Prometheus Wakens - 17. Chapter 17: Eris, God of Discord

Chapter 17: Eris, God of Discord

“Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?”
—Henry II of England, Earth Analogue III, and others

I knew that the boys were being trained by the Heroes Battalion. It took a long time for me to accept that: I was still trying to understand my place in this reality. The only constant, the only thing I was sure of, was that I had to protect the dryads.

I was so fixated on these thoughts that I missed the attack on my boys. I had been warned; still, I was not prepared.

We were working in one of the coffee groves; it was mid-afternoon. The dryad-of-the day was a youngish Hawthorne who had accepted the nickname, “Harry.” He and I had just unloaded baskets of beans onto what I thought of as the “threshing floor” when we heard a scream.

We rushed to the door, but the scream had died. The dryads were running . . . we followed. A ring of boys had surrounded something. The boys opened a path for me.

Chinkapin lay on the ground. His face was a rictus of pain: eyes wide open, but seeing nothing; lips drawn back, but silent. His usually rosy cheeks were pale, almost white. I looked for him, but found nothing. He was dead. Before I completely could digest what I saw, Ginkgo the elder popped in beside me.

“His tree! Someone cut down his tree!” I grabbed Ginkgo before he collapsed, and looked around for Chestnut—the Chestnuts—Chinkapin’s brothers. They were already being held by other dryads.

“Ginkgo, show me,” I said. “Take me there.”

The tree lay on its side. It had been severed about two feet from the base by multiple blows of an ax. Wood chips surrounded the stump.

“Who? And how?” I asked. “This required many blows. How could no one have known?”

Ginkgo had no answer, but simply shook his head. We popped back to Chinkapin’s body.

“Ginkgo? Ask Hazel to ask Death to visit us at his earliest convenience. And someone tell Demeter, please.”

The boy nodded and a few tears flew from his eyes. He was resolute, however, and wiped his eyes. Hazel and then George appeared next to us.

“Lucas? What has happened?” George asked. The question was certainly rhetorical.

George changed, somehow. He looked no different, but I knew it was Death and not George who knelt beside Chinkapin’s body and touched him gently. I saw—we all saw—a bright flare of light move from Chinkapin to Death; then, Death disappeared.

He returned in a moment. In that moment we all understood what he had done: he had taken Chinkapin’s soul. He had told me that these boys had souls, but to see it was a welcome confirmation.

“Please? Where is he?” the eldest Chestnut asked.

“He is in his good place,” Death replied. “Do not ask more; that is all I may say.”

At that moment, Demeter appeared. The eldest Chestnut rushed to her to receive a hug. The boy pressed his head to her breast. She looked at me over his head. What she said passed between only us—and Death.

“What happened?”

“Someone, somehow, cut down Chinkapin’s tree,” I said. “That’s all we know at the moment.”

Demeter nodded, and then whispered something to Chestnut. I felt something pass from Chestnut to the other dryads, something that felt to me like a warm, soft blanket. Comfort, I thought.

“Each feels it in his own way,” Demeter said to me. “For most of the boys, it would seem a spring shower or a summer breeze. It will calm them for a while, but you must tell them what to do now.”

“Thank you,” I said to her. Then, I asked Ginkgo to tell all the others what I would say.

“Boys? We all need to pause and reflect—to grieve, but also to determine how this happened, how to make sure it will never happen again. For the moment, however, pausing, reflecting, and grieving are foremost. You will return to your trees, your groves, or to places where you are comfortable. You will refresh yourselves. You will comfort one another. You will sleep. I will summon you tomorrow.”

I looked at an oak. “Oak? You and three of your brothers of a like size will prepare a bier, on which you will place Chinkapin’s body. You four and his brothers will remain with his body tonight, turn and turn about. I will summon you tomorrow.

“Ginkgo? Harry? Please come with me. George? Lady Demeter? Would you join us?”

“I will remain in the groves with the boys, if I may,” Demeter said. “I will provide protection and comfort through the night.”

“Yes, yes, thank you,” I said.

Rather than translocating, we walked to the house. Harry prepared a simple supper while Ginkgo, Death, and I talked.

“It must have taken several minutes to destroy Chinkapin’s tree,” I said. “Would he not have felt that?”

“Yes,” Ginkgo said. His lips were tight, and I sensed some horror about which he did not want to speak.

“You must tell me what troubles you,” I said.

“Many years ago, there was a war between Hebe and another god. Hebe’s enemy brought soldiers onto the island. We dryads were armed and armored—we were also trained.”

He grimaced with remembered pain. “We were not able to prevent the soldiers from reaching the groves nearest the sea. They brought Greek fire, and set alight a grove of oaks.”

He covered his face. “Please, Lucas, do not make me say more!”

I stretched out my hand to cover his. “Only what I must.

“Yes or no: Chinkapin would have felt the blows of the ax?”

“Yes.”

“He did not give any indication he felt them until he died, yes or no.”

“Yes, I mean no, I mean, he didn’t seem to feel them.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I will be more precise.”

“Do you have any idea how this might be, yes or no?”

“No, Lucas.”

George had listened, and apparently had been thinking.

“I may know,” he said. “You know I can slip in time?”

I nodded. He had taught us how to do that in order to keep “solar” time in Greece and Lazaro Cardenas “in synch.”

“Did you notice that I always slipped backwards?”

“I never thought of it,” I said. “But—”

“There is a reason for that,” George said. “It creates fewer anachronisms, conflicts, and paradoxes. Still, I—and you as well as others—can slip forward in time. I believe that is what happened, here.”

My puzzlement must have been obvious, for George laughed.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Ginkgo answered for us both. “No, please do not be sorry. We will need laughter, and we know that Gelos, god of Laughter, is not here.”

Death began his explanation. “Someone—a god or spirit, less probably a demi-god—slipped forward in time to this afternoon. He would have been alone in that instant of reality. His presence in the future created a pocket in time. He needed only a few minutes, but could have taken all the time he needed, although it is likely that he worked quickly.

“When the rest of reality reached that pocket in time, it unraveled instantly. Chinkapin would have felt . . . ”

George saw the horror on our faces, and did not complete that sentence.

“By this time,” he concluded, “the person was far and away.”

“Is there any way of determining who he was?” I asked.

Death took a long drink from the cup that Harry had filled.

“Yes. But it is not something for you to do. Please, wait.”

He put his cup on the table, stood, and disappeared. In only a few seconds, he was back. He looked, however, haggard. His hair was mussed; his clothes smelled of smoke; his sunglasses were broken in half, and dangled from his pocket.

“Another reason not to mess with time,” he said. He grabbed the cup and drained it.

“Eris,” he said. “God of Discord. I do not know if he acted on his own or on orders from Zeus. On the other hand, I don’t think he would have done this unless he was sure that Zeus would approve.”

The next morning, I summoned the Oaks who bore Chinkapin’s body, as well as the other dryads.

“Chestnut, the eldest of his brothers, will accompany us. Ginkgo, the eldest of the dryads, as well. The four Oaks will carry Chinkapin’s body. The rest of you will please remain. We will show you, we will tell you, all that transpires. Is that satisfactory?”

The dryads looked from one to the other, mumbled, and whispered. Finally, it was Maple—the first dryad I’d met—who spoke.

“Lucas, whatever you ask of us will always be satisfactory. But why do you ask?”

“I ask because this circumstance is new, it is traumatic to me as it is to you, it is something that affects you and me mightily.”

The dryads looked from one another, but in silence. “We understand,” Maple said. “And yes, it is most satisfactory, Lucas.”

It was my plan to translocate Chinkapin’s funeral party into the middle of Zeus’ audience chamber and to confront him. I had overlooked the fact that I’d never been there, before. I was saved when Athena popped beside me.

“Lucas?” Her voice was soft and I knew that only I heard her.

“Lucas, this is not the time nor the reason for you to face Zeus in challenge.”

I knew better than to be angry with Athena, nevertheless, I was angry. I turned, but before I could say anything, her hand was on my cheek. My anger retreated to a point somewhere in my chest.

“Do you want revenge or justice?” Athena asked.

I must have looked dumbstruck, for Athena gestured, and two women appeared. “Lucas, know you Dike, goddess of Justice. Our sister is Tisiphone, goddess of Revenge.”

I looked into Tisiphone’s eyes, but could not hold her gaze. I looked away.

“Goddess,” I said to her. “I know that there is a time and place for revenge, but this is not it. Thank you, but not today.” She nodded, and disappeared.

“I seek only justice,” I said, “but I do not know for what to ask. Lady Dike, can you . . . ?”

This goddess, who I knew as Justice, wore a black robe. Her long, white, tightly curled hair fell nearly to her shoulders in the style of the wigs worn by British judges and others in the legal profession; however, hers was not a wig. Her age could have been anything from twenty to seventy. I knew that she was thousands of years old.

“I’m sorry, Lucas,” she said. “I cannot suggest, but only judge. If I were to suggest, it could easily sway my opinion, and that would be wrong.”

“I understand, and thank you for that understanding,” I said.

“This is a task, I believe, for Demeter to lead,” Athena said. “Just as Zeus sent her as an emissary, so you must send her as your emissary.”

“But if Zeus is angered—” I began.

“She told you that Zeus had sent her because, having the power of the Earth itself—the power of Gaia—she might be able to stand up to you. She is strong enough to stand up to Zeus.”

I had to think only for a moment before asking Athena to ask Demeter to visit. Apparently, Demeter had been forewarned; she appeared instantly, and took charge. Her thoughts flew to the dryads. The four Oaks raised to shoulder level the bier on which the body of Chinkapin lay. The eldest Chestnut and Ginkgo, the eldest dryad, stood on either side of the bier. Demeter took her place in the front, Athena and Dike stood behind the bier, and they all vanished.

* * * * *

Zeus was startled and angry. Storm clouds gathered around his shoulders, the room darkened, and the lightning bolt sizzled. Then he realized what was before him.

He stood. “Demeter? What does this mean?” His voice wasn’t gentle, but the room got no darker, and the lightning bolt quieted a bit.

Demeter made a courtly nod to Zeus, but only briefly, and then looked Zeus in the eye. “This is the body of one of my boys who was cruelly murdered by Eris. I believe he is one of yours?”

“One of your boys? You gave them to Lucas, did you not? Why is he not here?”

“I could no more give away my boys than you could give away your own heart or lungs. They are and always will be a part of me.” She did not answer the why is Lucas not here question, and Zeus did not press the issue.

“Why do you bring him here?”

“So that you would know what Eris had done, so that you would accept my demand that he be punished.”

“You demand?”

“I demand justice, Zeus!”

“She is right,” Dike said.

“She is right,” Athena said.

Zeus scowled. He had to be aware that three of the most powerful goddesses—including two older and perhaps each more powerful than he—were arrayed before him. The storm clouds remained; the lightning bolt continued to sizzle.

“What justice would you have? An eye for an eye? Would you have me destroy Eris and remove discord from the Earth?”

“Yes, and no,” Demeter said. “There is a need for discord, for argument, for disagreement. However, Eris has taken that too far in fomenting ill-will between the most powerful of us.”

Zeus continued to scowl. He understood that “between the most powerful” meant between Lucas and himself.

“The powers of Eris must be given to someone who will use them more wisely; Eris must be sent to Pluto after a long drink from Lethe. After some time, he will be reborn—as a dryad.” Demeter folded her arms across her breast. “Well?”

“Who shall inherit the powers of Eris?” Zeus asked.

“That, My Lord, is under your purview,” Demeter said. “As is the removal of Eris’ memories and his next incarnation. It should not be on Lucas’ island, however.”

Zeus nodded. Demeter had not asked all she could have. The justice for which she asked was balanced. “So it will be.”

At a thought from Demeter, Zeus was alone in his throne room. The others, including Athena and Dike, were on my patio.

The boys mobbed Ginkgo and Chestnut, who told them what had been done.

Minutes later, when the chattering died down, Death spoke. “The justice Demeter demanded has been done. Eris is now a child, his mind a clean slate, in Pluto’s realm. The only ones who know the identity of this child are Zeus, Pluto, and I. The new Eris is also a child, born of parents in Athens, where he will be reared and taught by the philosophers whose teachings, while anathema to Zeus, will guide him to find and create balance with his powers.”

“Lucas?” Ginkgo said. “The pyre is ready for Chinkapin’s body. May we?”

I nodded, and followed the bier, still carried by the four Oaks, and accompanied by Demeter, Death, Dike, and Athena.

Mars, Hermes, and Hestia were waiting, as was Apollo. Mars took my left hand. Ginkgo held fast to my right.

The Oaks lifted Chinkapin onto a huge construction of logs and branches.

“The wood?” I asked Ginkgo.

“His tree, as well as a limb from each of our trees,” Ginkgo said.

Apollo gestured and a sunbeam struck the bier, illuminating Chinkpin and then starting the funeral pyre.

This boy, one of hundreds of Dryads, was given a funeral attended by eight gods and the sole titan in this reality. His murderer was punished by Zeus with the help of Pluto and under the watchful eye of Death. I hope this is a good omen, a sign that we will be able to cooperate and work in amity. I hope.

The pyre had burned to ash, which was carried away by the wind. The dryads returned to their trees or groves or grassy swales where they hugged, cuddled, and comforted one another. The gods had departed. I walked back to the house accompanied only by Maple. I had asked the dryad-of-the day, an Oak, to join his brothers, and to come again, tomorrow. I needed a private talk with Maple.

“Ginkgo said that the dryads had long ago been armed, armored, and trained,” I said. “Yet none of you told me this when I refused at first to allow you to become soldiers. Was it the pain of your memories?”

Maple nodded. “That, and we felt your fear for us. That was not the time for this discussion, but perhaps now, it is.”

“Yes,” I said. “The attack by Eris will likely not be repeated, especially since every god, demi-god, and semi-god will certainly hear the story from Hermes. On the other hand, we are about to make some powerful enemies in another reality. Scientists in that reality are beginning to understand the existence, but not the nature, of the power of the gods. They call it dark energy. If they ever do understand it, they will make it possible for people—humans—to move between realities. We must be prepared to defend the groves, perhaps our entire world.

“The dryads will continue their training as soldiers. Not just those on the estate, but all those on the island. Tonight, however, I hope you will stay with me, and that we might cuddle and comfort one another.”