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The Tarn of Eternity
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(C) 1995 Frank Tymon

THE TARN OF ETERNITY

(Previous title, "When the Water Lilies Bloom")

by Frank Tymon

The Garden of Persephone

Dry and sere it lies. Where once beauty bloomed, weeds and briars grow, as grow untrimmed bushes once flowering plants.

They flower not.

Paths meander through the drear landscape. In earlier time lovingly attended, now lie they under gray dust and blowing brown leaves. All paths, in good time, led to the garden gate, its posterns now long whitened by blowing wind and sand.

Dry ditches, ground cracked, dust and sand stretch from the broken gate. The gate, the fence - fallen, twisted, even as the garden.

By day the sun burns harshly the once green grass. By night the chill of winter coats each plant with killing frost. Gusting winds tear and rip where once soft zephyrs blew.

In bygone days bloomed here red roses, and pink carnations. The lilacs' fragrance, the soft beauty of the violets, the brilliant yellow of the sunflower graced long ago this garden.

The bees hummed contentedly, and butterflies floated from flower to flower. Gentle rains caressed the brilliant blossoms, the verdant leaves. Dewdrops glistened on green leaf at morningtide.

Of evening, sang the nightingales. By day, birdsong and happy bird chatter filled the air. In vibrant colors warblers and finches courted here, and yellow canaries darted from tree to tree. Flying jewels, the hummingbirds, decorated the flower gardens.

Always blue skies above, and soft caress of the warm sun. At times, white clouds drifted softly, released the gentle rain. The flowers opened wide, washed their bright faces in the crystal drops. The falling moisture fed the myriad streams, and cooled the noontime air.

Rivulets flowed with delicate tinkling sound amidst the flowers. In the clear waters darted fish of brilliant hue, red and gold. Here grew the waterflowers along the bank, and watercress.

A pond there was, cool water where swam the ducks and wild geese. From time to time awkward goslings there swam, and ofttimes the graceful swan.

Growing there, also, the pure white beauty of the waterlilies. Their beauty hid a message of foreboding. A message, by the Gods' grace, that Persephone could not read.

Here dwelt peace and tranquillity, rest from toil, relief from care.

Here walked, with gentle grace of fawn, Persephone in happier days. The beauty of the flowers faded in comparison to her beauty. Bright eyed, smooth skinned, lips the color and softness of the rose petals she added beauty to the already beautiful. The happy chatter of the birds was lost in the happy laughter of this child. Here she tended her flowers with loving care, dreamed the dreams of youth - and blissfully knew nought of the trials to come.

Bird music filled the air, each performer more talented than the other. Nature painted the garden with hues beyond man's ken. Persephone danced in joy beneath the warm sun, sang with the birds.

Ceres watched with happy smile, her daughter.

Yet felt the chill of premonition.

Such was the Garden of Persephone.

And that, long since.

The Garden of Pluto

Darkness!

Not the gentle poetic darkness of a summer evening, softly hiding the courting rites of youth, bringing peace and rest to a tired world. Nor the friendly shadow one finds in the depth of quiet forest, sheltered from the noonday sun.

The darkness of Hades has nought in common with these.

Clasp your hands before your eyes, pressing close against your lids. Open wide your eyes and try to see. Feel the absolute darkness pressing in upon you!

This the darkness of Hades. A darkness that presses on your very eyes. And more! A darkness that envelopes mind and soul! An unending and solid darkness, not of this world.

This is the darkness of Hades! This is the darkness of the damned!

In Pluto's garden, earth's flowers do not grow. Yet grow there plants.

Strange, distorted semblances of earthly growth, they twist and writhe. They search for a non-existent sun, thirst for never falling water. The roses thorns have, yet have they not the blossoms.

Yet is there beauty.

The mystic asphodel here grows. With blossoms seen, now unseen, hues rainbow inspired. Waxlike and translucent they grow in abundance in this, the abode of the dead. They bloom in the deep night of Hades, their aroma rousing hopeless hope, and forlorn memories. The fragrance clashes with the evil ambiance of eternal misery. Trampled 'neath the hooves of Pluto's chargers, yet they ever rise again. Their strange beauty carpets the pastures of Hades. Their gentle perfume permeates the fields and streams of hell.

In Persephone's garden do gentle streams trickle.

Not so in Hades.

Here flows the Styx, the River of Hate, nine times round the infernal region, dark waters flooded with ancient mysteries. The Acheron, the Mother of Sorrows, carrying in its stream the woes of all mankind, merges with the darker waters of the Cocytus, land of the doomed wanderer. Here even the waves and ripples cry out, and none but Charon dare the fearsome tide.

Phlegethon flows here. Cooling water, water to assuage one's thirst, to cool one's brow?

No!

Fire! Liquid fire! With consistency of molten lava the glowing red stream burns all within its path.

And here also Lethe. The one good gift in all of Hades. A draught from the stream cleanses the mind of all remembrances. The evil acts, regretted, are no more. The rare acts of kindness, bright gems in memory, fade. What was, what might have been, washed away by this one blessed draught. Even, 'tis said, gentle Lethean dews bring blessed forgetfulness, release from love lost, sin committed.

The mighty rivers flow, and in the depth of Hades merge into a thunderous stream. Dense dark fog rises from that surface, more black than gray, then fades to rise again. Here, midst meadows of asphodels, the monstrous stream surges and pounds in a huge moat, guardian to the great castle.

A moat deep and broad, home of fabled creatures, forbidding and dark. From its surface exudes pestilential odors, and a drop of malignant liquid from its depths, extracted from time to time, spreads all repugnant ills upon the world. The misery of cholera, the evil plague, unnamed and unknown diseases are its behest to mankind.

That castle, the centerpiece of the Garden of Pluto, rises high and majestic upon the far shore beyond the turbulent moat. Its design, a strange and fascinating beauty, both attracts and repels. Turrets rise - and yet they waver in one's vision, fade, and rise again. From windows shine light of fire within, replaced at times by grotesque shadows on the panes.

The walls of purest white as though purity dwelt therein. A drawbridge, extending well above the angry waters below. Huge chains, cold and foreboding, wait patiently to lift its massive weight. A door, broad and tall, dark, blocks rather than welcomes the visitor. Above that door gargoyles of weird design look down. Living, or hewn from stone, they cast a spell of evil on all who pass this portal.

Within the guests of Pluto enjoy the viands from the far reaches of earth. Wines to challenge even the nectar of Olympus. Their bouquet ethereal and light, they entice and capture. Food both delicate and strong. Strong meaty tastes, and gentle taste of dainty herbs. Spices, strange and delicate fruits. Music and song and dance, with cymbals, and stringed instruments, and drums. With singers whose beauty rivals the beauty of their song. And dancers nimble as wild goat, smooth and gracious as swan. All these and more - for Pluto has on call the most brilliant of entertainers.

Poets read their masterpieces, novelists theirs. Artists display their paintings, statues. Musicians play with infinite skill. Nothing is lacking, for all are on call in this kingdom. Every art is represented here. Brilliance is not rare. Nor is beauty.

Conversation is gay and never ending. Humor of all sorts is heard. Skits are performed to thunderous applause. Joy and good cheer abound. Laughter fills the halls again and again.

The dances are spirited, with happy couples moving in perfect timing with the music of world famous bands.

Pluto looks on the festivities, notes when interest fades, introduces new diversions, keeps the activity ever moving, ever exciting.

Yet with his best efforts, at times, the sound of revelry fades. From out the walls, from beyond the moat, the moans and lamentations, screams of never-ending pain, weeping. Misery lies without. And all the charades within the castle walls cannot disguise that this is, indeed, the abode of the damned. Always, like a blanket of gloom, reality envelopes that great castle.

And finally, in the early morning hours, the guests are spirited back to their earthly abodes. The musicians put away their instruments, the entertainers retreat to their dressing rooms, the great hall is cleaned, and all who have catered the festivities return once more to their fated punishment.

Only Pluto remains, seated, dour and melancholy, on the great throne.

No bright and lilting music, no gay conversation, no happy laughter masks the lamentations from without.

The party is over!

This is the Garden of Pluto.

The Garden of Persephone, unattended, lies in waste.

The Garden of Pluto endures, tended by slaves who dream of emancipation - and labor eternally.

The Garden of Pluto endures - today, tomorrow, forever!

1. Beginning

"Demo, Listen!" Petulant anger was in her voice.

"He's chasing the chickens again! You really must do something about that dog. Hurry, now, before he catches one." His mother's usually calm mien had disappeared. She had raised a fine flock of chickens and was proud of every one. To her chagrin, Rough had acquired a taste for chickens.

"Rough, leave them be! Come here!"

The dog at first wagged its tail, then let it droop between its legs as it noted the tone of voice. Slowly it approached, its head hung low, expectant of punishment.

"Rough, I am the greatest hunter in the village. No, I am the greatest hunter in the whole of Greece. None but I can draw this bow. None but I can hit the mark, time after time. None can shoot an arrow for such a distance!"

His mother smiled. Only 17, yet with the assurance of youth, he boasted of his skill. Well might he do so. For years his bow and arrows had fed them well. Today he would foray in search of deer.

"And you! All you can hunt is chickens! Well, you are growing. Soon I'll take you with me on the hunt. And we'll hunt deer, and bear, and . . . Well, anyway, not chickens. You hear me, pup?" Demo rubbed its head with both hands, patted the animal.

Rough licked his palm, followed him into the house, tail wagging.

"Lucky for you, dog, that you didn't catch that rooster. He'd of flogged you good with his beak and spurs. Now, Demo, you watch him. I wont have my chickens killed by the likes of that mutt." Demo's mother growled in fake anger while surreptitiously feeding Rough some scraps.

A beautiful dog, with long light brown fur covering his body, except for a breast of pure white, his looks belied his name. A handsome head, intelligent eyes, and an attitude of careful interest placated his master and mistress.

Rough lay down quietly, gazing from one to the other.

"Yes, you are a skilled hunter. I will make ready to cook venison, for you never return empty-handed. You wont return empty handed, right?" She smiled.

She stood, stepped to his side, and hugged him for a moment. Her face mirrored pride as she felt his strong arms around her.

He had been a sickly child. But the Gods had been kind. With the help of a skilled nursemaid, with good food and work and play, he had recovered. Now a young man, tall and stalwart, tanned by the sun he displayed none of the weaknesses of yore. She was pleased.

His brown eyes, dark hair, and handsome visage were no less pleasant to her. Soon he would be looking for a mate from the village maidens. In her mind she had already made a selection. She glanced at him, smiled.

Her thoughts pursued for a moment that theme. I must invite Theresa to dine with us. Yes, they would make a handsome pair.

His face reddened at her compliment, and he laughed in pleasure.

"You shall not be disappointed, Mother."

"No, nor would I ever be. Ah, were your Father Celeus still living. How proud he would be!"

She filled his pouch with provender for the hunt. Cheese, and fruit, and warm bread she had baked that day. The smell of the warm bread and the sweet spread that coated it, the oranges, made all look eagerly to the meal ahead.

As she tended his meal, frying venison, he took more warm bread from the table, shared it with Rough, and grinned as his mother turned to catch them.

"Demophoon! Shame! Without even asking! Do you like it? Is it good?"

"Mother, your bread is better than another's cake. Isn't it Rough?"

Rough barked with mention of his name.

Watching him with both amusement and pride as he stalked into the bordering forest, his mother Metaneira noted the approaching storm cloud. She frowned.

With all his strength and courage he was still but a boy. Hopefully he will find a dry cave to shelter in. The rains will be heavy, the winds strong.

Even in the best of weather she felt concern when he went on his sojourns. Too many hunters had gone out, not to return. The Gods of the Forest did not take kindly to wanderers. And they protected their own.

A chill ran along her back, and she shivered.

"Rough, I shall be glad when you can go with him. He may well need your aid one day."

She did not realize how prophetic were her words.

Leaving their home he strode rapidly through the open forest of oak trees. Soon the land began to rise. He climbed the high mountains, their peaks glistening in the sun. The oak trees gradually thinned, and pines began to take their place. And at the higher reaches even the pines gave way to scrubbrush and weeds. Sunlight was beginning to disappear as he climbed, and he noted the dark thunderclouds, forming in the north. There shall be weather by nightfall, he thought.

"The deer will sense it. They will be searching for shelter. And I know the grove where they will congregate, waiting for the storm to pass." He voiced the words even as they came to mind.

It was a habit formed of living a lonely life. Since he had none to talk to on his frequent excursions, he talked softly to himself.

At times he argued with himself - now supporting a position; now, opposing it. Such mental contests amused him, sharpened his wits, or so he led himself to believe.

"They will drift down to the little valley on yonder hillside. I can be there by set of sun, or perhaps travel under moonlight, and our larder will be well-stocked tomorrow."

Today he didn't argue with himself. It was a good plan. He began the climb to the mountain valley.

Few paths led into the mountains. Torturous and narrow they quickly petered out into animal trails or ended abruptly without cause. Man left the mountains to Gods of the forest. Only the bravest hunters dared their heights.

It did not concern him. This was his world, and he climbed steadily, finding passage where others might turn back.

The lower reaches of the foothills were rolling and the climb was gradual. Here grew giant trees, broadleafed under the summer sun, bare in the cold of winter. Nevertheless, here game was rare, as man dwelled nigh.

As he passed the foothills the terrain became increasingly rougher. From time to time a vertical wall of stone blocked his way, and he detoured on twisting paths among boulders as tall as himself. Sometimes, when no path existed for his progress, he carefully and slowly climbed the rugged precipice.

"Ah, " he smiled, "would I could fly." He gazed upward, noted dangerous routes, continued his climb. Panting from his efforts he progressed ever upward, soon reaching levels where only the evergreens grew. And as he went upward still, even these grew more rarely, and more diminutive in form. A few, twisted and gnarled, hung tenaciously to the near barren earth, their forms bowed in submission to the power of the wind.

As he leaped from boulder to boulder one twisted beneath his foot. The motion of the stone threw him to the side of the trail, to the outer edge of the pathway. Loose dirt and gravels rattled downward, bounced from jutting ledges, disappearing into the fog that hid the rock-strewn surface at the cliff's base.

With the agility of youth he caught his balance, danced to a more solid footing. For a moment he sat down, grinned at the incident as he gazed over the edge of the precipice that might have welcomed him. He picked up a pebble, tossed it over the rim, watched and listened as it careened downward from ledge to ledge. He shook his head.

"Could have been me."

He grinned, tossed another pebble. It rattled down the surfaced, bounced outward.

"No, no way, not me."

He leaned back for a moment, relaxed in the warming rays of the sun, filtered at times by the gathering clouds.

He rubbed his ankle, winced at the pain. "Well, not broken. I think I'll cut a staff. Too bad. May slow me."

Even as he fashioned the staff his thoughts wandered. He thought the deep, deep thoughts of youth. The concerns for tomorrow. His search for a goal beyond the hunting and fishing of his daily life. His companions had gone diverse ways. Some were now merchants, others farmers, a few followed the sea. Some very few had disappeared into the wilds, destined to join outlaw bands. Perhaps he should become, as his Father, a farmer.

To plow the fields, plant, and watch the harvest grow. Marry and raise a family.

"Mother would like that. She would favor Theresa. And I do like her. "

He put his weight on the staff, walked back and forth. The ankle was swollen, ached, but he would manage.

His thoughts once more returned to the future. Married, a home of his own? It was not unappealing. Ah, but he could not forsake the mountains, give up the hunt! Anyway, there was time enough.

"There is tomorrow, and many tomorrows to come. Time enough."

High above a flock of wild geese flew, their path southward toward the sea. Clouds, winddriven, chased them across the darkening sky. In the distance lightning flashed between dark cumulus clouds. Quickly the rumble of thunder followed. He felt the cool breeze ruffling his hair, heard its whisper in his ear. Another burst of thunder. "Close, very close." he murmured. "Best I be moving on. Still, the wind is shifting. Perhaps it will pass by."

Above the whisper of windrustled leaves he heard a different noise, the soft pad of footsteps approaching. He frowned. By the sound he knew them to be human, and likely two people. But who would be traveling here at this time, with the impending storm?

Rising, Demo slipped silently into the bordering underbrush, moved to the meager shelter of a gnarled pine. He lay flat at its base, obscured by its trunk from any curious eyes that might gaze from the pathway.

Tales passed by word of mouth of robber bands, brigands who made their home in the forests. Furtive, deadly, they survived by waylaying unwary travelers. Perhaps exaggerated tales, but few honest men dared the high mountains!

He waited, eyes wide, controlling breathe and movement.

"I tell you, I saw the boy. He was young, scampered up the slopes like a mountain goat. And he carried a pouch. There could be gold. At least he should have food, and our larder is nearly empty."

The speaker and his comrade came into sight at the mouth of a dark ravine.

"Maybe a kid out on a hunt. Or maybe a trick. He could be here looking for us, with a band ready to follow. They were peaceful enough in the village when we took only a few coins and needed food. It's when you killed that tradesman all changed. Now they are afraid, and they are hunting desperately for us."

"True. Anyway, it was dispatch him or be taken prisoner. And I say we do the same with this one. I say we find this lad, open his gullet, take his pouch and toss him off yonder crag. This is our territory, and we want no trespassers!" He grinned, pleased at the thought.

The speaker was medium height, burly, and his face wore an angry scowl. His companion was taller. The shorter man was plainly the leader, and the tall one listened more than talked.

"He had a bow."

"We come up behind him, end it quickly. His bow is of no consequence."

"Say, look here. Something's happened here. Look at the stones, and the footprints."

They knelt where Demo had nearly taken a fall, examined the disturbed stones, and the surrounding ground.

"You're right, someone has been here. And it looks like they've decided to stay - down there." The tall man pointed over the brink of the escarpment toward the valley floor.

"The path ends here, and that's a fact. Well, if he went over at this point he's a goner. Too bad. Wonder what he had in that pouch?"

They glanced cautiously out over the edge of the precipice. The short man suddenly gave the tall one a half shove.

"You idiot! What if I'd slipped. I'll rap you on that thick skull if you do a fool thing like that again!"

The shorter one grinned. "Ah, it was just in fun. I'd not send you over."

"No, not unless you were for taking all the coins for yourself. Just keep your distance. Maybe you saw nothing at all, just wanted to get me out here where it'd be easy. No, Rooster, I trust you not at all."

The burly man pulled a dagger from his belt, still grinning. "You think too much, friend Peter. Nevertheless, I like it! It is an excellent idea!"

The blade darted out! Missed!

The Peter stepped back quickly, slipped, fell sideward, slid toward the cliff!

He grabbed the ankle of his companion. The Rooster kicked his face! Blood spurted from a broken nose, covered the sandled foot! Rooster pulled and jerked, trying to free his leg, but Peter held on doggedly.

"Damn you." Peter spat at his attacker. He grabbed a rock, rose to his knees, still grasping Rooster's ankle. His opponent pulled away, his eyes on the rock. Red blood flowed from Peter's torn skin and swollen nose. Peter lashed out desperately with the rock, crashing it against his companion's knee.

"Damn you, you've broken my leg!" Rooster cursed, slashed at Peter's rock hand as both slid toward the waiting cliff.

Dropping the rock Peter, too, drew a knife, slashed at Rooster's leg.

A boulder interrupted their slide. They both struggled to their feet.

"I'll see you in hell," Rooster thrust once more with his weapon.

The blade sliced through flesh, hit bone. Peter, wounded in the left side, gasped, staggered backward.

With a grimace his burly assailant suddenly rushed forward, slashing wildly.

Peter, leaping sideward, felt the stones rolling beneath his feet.

Ground gave way, and he screamed. At the same moment he grabbed the Rooster's arm, yanked him forward.

For a moment they staggered on the edge of the precipice.

It ended quickly!

Even as they fought the ground quivered beneath their feet! Then, with a low rumbling, the ledge on which they fought began to slide. White-faced they dropped their weapons, scrambled to reach a firm foothold.

It was to no avail!

Their frightened screams mingled with the growing roar of the falling boulders, lasted only seconds. Demo lay still, unable to rise. The screams had ceased. Now nothing else was heard save the rattle of falling stones. Dust rose from the cliffs edge, quickly blew away by a vagrant breeze.

Demo lay still. It had happened so quickly!

They had stood on the trail, talking, friends it seemed. And in moments they had turned on one another, fought! And now - they were gone.

Dead!

He shuddered.

"Ah, how my heart is beating!" He stood up. "Dead, and in but a few heartbeats of time!" He leaned on his staff, took a deep breath. "And that's what they would have done to me!"

He moved gingerly from his retreat.

He listened carefully.

"There are no more of them . . . ?" He glanced fearfully toward the ravine from which they had emerged.

There was only silence.

Slowly Demo edged up to the brink of the precipice, slowly peered downward.

Nothing could be seen save a few scattered boulders and a few dark patches lying ominously quiet.

He turned now downward, turned his back on the lonely desolation of the higher peaks. His thoughts remained with the scene that had just occurred.

Long he had heard of brigands and outlaws in the high mountains. In appearance these had looked no different than his neighbors in the valley. Yet they had destroyed each other in acts of senseless violence.

"May the Gods keep me! What strange mad creatures we humans are!" he whispered to himself. He paused, leaned against the bole of a tree. He felt nauseated, weak. They were not old, certainly younger than his Mother. And now, snuffed out, gone. He sat down, his back against the tree.

It could have just as easily been me. He took a deep breath. It was me they wanted. And they would have killed me just as quickly. A shiver ran through his body.

"Is life so very cheap?" He looked at his hands, held them in front of his face. "It can end so quickly. "

He had never thought about it. Never given death even a second thought. But now it would not leave his mind. A quick slash with a knife, a blow to the head, a fell from a crag. And it is over.

The only death he had ever know was that of his Father. And he had been quite young. It had been lonesome without him, sad. But he had not understood how very final it was. He had always thought, in a childish way, that his Father would return. Perhaps, strangely, even 'til now.

He hadn't thought of his Father for a long while. He knew not why, but tears welled from his eyes. For a few moments he sat beneath the tree, sobbing. Now I begin to understand. How strange, after all these years. And yet he had always missed his Father. But he had never cried before. He shook his head.

His Mother had cried. He remembered, at night, listening to her sobs. He had walked to her bed, hugged her, and she kissed him. But he had not really understood. Now he did. How very strange. How insensitive we are, unknowingly.

Biting his lip he rose, glanced back toward the escarpment. With an effort he brought his thoughts once more to the hunt. Did the deer ever think of death? Was the buck fearful, constantly watchful for the hunter? How very strange the world!

He began his descent, wide-eyed and watchful. There could be others around any tree, any boulder!

His concern was not warranted, for he met neither brigands nor wild beast. The mountain slopes were silent. As though the men had never existed, had never disturbed the peace and calm of the placid heights.

The valley he sought lay far below, tree encompassed. The downward path would be easier. Even now he walked mid patches of green grass and verdant bushes. Wild flowers bloomed, occasional berry bushes provided sustenance, and he ate, then stopped.

Here he was eating, enjoying the mountains bounty! And they! Lying dead, who had but moments before lived and breathed as did he. How short the distance between survival and abundance. He thought again of the scene he had watched.

The thought continued to shock him. His thoughts were more often on material things, on stalking the deer, catching the fish from the streams. He shook his head, driving away dismal thoughts as he lengthened his stride toward the distant valley.

"Well, I must be careful. Mother was right. There are brigands about. My, that ankle does ache. But I promised Mother venison." He leaned on the staff to lessen the pain.

The high mountains beckoned with promise of game. Above the domain of man the deer browsed. At times threatened by wolf or the mountain lions, they flourished still. To the hunter who dared these slopes a day without success was rare.

The storm clouds were nearing rapidly. The air preceding their arrival was beginning to cool. The odor of rain wafted ahead of the storm. And the odor of ozone, accompanying the frequent lightning flashes. Drifting downward from the peaks, dark thunderclouds forewarned of imminent danger. Long rumbles of thunder followed the frequent flash of lightning. And the wind blew continuously, a mournful sound at times steady, but more frequently gusting in sudden fury. The trees swayed wildly under the ministrations of Aeolus.

The deer, driven by the storm, drifted more rapidly toward the valley for shelter. They were small, at times indistinguishable because of the distance. Still could he make out, or so imagined, antlered bucks among them. The best of these would fall to his arrow. In spite of the weather he would indeed be there by sundown. It would be a good hunt. In his mind he could smell the cooking venison.

Ceres watched her world with happy smiles. Soft rains nurtured the crops, and harvests would be bountiful. Bees from flower to flower flew, humming as they went their industrious way. Grain grew tall, and every tree limb bent low, weighted with its fruit. Grapes were bounteous, green grapes and blue, others purple and red.

Ceres watched with jealous heart. Every seed to her was sacred. If but one failed to put forth its plant she fretted. If several slept lazily under the fertile soil her lips tightened in concern. A limb that bore no fruit, a plant that failed to flower - all drew from her the like concern.

Yet she was happy, for though man must toil to reap, his rewards were plentiful. The grapes, swollen purple, ready to burst with sweetness, soon would go to press. Bacchus would receive his devotees, frolicking, carousing, and celebrating joyful times. For the people were thankful for the wealth of food their land produced, and gave thanks through their celebrations.

Ceres watched her daughter playing amidst the flowers of their garden. Winsome and gay and ever active she darted among the plants, now chasing a colored butterfly; now dancing with a flirting breeze.

Soon her education must begin. The ways of the wind, of the storm gods, and of Earth herself must she learn. The many plants, their names and their fruit, were to be learned. When and where to sow, how deep the seed to plant. Harvesting, and storing the harvest, were skills she must have. Preparing the foods to satisfy the taste and body - so many wonderful and exciting secrets of the world!

But, for now, let her play. Her curiosity would teach her much. Observant, Persephone noted each subtle change in plant and in the land. Inquisitive, she asked of Ceres question after question, probing to find how and why and what of each event, each object.

Ceres watched with pride her lovely child.

And wondered at the dark sense of foreboding that would not leave her mind.

Brooding, his eyes half closed, Pluto sat on his sumptuous throne. Ornate with jewels - diamonds and rubies, sapphires and amethyst, green jade and blue turquoise - it held the treasures of the world. Decorated with filigree of silver and gold, it dominated the room. Or would have, were it not for its occupant.

Zeus and Poseidon, his brothers, were heroic figures before man and Gods. Strong, handsome, powerful - they were admired, worshipped.

Not so, Pluto.

Face and form hideous to behold he ruled the nether world. Not admiration, nor worship were his. Rather, fear!

His appearance aroused it. He stood huge over the poor supplicants who pleaded for release from this, the eternal prison. A skin of leathery hue, plated in metallic scales that gleamed in light of candle. Misshapen form, twisted, broken. A face of ghastly white, lined with deep marks that twisted with his thoughts, pitted with pock marks. He projected fear and evil. His kingdom reinforced it. The tales and rumors that spread among men, and even on high Olympus, did little to dissipate that fear.

Only his eyes, often hidden by lowered lids, belied his appearance. For they reflected the pity and compassion in his soul.

At his invitation the great castle filled with revelers. Yet, in their presence or alone, Pluto had no feeling of belonging. His was a lonely world, a world apart.

Companionship, friendship, understanding - these were denied him.

And, also, love.

Pluto brooded.

2. The White Owl

Demo suddenly heard thrashing, mixed with the distress call of a bird. Rounding a bend in the mountain trail he quickly stopped. Before him was a scene of impending tragedy.

An owl, beautiful, with white feathers, struggled. Enmeshed in a clever trap it was unable to break free. A cunning net had extended above the narrow ravine, and the bird had triggered an ingenious mechanism that released the net. Its wings threshed uselessly as it tumbled on the rocky ground.

And creeping ever closer, a fox. Its eyes gleamed in anticipation. Saliva dripped from its open mouth. The sun's rays reflected from the glistening fangs. Brown and white matted fur clung tightly to its body. Gaunt and hungry, its every muscle tensed, it waited eagerly for the right moment to strike.

It crouched to spring, inched closer to its prey.

"No you don't." Demo whispered the words. Laying aside the staff, smoothly, with hardly a thought, Demo drew an arrow from its pouch. Notching it to the string he drew the bow.

Even as he did so the fox sprang, jaws open wide.

With a whistle the arrow flew through the air!

The fox, startled, twisted to avoid the danger.

Too late!

The arrow struck him at the peak of his leap. It struck high on his haunch, cut deep into the upper leg. The arrow's force knocked the animal sideward, and he fell short of his victim.

Even as the fox fell the world burst asunder in a thunderclap of sound. The force of a sudden wind drove Demo to his knee, almost stunned.

He froze in that position, starred in consternation at the scene in front of him.

Where the fox had fallen an imp stands, looking at him in anger. It's hand pulls dagger from sheath. The long twisted blade is raised threateningly. Demo takes another arrow from the quiver.

A louder blast of thunder feels the air and the imp looks up in fear. With another glance of hate he dashes away into the bushes.

But Demo's eyes are focused on another, and the imp is not now the center of Demo's attention. The cynosure of his gaze is the beautiful white owl. For the beautiful white owl is now more beautiful still.

Standing free from the trap is the princess of the forest nymphs. She has shed the white feathers of the owl and stands before him in innocent beauty. She smiles as his face reddens, then steps behind some obscuring bushes.

"What, what is it . . . !" he stammered.

Dazed, Demo backed away. "This is unreal. It can not be happening. Imps, and Goddesses - these are but stories. Where am I? This is not the world I know. Who am I that I meet with imps and Goddesses. Enough that this day I have seen death. " He mouthed the words, but no sound came.

He closed his eyes, opened them.

She did not go away.

"You have saved me from the minions of Pluto, the God of Hades. And for that you shall be rewarded. I shall take you as my husband, and you shall live with me forever. We will dwell among the Gods, and you shall ever be my protector."

The lilting beauty of her voice entranced him. It caressed him as the gentle notes of a favorite song. Bewitched, he ignored the content of her words, merely listened to tone of her voice..

"Come with me. I am Athena, Goddess of Wisdom. We must tell Zeus. There will be great rejoicing on Olympus. Zeus feared I should never find a suitable husband! Yet, here you are!"

She reached out for his hand. They never touched, for then, twice in this one day, a mysterious force intervened. Looking upward he saw great dark clouds boiling. From their depth a streak of lightning sundered the ground between him and Athena. Dust and rubble filled the air, and the ground shook beneath his feet.

A mighty voice, deep and vibrant, rumbled from the heavens.

"Mortal, dare you even think to consort with the Gods!"

For a moment he heard no other sound. He looked up in awe at the darkened sky. The silence enwrapped him as a shroud. Even the wind whispered not.

"On your way! Back to your valley!"

Lightless, the sky seemed only a black blanket drawn over his head. The winds once more gusted, tearing angrily at trees and bushes. The thunder rumbled ominously in preparation for another lightning strike.

"Marry for yourself a simple galleymaid. Do not anger the mighty Zeus! Husband to Athena? Bah!"

He shrank back in dismay, wide-eyed.

Though he was silent, Athena bravely replied. "He has saved me from your evil brother, Pluto. He has risked his life for mine. He shall be rewarded. Oh mighty Zeus, if you love me, grant this to me."

Rumblings reverberated from the walls of the mountain canyon. Finally they give way to silence. Then, with brief lightning flashes from cloud to cloud, there is a response.

"Very well, my dear. Perhaps it shall be as you desire. He's a brave young man. Striking down a minion of Pluto alone does not, of itself, make him deserving. Nevertheless, he may indeed join us on Olympus."

The voice stopped, the clouds darkened even more. The mountain, in the midst of day, is black as midnight.

By the sound alone he knows that Athena again reaches her hand to him. And again a bolt from the sky separates the two.

"No! First he must prove himself worthy." The voice once more thunders. "To win the hand of a Goddess is not an easy chore. But, if you prove yourself, it shall be as you desire. First, though, . . .," - and now the voice grew soft and warm with an assumed kindness.

"Yes, first you must perform some minor chores. A few little tasks, perhaps. Yes, that's it! A dozen or so little tasks. Piddling things, actually. Hmmm, let me give some thought to this."

The skies were beginning to lighten. The voice of Zeus had softened indeed, as had his mood. The clouds were rapidly dissipating. Blue patches of sky emerged. The dark clouds dissipated, and small white clouds drifted gently above.

"Go home! Prepare yourself! And when I call be quick to begin your sojourn. - Eh, yes, I think minor little chores."

It almost sounds like Zeus is humming happily to himself.

The wind whipped the leaves along the pathway, the clouds tore asunder. And, even as he glanced back to earth, Athena, too, had departed.

Nothing remained to reflect the tragedy that might have been. Nothing remained to reflect the beauty and wonder of Athena. Yet . . . .

On the ground, fluttering in the now gentle breeze, a single memento - a pure white feather. He picked it up gently, reverently.

What to do?

What to do? "This is madness. I am dreaming. Death and imps! Goddesses and Gods. What has happened today? Can it be real!" He looked around at the forest, at the sky. All was calm, normal. Except for one thing.

In his hand he held a white feather.

Reluctantly he continued his hunt. There must be food for his mother and himself. In spite of himself, because of the day's events, his thoughts strayed.

He blushed again as he thought of the beautiful Goddess. "Can I return to my hut, live as a simple hunter, having seen her?"

"No! As Zeus has spoken, I shall return and await his command. After all, how difficult can be a few little chores?"

He thought he saw the imp dancing through the bushes, chortling in glee.

Suddenly he tossed away the white feather. Even as it floated down the side of the mountain he took up his weapons, returned to the hunt.

"How foolish can I be," he muttered to himself. "Even if it were real. I to wed a Goddess! It cannot be!"

Shadows were lengthening, soon night would fall. Nights on the high mountain are cold and forlorn. Already the sun, hidden by the storm clouds, neared the horizon. The sky, an angry red, peaked through rents in the dark clouds. Large drops of rain pelted him, cold with the hint of hail.

Yet, swiftly, the body of the storm had swept by. The remaining clouds drifted high above, each in its solitary domain. The wind still gusted from time to time, momentarily, then faded.

Tree leaves fluttered as the evening breeze began its soft caress. In the eastern sky a single star began to shine. One of the heaven's wanderers, not unlike himself on the earth below.

He halted. In the copse ahead a creature moved. Sensing his presence it froze in position. A tawny hide, revealed momentarily between the leaves, brought a gleam to Demo's eye.

A buck!

Demo notched his arrow, waited silently.

The antlered head extended above the bushes. The moist nostrils sniffed the air. Then the buck bounded across the trail.

The arrow flew, and without glancing at the prey he unstrung his bow.

As he moved toward the copse a falling leaf drifted down, dressed in the yellow-brown of the coming season. His eyes followed it, then he glanced toward the copse. In astonishment, he noted that the buck was no where to be seen. Quickly he rushed forward. Nothing! No buck, and no sign of life!

"Not possible, not possible that I have missed! Now, where is the deer," Demo wondered aloud.

The light glinted on an object. He saw, lying on the forest floor, that object. An object that caused him to freeze in place. A beautiful white feather. And beneath it on the ground, his arrow. Athena will not be rejected!

Uncertainly he stared from side to side, hesitated. Finally he picked up the feather, pressed it to his heart.

"It is the will of the Gods!"

He returned the arrow to its pouch, rushed through the darkening forest to the mountain hut far below.

"I must prepare myself. I must be ready to perform the tasks of Zeus!"

Olympus is a world far removed from this, our earthly abode. Its laws are not as our laws, its inhabitants not as those of earth. Here dwelt, from time to time, the twelve major Gods. Here ruled Zeus, the ThunderGod.

It is said the Gods, all powerful, do what they will, act as they wish, and answer to none.

Not true!

Moira, to whose edicts even mighty Zeus must acquiesce, had long before Olympus' birth assigned duties. Assigned those duties that ever were to weigh upon the celestial house. Duties that seemed, to those who bore them, merely whims of their own devising.

Zeus, forever to nudge the earth, to keep that sphere spinning in its little space. Poseidon, ever to keep the busy waters flowing, mixing, changing. Pluto, to warden the whole of Hades, dealing out evenhandedly to each of the ferryman's charges that portion of eternal punishment that each had earned.

And each lesser God, also duties had.

Of the Gods only Zeus sensed that strange and ever-present being, realized that responsibilities had been assigned. He knew not Fate by name, but knew full well the chores ever to be done. At times he chafed under their weight, yet always returned to his given work. Where others might have rebelled Zeus pondered, understood, and acquiesced. And as these duties were laid on him, he laid also duties on man. Pride, a strange duty indeed. Yet each must be proud of himself, of his selfworth. And work he imposed, for pride comes from work well done. The duty to love, and to seek love were there. The duty to be gentle, and to be harsh - and the wisdom to choose the time for each.

Yes, Zeus tempered duties imposed, with wisdom for their performance.

When Zeus had looked on Demo he had been troubled. This earthling would, of course, fail in one or all the tasks to be imposed.

And still, within, he felt the might of Moira and knew misgivings.

What must lie ahead, not given even for Zeus to foresee? The plans of man and Gods go astray when Fate's dictates are ignored.

"Theresa, I'm so glad you came by. Perhaps you can stay for evening meal. Demo should return by nightfall. He's out chasing deer. I'm sure we'll have venison. Ah, your hair! What have you done to it! It's so different, and yet so nice. Come in. Rough!"

She shouted at the dog, who growled low at the visitor, then approached stiff-legged to sniff at her legs. Satisfied he wagged his tail, deigned to graciously accept the pats the visitor bestowed.

"My, look how you have grown! Let me see, you're 15 now. Do you know, I was married at 15. Such a silly girl. I knew nothing. But he was so attentive, so kind. I fell madly in love. Are you in love, Theresa? Every young girl should fall in love! It is a wonderful, sad, happy experience! Do sit down."

"I haven't seen Demo in ages. Is he well? What does he do?" Theresa paused for a moment, adding "Has he a girl friend?"

Metaneira smiled.

"I'm glad you came. Here, let me get some sweetmeats and drinks. I don't have company often. Girl friend? No, I think not. He's too wild! What girl would want him! He fishes and hunts and disappears into the forest for days at a time. Ah, the poor girl who gets him for a husband!"

Theresa sat demurely on the proffered chair. Rough lay down beside her, comfortable that she was no threat to him, or to the family he protected.

"Oh, I think he is a fine boy. How old is he now? He seems so big and strong. And he's handsome. He looks much like his mother."

Metaneira accepted with pleasure the compliments for her son. After all, she herself was sure they were true.

"No, he is his Father's image. His Father was very handsome. Very handsome." She was silent for a moment, remembering.

"So long ago! Theresa, do you like Demo? I think it would be well for him to find a good woman, to settle down." She looked searchingly into the girl's eyes.

Theresa blushed, looked down, then looked at her.

"I've always liked him. Still, at times he is so young and childish. He seldom glances at me, or even at any of the girls. The other boys chase us madly. I could have my choice, you know!" Her voice suggested that she expected doubt.

"You stay for supper, dear. My, I like the way you are dressed. Come here, there are a few changes needed. Trust me."

She examined the girl carefully. "Turn around, my dear, slowly. Hmmm, can we tighten it ever so slightly here?" She adjusted the girl's waistband.

"And it is so warm. Why not leave this just a bit more open to the air - that much. No, a little more yet." She loosed Theresa's bodice slightly, then a bit more, suggesting rather than exposing the smooth rise of her breasts.

Theresa, red-faced, looked searchingly at her, then giggled.

"We're terrible, aren't we. It isn't our fault, since a young man is so insensitive. Sometimes you must be very forward to wake them up. Besides, I know he likes you. He's just very shy, and he truly knows nothing about real life. My, my, I shouldn't be talking like this. After all, I am his mother. Don't you feel like a conspirator?"

They laughed together.

Demo entered the yard, face flushed. Rough barked joyously, jumped up and down in excitement. He rushed to his master, leaped up, to receive a happy hug.

"Mother, I must tell you what happened. I . . . ?" He paused as both his Mother and Theresa came through the door.

"Oh, hello, Theresa. Eh, Mother, I'll hang the venison."

He cut and hung up the meat while the women worked and talked in the kitchen. Once done he washed up, sat at the oaken table.

"Theresa is staying for supper. She helped me cook. Isn't that a lovely dress. Turn around for him Theresa. Isn't she pretty and slender. My, Theresa, some boy will be carrying you off before we know it!"

Theresa twirled, blushing but smiling. Demo blinked, swallowed. She was a very pretty girl. Yet he could not help but think of the vision he had seen this day, and compare the two.

The aroma of cooking meat reminded him of how long since he had eaten. The meal of venison and vegetables, with sweetbread his mother cooked, all washed down with wine he finished swiftly. "How hungry I was, and how good it is! Mother, you are such a good cook!"

"I don't know where you can put so much food. Poor woman who catches you. She'll spend all her time in the kitchen. Well, if she looks like Theresa, she may spend some time in the bedroom."

Theresa blushed, glanced under lowered eyes at Demo.

"Demo, walk her home, will you. The moon is bright tonight, but I've heard there are brigands about. Besides, I'm sure you could find no lovelier company."

They walked slowly beneath the moonlight. Theresa stumbled and he caught her arm. She leaned close against him, took his hand. "Thank you. I might have fallen."

"It's all right," he responded gruffly, moving away. Nevertheless, he left his hand in hers.

"Demo, the moon is so beautiful tonight. Almost bright as day. I love the moonlight. My, you are so tall. And such strong arms!" she placed her hand around his upper arm, squeezed.

"It's a good moon for hunting. Fortunately, our larder is full, at least for now."

"Then you should have more free time. Will you come and see me. At times it is lonely. I need a true friend, one I can turn to in time of trouble. A friend like you."

For a moment Demo was silent. He wanted to put his arm around her, hold her close, and tell her that she had a friend. He didn't understand his feelings. He felt the need to hold her in his arms. She seemed so fragile, so small and weak and helpless. He thought of a young doe, first learning to stand. He was confused. His thoughts wandered, today's events were on his mind, and he hesitated.

"Theresa, we have always been friends since we were small. When you needed help, I have been there. It will always be so. I guess I have always cared for you, little sister."

They reached the door of her home, and her father stood outside watching their approach. "Good evening, Demo. I see you have brought her home. The pathways are safe tonight, it seems. Girl, you mother would like to talk to you."

"Goodnight, Demo. Please come tomorrow night."

As she went inside Demo heard her mother's voice. "Girl, you are out very late. My, your face is so bright and radiant. You don't have a fever I hope. Oh, my, what have you done to your dress. Turn around here. Well, you really shouldn't. Well, I guess I did the same when I was your age. You grow up so fast, so fast!"

"Demo, how goes the hunting?"

"Hunting has gone well. Our larder is full. Now I must prepare the house for the winter season. The winds are picking up, and we'll be getting more rain shortly. Our roof needs some repair."

"Well, I still need more meat, but there is time enough. Walk with me a moment, boy."

"You and Theresa have known each other a long time. I've watched you grow from childhood to manhood. And she'll be taking a husband before many more seasons pass. What of you, boy? Have you plans to marry?"

"Sir, my plans now are mostly to care for my Mother. I . . . , well, I suppose I shall marry in time."

"The flowers bloom, and then they fade. Don't delay too long in living your own life. I believe you mother would be pleased to see you wed. Like Theresa said, why don't you stop by the house tomorrow night. The wife is an excellent cook, and you look like you could use a pound or two. I have some wine we shall enjoy together. I'd like your opinion of it."

On the way home Demo thought of the day's events. Somehow, he thought, I have this strange feeling. As though the beaters were driving me into a trap.

"Strange. Yesterday I was child, without concerns." He spoke aloud, thoughtfully, to himself. "Today I feel so very different. I have seen death. I have seen Athena. And even Zeus has revealed himself to me. It is as though, overnight, I have grown up."

And yet he felt too much the child. Everything was happening too quickly.

"I need time, I need a lot of time."

Demo shook his head. Rough came running toward him, and he laughed, skipped along the path, then ran home with the dog barking, chasing excitedly at his heels.

The rumble of wheels, the pounding of hoofs, filled the night air. Through the darkness dashed without concern four great stallions, pulling the dark chariot.

At the reins was Pluto!

Thunder rumbled through the sky, blended with the thunder of chariot and team. The only light was that from occasional lightning. It revealed the grim visage of the driver.

On whatever mission Pluto rode this night, plainly it bore heavy on his mind.

Persephone sat in the garden swing, watched the night sky, the gentle stars. A storm brewed, but like all storms, skirted her garden. In the distance she saw the dark clouds, illumined by the lightning's flash.

And on the far mountain road, momentarily revealed by that lightning flash, a chariot pulled with madcap speed by four huge stallions.

She frowned, then laughed away her concern. A nighthawk flew by, identified by its nasal peent. A soft warm breeze rustled the leaves of the lilac bush. The sweet fragrance of the lilacs filled the air.

Persephone swung gently, hummed quietly to herself. Looking up she saw a shooting star, a brilliant traveler among the stars, quickly fading.

She laughed happily at its beauty. Then thought more somberly of what it might portend.

3. Waiting

He waited impatiently. The days were growing shorter, the rains were more prevalent. Even now, outside the hut, he heard the drops beating with ever increasing fury. The pelting on the roof, the whistling of the wind, and the increasing cold all presaged an early and severe winter.

His mother was preparing the evening meal. Luckily, on his way home he had chanced on two bucks, and the first fell to his ready arrow. And that two weeks afore!

The aroma of the roasting venison permeated the little hut. His mother hummed quietly to herself as she stirred vegetables, skillfully added the exact measure of spices, sprinkled on tangy herbs. Yet his thoughts wandered. Dwelling on recent activities, his thoughts were not on food.

Had Zeus forgotten?

He gazed into the burning logs, listened to the crackling as he stirred the ashes. The brilliant sparks rose and disappeared.

Demo strode from the fire to the doorway, stared at the mist and rain. The weather kept him from the hunt. The encounter with the Goddess Athena occupied his mind. He had confused and uncertain thoughts over all that had happened. Was it but a dream?

Now the winds began to moan through the trees. Autumn has already touched the high mountains. He glanced out at the moist leaves, all bright in gold and crimson hues, soon to darken. Then they will fall. The mountains shall be barren.

He examined the pack his mother had prepared. It contained several days' food, for he had no idea how long he would be on his quest. He picked up his pouch, examined each arrow in turn. Sharpened and re-sharpened! They wait to fly straight and true to his prey. The smell of the cooking venison again caught his attention.

"Eat well, my son. When you are called you will have little time for food." His mother smiled. Yet her smile is a little wan, for she fears for his welfare.

"You know, Theresa is a lovely girl. She was by when you were on your last hunt. I think she likes you."

He ignored her comments. He has no thought for Theresa.

"She's a very pretty girl. A little younger than you, but not so much. Her parents look with favor on you, too."

She glanced at him, judging the impact of her words. Disappointed, she returned to preparing the meal.

After eating he tested the strength of his great bow. Made of the finest wood, it drove arrow after arrow deep into the oak at the edge of the forest.

Braving the rain he went to the tree to regain his arrows. All but one were retrieved. Demo frowned, for the tree gripped the last arrow stubbornly.

Rough sat on his haunches, a quizzical look on his face as he watched his master tugging at the arrow. Suddenly Rough growled. He rushed toward the tree, barking.

Demo pulled even harder, glancing up into the tree as he did so. There, seated on the lowest limb, sneered the fox-imp. It smiled in delight at his efforts to free the arrow.

"Listen, mortal. My master Pluto sends you greetings. You are a great hunter." The imp stopped with a frown.

"I show the proof of it on my hide," he grumbled morosely.

"Never mind. My master says you shall also be a rich hunter. Give up your thoughts of the Goddess Athena. You shall have riches beyond measure."

The arrow suddenly came free in Demo's hands, and he tumbled backwards, rolled over and over on the muddy ground.

Rough quickly bounded to his side, whining. When his master rose the whine changed to a contented growl, and he turned once more to contemplating the creature in the tree. Plainly it looked more appetizing than a chicken.

The fox-imp's smile now changed to derisive guffaws. "And you would perform the twelve tasks of Zeus! If you but attempt to begin that sojourn I shall be with you. I, and my companions, shall haunt your trail until you fall in misery and failure." The voice is angry and threatening.

"But," and now his voice is affable, "if you accept the offer of Pluto - if you renounce this vain adventure - you shall receive all the pleasures of this earth. Gold and jewels will be yours. Wine of the finest vintage! Women of the most delicate and beautiful nature! All you desire - and an eternity in which to enjoy it. That my master offers you. As a token that you accept, only break the arrow in your hand."

He shook his head. Should he break the arrow. All the riches of the world! Slowly he grasped the arrows shaft, bent it in his strong grasp.

And if he follows the path laid out by Zeus? By the tricky and devious Zeus! Zeus who has never made easy the lot of the adventurer!

And Athena. He recalls her beauty, the sweetness of her voice. She wanted him as her husband - and as her protector!

Suddenly Demo drew back his arm, threw the arrow at the fox-imp.

The latter dodged quickly in surprise, and the arrow barely scratched his skin.

"Oh, you are a beauty, you are. Ah, how that stings. Master Pluto has great things in store for you, young hunter. Great things! And how I shall enjoy serving them to you!"

He leaped from the tree, turning to his fox form before touching the ground. For a moment he sat, scratching at the wound with his hind leg. Rough rushed forward, growling, teeth bared. The fox imp glanced quickly over his shoulder at the dog, then dashed into the forest.

Demo stood silently in the mist and rain.

Can this really be happening? I have heard of such things, but only in stories. I was sure they were only to frighten children. And yet . . . and yet it is happening to me. Why to me? I don't understand. I wish . . . .

"Demo, my goodness! You'll catch a terrible cold. Come inside. Oh, you look so pale. Here, dry your head. And wrap up warm." She hugged him to her, tousled his hair. "My, children never grow up. Quick now."

Zeus was slowly entering comments in his diary, muttering under his breath.

"The thoughts he had in his mind when he beheld the Goddess! Dear, dear - unconscionable!" He stopped, noting Hera standing by his side.

"Yes, Dear Husband. I'm sure you would not countenance any unchaste thoughts on the part of this bumpkin."

He ignored the sarcasm in her voice.

"And was he, this youth, perchance handsome?"

"Handsome," he growled. "No, no! You would find him singularly unattractive, I assure you."

'Ummm! Singularly unattractive. Well!"

"Now, be about your business. I must call Athena, the Goddess of memory. I vaguely recall some chores of historical note. Some very interesting little minor chores. Oh, yes!"

For a moment Hera stood still, frowned. Fortunately for Zeus she was quickly distracted by her maids, who gathered around to whisper of the exciting events of the day. They left the room, chattering and laughing.

Zeus smiled as he contemplated those interesting little minor chores. "Athena, in spite of her foolish infatuation, will provide me with the information I need. Eh, reluctantly, I suppose. My, the difficulties one meets in governing the universe!"

He hummed softly. "What is that called! Catchy little tune. Hera, dear, I'm hungry. My ambrosia, please."

Hera, at the door, glanced backed at him in surprise. "Ambrosia, please? Did I hear 'please'?" She walked across the room to his side, placed her palm on his forehead, shaking her head as she did so. "Strange, no fever. Please? My, how un-Zeus-like!"

In happier times did Persephone with the water nymphs play. By the seashore they gathered. They brought from the ocean's depth strange flowers, colorful stones, and jewels seized from sailing ships by angry sea.

Persephone carried with her flowers from her garden, a garland on her head. With her she brought fruits, and all manner of good and beautiful plants that grew within the garden.

In their play they fashioned garlands, gave them beauty by wearing them. The dolphins swam near and laughed and sported to see the beauty of land and sea at play.

One other watched them too. From a distance and with brooding eyes. Often, as they frolicked on that white and sandy shore, he sat in the gloom of the forest in his golden chariot, his four black steeds pawing at the leaf-covered ground.

Their beauty he coveted.

And above all he desired Persephone!

4. The First Quest

He lay in bed, awake. It was morning, but morning dark and gloomy. He could hardly see the doorway. The rain fell steadily, the wind gusting, falling, then gusting once again. The air was damp, cold, and clothes and bedclothes were soaked with moisture from the humidity. He shivered, curled up tightly against the cold.

Still, Rough tugged at the blankets as day broke, eager for his master's company. Reluctantly Demo shooed the dog away, tucked the covers more closely around himself.

"Well, mother, I shall sleep in this morning. Even Zeus is hardly up and about on a day like this."

It was the wrong thing to say.

The rain suddenly increased, the wind grew stronger, and the door flew open. Rough began barking excitedly, moved cautiously toward the open door. As the rain blew in he retreated nearer his master. Demo rose quickly to shut the door, but not before a dark object blew in, fell upon the floor. Quickly Rough seized it between his teeth, shook it from side to side.

"Hey, easy there." Demo approached the dog cautiously. In his mouth Rough held A thin leather sheet. And burned on its surface were some words. Slowly Demo deciphered them.

"The race is to the swift. Sometimes. Be at the Temple of Mars at sundown. The white feather must . . . ."

He could not make out the rest. The heavy rain had soaked the material, and the remaining words were smudged beyond recognition.

Zeus! It could have come from no other!

"Mother, I must go quickly. Why the temple of Mars? There is no way to reach it by sundown. Still, I must try."

She looked at the falling rain, thought to detain him. Finally she sighed, quickly put more and fresher food in his pouch. "Perhaps you should take the white feather. And do be careful. I had a bad dream last night. I shall not repeat to you, but beware of that which you cannot see."

She hugged him.

In spite of the rain he smiled. The first task was begun.

The race is to the swift. Sometimes.

What strange words these.

And to reach the temple of Mars by sundown! Beyond the ability of any mortal.

Still, perhaps, if he could float on the swift waters of the churning river it might be possible. The falling rain had turned the gentle stream into thunderous torrents. And even as he looked a huge tree floated down the stream, twisting and rolling.

There seemed no other option. Quickly he located two fallen logs, pried them slowly to the waters edge. There he knotted vines around them, forming a single platform. Finally, with a deep breath, he forced them off the bank into the stream.

Almost too late he waded out. The cold mud sucked at his feet, the angry water stormed at his thighs. He leaped atop the nearest log, slipped, fell across the logs awkwardly. He was on his way to the temple of Mars!

What chance of success he had was quickly spoiled.

When he clambered onto the raft his pouch had opened. A sudden gust of wind picked up the white feather, wafted it quickly beyond his reach. In seconds it landed on the raging waters, quickly disappeared from sight.

Rough bounded along the shore, barking furiously. He badly wanted to board the raft, yet feared to dare the sullen waters. Finally, as the raft moved to the stream's center the dog stopped, whined, its tail between its legs. The dog shivered as though in fear, then slowly turned to wend its way home.

Demo watched with regret as the Rough quickly disappeared in the midst of the heavy rain shower. "Perhaps I should have taken you with me. No, you must stay home, protect Mother."

Demo smiled. With a sigh he braced himself on the logs as the tumultuous stream tossed the frail craft from side to side. What a wonderful start he was making to perform the required tasks of Zeus!

The white feather, lost to the wind and the rain! And his chances of reaching the temple before nightfall almost non-existent!

The watery trip, miraculously, was almost uneventful. Almost.

As the raft rounded a bend in the river the water narrowed, flowed ever faster. And on the shore, obscured by the driving rain and gathering fog, stood a creature of unearthly mien. It neither moved nor spoke.

Demo had faced the bear that claimed the mountain ridges as their own. The snarling night cats that dominated the forests had stood before him. Of them all, none had aroused in him such fear as now he felt.

For from this creature radiated a menace more fearsome than he had ever known, an overwhelming evil emanation.

Demo gasped, eyes wide. "What is it! What manner of beast are you . . . ?"

Almost immediately the creature disappeared in the swirling mist.

It was gone! Though it disappeared from view he felt a premonition. A premonition that he would see it again. He knew not why, but knew it would be with him. A constant, unseen companion. The chill that enveloped him now was not caused by the cold, soaking rain.

Whether sundown was near, or had long past, he could not tell. The dark, drear day had no sun, only the continuous rain. Finally, there, on the cliff above, stood the temple, barely visible.

He paddled with his hands, attempting to bring his raft to the far shore. The water swirled, waves built up before the wind, and currents formed and disappeared throughout the stream. His paddling was almost to no avail. The makeshift raft swirled, rocked, meandered randomly at the mercy of the river. By the time the craft reached the shore he had drifted well beyond the temple.

Clawing his way up the muddy bank he found a narrow trail and began the climb. His ankle, which he had thought healed, began a slow steady ache. Rock-strewn, and now covered with silt and muck and murky water, the trail formed a slippery maze up the mountainside. Rivulets gouged ever-deepening gullies across the path. At times the entire path was but a stream, with swift water washing away small plants and stones.

Midway in his climb he entered a wide clearing. A doe, in attempting to flee from his approach, had slipped and its leg hung useless as it stood, shivering in fear.

A ray of light appeared briefly from a sun very low on the horizon. Time was running out. With a frown he avoided the doe, continued his climb.

He could not help himself. He looked back, and its brown limpid eyes, full of pain and fear, held him. Finally, with a growl, he returned. He approached the beast carefully. Though it tried to evade him, it was to no avail. Finally it stood motionless, shivering.

"I have no time, little one. I must be quick. This splint will hold, hopefully, until you heal." He bound the doe's leg with wooden splints in place. With a growl he started once more up the mountain. He noticed the doe following behind, timidly maintaining its distance.

"Go away. The sun has certainly set. Ah, if you had only been a full grown buck. My arrow would have quickly found its mark. And I would already be at the temple!"

When he reached the temple it was indeed dark. The building rose massively before him. Built over the years, at times of wood, at times of stone, it had grown from a small shrine to its current size. Cautiously he entered through the huge doorway. The wooden doors were open, as though he were expected. There was no sound. The temple was empty!

Plainly, Zeus had already departed!.

Demo sat down in the middle of the floor, his head bowed. Finally he noted a white feather lying in an open space near the temple's center. He picked it up, stroked it softly with his hand. How like the one lost in the storm!

Dropping it, aloud he whispered, "Good-bye, Athena. It was not to be."

The clatter of hooves on the floor caught his attention. The doe stood by the door, pawing the stones. "Well, you have cost me dearly, little one. Go on your way, there are hunters who would not reject you."

A rumbling voice filled the temple. "The race is to the swift. Sometimes."

The voice emanated from the doe!

Quickly he stood up. Zeus! It must be Zeus!

"Merely a little test, my boy. One must be sensitive to suffering. Your bleeding heart has caused you to fail this simple task, bringing the white feather to the temple. Nevertheless, I'll certainly remember you kindly for the aid you provided me. Well, boy, go on home now. It was nice knowing you."

His head bowed he walked across the temple, passed the doe on his way to the downward path.

"Wait!" The voice was an angry growl. "What is this! How did it get here?"

Zeus stood in the middle of the temple, in his godly form now. In his hand he held the feather Demo had previously taken from the floor, only to toss aside.

"I know not sire. For the feather I carried was stolen away by the wind. This was here when I entered the temple."

"Ah, good, good. Then it couldn't be the feather. Good day, my boy. Give my regards to your mother - and to any other kinfolk you should meet. Lovely day, lovely." Zeus smiled happily as the rain dripped upon him from a rent in the temple roof.

With drooping head Demo once more turned to go. A sudden disturbance caught his attention. Once more he halted.

A beautiful owl floated on wide spread white wings through the temple entrance.

"Zeus, Aeolus carried here the white feather. Even as you required, it was delivered. Nought was said that the boy must himself carry it."

"Athena, you shall have many children." He paused for a moment. "And all of them shall be lawyers," Zeus growled. "Very well, technically the task was done. Come back, my boy. Let us celebrate your success. Here, have a sip of my most valued nectar."

Zeus tipped the flask, burped, wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Here you are. Take a deep draught."

Demo smiled happily, looked at the rosy fluid for a moment, and raising the flask to his lips, closed his eyes.

He drank eagerly. Oddly, the liquid had little taste. Not noticeably different from the taste of water. Almost like rainwater, really.

"Demo, you must fix that leak. The rain is all over your face. How can you lie there!"

He opened his eyes wide. Indeed he was lying on his own bed. And the only nectar was the drops of rain leaking through the roof. With a start he sat up. It was only a dream!

Rough lay at the foot of his bed, eyes closed.

Lying beside the dog, half hidden by his form, something caught Demo's eye. Something familiar!

Two white feathers!

5. The Gorgon's Head

"An object of extreme rarity. Actually, only one exists - all others, destroyed. A shame, really. Could have sent out a few as gifts. Love to give one to my dear brother Pluto. Well, well, it can't be helped. Only one left." Zeus spoke sadly, noting the effect on Demo.

"And you want me to fetch this precious object for you?" Demo queried.

"Eh, that's the general idea. Now, there are some difficulties. I mean, after all, if it were too simple I would have dispatched Hera."

Suddenly his eyes widened. "Oh, oh, I didn't see you, my dear. Just joshing with the boy! Kidding around, you know!"

Hera glared. Fortunately for Zeus she was distracted, seeing Cupid practicing archery in the flowery garden. "Hmmph! Men!" she murmured as she went into the garden.

"The object - well, I must confess, it is not an object. It is . . ., " He lowered his voice, glancing toward the garden. "It is a young lady whose beauty would adorn Olympus. I would have you invite her to the Olympian Spring Ball. Not a bad task, eh."

Zeus nudged him with his elbow while keeping an eagle eye on the garden. "Just let her know that the Gods look kindly upon her, and that she will be the guest of honor. She can't possibly refuse. Oh, by the way, her name is Medusa. Lovely girl, Medusa."

Now, what is the hitch? Zeus talks so kindly. Yet he is a wily one. An invitation to a beautiful girl to attend a spring festival? Why me? Would not an Olympian messenger, Mercury perhaps, have served better. After all, I have no credentials.

So his thoughts rambled as he proceeded northward.

And I know not where she dwells, nor do I know her appearance.

A bleak stretch of land lay ahead. Empty, barren, dotted with boulders it stretched well into the distance. At his pace it would require a fourth of a day to traverse. He moved across the open space cautiously, checking behind, to either side. He liked not being in the open, exposed to eyes he could not see.

Surrounded by forest, the open area exposed him to the view of foes who might wait among the trees. And in a strange land any might be a foe. Wild animals certainly wandered here. And outlaw bands who prey on lonesome travelers. He looked around more carefully. Bushes and shrubs formed a narrow border, beyond which giant evergreens loomed. In unknown territory, he felt the weight of unfriendly gaze following his progress.

On reaching the other side of the open meadow he glanced back, and his own eyes widened.

He shuddered.

It had entered the open stretch, crouched near the wooded edge. Now it dropped to the ground. Huge, misshapen, a travesty of a man, it lay quietly, motionless on the ground. Though distant, he knew it well.

The unseen companion!

Demo notched an arrow to his bow, felt the cool breeze on his fevered face. He drew the bow to its limit, shook his head.

Too far! The arrow would not carry.

He waited, but the creature lay quiet.

"What want you?" he shouted. "Why do you follow me?"

Silence.

Finally, with a shrug, he turned, started once more on his way. After a few steps he halted, looked back again.

It has disappeared! The broad expanse held now only boulders, small shrubs. Lifeless, bare, no hint of motion, other than from vagrant breeze.

Was it but a dream, an aberration in vision?

No! It was real. The bushes at the edge of the clearing were moving, disturbed by the passage of . . . He knew not what. He knew, though it had slipped into the brushes, it would return to his trail. Whatever it be, their destinies were intertwined.

But days ago I knew only my Mother, Theresa and her family well. And a few others but only to a small extent. Suddenly I walk and talk with Gods, and Goddesses - yes, and with imps. And I am followed by something, by a being unlike any other. What does it all portend? The thoughts repeated themselves as he view the clearing.

A foreboding crossed his mind.

One of us shall not survive the tasks of Zeus!

Ever northward he trekked. He did not know why, only that his feet were guided by Zeus. His quest was to the far north.

Game were plentiful, and he ate well. At times he partook of venison, at times of fish from the streams. Rarely, he ate not.

After one repast he knelt by a quiet brook, washing his face and hands.

In the water he saw a visage not his own!

He turned quickly, rose to his feet.

The unseen companion had faded into the undergrowth.

"Come out and face me, coward! Do not skulk and hide, recreant!"

Perhaps a tree branch moved, perhaps a footfall was heard.

Then, nothing.

His eyes widened, as he thought to himself, I must be on my guard. Whatever it is, it becomes bolder with each passing day.

He followed a stream, a path along its edge. The path widened as he climbed upward, and at times footprints could be discerned. A dwelling must lie not far ahead.

At evening he arrived in a small village at the foot of tall, snowpeaked mountains. He found an inn. Walls made from logs, with cracks filled with dried mud, and a rock fireplace as one wall, it formed one huge room. Animal furs, fur of deer, of bear, hung across from one wall to the other, sectioned off little bays where the traveler could rest in limited privacy. Through signs and much nodding and handwaving Demo bartered trinkets for such a room. The nights were growing cold, and this brief respite was welcome.

Suddenly a man standing by the door turned toward him, growled in mixed language at him. Strangely, Demo understood.

"Is he with you? What is he, and why does he loiter in the shadows?"

They crowded through the open doorway, gazing southward to the ravine he had so recently traversed. They stared fearfully toward the shadows at the mountain's base.

A creature, perhaps a man, stood huge in the shadows. It neither approached nor yet retreated. Even so, from it a threatening aura seemed to radiate.

The watchers moved nervously, whispered low one to another.

"No, not with me," he responded

"Begone! We want not you, nor his kind. Return him his treasures. "

The inn keeper reluctantly parted with the baubles he had received. Two were missing. Demo started to argue, realized it would be to no avail. Reluctantly he left the shelter.

"I know that creature! He has visited our village before. He brings pestilence, death. Begone, the two of you, quickly!"

They gathered outside the structure. One reached down to pick up a stone, then several others. Demo loosed his bow and they quickly shuffled inside, cursing and threatening.

Demo continued north. He didn't look back. He knew well that he was not alone.

His queries about Medusa led him now to one domain, now to another. Time after time, each lead ended without location of the fabled damsel. Until, at last, in a village on the slope of the mountains, he received guidance that seemed to hold worth.

The sun had set, and evening stars were beginning to make appearance. To the north the little bear could be seen. The air had the feel of coming frost. The great hunter moved across the cold winter sky, followed by his faithful hounds.

"Feel the air, young man! Is there not a storm brewing? A blizzard? Medusa has been deserted by her lover. Her countenance is hard. The chill winds will blow, the lakes freeze over, and living things shall freeze and die. For her heart has grown cold."

The old crone rubbed her hands together for warmth, continued.

"Until she takes again a suitor, the world will suffer from her rejection. Even now, there, beneath the little bear, she waits in her icy cave."

The night wind began to blow and the chill crept through his clothing. "Beneath the little bear, then, will I find her?"

"She is there. And she is dangerous. If you value your life, end this quest. She strikes out in her anger, uncaring for any. If you go on, beware the great white bear. He guards her by day, and by night." The old woman turned away, hobbled awkwardly to her frigid mountain hut.

She stood in the doorway, looked at him intently. "Your companion, why does he lurk in the shadows? He has nothing to fear from me."

He did not reply. He knew not himself the reason for the evil presence.

Game became increasingly scarce.

He was lucky when a rabbit crossed his path. And even these were few in number, lean in build. Scrub brush served to cook those few he killed.

The winds wailed, the snow peppered down, then settled in huge white flakes. At times the storm stilled and he traveled on in a world where day was night, night day. Across the skies strange colored images danced, twisting and turning. Here seemed a world deserted by Zeus, left to the ministrations of lesser Gods.

The world was enveloped in a blanket of white. At times he sank into its depths. At other times, frozen, it supported him as well as solid ground. And still the snow fell, wind-driven.

With cessation of the wind he could hear, though from a far distance, the crunch of footsteps on the frozen snow. Hidden in the fog or by the falling flakes, the unseen companion was ever with him, ever following.

Even when the snow ceased the air held a strange opaque whiteness, as though the world were immersed in milk. At such times even his hand before his face was not visible. He dared not travel on, knowing he would circle helplessly in the blinding whiteness.

Slowly the white out lifted. The barren snow covered wasteland stretched endlessly.

He pressed on. There was little choice.

At times the storm died, the skies cleared. Crystalline bright the stars shone down. Still the hunter, now directly overhead and to his south, marched across the wintry sky. The pole star gleamed softly, a constant beacon.

But the storm quickly returned.

And then they met!

Invisible in the snow bank it lurked, marked his presence, waited to attack!

The great white bear moved quietly, without a warning growl. It charged down upon him, its huge jaws wide. Its clawed paws reached out to seize him.

Quickly he strung his bow, notched an arrow!

As he drew the cord, the snow settled beneath his foot. He felt himself slipping.

He fell, rolled downhill!

Demo slid halfway across a frozen pond. Thick, fat flakes of white touched his face. They melted in cold trickles as he lay half conscious.

Suddenly the ice gave way beneath him!

Even as he sank he saw, blurred upon the shore, two monsters in mortal combat.

The great white bear!

And another. One he knew too well.

The bitter cold of the icy waters enveloped him. Through he forced his arms and legs to move, to try once more to rise to the surface, it was to no avail. The freezing cold quickly changed to numbness, then oblivion.

Warmth! He felt warmth!

Not since he had left home had he felt such wonderful, gentle, soothing warmth.

He slowly opened his eyes, then closed them in disbelief. The girl ministering to him outshone even Athena in beauty. Slender, yet with the smooth curves of a mature woman, she held his gaze. Her face, though pale, mirrored beauty found only in one's dreams. Her lips, soft and pouting, were warm and red. Her face expressed concern, and her eyes expressed compassion.

Her hands lightly massaged his body, and wherever they touched a glow of warmth spread through him. He recalled the icy cold of the lake, and his eyes widened.

"How am I here? Who are you? How did I escape the icy depths?"

Placing a finger to her lips, she smiled, exposing the whitest of teeth. "Shhh. Rest. I will explain it all, in good time."

Even as she spoke he closed his eyes, fell into fitful sleep in which he dreamed he was in her arms; then, dreamed he was carried in the arms of another, more hideous being.

He awoke with a start as the ravaged lips of the loathsome monster touched his own. Sitting up he saw no one. Finally, in the far corner of the room, he saw her. She rose slowly, from the fireplace dipped warm soup from an iron kettle.

Bringing the bowl with her she sat on the edge of his cot, slowly fed him the warm broth.

"He brought you here. Your friend. He brought you in from the blizzard, frozen and cold, and left you with me. In spite of cold and storm, he would not stay. He retreated into the blinding storm as though escaping an enemy camp." She shook her head in puzzlement.

"First, though, these words he said I should say to you." She thought for a moment.

"The time is not now. You have your destiny to fulfill. By the tarn shall all be resolved. Strange words, these. Do you understand his meaning?"

"No, I understand only that a great white beast attacked me. I fell, rolled into the frigid waters of the lake. I saw them, doing battle on the lake shore. After that I remember the cold, then nothing."

"He killed the great white bear. No mortal could achieve that victory. You have a mighty friend and protector."

"No friend of mine. He has followed me, always near, ever fearsome. I know not his purpose, but in some strange way our fates are intertwined. Would I understood it better."

"Why sojourn you in these far reaches. Did none warn you of the dangers?"

"I journey at the behest of Zeus. I seek Medusa, to invite her to the great Olympian Ball, where she will reign as queen. Do you know of her, know where I might find her?"

"Zeus! The Great Olympian Ball! I am Medusa. It is strange that you have you not heard my story. Do you not know the danger you face, merely being here with me?"

"I know nought of danger. I see but a damsel of excellent beauty, and need fear only for my heart."

She smiled at his words, then her face took on a look of sadness.

"I am condemned. I pass from wild happiness and joy to deepest misery and sorrow. And those who look on me in my happy times love me, and those who look on me in time of my distress grow cold and fearful, and are no more. No one warned you! Ah, Zeus, how can you be so unkind!" She sobbed.

"Look upon my face, for I am in a gentler mood. Beware, if you hear me lament, or see an angry trickle from my eye, look not upon me, but go your way swiftly." She placed the empty bowl on the table.

"Do you see these glistening white walls? They were formed at a time when I felt the miseries of the world upon me. The glaciers, the icebergs, the frozen wastes - all these I formed. At times, when I bask in the warmth of love, they fade, they melt. Again alone, once deserted, I form them anew." She smiled at him, touched his hand.

"I thought, perhaps, Zeus had sent you to me. Yet while you lay abed in your sleep, in your dreams, I find you love another. It is well, for my warmth shall not last. Come, let me show you my chamber of horrors. A chamber of horrors of my own doing."

She conducted him out into the cold. All around statues stood in various guises. All men. Warriors. Hunters. So detailed, so well sculpted, they seemed to lack only breath to move and walk.

"These I have loved, and in my anger destroyed. They stand there, a constant reminder of my uncontrollable nature. Even now, as I look at them, my heart moans. Begone, Demo, quickly, for a bottomless sorrow engulfs my heart. Quickly! And do not look upon my face, if you value your life!"

He started to turn toward her, but she grabbed his shoulder and turned him away. Even as she did the touch of her hands sent a chill through his body.

The warmth was gone!

"Tell Zeus Medusa shall attend the ball. Fare the well, young man. Now, flee for your life."

The calm air was stirring, and pellets of frozen snow that had been peppering the icy landscape were now blown wildly about. The wind mounted in howling fury, and soon the blizzard was upon him. He rushed southward, not daring to look back.

It was no longer the unseen companion alone he feared.

"You're back!", Zeus roared in evident surprise. "Well, yes, you're back. Been expecting you. Eh, nothing unusual about Medusa, I take it. I mean, nothing strange and, eh, stultifying?"

"A beautiful lady, sire. She welcomes your invitation, and shall attend the ball."

"The ball, yes. She will attend the ball! Zounds! What to do? Well, it may serve my purpose. I shall invite some special friends. Oh yes, very special friends! My charming brother Pluto. Serve him right. And a few other who have done me dirt. The ball is in the third month. And Medusa is in such a mood that month! Yes, I must invite some very special friends."

Zeus rubbed his hands together and smiled cherubically.

"Oh, Demo, of course you are invited."

What dreams do children dream?

Persephone sat quietly on a wooden bridge. Her legs dangled down, her tiny white feet broke the surface of the stream. The crystalline waters of the rivulet bathed them softly. A hummingbird darted near the water's surface, a brilliant winged jewel. At times it whirred motionless above the water. Then angry at the reflected beauty below, dived heedlessly, only to rise again as the rapid beat of its wings distorted the liquid mirror.

Persephone smiled, watched with amused attention.

Another hummingbird approached, and soon the two flew away, the first in angry pursuit. A tiny warrior protecting his domain.

Persephone closed her eyes, leaned back to bask in the warmth of the sun. The music of the stream, the softness of the breeze, the quiet solitude of her garden lulled her into a light slumber.

And as she slept, she dreamed.

Games of tag, of skipping ropes, of dolls ran through her mind. Friends she had known, kitty cats, and puppy dogs. Climbing the tall oak tree and seeing the big, wide world from its great height. Swinging on the swing beneath the tree. The taste of blackberries, of cherries, of fresh peaches.

The dreams of childhood.

Her mother, holding her, hugging her. Her mother's smile.

Colored stones, and crystals, and flowers. Beautiful dresses, and grown-up parties yet to come.

A far-off day and the arrival of a handsome prince, a marriage, living and playing together as children.

Children of her own, and she would mother them as her mother had done for her. Cookies, and pies, and cream covered berries.

Dolls for her girls, and swords for her brave boys. She would sew for them, and of a night tuck them into bed. She would tell them strange stories of magic worlds, and real.

Ah, the happy world, the beautiful world.

What dreams do children dream?

"Grim!"

"Inexorable!"

"Pitiless!"

"Passionless!"

"Without feeling!"

"Devil!"

"These have I been called!"

Pluto sat in his chariot on the mountainside, the mounting storm surrounding him. Gusting wind screamed, and pelting rain drove from the skies. The fury of the storm matched the fury in his voice.

"Without feeling! Then why burns this loneliness within me! Why thirst I for the companionship denied me! Was it by choice this form is mine!"

A sob was in his voice.

Gloomily he bowed his head, shook it. Reluctantly he took the reins, returned once more to the nether regions where he held sway.

Yes, even the devil weeps.

6. Escape from Tartarus

"Young man, I'm becoming increasingly dependent on you. You have carried yourself well indeed. Athena may well have chosen a worthy mate." Zeus' smile was effusive, his manner friendly and brisk.

"I've just gotten word from the CIA (Clever Information Activities) that something is astir in Tartarus. I do hope you recall your history."

"Tartarus? Well, sire, I recall vaguely that the Titans dwell therein. And that it lies far beneath even the depths of Hades."

"Astounding? The boy has genius! Ah, you must have cheated in school. I'll bet you studied! Sneaky way to pass a course. Regardless, right you are. But there is more." Zeus paced back and forth silently, looking down, a slight frown on his face.

"The CIA tells me that Megalith, a veritable giant among giants, has assumed power. . . . However, first, let me mention a bit more geography."

Zeus sat at his desk, punched a few keys on his computer, and displayed a map labeled Tartarus. "Computer, display the boundaries."

The computer hummed and whirred for a moment, then displayed the same map, but with boundaries highlighted.

Zeus smiled in delight. "Pac-man it isn't, but it's still a great toy." He frowned momentarily. "Beats me at chess. I have plans for that programmer. Long vacation with my brother Pluto."

"Computer, give us an image of Megalith, hear?"

The computer once more hummed and whirred. A few words appeared on the screen. Zeus read them, grunted. "All right, all right! I'll do it your way! Computer, display Megalith."

The computer did some more of the h & w routine, displayed a muscular warrior, standing quietly, a bemused expression on his face.

"Looks peaceful enough, doesn't he. Ah, beware! That quiet face belies the turmoil within. He, young man, is plotting the escape from Tartarus! The escape that must be thwarted!"

Zeus stared for a moment at the computer screen. He sighed.

"You know, of course, that these - the Titans - are our forebears. I would we could live in peace with them, but it is to no avail. Out of the goodness of my heart I granted them asylum in Tartarus. Yet they are not appreciative. They want to escape. What a strange term! Who would escape from Paradise!"

The computer displayed a pair of arms, waving desperately.

"Yes, yes, what is it. Oh, I mean, Computer, Speak."

"Oh Great and Mighty One, Master of the Universe, Benefactor of all mankind, . . . ," the computer began in a subservient voice.

"Computer, cease. I know all that. Get to the point. Computer, Speak."

"News of Tartarus, Master. Megalith has secretly had installed an express elevator from the basement right up to the earth's surface. He is even now contracting with the SkyHigh Elevator company to extend it to the top of Olympus. Fortunately SkyHigh is asking an exorbitant price. They have a monopoly on the elevator trade, so they are likely to eventually obtain the asking price. For now, however, Megalith is examining other alternatives. He was visiting the local Ultralight assembly plant. And it is said his agents have contacted the Rocketeers Club. No additional data at this time, Sire."

"And now, back to our commercial. Oh Great and Mighty one, Master of the Universe . . . " Zeus turned off the computer.

"He has already made his first move! An elevator indeed! And an extension to the peaks of Olympus! Zounds!"

"My boy, my plans have changed. This may require more than the skills of an earthling. I shall don human form, and I shall accompany you. The might of Megalith must be met! Ah, I like the sound of that! Permit me to repeat, The might of Megalith must be met!" He let the words roll sonorously from his lips, a slight smile on his face.

"Once considered the theater, you know. Actually, this God thing is much more fun - sometimes."

Two figures moved cautiously to the bank of the river Styx. Dark and smoothflowing the river arose from pale mists in the distance, and faded once more into mists as pale.

The sojourners moved slowly along the river's edge. One, a white-bearded elder, shuffled along supported by wooden rod. The other, younger and vigorous, darted ahead, returned, then darted ahead again.

"I think I shall tie a string to your leg, as though you were a June bug. Just calm down. There is no danger."

"For you, perhaps not. Still, I know he is here. I can feel his presence. In every sojourn he has been with me."

"Ah, the unseen companion! Yes, I too note an irksome presence. Nevertheless, nothing shall come of it this day. Trust me."

Demo glanced at the old man, Zeus. For it was indeed these two, long removed from the heights of Olympus. "Trust you . . . ? I knew this used chariot salesman once . . . Well, never mind." He noted the look of concentration on Zeus' visage. "No real correspondence. I was just thinking out loud."

Zeus regarded the river Styx with distaste.

"Most foul stream, this. I was in a vile mood when I loosed it from the bowels of the earth. Unpleasant odor, too. Fetid, in fact. Perhaps Pluto is right, a little landscaping and environmental cleanup are needed. I'll make a note . . ."

"Beware, my lad, that you drink not of these waters. Though you be of the most placid nature, but a sip from this stream and you shall rant against the world. Here has the essence of hate been distilled, and it flows forever at the edge of Hades.

They were interrupted by the yapping of a dog, or perhaps a pack of dogs. The yapping quickly changed to deep-throated growls. "Ah hah! Cerberus! My puppy! Must have grown a bit by now. How glad he will be to see me once more" Zeus was exuberant.

His face was that of an eager child. Plainly a wave of nostalgia flooded his mind, and a wistful smile flitted across his face. "To return to the innocence of childhood. How wonderful it would be . . . . Here, boy! Come here!"

Demo shrank back!

The dog bounded toward them from a hidden cave. It rushed to Zeus, licked his hand with one of its heads, while a second head growled ominously at Demo. The third head maintained a continuous vigil.

"Pet him, he's quite gentle." Zeus smiled. "Good doggy, good doggy."

"Remember when I gave him to you, Zeus."

Startled, Demo and Zeus looked up. Their gaze encompassed the towering height of Megalith.

"Yes, I remember." Zeus smiled delightedly. "He was just a little bundle of fur. barely a handful, yet so warm, so loving. He came to me, climbed upon my lap and quickly fell asleep. A most wonderful present he was."

"Well," Zeus voice changed, and he ceased petting Cerberus. "So it is true. You have left Tartarus. You know, of course, that I can't permit it. I've already contacted the SkyHigh Elevator Company, and they'll be removing the elevator by the end of the month."

Megalith ignored the comment. "Your Mother Rhea sends you greeting, as does your Father Cronus. They want you to know they grow weary of the depths of Tartarus. They would breathe the air of earth, drink the nectar of Olympus. Lift your decree of banishment, Zeus. What manner of child are you, to so treat your aged parents! Remember you not, your happy childhood?"

For a moment Zeus stood silent, head bowed.

"You weave your words with delicate care, Megalith. I know it is not for my parents you seek these things. You, who were born in Tartarus, would have these worlds as your own. You would have the Gods of Olympus give obeisance, the children of man serve you."

Megalith reached down, patted the third head of Cerberus. The dog snapped at his hand, and he withdrew it quickly, scowled.

"You recall, Zeus, when you allowed me to visit Olympus, when I gave you the pup Cerberus?"

"I recall well. I was yet a child in many ways. Now, I have matured, Megalith. Gifts do not buy my favor."

"And do you recall I left with you, also, the jug of the best wine of Tantalus?"

"Good wine it was! A most amazing brew! To what purpose is your question?"

"You drank of the jug, and it brought you dreams of Hera, and of others. And even now those dreams return to tease your mind. The wines of Tantalus will return, time after time. Nor can you avoid them. Sleep now, Zeus, in a drunken stupor as the wine works its magic."

Megalith smiled.

Indeed Zeus stretched out on the greensward, Cerberus whining as he lay down beside him. A smile touched Zeus' lips.

"I have long planned my return. The wine of Tantalus was but the first step. Now, while he sleeps, I shall roam once more this earth, partake of its pleasures, prepare it for our coming. And you, earthling, shall be my emissary. We are well met!"

"I serve Zeus, no other."

"Well said. See this pebble. Watch carefully, then mind your tongue."

Megalith lifted a huge boulder in his right hand, looked at Demo with a smile, lifted it high above the head of the sleeping Zeus.

Quickly Demo notched an arrow.

Megalith laughed. "Dream on, Zeus, for the dream shall soon end. As for you, blunt your arrows if you will. In a moment I shall feed you to Cerberus."

The dog growled at mention of his name.

From the River Styx a form arose.

"Hold, Megalith!"

With a start Megalith gazed at the dark and menacing figure.

"You seduced my brother with your gifts, Megalith. I laughed, for your wiles were of no value against me. You find the fields of Tartarus confining. Lay down the stone then, and come with me. For I have prepared a place for you in Hades."

A chill encompassed Demo.

He dared not look at the speaker. This one projected all the aura of another he knew. Another who traveled with him, unseen, on sojourn after sojourn.

The unseen companion!

Though shaken Megalith was not deterred from h is intent.

"You have no power over me. And you have no reason to love Zeus, who banned you also to an inferior kingdom. Join me. We shall rule the earth, and even Olympus." Megalith smiled.

"True, I cannot harm you. I have no love for Zeus, as you say. Yet you have erred. For there is one who loves Zeus beyond all measure, and before that stone shall fall he shall tear your heart from that giant body."

Megalith's eyes widened.

Indeed such a one even now waited, ever alert, ever faithful.

Beside Zeus, awake and watchful, Cerberus stood. Baleful eyes, from each of his heads, glared at this creature who dared threaten his sleeping master.

With a deep growl he crouched.

Megalith stepped backward, in desperation launched the great stone downward.

It did not strike the helpless target. It's path was deflected.

The stone stuck not the hapless head of Zeus. For another bravely placed himself in harm's way.

The stone struck the third head of Cerberus, crushing and tearing. The dog moaned low, stood still over its helpless master, then lunged forward.

The battle was long. The deep growls of Cerberus mixed with the angry snarls of Megalith. The ground rocked under their fury, and blood and sweat mingled in an ugly stream.

They rolled on the ground, tearing and ripping each his enemy. The hills reverberated with the sound of their blows.

Megalith broke loose, rushed to the mountainside, seized a boulder even huger than before.

He turned to meet the onslaught of the dying beast, brought the stone down. Another head was crushed, and Cerberus staggered back.

Megalith once more picked up a massive rock. Quickly now he stepped around the dying dog, stood again over Zeus.

Demo launched his arrow. It fell, blunted, from the rough hide of the Titan. Megalith looked at the boy, smiled a scornful smile. He raised the stone high above his head.

Before the stone could fall Cerberus struck. Wounded and bleeding, still he launched his body at the Titan, knocked him from his feet. His fangs closed on the throat of Megalith.

Megalith seized the dog's neck in both hands, his powerful fingers cutting off the breath of life. The dog shuddered, yet released not its death grip on the Titan's throat.

In moments it was over.

The Titan lay dead!

And Cerberus.

No. Yet he moved.

Slowly, painfully he inched his tortured body to the side of the sleeping Zeus. He licked his master's hand, his tail wagging.

Closing his eyes he slept, to wake no more.

The silence was broken only by the call of a raven, flying high above. Even Styx flowed quietly, as though in dread. The stream reddened where the blood of giant, and of beast, mixed with its dark waters.

Demo knelt by the sleeping Zeus, touched him hesitantly with extended hand. "Sire, wake. The task is done."

Even as he spoke Zeus pulled himself erect, stroked the long white beard he favored for his earthly form. He blinked, looked at the motionless Megalith. With a sudden sob he held Cerberus to him.

"'Tis well I sent you not out alone. I fear he would have done you in neatly. That wine! I should have known! A devilish concoction, well brewed to twist the mind of even the Gods. And say you another interfered on my behalf, your unseen companion? Strange indeed." He shook his head. "If that one be whom I think there is little love lost between us."

"Have you ever owned a puppy, my boy. Wonderful! There is no creature so loving, so caring of his master. Cerberus, Cerberus, that you should die saving me." A tear trickled from his eye.

"Yes, child, for such loyalty even the Gods may weep."

For a moment Zeus sat quietly, Cerberus in his arms. A tear trickled from Demo's eye as he thought of Rough, and the many times the dog had protected him.

"I shall bury him at the base of yonder mountain. It shall serve as his headstone. Let all who look upon its majesty remember who sleeps at its foot." Zeus sighed.

"Well, well, it is over. And you, my boy. Well done. Well done. This sojourn I shall long remember. And though you are, shall we say, jumpy and at times overly eager I did indeed enjoy your company. So I may . . .

"Ah, listen, even now your Mother calls you. Is it fresh-cooked venison I smell? Yes, yes indeed. Excellent cook, your Mother. The berry pie that disappeared while cooling in the window . . . slightly tart, but oh so tasty, very tasty!"

Ceres walked sad of mien upon the earth.

Time past, the mighty Pluto had rode roughshod across the land. Had seized her daughter Persephone, carried her away to his damned kingdom.

Long since had she accepted her daughter's fate. Yet she remained forever disconsolate. At times she wept. No smile touched her lips. And in her mind a plan developed.

The wiles of women have oft changed the course of man's world. Even the Olympians would feel that power.

Carefully she gave thought to devices that would serve, to those who might champion her cause. Finally, in desperation, she turned to that power of powers.

White-faced, in dread, she prayed to Moira to unravel the evil that had been done.

Her humble cottage was quiet, still. The silence was such as she had never known. Even her breath was unheard.

In the silence she received her answer. Not in words, nor in thoughts, but in a strange vision.

She stood on a high peak, surrounded by rolling fog. In that fog she heard her daughter calling, but she could not tell from whence came the call.

She answered, yet knew her voice to be unheard.

Faintly, another voice sounded through the fog. The voice of a young man. "My lady, you are in pain. Can I help you?"

The vision faded, and she was once more in her little hut. She sat by her kitchen table, laid down her head, and cried.

There would be an end to the cursed imprisonment of her child! There was yet a champion who would stand against the fiend from Hades. In time the one who had wrought this grievous crime would suffer!

In her mind she saw darkly a deep cold tarn, its face hidden by fog and mist. She knew.

There, by the tarn, the tragedy would end.

7. The Curse of Cronus

"My dear, it is but reasonable. It is the curse of Cronus, that even the Gods shall age." He sighed.

"I have, in my infinite wisdom, ameliorated that curse to a degree. The aging process is slowed, and eons are only days. Still, aging continues. No, basically, it is not practical to completely counter the process. I've certainly given it careful thought. Do you think I enjoy it. Just look at me!"

Zeus frowned, paused in deep thought. Using his cane he limped slowly to his throne.

"You really shouldn't be so upset. Look at what it's doing to me? Zeus - with a cane? Ridiculous!"

"But, sire, would you but look at me! How can I stand the humiliation. Just look at me!" Venus stamped her foot in exasperation.

"Yes, my dear, I am looking. Oh, yes! Eh, to be honest, I can't even see a single wrinkle. Just a moment, let me put on my eyeballs." He adjusted his bifocals carefully on his nose.

"My dear, you look delectable. Wrinkles! Bah!"

"You jest. I saw it only this morning. Right here, on my forehead. Do examine me more closely."

Zeus pursued his examination with great gusto, until the entrance of Hera distracted him. Gruffly he growled, "Well, if a wrinkle is there, it is a beautiful one. Let me see? Ah, I have it. I shall send for expert advise. Rest assured, I'll solve the problem."

Hera watched suspiciously, finally spoke as Venus departed.

"What's that young snip want. You were certainly giving her a thorough perusal. Which, I might add, you were relishing mightily."

"The duties I must perform. They weigh on me heavily indeed, my dear. Venus has detected a wrinkle. Sad, but the curse of Cronus, you know."

With a suddenness that Demo had come to abhor he found himself once more before the might of Zeus.

Arrow notched, bow drawn, he had the game on the dinner plate - and then, whoosh, the forest, the buck, everything - disappeared. And now he stood before Zeus, his arrow still ready for its flight.

Zeus ducked precipitously behind his throne.

"Now, boy, now, now! Didn't mean to startle you. Eh, just release the arrow - No! I mean, just return your arrow to its quiver. There will be other bucks, I assure you."

Demo turned red, quickly returned the arrow to its pouch.

"My apologies, Sire. You called me at an awkward moment. No offense was intended."

"Delighted, really delighted, to have you here once more. I look back upon our last little adventure together with fond remembrance. Fond remembrance? I like that combination. I'll have to use it again sometime."

Demo waited quietly. Zeus rarely spent time in empty conversation. Though it might seem like prattle, somewhere hidden was meaning - and danger.

"Have I talked with you of Cronus? No, I think not. Well, Cronus bore a grudge against us - myself, the other Gods. Some, they say, get mad, others get even. Not Cronus - oh, no! Cronus get mad? Never! Cronus get even? Perish the thought!"

Zeus stalked back and forth before the throne. His face was turning red in exasperation, and sweat trickled from his brow.

Already the dark clouds were beginning to form above Olympus.

"Now you stop that!" Hera exclaimed. "And quit rambling! Do tell the poor boy of Cronus' monstrous gift to the Gods! And do get on with it!"

"Hmmm, yes, my dear. Where was I?" He wiped his brow.

"Cronus was furious. F . U . R . I . O . U . S!"

"The boy knows how to spell. Be a bit more concise, Zeus. You know, we have this garden party shortly. Quickly now!" Hera was petulant.

"Of course the boy knows how to spell. Eh, don't you, my lad?"

"Oh, yes, Sire! My mother taught me well. She says . . . "

"Another time, boy. Another time." Zeus brushed off his comments.

"He was furious. He had no intent to get even. No way! Even would never do. It was his wish to lay upon us troubles ten times greater than those he received. Even? Ha!"

"And so he did. The Curse of Cronus! Has a nice ring to it, don't you think. I remember well the ceremony. In deep sonorous tones he enunciated those very words - The Curse of Cronus - and then repeated it three times. Melodramatic type, he was. I could almost hear the deep swelling boom of a gong as he ended each pronouncement." He paused, seemed to be thinking.

"I've tried awfully hard, you know, to emulate that voice. Very impressive, really. Can't quiet hack it, though. Had something to do with his bearing, too." He stopped, looked at Hera and Demo, and blushed.

"Lift the curse, that's what I want from you. Now, be off and take care of it. I have a garden party to officiate, you know." He glanced placatingly at Hera. "Do be quick about it, for Venus is terribly peeved. Although I didn't see a single wrinkle. Lovely skin, lovely, . . . " He paused, noted Hera's angry glare. "Reminds me - to a lesser degree, of course - of Hera's beautifully smooth neck and shoulders."

Hera deigned to be placated. She smiled gracefully as she accepted his compliment. Yet, she had a knowing look in her eyes, and the boy noted how she shook her head.

Demo started to ask more questions, when he found himself, drawn bow in hand, once more in his hunting pose. He sighed, released the arrow.

Fresh venison, a new mission, and Cronus!

He cleaned the game carefully, working from habit without thinking. His mind was far away. The Curse of Cronus - I must lift the Curse of Cronus!

"Oh, yes, of course I know of Cronus," his mother appeared peeved. "I may be a country girl, but I want you to know, I am well read. Cronus was, of course, Zeus' old man. My, how they quarreled! Some thought Zeus would be banned. And well he might have been, if he hadn't moved first."

She sighed, added a touch of herbs to the soup. "Mmmmm," she commented. "It is tasty indeed. Not the ambrosia I'm sure Zeus serves, but quite tasty. Here, give me your bowl."

"There was a curse, mother?"

"Yes, that there was. Zeus drove them out - his father, Cronus; his mother, Rhea; all of the Titans. He stood by the wayside, lightning bolt ever ready." She paused, her eyes seeing a prior time, a time when the Gods were seen by man.

She filled the bowl with the warm soup, placed it before him. "Now try some of that. Cronus indeed. This will take the years off. And a slice of my bread."

She smiled as he began to eat, watched in pleasure as he attacked the food with the zeal of hungry youth.

"Cronus stumbled, and Zeus raised his arm to cast the thunderbolt. And then Cronus stood straight and tall and majestic. He repeated, three times I think, with his arms extended upward, 'The Curse of Cronus'. Doesn't it have such a melodramatic sound to it? Especially if you pause between the words." She once more intoned, "The Curse of Cronus", pausing dramatically between the individual words.

"And the curse, mother, what was it?"

"That the Gods, for whom 'til now time did not exist, would now - like other beings - age. Zeus laughed. Still, there are rumors, and I understand he laughs no more." She lowered her voice. "I'm told that, even now, he walks with a cane. Have you seen it? Can this be true?"

Demo ignored the questions. "Mother, how would I find Cronus?"

"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, l