Children, see in your mind the temple of Zeus in Olympia. Go home to Greece. See Hemera, goddess of light in her sunlit chambers. See her cry, an image not meant for mortals, but an important truth nonetheless. She is distraught, disturbed and unusually so. Should a goddess cry? Does her title itself not speak of grandeur, perfection and loving authority? Yet, she cries.
She has aged, not physically of course, but enough to have recognized suddenly that her children and worshipers have abandoned her, that they no longer see or use her light. Especially today as the light wans, she comprehends, and in her distress she suffers at the approach of Nyx, goddess of dark. Hemera’s uneasiness creeped in at dusk on the leopard’s silent step during the failing sunlight of what had been a most languid day, one of those days the children remember playing among the crumbled ruins of Athens when the dying red sun sadly but inexplicably gives way to Nyx.
But on today’s bluish twilight, Hemera confusingly refused to yield the sunlit splendor brightening the Temple of Zeus. Was Zeus not the King of Gods? Should his home not be illumined from dawn ‘til dawn? Why had it not always been so? And why only now did she realize? For too many centuries Hemera had bowed in the late evening to the coming darkness, and Nyx. For the first time ever, she questioned. The gradual demise of the Greek gods’ supremacy had finally brought the first evening of shadowed doubt. Perhaps it was felt within the marbled hearts of Aphrodite, Apollo or Athena. Yet none had said as much. Were they afraid to disturb the ancient order?
Even though this uncertainty was the first Hemera had felt, it was enough. No war of the gods had broken the peace of Olympia since its people stopped believing. “Mythology” they now termed the truths only the gods knew and the truths the people use to pray to and for. Those prayers had heretofore always been overflowing with fidelity and piousness. Now, abruptly, Hemera’s twilight confusion turned to passion. She would again be the light the ancients worked and loved by. She would confront Nyx on his own ground, that of the nighttime darkness she had always held heavy and black until each early and ancient dawn. But from this evening hence, light would live and darkness die. Hemera versus Nyx. Goddess and god of equal rank and power. Unknown to the children of Greece, their “mythology” in no way weakened the long dormant sovereignty of their gods. War was inevitable.
Hemera would need help of course. And she must act quickly; already her light contested and contrasted with Nyx, creating the shadows that outlined the temple’s weathered limestone carvings. In her favor, time progression for Greek gods had long ago established itself at a much slower pace than that observed by the humans, the humans who once worshipped the true gods, but who now preserved those same gods as memories of an ancient and superstitious time. Tonight they would know better; tonight they would see the defeat of Nyx and believe once again in the power of the supreme Greek gods. That slower time progression would be her ally. The perceived time lapse, the mortal’s twilight, would appear to them as they had always understood it, but the actual slower rate known by the gods delayed the murky dusk long enough for Hemera’s purpose.
Hera, Queen of the Gods, shuddered at Hemera’s request. The queen would not simply advise Nyx to step back into the light of Hemera. Moreover, she would not hinder Nyx’s approach, not even long enough for the unorthodox change to be voted on by the Council of the Gods. And so Hermera called again, her mind alive with protocol, humility and the need to appear less than demanding.
“Hera, my queen, queen of all gods, hear me. See through me the plight of us all! The gods of Greece are dying. Indeed, we are already dead to those who once worshipped us. I pray to you, Hera, that you hear me. I beg for the sacrifice of one for the good of all.” She stated her case again, respect and honor dripping like nectar from her lips.
Hera’s response came slowly, maddeningly slowly, creating a line of demarcation between ancient respect and this new need of Hemera’s. Her abrupt request was a stark contrast between primeval tradition and Hemera’s unholy plea. “You ask to alter that which has been since the beginning. You testify that the children of Greece have forgotten their gods. I do not know that this is a true thing. Hemera, calm your fervor, and wait. The ages will show us any disloyalty or dishonor.”
“Hera!” Do you not hear me? Can you not see?” Panic tinged Hemera’s voice. “Nyx brings darkness. He arrives even now with the same darkness that has come since the beginning, but will very soon destroy us. The dark will come stronger each night as the light weakens, as the children turn away. Allow me to honor the king with my unending light. I ask you help me stop the destruction of the gods before it is too late.” She considered, and then added, “If it is not already too late.”
The ruins trembled with Hera’s calm. “Zeus,” she muttered. His infidelity had long ago driven Hera to the vulgarity of jealousy and vengeance. She would do nothing for his “honor.” Hera had not spoken or attempted rule for thousands of years, but now her strong and steady voice demanded awe and fear. “You will wait, Hemera. You will yield to Nyx this day and the next and the next forever, or until I am convinced you are right. Disturb me not again.”
Within her fading light, Hemera shivered. Her sun had gone below the horizon and only its reflections kept a small part of her light alive. “I must go to Ares,” she said, but not so Hera heard her.
Ares, God of War, God of Violence, also turned her away. He was the king’s son, but detested his father’s notions of sovereign peace. Ares saw no need to illumine the shrine of Zeus. But perhaps . . .
“Hemera, wait. “You know of my affair with Aphrodite. All the gods know. Therein lies the only pride my father has held for me. Only in that does he recognize me as his son. But ‘tis a stain upon Hera’s rule. Do you understand?”
“Nay.”
“Hera refused you. She did not consider you might go directly to Zeus. If the king gave you audience, which I doubt, he might grant your request, simply to gall Hera.”
“You are saying . . .”
“I am saying nothing! He hurled a bolt of lightning at her feet. “I have refused you. But if Hera knew or suspected you might have the king’s ear, would she not hasten to be first, or to do the opposite of what Zeus might grant?”
Therein Ares displayed his own pride, and gave Hemera only a faint glow of hope.
Hemera sulked in her shadowed chambers. No one grasped the immediacy of her need. Another movement in time of the stars across the heavens and all would be lost. She wept.
Hermes, God of Boundaries, and Athena, Goddess of Battle Strategy, heard. Pity moved them to comfort one of their own. “Hemera,” Athena called softly. I see nothing in the gods’ history of love and battle that gives hope in your cause. We mourn for you, Hemera. We share your agony in this hour. But it will pass.”
Hemera sobbed, her facial beauty covered by her unflawed hands.
“Hermera, it is I, Hermes. I have searched diligently through the eons of time, and I find no limits to the authority of Nyx to bring shadows. He will and does come. Always has it been so, and so it will be tonight. Do not diminish the established authorities of the gods. The rule of all gods is absolute.”
But not all agreed. The lesser gods and eventually even Zeus himself became not just involved, but also inflamed. Passions flashed here and yon across the wide expanse of the kingdom of the gods. Zeus took neither side, but spoke and fought against the flagrant disharmony until confusion reigned in place of the gods.
Hermera screamed and her anguish shook the stars. Some fell in sympathy. Yet, Nyx arrived.
Nyx crept from the crevices of Greece. His dark form followed by his darkening and lengthening shadows. Unaware of Hemera’s desperate pleas, he slithered among the stars, half climbing, half oozing down and ever downward toward the mortals who expected him. Mothers gathered their children from verdant lawns and dusky beaches to place and keep them safely during Nyx’s visit.
“Night is coming,” they told their young ones. The playgrounds and marketplaces emptied themselves, and the children, mortals all, young and old, melded into homes lit by love and security and whispers of “goodnight.”
Inexorably, Nyx came. In the netherworld and shadowlands between gods and mortals, Nyx and Hemera, dark and light, clashed. The prideful gods with their ugly and petty traits foremost in their hearts and on display boasted of their strengths, spitting their hateful and hurtful blasphemies at one another. Out of sight of the children, the heavens flamed with hate and pride. No good thing might result, but in their need for victories, the gods were blind to their folly.
_______________________________________________________________
“And still today,” Princes Angie June told her students, “the mythology of the Greek gods continues and reminds us. When we see the weak and distant flashes of a dying storm, we imagine the ancients, or perhaps only their remnants, creating and building upon the old myths. It is fantasy, children, but our heritage nonetheless.” She smiled. “Now go in peace and love to your homes. Nyx approaches.
The children laughed.
So much drama for the simple coming of the night! But I guess that's what the Greeks were all about--drama. I've known a couple of Greeks and they are still some of the most dramatic people I have ever met--hurling insults and good humor, drinking and laughing--always the life of the party.
A little too dense for children. And most adults would not read it all the way through.
I can see the gods up in the clouds today with our almost cloudless sky, laughing at my pathetic assessment of the Greek culture.
The Rise of Lord Belmundus is the first book in the fifteen book series, The Adventures of Lord Belmundus, a remarkable tale of others worlds, strange customs, beauty and warfare; and, in its grips, lands a young celebrity, who has the chaps to play
Swamp Alley is a portal between this side and the other side. The Wizard is destined to save the land from the Ugly Babies in the Land of Lack Luster on the other side. With the help of Madame Plume and her magic wand, can they save the magical doll
If you took every major epic fantasy that has ever been written and twisted them all into one fantastic tale of magic, sword play, and just plain old fantasy fun, you might get the first half of this 235,000 word monster of a read. The last half is a
