Prometheus Wakens - 11. Chapter 11: Allies and Enemies

Chapter 11: Allies and Enemies

Little Oak’s replacement was Larch, a boy whose hair was a radiant gold that blindingly reflected the dappled sunlight. Had he been around 20,000 years ago, there might have been no need for Prometheus.

We spent the morning working in the coffee grove. After lunch, he sat in the big room watching as I tried to make sense of the notes I’d taken during Athena’s visit.

By mid afternoon it was clear that he was restless. Actually, so was I. “Come on, Larch, there’s supposed to be a lake somewhere nearby, and I need a swim. Do you swim?”

“Oh, yes, Lucas. Wood floats, does it not?” He giggled, and grabbed my hand. “Come, I will show you where is the lake.”

We ran down a path, hand in hand, until we reached the bottom of a hill where a small lake, perhaps two acres in size, lay. The path opened to a small beach of pea gravel. On one side was a short dock. I threw off my sandals and tunic and waded carefully into the water beside the dock.

“Oops!” I splashed and began to tread water: the bottom had dropped off faster than the surrounding terrain suggested. Larch must have known that for he had run down the dock and dived in. He surfaced near me, and grinned. His wet hair was liquid gold in the sunlight. He held me, smiled, and pulled us together.

Wood does float, I realized that neither of us was treading water, but that his buoyancy held our heads above the water.

Larch grinned when he heard that thought, and pressed his lips to mine. I had spent the previous morning having sex with Oak; now, it appeared, I was going to spend this afternoon on the beach having sex with Larch.

It seemed that way, but before it could happen, a Ginkgo appeared on the beach. I recognized him—Ginkgo-1’s littlest brother—and guessed that the eldest, who seemed to be the senior dryad, had certainly sent him.

“Athena will arrive soon!” the boy gasped. “You must come quickly!”

I got another kiss from Larch, and a whispered, Later. We translocated to the patio before I remembered that my tunic was still lying on the beach. Littlest Ginkgo giggled, and then popped out and back with tunics for both Larch and me. He popped out again, and returned with our sandals. We managed to get our tunics on over wet bodies, but before we could put on our sandals, the oaks rustled, and Athena appeared.

“My Lord Lucas—if this is not a good time,” she said. I blushed. It didn’t help when Larch giggled, nor when Littlest Ginkgo added his laughter before running to the kitchen.

“No, My Lady Athena,” I said. “You are always welcome.” I didn’t mention the early warning system that the dryads provided. The next time, however, I’d try to remember tunic and sandals before popping onto the patio. And to dry myself before trying to pull on a tunic.

“I have thought long about the question of which side the gods may take,” Athena said, “whether they will join you, or remain loyal to Zeus—or will stand aside until the winner is decided.”

She thanked Littlest Ginkgo for filling her glass. I asked the boys to wait and watch from under the oaks. Then, Athena continued. “Actually, loyalty is the wrong word, but it’s the closest word in either Greek or your English. It we were governed by loyalty—”

I knew she meant the gods.

“If we were governed by loyalty I would not be here. Our bonds are more familial, and as you know, we are a somewhat dysfunctional family. Our bonds are based on mutual advantage, and where that advantage becomes one-sided, we tend to break those bonds. Our bonds were once based on a common understanding that we were created by humanity, and that we were their servants. That changed, more quickly for some of us, than others.”

“I think I understand or, at least, have the basis for understanding,” I said. “Who, then, might we find as allies—and who might actively oppose us?”

Athena began with those already enlisted. “Demeter is firmly on your side because she sees you as the best possible protector of her boys, the dryads. She expects that will include all the dryads on the island, not just those on your estate. She probably believes she does not have to tell you this.”

All the dryads on the island? How many did Oak say there were? Several thousand? I felt the laughter in Athena’s mind.

“The whole island? As she wishes, of course,” I said. “ . . . and gladly, but why?”

“When Zeus visited, did you not tell him not to change the weather over your island? Everyone who needs to know heard that story.”

I had been sitting on the edge of my chair. I sat back, reassured to some measure, but with the understanding that I’d have to do something about the other dryads. What, I did not know.

Athena continued the listing. “Apollo shares a responsibility with his sister, Artemis, as Protector of Children. He is already firmly on your side. He and Artemis are, however, another example of our dysfunctional family. I will contact Artemis for you. It is something he cannot do.”

I raised an eyebrow, hoping that Athena would expand that thought, but all she said was, “It’s probably something about a boyfriend or a girlfriend. I’m never certain which or whose.”

“Not Ginkgo, I hope?”

“No, no. It’s not Ginkgo,” she assured me. “This goes back several years, but not nearly as far back as Apollo and Ginkgo’s childhood.”

“What about Hestia,” I suggested. “She seemed happy to create and furnish the addition to this house, although we spoke only briefly, and I did not ask her . . . ”

Athena chuckled. “Hestia has her own reasons for supporting you, not the least of which is her maternal instinct. Furthermore, in one of her Attributes she is goddess of Chastity, and she is very conservative. She frowns on Zeus’ proclivities.”

I had a sinking feeling. “And mine?”

Again, Athena chuckled. I was glad that she found me amusing, but hoped that she would take me seriously.

“Lucas? Have you ever taken the form of a bull or a swan to rape someone? Have you ever disguised yourself as something you were not in order to seduce someone? Have you ever been less than honest about what you wanted from one of the boys? Have you ever given one of the boys anything more or less than exactly what he desired? Have you ever cast one aside?”

She didn’t give me a chance to answer, but said, “By proclivities I did not mean Zeus’ choice of partners—or your choice—and neither does Hestia. I meant how his partners are treated, and the fact that he has repeatedly broken his marriage vows.

“Chastity in Hestia’s lexicon does not mean virginity or abstinence. It means, well, pretty much the opposite of Zeus’ behavior.”

I was considerably relieved, although I was blushing furiously. I was still unaccustomed to the seemingly casual way these gods spoke of things that in my limited memories were unspeakable.

“In response to Zeus’ proclivities, Hera has left this plane of existence. She’s one of the few whose motives I endorse whole-heartedly!” Athena then continued her listing of the gods.

“Aphrodite is firmly on your side, knowing that you will support her goals. Mars has his own reasons for supporting you, which I am sure he will share with you if he’s not done so, already. He is likely to be your staunchest ally. You know, don’t you, that his desire and mission are not to create or expand warfare?”

“Yes. He explained that he favored war only to achieve peace or a greater good. He also quoted Sun Tzu to me. If he’s a student of Sun Tzu, he certainly knows that war is seldom the first or only option.”

“You know, of course, that Death is also firmly on your side, although no one would attempt to understand his motivation. However, he is quite intractable once he has decided on something.”

“Demeter mentioned Dike, whose role as goddess of Justice seems a good fit with my goals,” I said.

“She is a likely candidate, and I will approach her. She is, however, quite busy in this reality; I don’t know what we might expect from her.”

“She must be aware of what the industrial revolution brought to England—child labor, abject poverty, and worse—in my reality. Perhaps she would accept an offer of my help, there.”

“An excellent idea,” Athena said. “It’s not for nothing that her symbol is a set of scales, and it’s more than balancing justice with mercy.”

At that moment, a breeze rustled the oaks; perhaps the dryads did it, themselves. Athena felt the setting sun on her face, looked up, and stood.

“We will continue this later. I have to get back to Philadelphia, and you know I don’t like to time-slip.”

I stood, thanked her for her advice. She vanished

Larch and Littlest Ginkgo were sitting under an oak. They seemed to be playing some sort of game, for they spoke in turn, and giggled often. When Athena vanished, Larch stepped onto the patio to give me a hug.

“What was that for? Not that I don’t appreciate it,” I said.

“All the boys were listening, of course,” Larch said. “And we heard your resolve for our brothers on the island to join with us. We’re all so happy! And we wanted you to know it.”

I accepted, and returned, a second hug and a kiss from Larch. just as Apollo appeared.

“Lucas!” he said. His voice was brilliant and happy. “Poseidon has been won to our side!”

He looked at Larch and me. “Um, maybe this isn’t the best time . . .”

“No, I mean yes, I mean you’re always welcome,” I said. I was thinking, Poseidon, brother of Zeus. Although I’m not sure what the god of the sea . . .

“It’s more of a moral victory at this point,” Apollo said, as if he knew my thought. “However, when you decide to take on the oceanic transport of drugs, it could be important. In fact, it was when I described the drug trade on the oceans of your reality that he became interested. I think I may have created an expectation that must be met, an obligation—”

“That is very likely,” I said. “However, you are correct, and I agree with your reasoning. After my discussions with Hermes and Athena, I am more resolved than ever.”

The sun was setting; I invited Apollo to supper, knowing that Littlest Ginkgo would certainly inform his eldest brother, Apollo’s boyfriend in earlier times. I was not wrong, and I think everyone—Larch and I especially—felt their kiss when Ginkgo arrived.

After supper, Apollo and I discussed how we might go about raiding a drug factory in my reality.

“There is one major sticking point,” I said. “We will likely encounter a number of children who have been slaves to the drug lords. They will have been exposed to drugs, chemicals, and—probably—sexual slavery, including diseases.” Hepatitis, gonorrhea, syphilis, and HIV/AIDS flashed through my mind.

“How might we deal with that?” I asked.

“We will impose on my ne’er-do-well son!” Apollo said. “His successors, rather.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My son, Asclepius. Decided he wanted to be the god of healing. Centuries ago. I agreed, and gave him the Attributes and Authorities that went along with that.

“He soon tired of it, though, especially when I insisted he learn from the ground up. He didn’t think a god should have to empty bed pans.” Apollo laughed at that memory.

“Is he—?”

Apollo knew what I could not ask: had Asclepius left this reality?

“Oh no, he’s still here. Lives in London and thinks he’s an actor. He’ll grow up, someday. I’ve taken back the powers, and shared them with several demi-gods. They are in charge of temples throughout this reality. Well, around the Mediterranean, anyway. The temples are hospitals. We’ll take the sick or injured there.”

The dryads—Larch and two Ginkgos—were sitting under an oak tree, about twenty yards from the table where Apollo and I sat. They seem to have resumed their earlier game.

“Apollo,” I said. “I know that eldest Ginkgo would like to spend the night with you. I don’t know how you feel, but I suspect you would not reject him. There are guest rooms, here; or, if you invited him, I would be happy for him to accompany you to your home.” I was breathing a little heavily when I finished, and sat back in my chair.

“Lucas, you are right. I feel Ginkgo, and I sense that despite what you said, before, he’s a bit afraid to ask you. And he should not be far from his tree.”

“Let me tease him a bit,” I said, and then called the boy from his play.

“Ginkgo, I have a problem. Apollo is going to be an overnight guest, but the weather is forecast to be cool. He will need someone to warm his bed. I don’t suppose—”

I could not say more. Ginkgo was several thoughts ahead of me. His smile brought dimples to his cheeks. Apollo didn’t help by laughing at Ginkgo’s reaction, before reaching for the boy and pulling him close.

“There is one condition, though,” I said. “Ginkgo, you must speak to the other boys and tell them, most firmly, that if they have boyfriends or girlfriends among the gods, they must tell me so that I can make similar offers to them.”

How could I take Larch to my bed and invite Apollo to take Ginkgo to his, when we knew that at the same moment there were children suffering? That question was harder to answer than one I had posed to Demeter: why me? It was harder to answer than one I’d discussed with Apollo: what was the source of our powers? It was harder to answer than Pav’l’s question, although I neither knew who Pav’l was nor what his question would be. I did, however look into my future to see an earnest young man, standing over two sleeping boys, and asking: why me? why the boys? why not thousands of others. And I knew that was going to be a hard question.

As to how could Larch and I enjoy one another while others were suffering? I think, in part, it was because the love we shared was both a reminder and an affirmation of what we were working for. It was what kept us sane in a world gone mad.