"My child, you do not find Cronus. He finds you. It is
inevitable. It is from his touch that we pass from child to man
or woman, from youth to middle age, from middle age to an elder
estate. It is a process you would not desire to compress. No,
search not for Cronus. He is not well met!"
Demo pondered her words, the story she had told. Fable, or
fact? At one time he would have thought the former. Now he was
completely unsure. His simple world had turned strange.
Demo began his trip, knowing not the way, knowing not the guise
of him whom he sought. The fates were kind, and he found aid
along the way.
"Earthling, attend me!"
The voice was soft, yet commanding.
He breathed deeply as he gazed upon her. The beauty of Athena,
of Medusa, he had thought, could not be surpassed. He was wrong.
The diaphanous gown accentuated, rather than hid, the exquisite
form of the maiden who addressed him. The face was beautiful not
only in its own right, but in its every response to her
thoughts. Now with a slight blush, now calm and serene, now
smiling and happy - always with an innocence that beguiled and
attracted.
"I am Venus. It is for my sake that Zeus has dispatched you on
this dreadful sojourn. And dreadful must it be for you, for when
Cronus looks upon you the bonds of time will lock you in their
embrace. Yet there is no other way." She sobbed.
"Take this. When you tend Cronus, tell him from whence it came.
Then ask him, must the beautiful blond hair of Venus turn gray.
Once he loved me, a grandchild who was his pride. Perhaps he
still remembers. Give to him this mirror, for in it he shall see
my visage. And as I age, so shall indeed the image on which he
gazes. It is his curse. Let him reap its reward."
She expected no reply, and was gone so swiftly none was
possible.
He glanced at the mirror from the side of his eye. He blinked.
Truly, it was not his own image, but hers. He carefully placed
the mirror in his pouch. Perhaps, after all, Cronus would relent.
One might think that, to reach Tartarus, the path would be
first through Hades. And having passed through that monstrous
domain Tartarus would lie ahead.
Indeed, Tartarus lies far below even the inferior regions of
Hades. Solitary, neighborless - there is no common border, no
entry or exit. Tartarus stands alone. None may enter. None may
leave. To those who live therein its bounds are endless. To
those who dwell without it is but a speck, lacking depth,
lacking width, lacking height.
Demo searched. He found not Tartarus. He found not Cronus. And
so he slept. And as he slept, Cronus found him!
Each night he lay down to rest, tired from his travels. Each
morning he awoke, unrested, the weight of passing years pressing
down upon him. Yet, the sun had made its own journey, and it was
but the start of a new day. He felt in his bones aches he had
never known. The muscles that served well afore now weakened,
gave way under exertion.
The dreams began. A white bearded patriarch, severe of mien,
stood nightly at the foot of his bed, gestured over his prone
body.
And with that gesture he felt his very bones grow tired. The
smooth skin of youth wrinkled, and his sharp eyes dimmed and
lost their luster.
"Return to Zeus. Tell him that the Curse of Cronus shall never
be lifted. Give up this quest, for on it you shall age each day
as though it were a year. Only the kindness of Cronus prevents
you from withering and dying before the dawn." The deep sonorous
voice ceased, the vision faded.
He touched his cheek, his forehead. Indeed wrinkles formed and
furrows! Beneath his chin a dewlap hung. His eyes grew tired,
and his voice weak. Nightmare, or visitation from Cronus?
By day his travels became ever more onerous. The pain of
arthritis attacked his joints, his breath was short, and at
times he wandered over his earlier trail unknowingly.
Demo noted, looking in the mirror of a calm pond, his thinning
hair, now turning gray. Dark pockets formed under each eye, and
his eyes were themselves bloodshot.
Perhaps, he thought, it is time to return home, there to rest.
Perhaps, there to lie down to an eternal rest.
Each night Cronus came. Each day Demo was left with a body
weakened and tired from the visit of Cronus.
His appearance had become so wretched that he avoided the quiet
ponds, that he see not his image. In desperation he called on
Zeus, then sighed. Even Zeus, mightiest of the Gods, labored
under the Curse of Cronus.
On a certain day, in a certain glade he walked, knowing not
where to turn. His thirst grew, and he noted water trickling
down the hillside ahead. At the base of the hill a small spring
formed a placid pool, and he leaned forward to drink of its
water.
"Not me! Let it not be me!"
The gaunt, ancient creature reflected in the still waters
screamed out the words.
He would turn away, and yet he could not. Fascinated he noted
the wrinkled face, the gnarled hands, the tired eyes.
My youth, to have fled so quickly! The Curse of Cronus indeed!
Night shadows were fast enveloping the land. He cut soft limbs
and foliage to make his bed. It mattered not. All beds to him
were hard. Emptying his pouch he nearly dropped the mirror of
Venus.
He caught it before it struck the ground. I need no more bad
luck, the thought crossed his mind.
The image of Venus brought tears to his eyes. The beauty
reflected in the mirror but days before had disappeared. Now was
seen but an old crone, straggly hair, wrinkled face, bent back.
Still the eyes tore at his soul.
The sad eyes that held remembrance of beauty beyond that of all
beings. They seemed to say, "If I could but forget what once I
was. Then I could more readily bear this plight."
He shuddered, held the mirror in his hand as he stretched out
on his forest bower. Sleep would come soon. And with sleep,
Cronus!
And so it was. Cronus stood silent at the foot of his sylvan
bed. He held an object in his hand, gazed at it in deep thought.
The mirror of Venus!
He had taken it from the bed where Demo lay. Slowly Cronus
lowered the mirrored, glanced at the boy. Demo stirred, looked
with tired eyes at his visitor.
"I know this one from long ago. I see, yet I know not the face,
nor the name. Is this your mother, boy?"
"No, sire, this is the face of another, the face of one you
once loved. The face of one you have condemned to misery. This
is the face of your granddaughter, Venus, disfigured by the
Curse of Cronus."
Cronus' eyes widened, and he glanced once more at the mirror.
"I shall take this with me. Sleep, boy, this night I give you
rest."
Head bowed, he turned and walked away, fading into the night.
Demo slept.
He woke late, the sun high in the sky. Even then might he have
slept, except for the sound of the sparrows.
They hopped excitedly around an object gleaming on the forest
floor. He rose, walked to it, and they took wing in fright.
The mirror of Venus. Cronus had dropped it there before he
left. Strange. He had been so moved by the aged image therein.
Demo shook his head, picked up the mirror.
In shock, he almost let it fall.
The beauty of Venus, radiant and young, once more graced its
surface.
Eyes wide he glanced at the hand holding the mirror. The
gnarled fingers, wrinkled and old, were no more. The strong
hands of youth now held the mirror.
Quickly he rushed to the spring, examined his countenance.
Cronus had relented.
He heard a distant rumble of thunder, glanced anxiously to the
sky.
A voice, strong and yet soft, reached his ears.
"Well done, my son." He knew the sojourn had ended.
And then he heard the words again. "Well done, my son." and
felt a hand shaking him.
"Yes, well done. The firewood you were to gather, where is it?
Do you know the sun is near its zenith, and you still lie abed."
"Yes, mother, I shall fetch it quickly."
He shook his head. Only a dream? He looked at his hand, the
hand of youth. As he sat on the edge of his bed his foot brushed
an object.
Absentmindedly he reached down, picked it up.
He found himself gazing on the beauty of Venus, a smile on her
face. The lips seemed to move, and expressed in a voice all
softness the gratitude shining in her eyes.
He smiled. No!
No! Not a dream.
As a child I nourished him. His body I made strong, agile; his
mind, quick. Strength I gave him, and the will to bear pain
without flinching. Almost, eternal life. But that was not to be.
Ceres was thinking to herself.
The voice I heard while praying - It is, I am sure, his voice.
The time is coming when this tragedy shall end. In some manner,
unknown to me, Fate will bring the paths together.
Ah, yet how powerful is the enemy! Zeus himself alone is more
powerful.
No, not true. Moira has mapped the path of each, be they God or
man. And Fate has given me a vision.
I knew not then to what purpose the boy's skills would be
needed. How quickly time has passed, and the wrong done my
daughter is yet to be avenged!
His shall be the duty.