arms!" she placed her hand around his upper arm, squeezed.
"It's a good moon for hunting. Fortunately, our larder is full,
at least for now."
"Then you should have more free time. Will you come and see me.
At times it is lonely. I need a true friend, one I can turn to
in time of trouble. A friend like you."
For a moment Demo was silent. He wanted to put his arm around
her, hold her close, and tell her that she had a friend. He
didn't understand his feelings. He felt the need to hold her in
his arms. She seemed so fragile, so small and weak and helpless.
He thought of a young doe, first learning to stand. He was
confused. His thoughts wandered, today's events were on his
mind, and he hesitated.
"Theresa, we have always been friends since we were small. When
you needed help, I have been there. It will always be so. I
guess I have always cared for you, little sister."
They reached the door of her home, and her father stood outside
watching their approach. "Good evening, Demo. I see you have
brought her home. The pathways are safe tonight, it seems. Girl,
you mother would like to talk to you."
"Goodnight, Demo. Please come tomorrow night."
As she went inside Demo heard her mother's voice. "Girl, you
are out very late. My, your face is so bright and radiant. You
don't have a fever I hope. Oh, my, what have you done to your
dress. Turn around here. Well, you really shouldn't. Well, I
guess I did the same when I was your age. You grow up so fast,
so fast!"
"Demo, how goes the hunting?"
"Hunting has gone well. Our larder is full. Now I must prepare
the house for the winter season. The winds are picking up, and
we'll be getting more rain shortly. Our roof needs some repair."
"Well, I still need more meat, but there is time enough. Walk
with me a moment, boy."
"You and Theresa have known each other a long time. I've
watched you grow from childhood to manhood. And she'll be taking
a husband before many more seasons pass. What of you, boy? Have
you plans to marry?"
"Sir, my plans now are mostly to care for my Mother. I . . . ,
well, I suppose I shall marry in time."
"The flowers bloom, and then they fade. Don't delay too long in
living your own life. I believe you mother would be pleased to
see you wed. Like Theresa said, why don't you stop by the house
tomorrow night. The wife is an excellent cook, and you look like
you could use a pound or two. I have some wine we shall enjoy
together. I'd like your opinion of it."
On the way home Demo thought of the day's events. Somehow, he
thought, I have this strange feeling. As though the beaters were
driving me into a trap.
"Strange. Yesterday I was child, without concerns." He spoke
aloud, thoughtfully, to himself. "Today I feel so very
different. I have seen death. I have seen Athena. And even Zeus
has revealed himself to me. It is as though, overnight, I have
grown up."
And yet he felt too much the child. Everything was happening
too quickly.
"I need time, I need a lot of time."
Demo shook his head. Rough came running toward him, and he
laughed, skipped along the path, then ran home with the dog
barking, chasing excitedly at his heels.
The rumble of wheels, the pounding of hoofs, filled the night
air. Through the darkness dashed without concern four great
stallions, pulling the dark chariot.
At the reins was Pluto!
Thunder rumbled through the sky, blended with the thunder of
chariot and team. The only light was that from occasional
lightning. It revealed the grim visage of the driver.
On whatever mission Pluto rode this night, plainly it bore
heavy on his mind.
Persephone sat in the garden swing, watched the night sky, the
gentle stars. A storm brewed, but like all storms, skirted her
garden. In the distance she saw the dark clouds, illumined by
the lightning's flash.
And on the far mountain road, momentarily revealed by that
lightning flash, a chariot pulled with madcap speed by four huge
stallions.
She frowned, then laughed away her concern. A nighthawk flew
by, identified by its nasal peent. A soft warm breeze rustled
the leaves of the lilac bush. The sweet fragrance of the lilacs
filled the air.
Persephone swung gently, hummed quietly to herself. Looking up
she saw a shooting star, a brilliant traveler among the stars,
quickly fading.
She laughed happily at its beauty. Then thought more somberly
of what it might portend.