Chapter 6
Son of Thunder
Six months later, the hut reeked of bitter herbs, sweat and blood. Danae massaged her sister’s back while Alea knelt on all fours, blankets spread underneath her swollen belly.
“Danae,” Alea groaned.
She leaned close so their mother wouldn’t hear.
“I don’t want her watching.” Alea’s eyes darted to the wooden figurine of Hera their mother had set on the table.
Zeus’s wife was the patron deity of childbirth. The statue had been present for the births of all Eleni’s children and was something of a good luck charm to their mother, who knew nothing of what it would mean to her daughter.
Danae nodded and scrambled to her feet.
“Get more cloths,” Eleni barked.
Danae glanced back. Her mother was kneeling between her sister’s legs, far too preoccupied to notice her turn the figurine away from Alea.
During the long months since Alea had confided in Danae, she had become increasingly anxious about Hera taking revenge on her child.
To comfort her, Danae told her stories of Heracles, the mortal son of Zeus, and the greatest hero who’d ever lived.
She recounted the tale of Hera sending a pair of venomous snakes into Heracles’s crib.
The hero had grasped them in his little fists and shaken them so hard he addled their brains.
It was said that the following morning he’d been found asleep, cuddling the dead reptiles like a pair of dolls.
Alea loved that story, but Danae came to regret telling her, as, from then on, her sister’s new obsession became pondering what special demigod powers her child would inherit.
She had considered sharing the burden of Alea’s secret with her parents.
But she barely saw her father anymore; he rose before dawn and returned after dark, working twice as hard to bring in half the coin.
Her mother’s edges had sharpened under the strain of holding the family together.
Eleni’s temper had become so volatile, Danae hadn’t dared bring up Zeus, the shade or the Maenads again.
Alea’s labor had started in the early hours. Danae had woken in the dark to discover their pallet soaked. Her father had already left for the day’s fishing. She and her mother busied themselves with preparing boiling water, tearing up old tunics and burning sacred herbs.
She imagined it would be like delivering a baby goat, intense and visceral, with the ordeal being over swiftly.
But Alea had been struggling all day. She could see the strength draining from her sister with each spasm.
As time crawled on, her vague feeling of worry had become a writhing knot in her stomach.
Alea rocked back and forth, lowing like a wounded heifer.
What if the child wouldn’t come? What if the baby was a kakodaimon, an evil spirt, that would kill her sister by tearing its way out?
Her mother wiped the sweat from her brow and pressed the sides of her sister’s stomach. She looked up, face tight with fear.
“The baby’s turned the wrong way.”
Alea bellowed as another contraction racked her body.
“Danae.” Her mother beckoned.
She moved to Eleni’s side.
“I need you to help me,” her mother whispered. “I’ve got to turn the baby the right way round or it will suffocate. As soon as I say push, I need you to make her do it, understand?”
Danae nodded, swallowing the saliva pooling in her mouth. She moved back to face her sister and wriggled her fingers between Alea’s clenched fists.
“Hold on to my hands.”
As her mother turned the baby, Alea screamed. The air rushed from Danae’s lungs as her sister gripped her fingers so hard, she thought they would break. Then Alea’s head sagged onto their tangled fists, only for her body to clench a breath later, as another contraction broke through her.
“Now, push now!” Eleni called, her arms slick with Alea’s blood.
“I can’t,” Alea sobbed. “I can’t do it.”
Danae pressed her forehead against her sister’s. “You can, we’ll do it together. I’m with you.”
A sob lodged in the back of Alea’s throat. She nodded.
Danae tensed with her sister as the next contraction came, the air expelling from both their lungs in unison. Again and again they strained, riding the tide of the birth together, until with one last heave, the baby slid free of Alea.
Heart in her throat, Danae peered around her sister and glimpsed a very human-looking foot. Relief washed through her.
“Danae,” panted her mother. “Get the knife, and make sure you sterilize it.”
She rose to her feet and staggered to the table.
Fumbling the blade into her hand, she held it over the fire, then returned to her mother.
She stared in amazement at the tiny person in Eleni’s arms. It was a boy.
Underneath all the slime he was perfect, down to each tiny toe and the little hands resting on her mother’s arm.
“Cut the cord.”
Hands shaking, she sliced through the sinuous rope and her mother whisked the child into the air, patting his back. The baby did not cry.
“What’s happening?” her sister murmured weakly.
No one answered. Danae sank to her knees, staring at the tiny blood-soaked body, while her mother continued to try and activate his lungs.
Finally, a cry pierced the air.
Her mother let out a long sigh and laid the wailing child against her shoulder, bobbing him gently up and down.
Suddenly her sister sank back on her knees, gripping her stomach. She groaned.
“What’s wrong with her?” Danae rubbed her sister’s back, powerless but to watch Alea endure yet more pain.
“The afterbirth.” Her mother’s attention was still on the child. “Get her on her back and press down on her stomach.”
For a moment, Danae thought her legs were going to give way, but she forced her limbs into action and eased her sister onto her back, laying her shaking hands on Alea’s stomach.
“That’s it.” Her mother hovered over her with the baby. “Help it out.”
She pressed down on her sister’s abdomen.
Alea gasped and the last of the birth slid from between her legs.
Danae stared at the bloody sack. It was strangely beautiful.
Root-like veins unfurled from the trunk of the umbilical cord and wound around the membrane, like a tree taking nourishment from its own little pouch of earth.
Then the door swung open, and her father entered the room. His eyes roved across the carnage of blood and bodies to settle on his grandchild.
“All is well.” Her mother smiled. “A boy.”
Dropping his nets and ropes, he hurried over to Alea and gently patted her shoulder. “Well done, my girl.”
“Ma,” Alea breathed through waxy lips.
Their mother wiped him then lowered the squalling baby onto Alea’s chest. Danae watched the little body rise and fall with her sister’s breath. As his mother held him, the child quietened.
She edged closer. There were downy hairs on his face.
He changed from moment to moment. One minute he had the wrinkled brow of an old man, the next his little pink tongue protruded like a budding flower.
Warmth swelled inside her. She hadn’t expected this.
Even the red patches on his face were perfect.
The baby squirmed, and his small, swollen eyelids opened for the first time. She held her breath. His eyes were deep pools of blue that looked much older than the brand-new creature they inhabited.
Alea looked up at her, eyes shining through her tears.
“Arius.”
“Hello, Arius,” Danae whispered.
She reached out, and he gripped her finger in his fist. She marveled at the strength in his tiny hands, each nail a pearly fragment of seashell.
In that moment, the entire world was contained in their hut. Then Danae looked up and saw something that sent a jolt of fear down her spine.
A pair of crimson eyes was watching them through the window.