Chapter VIII #2
“When you did come out, you looked healthy, but I knew at once that you were…different from Euryale and Stheno. Your body was smaller, your cries thinner. I knew, even before I discovered that you were mortal, later on, that you would always be more fragile. I knew I’d have to protect you, especially from the Olympians.
” She looks down at me. “I hope you always remember that. I did my best to protect you from them.”
The words seem strange, incongruous. I’ve always known my mother disliked the Olympians, but I see no reason for her wanting to protect me from them.
I’m not used to this kind of vulnerability from her unless it’s aided by wine, and even then it’s only brief.
I stare up at my mother and realize she is completely sober.
Somehow, that makes it harder to answer.
“I’ll be all right, Mama.” I do my best to sound brave. “I met Athena earlier today and…she was kind. She wouldn’t hurt me, I know it.”
My mother’s laugh is harsh. “You know nothing, child,” she whispers, “and you do not know Athena as I do.”
“What do you mean?”
My mother stares into the dark. Though she’s still sitting beside me, I sense she’s somewhere else.
“I could tell you a story,” she murmurs.
“The tale of a young, ambitious god called Zeus. He was born of Titans, and when he became strong enough, he rallied his brothers and sisters in revolt, overthrew his father, and declared himself king of the gods.” Her smile is mirthless.
“He abolished the ancient laws of the Titans and implemented new ones more to his taste. He gathered the many sovereign sea gods and banded them under one Sea Court, to be ruled by his own brother Poseidon. Accords were made among the men, and the Olympians vowed never to enter our domains without invitation. Above all else, Zeus promised the sea gods that they would retain their individual strength and power, that the ‘court’ was only a formality.” My mother shakes her head.
“It was all a lie. Within a few centuries, we became shadows of what we once were.”
I have known, all my life, that my parents were once greater beings. What I didn’t understand, until now, was how their power was diminished, who was responsible for it.
“I realized then that the Olympians were slippery creatures,” my mother goes on. “They were not like the old gods; they were hungry for power in a way we had never been. Then came the Gigantomachy.”
“…Gigantomachy?” I repeat. I’ve never heard that word before. It feels awkward and ungainly on my tongue.
“Sometimes it’s called the War of the Giants,” my mother says.
She has lowered her voice now, and I have to strain to hear her.
“The Giants were an ancient race of creatures, children of Gaia herself. In a way, they were my own brothers. They were stronger than the rest of us old gods, but not quite as strong as the Titans. Zeus abided them, for a time, but of course peace did not last. No one remembers the exact catalyst, the moment disagreement turned to war. But everyone remembers the end. Zeus gathered his Olympians for one final battle with the Giants, and then he ordered the Giants to be executed. We gods of the sea elected among ourselves not to participate in that war, but we knew when it had ended. We heard the screaming as the Giants met their end. It was…gruesome.”
Terrible images fill my imagination. I can see it all as though I were there, the Giants of old being felled by the more powerful Olympians, one by one.
“It was Zeus who led the fighting during the Gigantomachy,” my mother says, “but make no mistake: Athena was right there alongside him. I still remember what she was like in those days. She killed gleefully, brutally, without mercy. And when she was done, she made sure to hunt down any other perceived threats to her father’s throne. ”
I find I can’t reconcile the version of Athena that my mother is describing with the one who said just hours before that she admired my valor. There’s something else I can’t reconcile.
“If the Gigantomachy was fought between the Giants and the Olympians, why do you hate Athena so much?”
My mother’s expression turns stony. “That is not for you to know.”
We sit in silence for a minute before I speak again. “I don’t know what Athena did to you, Mama, but I believe she’s changed. She’s not the goddess you remember. She’s not a monster.”
My mother says nothing in answer, and without thinking, I reach for her.
It’s a small, imperceptible gesture, but she notices.
My mother stares at my hand as though she’s never seen anything like it in all her eons.
Her eyes flit from my hand to me, uncertain, and suddenly all I want is for her to take my hand and squeeze it.
I want her to tell me everything will be all right, even if she has no way of knowing whether that’s true.
Maybe that’s what I’ve always wanted from her.
Instead, my mother stares at my hand a second longer before standing.
Her expression shifts, and I know that she is not my mother anymore.
She is just an ancient sea goddess again. A humorless chuckle leaves her.
“That’s the curious thing about monsters,” she whispers. “The worst ones don’t bother hiding in the dark.”
She says nothing else as she pads out of my room, leaving me alone again.