Hekate, p.3
Hekate, page 3
after she left you here.
She could either go with Zeus
or she could go with Poseidon.’
Styx reached for my shaking hand
and held it between her cold fingers.
Her next words were carefully chosen.
‘Your mother did neither.’
My Mother’s Choice
‘Your mother is unlike any Goddess I know. It’s why her gifts are so strange, they were crafted for a strange deity. We were girls together, her and I. Cousins, but more like sisters. And even then, when we were young – back when it was not dangerous for our family to be close – she was able to make the strangest things happen out of thin air. One day, she invented a fox made out of fire. None of us knew how she did it, only one night, she disappeared into the woods and came out with a creature bright as starfire, its swishing tail sparking embers across my father’s river-flooded palace. We loved that fox. My sisters still love its descendants. Each of them has a cub and they cherish it like a child. She knew how to do this. Reach into us, find what was lacking and give us a sky full of something we did not realize we needed. So what Zeus and Poseidon wanted from her was not just herself, but all of her gifts. They did not understand that a Goddess like Asteria would find a way out of their quagmire, because Asteria was not a Goddess who could be possessed or owned through a trap. She was bright and shrewd, even when we were young. So when faced with this impossible choice, after she left you with us, she first became a hare, one of the fastest creatures in the world. But they became leopards and cornered her. Then, she became a bird. But they became eagles and nearly caught her. Which left her with her last and only choice. She flung herself into the sea. And she transformed herself into an island, full of birds and trees and a place where no God can go without her permission.’
Comfort Is a Peculiar Thing
No one teaches you how to find comfort
when all you have known is running, fear,
the collapsing walls of a once-palace,
where the only source of true stability
and love you have ever had is your mother.
And when she is ripped from you,
there is nothing anyone can tell you
that will bring you that strange emotion.
Comfort is for children who have not known war. Comfort is for children who have not been
left in dark places with strangers.
What Styx just told me gave me no comfort or joy.
All it told me was that my mother
was chased so far
that she finally ran out of land to run on.
The only place she had left was the ocean.
The only thing she could do as a Goddess, to get away from the cruelty of Gods, was turn herself into something
they would never want to possess.
An unwelcoming island in a stormy sea.
Styx Had Been Watching
I could see her looking at my features
with guarded caution,
trying to read my dark eyes,
wondering what I was debating
within my own mind.
I tilted my head slightly
and squeezed her hand in mine.
‘If she is an island now,
can she turn back
when things are safe?’
Styx simply sighed,
her voice an ocean of pain.
She slowly shook her head
and spoke dreaded words I had
hoped would not leave her lips.
‘No, little one.
Her bargain was
that she gave all her powers away
to become this island.
There is no way for her to return
to her divine body.
Not anymore.
This was the choice she made.
Not just for herself
but also to keep you safe.’
I Stilled
Everything around me felt thick
and heavy as though
I could not breathe and my heart was
about to stop. We were immortals.
How could this happen to one
of us? I felt myself falling to the
ground, tears unable to form, blurry
vision, throat tight like a thousand
different storms trying to break
through my skin. I wanted to crawl
outside of this hurricane-skin
that was holding me in.
‘Are you saying,’
I whispered,
‘that my mother
is dead?’
Death
Even here, in the kingdom of death itself, dying as an immortal felt like an impossibility. My only experience with death was the stories my mother gave me. She told me tales about how mortals are doomed, so everything is more beautiful to them yet more cruel because they live such short lives. She told me about the villages not far from us where once people died, their bodies would rot if not set aflame, but I had never seen decay until I saw the bones and skeletons of the Underworld. When a mortal died, prayers were given for their safe passage, a feast in their name. And yet, although my mother was a Goddess, a guide to stars and maker of prophecies, the creator of dreams, there was no one to attend her last rites, speak kindly of who she was. She left her immortal Goddess body to become an island, a death in every way that counted to the divine, completely alone.
Styx Put Her Arms Around Me
And I shuddered against her cold form.
She put her chin on my head,
spoke comfortingly to me.
‘We do not die, child.
She is not dead,
not the way you are thinking.
Instead, you must picture her alive,
just in a different form.
Here, and not here.
We do not have to have
these bodies to continue
to exist.’
But it did not matter
how Styx saw it.
To me,
my mother,
my confidante,
my only friend,
was now truly gone.
‘What Will I Do Now?’
I begged her to give me answers that a part of me knew she could not possibly have. But grief was a cruel, selfish thing. It wounded the one who carried it so deeply, that when others saw them, they only saw the wound. And that was all I was now. A wound. A motherless thing. A child grieving without even knowing what grief was. The question hung in the air. Styx simply held me in her cold arms, her wet hair against my body, but in my numbness I could not even feel the cold. She did not say a word; instead, just let me sob. For how was Styx to know how to comfort a child who had lost the only parent they had ever known? We sat like that for hours, her holding me close, this dreaded river that even the Gods were afraid of tenderly consoling a grieving child. Finally, when my tears had stopped from exhaustion, I heard her say, ‘I promised your mother I would keep you safe, Hekate.’
From the Shadows, a Figure Spoke
‘You cannot keep a God-child
from above here among
the corpses and cold, Styx.
She needs a home. A place to grow.’
This voice was unfamiliar
and it had the agedness of oceans.
When I squinted to look at the figure,
it looked like a mountain was moving.
I realized then that a giant was crouching
in the mouth of the entrance of this place.
His huge form began to slowly shrink
until he was the size of Charon.
‘I know this, Pallas,’ Styx snapped,
‘What would you have me do precisely?
You know the river is my only home.
You have known this since we became consorts.’
Ah. So this was my uncle Pallas,
my father’s only brother. My mother mentioned
his name just once, when reading
a message from my father.
The words had not made sense
to me then. But now,
in the cold light of afters,
everything was clearer.
‘Pallas has betrayed us.
He has chosen the side
of the Olympians over us.
He has deceived your father.’
The knowledge of this betrayal
crystal-clear in my heart,
I glared at him. He was one
of the reasons my mother was gone.
He was why I never knew my father.
Pallas did not look at me,
or even notice my fierce glare.
Instead, he said to Styx,
‘Four of our children
live in palaces on Olympus.
They are cared for in ways—’
Styx’s voice rose to a screech.
‘Do you think I do not know
how my children are being raised
in Zeus’ kingdom?’ Her eyes glowed
with molten amber fury.
Pallas raised his hands in surrender.
‘You agreed to Zeus’ gift, too.
It was an honour for our efforts
during the war.’
Through gritted teeth, Styx spoke.
‘You know as well as I,
taking our children was
not a gift of any kind.
What Zeus was trying to prevent
was our children growing up
with any ideas of Titan rebellion.’
My eyes widened at these words.
Of course. Of course, that was why
Styx’s children had been taken.
The war may be over now,
but the threat of the Titans rebelling
was a good enough reason for Zeus
to divide us, imprison us,
separate us, even under the guise
of magnanimous ‘gifts’.
Pallas chose his next words carefully.
‘Even so, we now have a Titan child left.
So let me do what I can, and build her
a home on your riverbanks.’
How to Build a Home for a Godling
First you must choose a place where a child feels safe. And this is difficult. For some children do not know what safety looks like. They must be taught. So you let them choose the ground, and in this case, it is the ground far enough from the mossy, rock-covered riverbanks that she cannot hear the spirits, but close enough that the River Goddess can come and go as she pleases. Second, when you begin to build, let her help you. She may be suspicious of you, for you betrayed everyone she loved, but she is a child looking for something to do. Let her see how you raise pristine white marble from the palm of your hand and turn the work of a thousand mortals into a job for simply two Gods. Which brings us to the third. You let her only friend help, in this case the ferryman who once in a while takes leave from his duties serving the dead and the River Goddess to comfort a forgotten child. Perhaps because long ago he was a forgotten child too. Fourth, when you finish building this home, a palace just for a Goddess’ child, you give her one final gift. Inside her chambers, make her a secret window made of adamantine and sacred glass to look into the world above. Let her have one place within this darkness where the sunshine comes through.
Pallas
used to be a God of Warcraft.
But Zeus could not allow this,
so he took some of his gifts
to maintain control over him.
Then Pallas became a God of Craftmanship.
He built palaces and weapons.
I did not often see much of him
as he was always wandering the earth.
His gifts of creation were
always needed in the land of the living.
But his real love was crafting
wooden toys. His daughter Bia,
he told me once, loved wooden toys. When
he visited, he filled my palace with his small gifts.
Once, I asked him about his brother, my father,
but his eyes darkened with something
unnamed and he stormed out of my halls.
The next day I found a carefully crafted
eagle sitting over the fireplace.
A gift, an explanation or an apology?
Perhaps all three.
The Grief Abated as I Grew Older
But something else took its place:
a wish, a curiosity, call it a thirst.
It came from the knowledge left to me
by Charon.
All things have a purpose.
Not every purpose is good.
In my palace, all alone,
the more I thought about this,
the more my need grew to know
what he meant.
Time passed so slowly for immortals,
but it did pass. In Styx’s waters
I saw my body was growing,
my childhood escaping from me.
I was a lonely child.
Lonely in ways I had never been
inside my mother’s home.
I felt her absence sharply.
Like an eagle’s talon lodged
inside my heart, a constant wound.
Perhaps my curiosity
is what I used to fill the hole it left.
All things have a purpose.
Not every purpose is good.
Charon
Our friendship happened slowly.
One day he brought me food
and the next, he brought me a story.
And when I enjoyed the tale,
he told me another.
His work in the Underworld
was to transport recently dead
spirits to the realm in which they would
spend eternity.
They brought with them his payment
in two coins, placed on their corpses
before they were cremated.
Apparently, he took the coins
as means of tradition,
but what he valued most
from those he ferried were the tales
they had collected over their lives.
Soon, this became a habit.
He would visit me in my new home
and find me by my sunlit window.
Together, we would take in
a sunrise or a sunset.
And he would tell me one
of the many stories he received
from his many passengers.
A Conversation with Charon
We were sitting at the window again,
playing a game of dice,
when I asked him about his parents.
‘What was your father like?’
He paused the game and frowned.
‘My father is Erebus, the darkness.
I have only met him a few times
in my mother’s palace. She raised me.’
It’s odd how much is revealed
about a parent from three lines.
Most of us were fathered by Gods
we did not know well at all.
‘And your mother?’ I asked quietly,
picking up the dice to restart the game.
He looked down contemplatively,
then steepled his fingers.
‘Nyx is the Night itself,’
he said finally. His voice sounded
strange and strangled.
‘She is powerful. So powerful
that even those new Gods on
Olympus are fearful of her.’
This caught my attention
and I looked at his face sharply.
But he wasn’t looking at me.
He was focused on the game.
‘Growing up in the Realm of Night
is less growth, more survival.
My brothers and sisters and I,
you can say we had an interesting
upbringing, and that is why
we are interesting Gods.’
I was perplexed. ‘Are you certain
you are not a God of Oracles?’
His bushy eyebrows furrowed.
‘What makes you say that?’
I triumphantly tossed down
a perfect hand as I answered,
‘You speak in riddles better
than most of my mother’s Oracles did.’
Charon’s face cleared
and he threw his head back,
his deep laughter echoing across
the halls of my palace.
Lessons in Cartography
It was hard to know how many mortal years I had spent in Hades already. The task of time was meant for those doomed to death, and there seemed little need for me to count my days in any similar way. So instead, I became a collector of stories to learn more about my new home. I asked Styx how far her waters flowed and she told me that she was one of five rivers here. Charon told me about Acheron, the river where he ferried the dead. When I wouldn’t stop begging Pallas, he would pause his carving and tell me about the other parts of Hades: the Elysian Fields, the Vale of Mourning and the Halls of the Night. I stored all of this away inside my mind until I could craft a careful map. With ink upon parchment I slowly drew every single story Styx, Charon and Pallas gave me.
But What Lay Beyond These Riverbanks?
I found myself lying awake with this question often. Gods did not need sleep, but we did sleep for pleasure. However I tossed and turned, picturing the stories about this dark realm which was now my home. I had to know more. It was like a hand wrapping around my throat, this curiosity. It would not let me breathe.
One day, the need was so strong I made my plan. I told no one. Not Styx when she visited. Not Charon when he came to sit with me by my window. Not Pallas on his rare trips to my palace with a new carved gift. I waited until all was quiet before I moved through those heavy doors onto the familiar riverbanks. Here, I was even more caught in the feeling of emptiness when I saw the endless darkness around the glowing river.
No wonder I felt compelled towards the water: it was the only source of real light around, even if it was coming from the infinite souls occupying its depths. Was this the only place the dead lived? I had asked Charon, and he had hesitated before saying no. There was more to this place. But no matter how much I begged, he would not elaborate. So I went where I had seen his boat go. I walked along the riverbanks to see where the river led. I was strong now, nourished from regular meals of ambrosia and nectar.
