Demeter's Love (1)
Our parting was swift.
The women of Colchis had taken the heroes' seed and were well satisfied, and the heroes, equally pleased with the hospitality they had received, spent their time in high spirits. They swore to record the feats they had witnessed with their own eyes, just as their ancestors had done, and so we left Colchis without a single care weighing on us.
Before we cast off, Medea urged me one last time to remain in Colchis. Sensing the danger in lingering, I refused and made a clean escape. As we climbed aboard, she threw a spectacular fit, screaming, "If you don't come back, I'll hunt you down myself and lay a curse on you!" Only when her attendants reminded her that shouting like that was bad for the child and began to lead her away did her voice finally fade from our hearing.
Medea.
Being loved by you is wonderful—but you're the sort who becomes dangerous if kept close for too long.
I carved that truth deep into my heart and enjoyed the same easy voyage home that we had known on the way to Colchis. I carefully stowed the personal gifts she had pressed upon me into a chest and spent idle hours wondering how best to put them to use. In between, I finished the epic of the Argo and handed it over to Jason. Peaceful as the sailing was, my hands stayed busy.
The eleventh Jason was not the type to go looking for hardship the way his ancestor had. That first Jason had done mad things—shouldering the ship with his comrades and hauling it over mountains just to cross inland. This one, lacking any oracle that ordered such nonsense, simply turned around and sailed home. Of course I recorded the final events after our arrival as well. They read as follows:
In time we reached Iolcos, and a great throng welcomed Jason and the heroes.
They had overcome the spawn of Charybdis, the Harpies, the Sirens, and the Clashing Rocks.
In Colchis they faced the fire-breathing bulls, the Spartoi, and the sleepless dragon, each conquering them by the methods Medea herself had taught, and so they accomplished the labors she set before them.
Though the deeds were smaller than those of their forebears, not a single man had fallen; every one returned alive. All held that fact in high esteem, and because it was the first great achievement of the eleventh Jason, none could hide their admiration.
We had been received with honor in Colchis, and we received no less when Jason took the throne of Iolcos. The aged former king stepped down on the spot and was promised a life of ease. Jason went about spreading the tale of their adventures with his comrades, never once letting the pleased smile leave his face.
The eleventh Argo was a magnificent ship, yet it had been a gift from the gods. At the counsel of myself, Perseus, and of Iolaus, we dedicated it to Lord Poseidon. When one considered who had granted us a voyage free of storms and full of fair winds, the offering was only right. As Iolaus and I performed the rites of dedication, the god himself appeared and accepted the ship.
Afterward we offered sacrifice to the three deities who had watched over our safe return. Midway through the feast Lady Athena appeared and prophesied that so long as the eleventh Jason ruled Iolcos, the land would prosper.
Every soul who beheld that vision trembled with joy. That we had offered proper prayer to the gods the moment our labors ended clearly pleased them, and it had been long indeed since a deity had personally promised a kingdom wealth. The people could not contain their delight.
And so Jason became king of Iolcos.
This was a tale most richly blessed, and I, Perseus the Second, set it down in writing.
That was how the story ended.
I handed the finished volume to the eleventh Jason, now king of Iolcos, and we took our leave.
Before we went, Jason treated me like a true friend and begged me to stay a little longer. Sadly, I feared that if I lingered I would grow too fond of the place, so I declined. I asked only that if fate ever brought us together again he give us a grand welcome; he agreed at once. After exchanging farewells with the other heroes who had shared the ship, I collected Epiphos—whom we had left in their care—and set out once more upon the road.
"You all right? Both Medea and Jason were dripping with leftover feelings for you."
"The first one, well, whatever. The second is a man. Unfortunately I don't have a hobby of being loved by men."
"What happened to make him cling like that?"
"Call it a mistake if you like—while you were gone I let him see me mingling with the gods. I also mediated so he wouldn't clash with Medea, and that seems to have been the spark. In his eyes I must have looked like some rare marvel. Better to leave his side before he got any strange ideas."
"You've got those marks on your back, and the gear you just received—you hang around with gods all the time. You never think of using that more aggressively?"
"Have you ever counted how many fools died after entertaining such impious thoughts?"
"That many…?"
"Never expect repayment from a god. Don't climb up just because you think you're loved—always stay humble. And if you've received help, keep proper form: offer prayer and give thanks. This isn't nagging. It's because you're my wife and I care about that body of yours."
"You only get all serious when you say stuff like that… I don't even have a mother… hiiing…"
With Thetis absent, scolding Achilles fell to me. She cantered off with our son Epiphos, hooves clattering, while I—still in black-horse form and laden with Medea's gifts—matched her stride, clatter for clatter.
The expedition had ended far too quickly; returning straight to Argos felt wasteful. So Achilles and I decided to while away a little more time wandering the Thessalian countryside at a leisurely pace. We could have reached anywhere in a heartbeat if we ran, but travel is also about savoring unhurried hours. Walking slowly turned out surprisingly pleasant; the chance to feel the wind and simply stare at the scenery grew more frequent.
Mountains and forests untouched by human hands were breathtaking. Clouds ringed the high peaks, and the air was so pure that every breath seemed to strengthen the body. I would have liked to linger longer over the views, but the sun had already begun to sink without our noticing. Night was coming; we needed a place to sleep.
We asked the dryads to fashion us a hidden shelter, then crawled inside and stretched out. I would have liked to call our son as well, yet Epiphos seemed perfectly content alone outside; he wandered off near us for a pleasant night stroll.
"This is ridiculously comfortable. But for something you asked Lord Hephaestus to make, isn't it a bit too… everyday? You finally got a weapon—you could've asked for something more impressive."
"Being able to make fire this easily is already more than enough to be grateful for. Don't ask too much of the gods."
"What a waste—"
My Mace of the Twelve Gods was a divine weapon forged by Hephaestus. I had half expected the tip to blaze red and spew flame. It did no such thing—nothing lethal, at least. It could light kindling with a touch, and a strike left a burn mark like sacred fire. Achilles still sounded disappointed.
Yet in this age even that was dangerous.
Starting a fire normally took real effort, and a burn scar, unlike in modern times, could never be healed. Hephaestus had said he poured his own flame into the weapon; after seeing Hades appear so suddenly, I half feared the smith-god might have left some mischievous surprise inside. That was why I had never unleashed fire even while hunting the Harpies.
"If it were me I'd want… a spear that just keeps getting longer… or lightning shooting out… something like…"
"You're not a child—why are you grumbling? It's my weapon and I'm satisfied with it."
"Hmph…"
I pulled the pouting Achilles into my arms—though not in human form. She disliked that shape, so I became a thick-wooled ram instead. The soft fluff seemed to soothe her; her mood brightened at once.
"That woman actually went and gave you the Golden Fleece too."
"She said she keeps harvesting wool from the golden ram, so she didn't mind parting with it."
"Hey, if you shear yourself while you're like this, what happens?"
"My hair gets cut."
"Oh… so you experimented…?"
"I've ended up with bald patches before. Don't even joke about it."
"Heh heh heh…"
Achilles stroked my body while mimicking soft baas. Whether the Golden Fleece felt that good or not, her eyes soon closed and tiny, even breaths rose and fell.
"Hah… hahh… nn… sss…"
She had buried her face deep in the wool; I checked several times that she could still breathe before closing my own eyes. An animal's body holds heat well, and holding Achilles made it warmer still. This was the first time we had slept together since the Argo expedition. The night around us was utterly quiet, and sleep came quickly, pulling me down into dreams.
Perhaps because I had slept so warmly, the sense that I had fallen into the dream-world remained sharp—yet my mind was free. Moments earlier I had been curled around Achilles; now the golden ram that was me stood in a green meadow, and the place was wonderfully warm.
"Baa."
I tried to speak human words, but in animal form nothing came out. Startled, I looked around; only a mist-wreathed field stretched in every direction. The sensations were far too vivid for an ordinary dream, and I worried something was amiss—yet nothing threatened me. At the far edge of the meadow a woman sat quietly, waiting.
"Baaa—?"
"My goodness, what is going on here?"
Golden hair, golden eyes, a full and motherly bosom, and a face overflowing with maternal affection—some goddess in a green chiton stared at me in open bewilderment. She had clearly summoned me into the dream, yet she had never expected a golden ram instead of a man.
"I called for Perseus… so why has the ram of Colchis appeared…?"
"Baa."
"Hm? Wait…"
Unable to return to human shape at will, I scratched my name into the earth instead. Her golden eyes lit up; she clapped her hands in sudden recognition.
"Ah! Perseus! It's you! I have no idea why you're a ram, but nothing terrible has happened, has it?"
"Baa."
I shook my head.
"Then all is well."
The vast meadow and the gentle atmosphere had already given me a fair idea who she was. Fortunately my guess proved correct; she introduced herself without prompting.
"This is the first time we have met face to face, isn't it? I am Demeter. I have wanted to speak with you for some time and was waiting for an opening. Lady Hera mentioned you had finished your expedition, so I arranged this little meeting."
"Baaa."
I bowed my head as politely as a ram could manage. The sight seemed to delight her; she laughed with pure pleasure.
"I went to the trouble of calling you, yet in this state we cannot talk for long. Since I have you here, may I ask a favor?"
I nodded—large, unmistakable nods so there could be no misunderstanding. Amused by the golden ram's earnest behavior, Demeter kept a cheerful tone as she stated her business.
"In Thessaly there is a sacred grove I hold dear. You may know it—the very place where the tale of Erysichthon is told."
"Baaa."
"Hoho… is that so? You know it already."
When I bobbed my head as if to say of course I do, she watched with open fondness—perhaps she simply liked sheep. Hera had likewise been delighted when I turned into a bear and performed tricks; I had the sudden feeling a circus act would do rather well in this era.
"I bring it up because I have only recently managed to restore that forest. The dryads and the water nymphs have returned in number, and the atmosphere is lovely again; I have grown quite attached. Lately, however, a new problem has arisen, and I hoped you might help. If you can resolve the trouble between me and them, I would be most glad."
In other words—a quest.
And not just any quest: a labor tied to ancient heroes and the gods themselves.
The sort of story that would make any Greek hero drool.
"Baaaaa~!"
We still had time to spare, and Achilles would be thrilled. I lifted my head high and answered with proud dignity. Demeter laughed in delight and slowly faded from my dream.
*
1) The famous tale of the man who cut down Demeter's beloved tree, received a terrible curse, and ended up devouring his own flesh. Erysichthon, Erysichton, Erysikthon—after debating how to spell it I settled on the form everyone remembers best.