Prometheus Wakens - 1. Chapter 1: Earth Analogue V: A Titan and a Goddess

Day 1 Chapter 1: Earth Analogue V: A Titan and a Goddess

If immutable laws governed the universe,
the mythical gods of ancient Greece
would have been impotent.
—Lawrence Krauss
A Universe from Nothing

Perhaps he doesn’t really
understand the Realities.
—David McLeod

I am not in my bed at the assisted living facility. Assisted living facility: a euphemism for nursing home. My eyes are closed, yet I know I am not in the bed in which I had fallen asleep. The mattress does not stink of the piss and vomit of previous users. The air is clean—it smells of oranges and cocoanuts rather than of Lysol and bleach. I open my eyes and see a mop of curly red hair three inches in front of me. I see it clearly, and not through the fog of cataracts. I see it clearly, and not through eyes sticky with the rheum that has greeted my dawn for the past decade of my life.

The owner of the hair stretches like a cat and rolls over to face me. Golden brows above green eyes suggest he is a true redhead.

There is a boy cuddled with me.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“My name is Maple,” he says.

I study his red-gold hair for a moment. It is brighter than the light that comes through the windows. I laugh. “If you are Maple, I would name you Acer rubrum,” I say.

The boy smiles. “You would be right,” he says. “I am also known as October glory.”

He looks into my eyes, tilts his head, and asks, “Who are you?”

Damn good question, I think, because the instant I look for the answer, my knowledge of self vanishes. I look for it, but see only the dream.

* * * * *

It was a dream I’d had before. I remembered that much. In the dream, I sat on a rock, in a glade, beside a pond. Grass, some with tiny white flowers, carpeted the glade; hardwood trees surrounded it. At least, I thought they were. Hardwood, that is. I was very familiar with pines and other conifers, as well as some of the more common deciduous trees. I saw the glade, I saw the pond, I did not see myself. That is often the way of dreams.

In the dream, a surge of water spoiled the placid pond. A head, shoulders, and torso rose from water that appeared to be only knee deep. The boy to whom they belonged was naked. And he glowed. He splashed through the water to the shore, and stepped onto the ground. He brushed water from his body and his hair—hair so white it looked like silver—and then sat on the rock beside me. When he did, I saw myself. At least, I saw some of me: legs and feet. I wore sandals laced to the knee. Odd—

The boy’s voice drew my attention to him and away from me. “Hello, Lucas,” he said.

“Hello,” I said.

Before I could ask who he was or how he knew my name, the dream ended. The pain of my arthritic knees and hips would not let me sleep in one position for more than an hour or so, and I woke often. Last night, however, the dream continued, and I remembered.

“My name also is Lucas,” the boy said.

“You’re not me as a child,” I replied. “I was never as beautiful as you are.” Yes, I told a boy he was beautiful. I knew it was a dream and therefore it was safe to do so.

The boy laughed. His laughter echoed as the sound of tiny bells from the trees that surrounded the grove. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” he said. “I was the first person to say that, so it is not a cliché. When I beheld you, I saw that you were beautiful.”

I felt myself coloring as blood rushed to my cheeks. I’d always blushed easily, and to have such a boy tell me he thought I was beautiful was more than I could readily accept. Before I could protest, however, he put his hand on mine. I looked down and saw more of myself—a tanned hand and wrist that rested on tanned legs, lithe and strong. What appeared to be loose, short pants reached a few inches down my thighs. The boy spoke and again pulled my attention to him.

“Lucas, it has been more than 700 years since I abandoned your world. The darkness of the Inquisition—the Catholic Church’s war against the forces of reason that threatened its power—was more than my spirit could tolerate. I watched as they tortured, burned at the stake, and murdered in the name of their god. I felt helpless against them. I gave up. I failed.”

I heard the truth in his words. His grief was apparent in his tears and in his voice, which choked out the last few words. I could not bear it, I could not tolerate feeling his hurt, and stretched my arm around him, tugged him into my side, and whispered, “Do not grieve; do not be sad. The Inquisition indirectly led to the Enlightenment. Sometimes, bad things have to happen so that good things can happen.”

I knew that was an apothegm, but one I believed had some merit.

The boy looked at me, and smiled. His sobs stopped instantly; the tears on his cheeks disappeared. “They said you’d understand,” he said.

Before I could ask who they were, he spoke again.

“My name is Lucas, but I am also known as Prometheus, the titan who brought knowledge, literacy, crafts, fire, and more to early humans. My powers were great; in fact, they still are. However, I have abdicated and have no claim on them. They are yours, now.”

On this morning, the dream lasted until that point, and I woke without pain, and with a cute redheaded boy in my bed.

“I believe my name is Lucas.” I finally answered his question.

The boy smiled. His eyes brightened. I felt his hand groping me in a place where it had no business being.

“Maple! You must not—” I began. I gasped. “You’re too young!”

“I am more than a thousand years old,” he said. “And he was right. You are beautiful.”

I had no time to think, much less ask Maple how he knew of my dream—or my desire, for his lips pressed against mine, his left leg curled over my right, his arm reached over my shoulder, and he pulled our bodies together.

An eternity later, I lay on my back, gasping. Maple had teased me, fondled me, stroked me, kissed me, and touched me as if he knew exactly how I felt with each touch. When he brought me to orgasm, I nearly lost consciousness.

When my breathing returned to normal, I rolled onto my left side, and reached for him. He laughed—giggled, actually—and said, “Another time, and soon, I hope. However, we have been long abed, and there are things that must be done. Come.”

He leapt from the bed and walked through a doorway. I followed him, noting as I did that there was no door, only an opening in a marble wall. The opening led to a bathroom with the usual fixtures as well as a large sunken tub that steamed and an equally large tub that seemed to suck the heat from the air. Maple led me into a shower.

Before stepping in, I looked at the mirrored wall to confirm what my eyes and senses had already told me. I was no longer the eighty-year-old man who had fallen asleep last night in the nursing home. I was a boy, no more than sixteen, with a firm, fit body and hair so white it was nearly silver. Hair that shone in the light from the—what were those things, anyway? Translucent panels in the ceiling and beside the mirror had lit when we entered the room.

Maple tugged my hand. I took another quick look at my hair. It was not as long as the boy’s in the dream, but it did curl around my ears and hung over my forehead. Maple pulled me into the shower.

He washed me, and despite my recent orgasm, brought me again to erection. He giggled, and changed the water to cold. “No time,” he said.

He changed the water back to warm and allowed me to wash him. I saw that he, too, was excited. He saw that I saw, but again he said, “No time.”

I glanced at the hot tub and what I assumed was a cold plunge. Again he said, “No time. Another day.”

We returned to the bedroom where the bed, rumpled by our earlier activities, had been made. Laid upon the bed were two tunics. I realized, then, that what I had thought in the dream to be loose shorts was probably a tunic. On the floor were sandals. It was pretty obvious what belonged to Maple: his tunic was green to complement his hair; mine was white—and came only a few inches below my butt. If I get an erection— I thought, and heard Maple’s giggle.

“Are you reading my mind? Hearing my thoughts?” I asked. “This isn’t the first time I’ve thought so.”

The boy cowed. He stepped back and raised his hands as if to protect his face. I felt fear.

“Maple! I’m not angry! Please, do not be afraid of me,” I said. “I just want to know.”

The boy relaxed a bit. At least, he lowered his hands. “You project so strongly,” he said. “The dream, your desire . . . .”

“I project. That means that you hear, but you do not seek,” I said. Maple nodded, although his eyes never left mine.

“Then there is no fault except my own,” I said. “It is my responsibility to learn control.” The boy nodded. He was still uncertain, though.

Please come here, then, and give me a hug. I did not say those words, but Maple heard them.

Maple led me to a patio where a table was set with three places. Bowls and plates held breads and fruit. Pitchers held liquids clear, golden, and red. But that is not what caught my attention. A boy stood by the table. He was as beautiful in his own way as was Maple. His hair was a bright yellow. The color was not one I associated with hair, yet it was familiar. I tugged at memory, and blurted, “Ginkgo?”

“Yes, My Lord,” he said. He smiled. “I am Ginkgo biloba. There are seven of us in a grove not far from here. Today is my day to serve you.” He gestured to the table. As soon as I sat, he and Maple did, too.

The boys filled my plate, and then theirs. A pot I hadn’t seen held coffee, exquisite coffee, so much better than I remembered getting at the nursing home—not that I’d been allowed more than a half-cup of instant decaf each day and it arrived on my breakfast tray cold, so I had no real point of comparison.

The boys did not speak, and I had some time to think. He said I was a titan. I know that the titans were progenitors of the Greek gods. These boys are named for trees. Maple said he was a thousand years old. Pieces of the puzzle came together.

“You’re dryads,” I said. “Boy dryads.”

“Well, yeah,” Ginkgo said, drawing two syllables from the second word in the style of kids from my world.

With that thought, my sense of place tugged at me. I had remembered my name through the power of the dream. I knew where I’d been: the nursing home. Where was I, now? And where had that nursing home been? Could I trust these boys with my ignorance? I had forgotten that Maple heard my thoughts. I discovered that Ginkgo did, as well.

“Please trust us,” he said. “We are bound to this place, for our trees are here. Demeter has instructed us to serve you. As long as we serve you, we cannot betray you. Please, please trust us.”

He paused as if to wait for an answer, but I was too dumbfounded to speak.

When I was able to talk, I asked, “Where is this place?”

“We are on the island of Thermai, in the Aegean Sea. It appears on no charts, and ships not invited sail past it unknowing.”

“Am I dead? I mean, the body . . . .”

The boys looked at one another and shrugged. “We do not know,” Maple said.

“You said Demeter said you were to serve me.” I said.

“She is goddess of the harvest and the fertility of the Earth,” Maple said.

“Now, she is our mistress,” Ginkgo added.

“And she will be here soon,” Maple said.

“She’s older than Zeus,” Ginkgo said. “Even though he’s the boss.”

“Until you—” Maple began. It looked as if he were biting his tongue. I decided not to seek an explanation. He may have sensed that thought, because he relaxed.

They had asked me to trust them, and said Demeter had said they were to serve me. However . . .

“It usually takes time before people can trust one another,” I said. “And we have not had that time. Nor, do I think, will we have the gift of time. I will make a bargain with you. I will offer my trust since you have asked for it. I ask for your trust, in return. We will pretend we are old friends, and that our trust has grown over time, until and unless anything happens to disabuse us of that knowledge. Will that be satisfactory?”

There was a long pause. Then, “What’s disabuse?” Maple asked.

I smiled. “Cause disbelief?”

Maple nodded. He and Ginkgo spoke together. “We agree!” They smiled.

After breakfast, I made a quick run to brush my teeth. When I returned, Maple was gone.

“He’s gone back to his tree,” Ginkgo said. “I will serve you until tomorrow, if it please you.”

“Will you show me your tree, and his?” I asked.

Ginkgo smiled broadly. “Oh, yes!”

I felt as if I’d asked an important question. Ginkgo’s smile widened until dimples punctuated his cheeks, confirming my thought.

* * * * *

The oak trees that surrounded the house rustled although there was no wind, and a handsome woman stood on the patio. She bowed. “My Lord Prometheus.”

I raised my eyebrow. Ginkgo nodded to me to confirm that this was Demeter, and then knelt on the flagstones.

I bowed, perhaps not as deeply as she had. “My Lady Demeter. Thank you for arranging for my comfort. Please, will you sit?”

We sat at the table. Ginkgo brought glasses and a pitcher from which he poured a golden and—I think—slightly alcoholic beverage. I took only a sip, and set my glass on the table.

“Nectar,” Demeter said. She had seen my distaste. “Reserved for the gods. And now as well for the sole remaining titan. You know, don’t you, that many of us are afraid?”

“I know a little of the mythology—rather, I suppose I must say, the history—surrounding the titans and gods,” I said. “I know that there are stories of patricide, murder, and revenge . . . stories of plots and counterplots. However, I do not know the truth of the stories. And, I am not Prometheus. I may have his powers—he said I would—but I am not he.

“I do not desire to rule Olympus. But I do want to know what is going on, and what my role is to be—and why.”

Demeter seemed visibly to relax. She had been sitting rigidly in her chair. Now, she slouched a little. She had taken only a few sips from her glass; now, she drained it, and set it on the table to be refilled.

“You will have to learn to control your thoughts,” she said. “I easily read the truth in what you said.”

She sipped at the glass Ginkgo had refilled. “I have many Attributes, including those of Demeter Thesmophoros, from thesmos—meaning divine order or unwritten law. It is that in large part which makes me older even than Zeus. Ah, the boys told you.”

I leapt to the defense of the boys. “They were not breaking a confidence; they said you told them to serve me. Therefore, it is to me that their first loyalty lies.”

Demeter looked startled. Her eyes widened. She clutched her glass. And then, she smiled.

“You are wise, and you are right. Know you, I was reluctant to entrust my boys to you. I am glad that you would quickly defend them thus, and am relieved thereby for their safety.”

“My lady, service, trust, and loyalty are all a two-way street.” I saw her puzzlement. One-way streets may not be a part of this culture, but I’ll bet swords are. I started over again.

“Our relationship is a two-edged sword that is incomplete unless both edges are sharp. As long as the boys are in my service, it is my duty to defend them. As long as they trust me, I must trust them. As long as they are loyal to me, I will remain loyal to them.

“They tell me that I project my thoughts. It appears that you can hear them, so you know the truth of this.”

Demeter nodded. Then, she told me why she had come.

When Ginkgo had said we were on an island in the Aegean, he had told the truth as he knew it. But it wasn’t the whole truth. This particular Aegean was in a different reality than the world in which I’d grown up. And, apparently, died. Demeter told me that my old body—or a simulacrum with perfectly matching fingerprints, dental records, and DNA—had been found cold and rigid in the bed at the nursing home.

“It was Death who arranged that part of it,” she said. “He might be able to explain the details, if you really want to know.”

I chuckled. “My guess is that if I have opportunity to speak with Death, it will be about much more important matters. Please, continue. I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“In this reality,” she said, “some of the gods remain, and remain with powers. We are an integral part of human society. A few of us are worshiped. Mars—especially in his aspect as Mithras, for example—is still known to many soldiers. Athena, in her role as Patron of Lawyers is known to some of that ilk. There are sailors who still sacrifice to Poseidon, although the altar with a burnt offering is passé. Many craftsmen swear guild oaths to the patron god of the guild. And doctors still swear by Apollo, Asclepius, and Panacea. Most of us operate without worshipers.”

She chuckled, “And no one offers virgins to any of us.”

I nodded my understanding, and she continued. “We can interact with another reality—the one from which you came. We know of others. There is another that is quite similar, but not identical to yours. We are barred from it by a force we do not understand.”

She took another sip from her glass. “Not all of the gods are present in this reality. Many have left for a place that we who remain cannot penetrate. No one with the powers of the titans remains, save you.”

“You don’t know where the others are,” I said.

She shook her head. “No, we do not. Some gave their powers to others before they left. We consider the inheritors to be younger gods, even though they are as powerful as their namesakes. It appears that Prometheus came back to give you his powers after he left our world. That, in itself, is unusual.”

Unbidden, Ginkgo had brought a pitcher of water and fresh glasses. Demeter thanked him before she continued. “I was sent because as one of the eldest, with the power of the Earth, herself, it was felt I might be able to stand up to you, should you prove hostile. I am glad that was not the case.”

“Did the others really think I would be hostile?” I asked.

“They didn’t know what to think,” she said.

There followed a long silence while we both thought.

“Lucas?” she asked. “Lucas, I believe that many of the gods will accept my word and my understanding, and will accept you as a friend—at least, not an enemy or rival. Dike, Athena, Hermes, Apollo, some others. There are some who may not: Poseidon and Mars, possibly Pluto and Vulcan. You must therefore know a great deal more than you know, and you must be able to hide your thoughts and to protect yourself—and my boys who are, now, yours.”

“You did not name Zeus in either list,” I said.

“I cannot speak for him,” she said. Her inflection was flat, her words were deliberate. I thought I grasped the situation: she was elder; he was in charge. I nodded understanding, and gestured for her to continue.

“Will you allow me to give you the knowledge and understanding you need?”

“Of course,” I said. Then, I realized there was something more to her question. “You don’t mean sit here with you for hours, days, perhaps years, while you lecture, do you?”

“No,” she said. “I mean directly into your mind.”

I thought a bit harder, then. And remembered: just as Prometheus had brought fire to humankind, and was punished for that, Demeter had given agriculture to humanity—at the same risk to herself.

“Lady Demeter, I swear eternal peace and cooperation with you. If you will reciprocate, then I will allow what you suggest.”

She smiled, again. “I so swear, Lucas, Avatar of Prometheus, and I swear also eternal respect and thanks to you for this . . . this, your trust.”

Ginkgo’s eyes got so wide I thought his eyeballs would pop out. “What?” I asked.

“My Lord, My Lady, I’m the eldest of the boy dryads, almost as old as Lady Demeter, herself. I’ve never heard of two gods swearing such an eternal oath. Usually, it’s just for a certain war, like in the Trojan War, or for a certain person like Odysseus, or when they made John Kerry president of that country in the other reality.”

Demeter laughed. I had to chuckle. “Ginkgo, you’re a witness to history, just as dendrochronology has been a measure of history in my world.”

“Tree-time?” Ginkgo was plainly puzzled.

“I’ll explain, later,” I said.

By the time Demeter finished infusing me with her knowledge, the sun was painting the western sky a rosy hue. In the east, it was more like a purple-gray.

Not everything could be learned in this mind-to-mind contact. Words were still necessary.

“You said you were reluctant to entrust your boys to me. That means you knew I would come here. How did you know?”

“Clotho had a premonition.”

Clotho. I remembered. She was one of the Fates—the three old women who measured each mortal’s life and snipped the thread of that life at the right time. I did not remember which one Clotho was, but if anyone’s premonition were to be believed, it would be one of the Fates.

Demeter looked toward the mainland, visible through the trees. “She told Zeus, and he summoned me. I spoke to the dryads and told them they—we—were to have a distinguished guest, and that they were to serve him.”

“The more you say, the more questions I have,” I said. “A premonition?”

“We have lost the oracles—who were usually more confusing than helpful, actually—but sometimes, one of us will experience a foreseeing. We have found these to be much more accurate than the oracles ever were.”

“And,” I hesitated, and blushed. “In what ways did you tell the dryads to serve me?”

Demeter laughed. Her laughter warmed me, and—I think—caused leaves in nearby trees to rustle. I realized, then, that the boys who lived in those trees were probably privy to our conversation. And decided that it didn’t matter.

“I merely told them to serve you; they are, however, very perceptive, although they will no longer be able to see into you as deeply as Maple and Ginkgo were able this morning.”

The hardest question for Demeter to answer was, why me? Demeter took a long time thinking about that. “The easy answer,” she said finally, “is that the Powers—titans and gods—work in mysterious ways. But that’s an unfair evasion, for it cannot be challenged.

“I would simply be saying that the old Prometheus must have had good reason, but that we don’t understand it because he was too inscrutable for us.”

She took a sip of her water before continuing. “I can only speculate, but I will speculate from many years of experience with titans, gods, and humans. My guess? The old Prometheus saw something in you. Not necessarily something you’d done, but your potential to do something. The gods sometimes receive foreknowledge; the titans, even more so. Perhaps something he saw in the future not only brought him back, but also caused him to select you.

“This is not necessarily a good thing,” she added. “The thing he saw may be a considerable challenge to you. It may be as you told Prometheus in your dream that bad things must happen so that good things can happen. I will say no more, for the words of the gods shape reality.”

I understood that she did not know either why me or what was to be my task.

She stood; I was on my feet an instant later. She bowed; I returned the bow. I didn’t ask for her email address or cell phone number. In the first place, I suspected those were from a different reality. In the second place, I was pretty sure that any of the boy dryads could contact her faster than either an email or a cell system could.

I discovered that not only could I hide my thoughts, I could hear those of Ginkgo. He seemed concerned about what I thought of him, and did I like him. I thought I understood.

“Ginkgo, you must have felt when I first saw you that I thought you were beautiful. You must know that Maple and I had sex this morning before I met you. Yet, you said you would stay the night with me even though I now know this house to have but one bedroom—and one bed.

“Are you comfortable with that? Are you comfortable with what that means?”

“Like, is it okay if we have sex?” Ginkgo said, and then giggled.

“Yes,” I said. “Exactly that. And how old are you? You said you were nearly the oldest of the boy dryads. What does that mean?”

“How old?” he said. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Perhaps four thousand years? Why do you ask?”

“Because by my upbringing, and the law in the place whence I came [Yes, I just said, whence. This place was getting to me.] there was a thing called the age of consent.”

I felt doors opening in Ginkgo’s mind. I watched as he processed this information. I watched his body tense, and then relax when he accepted what he’d heard.

“I understand,” he said. “I understand that this is something you must deal with. I understand that Maple and I . . . and many others . . . will be part of that.”

The yellow-haired boy grinned. “But that is not until later. You missed lunch while Demeter was here. Now, it is time for supper, a bath, and bed.”

Supper was laid in the dining room. Thin slices of meat that might have come from a sheep, spit-roasted and savory; vegetables steamed with herbs; bread, hot and yeasty. There was no service: we helped ourselves from dishes, and left the dining room when we were finished.

“Who . . . ?” I asked Ginkgo.

“Other dryads,” he said. “You will meet them all in time.”

A thought surfaced. How was it decided with whom I would wake the first day? With whom I’d spend this night? I thought to ask Ginkgo but decided against it. If they had some sort of competition, even some random drawing, that would be theirs to share with me, and not mine to demand.

The shower with Ginkgo was much like that with Maple except that afterwards, he led me to the hot tub and sat on my knees, facing me. We exchanged kisses until I was afraid I couldn’t hold back any longer. As if sensing that, he took my hand and led me into the cold plunge. That put any end to sex thoughts. Until he toweled me dry.

As if he knew what I wanted, Ginkgo lay quietly while I explored his body with my fingertips, lips, and tongue. I slowly and deliberately brought him to orgasm, and felt his essence pouring into my mouth and throat, and heard him gasp.

The experience reinforced a lesson it had taken me a long time to learn: It’s important only that both enjoy the experience. I do believe Maple enjoyed taking me into himself; I enjoyed taking Ginkgo into me. Ginkgo, Maple, and I all received pleasure. This is important. I hope these boys know that and understand it.

Afterwards, I cuddled Ginkgo, pulling him to me, wrapping my arms around him. I think he understood. Perhaps he heard my thoughts. Perhaps, he was old enough and wise enough to understand without hearing. In any case, we cuddled, and fell asleep.