Book Excerpt -- Needs Title
How The Blessed Gods met the Not-So-Blessed Gods
It was just after the Trojan War. That whole thing had been a terrible scene. Never since Zeus and Chronos had there been such a spat between deities. Athena fighting with Hera, Hera fighting with Aphrodite, and Ares fighting with everyone he could get his hands on. Dionysos had just plain disappeared. They were grim times, those ten years.
And now, since those times were over, and the Pantheon was (mostly) back together again, Zeus called for a great feast to celebrate. There were all kinds of great food. Artemis, you might be surprised to know, grills a mean slab of meat, and she had bagged something special for the occasion (though she wasn’t going to say what until after everyone had tasted it). Hestia, the goddess of the hearth, has a certain transcendental way with baked goods, and so there were also many amazing pies and pastries, on plates piled up as tall as Demeter. Normally, Dionysos would also cook something delicious, from vegetables, fruit, herbs, spices, and whatever else struck his fancy that day, but no one knew exactly where he was, and so Apollon had tried his best to fill in the healthier portions of the meal, although frankly, no one was expecting much on account of that one time when he had cooked asphodel at room temperature using “enzymes.” No one quite knew what that was, but when he explained that it came from a cow’s guts, not even Athena would try it.
Most of the gods were there. Aphrodite and Hephaestos were late, but I think everyone there understood why, so Zeus performed the ceremonial function of watering the wine, and passing it around for everyone to drink, to signify that the meal had officially begun. Once everyone was eating, the Cloud-Gatherer spoke:
“A toast to Poseidon, for bringing an end to all of our suffering and woe.”
And of course there was a round of, “a toast! a toast!” and some people spilled out a little wine for the Sea god, who could not make it all the way to the top of the Mountain.
The food was amazing, but I’m not going to lie, that first family sit-down dinner after the war was damned awkward. Everyone was careful not to bring up any controversial topics, but that was what everyone was thinking about. Everyone was over-sensitive about breaking off into cliques based on who had been for the Trojans, and who had been against them, and so no one spoke for a long time.
It was not until Dionysos arrived, rather unexpectedly, with two Trojan hand-maidens, and several amphoras that everyone started talking all at once.
“Dionysos, you’re back!”
“Where were you?”
“Why did you leave?”
“Yeah, we missed you!”
“What’s in the jars?”
“Did you bring a casserole?”
“Shut up, Ares”
“Sorry Artemis, this steamed whatever the hell vegetable it is? Bland.”
“Who are those women?”
“What the hell is that you are wearing?”
“No, seriously, who are those women?”
“Don’t be rude! Offer them a drink, at least, before you start interrogating them!”
“Sorry Dad”
“Sorry Dionysos.”
“Sorry ladies.”
“Sponde!”
“To Dionysos!”
“To the beautiful women!”
“Bow chick-a-wow-wow-OW! Seriously? Was that called for?”
Dionysos waited as chairs were brought for his lady friends, then set his jar down on the table, sat, drank, and then spoke.
“I was in Africa,” he began.
“Figures,” snarled Ares. “If there’s fighting to do, you disappear.”
Dionysos frowned. “If the fighting is petty, and pointless, and going to draw a black line down the center of the mountain that no one can cross? I suppose I could have stayed, and fought, but then I, too, would have been sitting in awkward silence with the rest of you.” Then he smiled, “Instead, here I am to lighten to mood, and help you all get together and be a family again. Now… did you want to find out what amazing thing I brought back for you or not?”
“Is it wine?” asked Hermes. “Because, for serious, we haven’t had decent wine in ten years.”
“Better than that,” responded Dionysos. “Bring me fresh snow, and water… two glass pitchers, and a cobalt bowl.” The attendants of the gods brought these things. Now, I know what you are thinking. They did not have clear or cobalt glass during that time period. I’ll keep my explanation brief: All innovations are created first in heaven, and then on Earth. Hephaestos perfected glass blowing and coloring long before humans learned the art.
With all the airs of a stage magician, Dionysos made a great show of pouring what appeared to be water out of one of the amphoras into a clear pitcher. It looked like water, but it smelled rich, spicy, exotic, and very strong. He waved a spoon, in a dramatic way over the pitcher full of clear, aromatic liquid, then filled another clear pitcher with water. Then, he placed snow, in a large mound to look like a tiny mountaintop, into dark blue bowl, and poured in the water, then carefully added the other substance. He paused dramatically, and everyone watched as clouds formed in the blue bowl, looking much like clouds in the sky.
Everyone was duly impressed by this display.
“Clouds gathered in the sky, for the sky gods ruled by the Cloud-Gatherer!” Dionysos proclaimed. There were some chuckles, and a little applause. Then, he stirred the water, liquor and snow together into a slushy, milky looking mixture, making an open-ended gesture.
“Well?” He said, “Drink!”
And after that display, no one could say no, not even Apollon.
A little something you ought to know, if you ever find yourself in the company of Dionysos, being offered a drink. Do not think for even ten seconds that you can judge how strong the drink is by the way it tastes. Do not think that because it has been mixed with water that the overall effect of quaffing said potion will not be like having the sensible side of your nature knocked unconscious with a frying pan. The gods know this well, but in all of the excitement over his return, and the awesome trick with the blue bowl, they all forgot. All of them, and especially Ares, who took to the mysterious new beverage as though it were the missing side dish.
Now, hearing laughter in the courtyard, and the sounds of genuine enjoyment, Aphrodite and Hephaestos made their fashionably late appearance, and were in some small part dismayed, but in a large part relieved to see that they were by no means, at this point, the center of attention.
Ares, normally a quiet, surly sort, being properly speaking hammered had moved his chair to sit next to Athena.
“Augh man…” Ares said, slapping Athena on the back, “You really kicked some ass down there on the battle field. That thing where you shoved the spear in the guy’s chest and it came out his head? It brought a tear to my eye! Did… Did anyone see when she took those two guys and brained them on each other’s armor?? That was amazing.”
“Thank you,” Athena responded patiently.
“Aphrodite, you got creamed!” Ares continued.
“Thanks,” replied Aphrodite grumpily.
Ares poured himself some more of the strange concoction. “But I, Ares, truly spilled blood in the most spectacular way. In a day, I killed 35 men on the side of the Trojans, and 33 Greeks.”
“Well, that’s one way to stay neutral,” remarked Dionysos dryly, then to the women, he said, “Don’t mind him. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“I discovered, for example, that I could shatter a man’s rib cage with a single blow, unarmed.” Ares continued.
Many eyes were rolled as Ares’s boasting escalated. Apollon whispered something to Athena that nearly made her spit out her drink. Hermes squirmed in his seat. Aphrodite yawned loudly.
“Well that’s pretty good,” said Hermes. “I’m really proud of you Ares, you’re moving up in the world. Some day, you might even match my own battle prowess.” Hermes flexed his wiry arms over his head.
“What nonsense has passed the bar of your teeth, son of Maia?” Ares roared, “I am the god of war! You are the god of trickery and thieves!”
“I dunno. Thieves thug it up pretty hard core,” retorted Hermes. “You, yourself, know from your experience with the art of war that speed is just as important as strength. Actually, I might say that it is, in fact, the same as strength. Seeing as how speed and weight add up to velocity, which is what gives a punch or a kick its force. I am famously the fastest of the gods… I never heard anyone say that you were the strongest. Indeed, I calculate that while you have about two-thirds more muscle mass than I do, I am about twelve thirds faster. I think that means that I am at least ten times as strong as you.”
“And how many men did you kill in combat?” Ares demanded.
“I dunno, I lost count after a hundred.” Hermes said, leaning back in his seat, and steepleing his fingers together with a distant look in his eyes. “You just kind of go into this zen state of ass-kicking, and dudes just go down left and right, and who knows how many people died anymore? It is no longer about the body count, but about the artistry of each blow.”
Ares was at a loss. At length, he was forced to agree. “Yes,” he said, “That is true. The artistry of each blow is important.”
"For example," Hermes continued, "That guy I killed using only my left foot. I never realized that a man could die instantly from a shot to the nuts."
"Indeed," said Ares, "It was most likely not the kick to the testicles, but rather, you probably inadvertently shattered his spine. It was in this way that I killed Muwas with a single punch to the mid-back."
"I dunno. One-shot kills are a lot less interesting. My favorite kill was Aleksandus. I just punched him in the chest, and bam, his armor instantly liquified. Then, with a palm-strike, I sent the molten bronze shooting through his chest."
"That was using magic," Ares protested, "A far better kill was that of Skamander, whom I killed by piercing his breastplate with my spear, and then tearing out his beating heart with my bare hand."
"What about multiple kills?" Hermes asked, "Like when I head-butted some Trojan dude --he died on contact with my forehead, and the force of the blow sent him into another guy who died, and then the second guy hit a third guy who also died and exploded when he hit the ground, sending shrapnel onto other guys... like...an ass-kicking shock-wave."
"I similarly skewered three soldiers with two swords, sending metal flying onto other soldiers" said Ares.
"Yeah," Hermes said, "but you didn't do it with your face."
"I can kill seven men in under three seconds!" Ares shouted, rising to his feet.
"And I," Hermes said with a cool smile, "can kill seven men simultaneously with a single wooden toothpick."
Ares roared and pounded the table with both fists, overturning his kylix, upsetting a serving bowl full of soup, and knocking over a pile of cream puffs. Then, he stalked off in silence.
Everyone sat stone still for a moment before bursting into uproarious laughter, which Ares heard. In a blind, drunken rage, he tore a swath of destruction. Skirmishes and wars erupted between neighboring villages in the wake of the war god’s potent fury. Brother fought brother, and wife raised spear upon husband. He slaughtered man and beast alike, taking no notice of what direction he was going in, and making no note of landmarks.
It was not too long before his rage subsided, and it occurred to him that he had absolutely no idea of where he was. The place he was did not seem unlike Egypt. There was desert and fertile farmland, close enough that he could have thrown a stone from one to the other. Wheat grew in abundance here, and he could smell the scent beer fermenting. There was a river nearby, and between reeds and bulrushes, the god spied a woman’s garments; a tunic made from white linen, and a girdle made from gold and lapis lazuli.
Spying between the reeds, he caught sight of a woman with bronze skin, and long black hair bathing, with her back to him. Her arms were not pale, her skin was not white, her hair not blonde nor with any hint of curl, her limbs not delicate or frail, but she was beautiful. She turned and looked at Ares with her large, dark eyes, and his weapons fell from his hands. Rather than yelling, or running away, or calling out to the river gods, as a Greek woman might, this woman smiled a knowing smile, and approached him, climbing out of the water, to let the sun shine down upon the full glory of her nakedness, then approached and touched his hair.
“Who are you, stranger, and where are you from,” she began to ask, “that your hair is the color of gold?”
Ares, overcome with lust, did not bother to answer, but embraced the woman, who, to his undisguised shock, wrestled him to the ground and sat on his chest.
“Foolish drunken man!” she laughed. “You will take delight between the thighs of no woman with such terrible manners! If you want to enjoy my vulva, you will need to be more polite.”
Now, Ares had no idea what sort of a woman spoke so lewdly, but in his current state, he was not prepared to think about it for too long. At any rate, the woman seemed to have forgotten her momentary irritation at his initial outburst, and began removing his armor.
Some time later, after a day and a night of exhausting pleasure at the hands of the peculiar dark woman, Ares returned to Olympos. The fleet-footed messenger of the gods sought him out as he returned to his house.
“Look, Ares,” Hermes began sheepishly. “I’m really sorry. We were all pretty drunk, and-“
“Think nothing of it!” Ares exclaimed boisterously. “Everyone knows that you are famous for lies, and of course, for your unsuccessful pursuits in love, whereas last night, I had a woman the likes of which no god who dwells on lofty Olympos has ever known, beautiful like Aphrodite, eager to please, and well versed in love arts.”
“What?” Was all Hermes said.
“Off to the East,” Ares continued, “lies the home of this woman, unabashed in her nakedness, and hungry for male companionship.”
Said Hermes, “I think you just told me that you found a barbarian hooker, which, while awesome, makes me think that you might want to visit Apollo, and, you know… make sure you didn’t catch anything.”
Ares laughed, and went into his house.
“Unsuccessful in pursuits of love indeed,” Hermes muttered to himself angrily. “We’ll see who’s ‘unsuccessful,’ twerp older brother.”
(to be continued.)
It was just after the Trojan War. That whole thing had been a terrible scene. Never since Zeus and Chronos had there been such a spat between deities. Athena fighting with Hera, Hera fighting with Aphrodite, and Ares fighting with everyone he could get his hands on. Dionysos had just plain disappeared. They were grim times, those ten years.
And now, since those times were over, and the Pantheon was (mostly) back together again, Zeus called for a great feast to celebrate. There were all kinds of great food. Artemis, you might be surprised to know, grills a mean slab of meat, and she had bagged something special for the occasion (though she wasn’t going to say what until after everyone had tasted it). Hestia, the goddess of the hearth, has a certain transcendental way with baked goods, and so there were also many amazing pies and pastries, on plates piled up as tall as Demeter. Normally, Dionysos would also cook something delicious, from vegetables, fruit, herbs, spices, and whatever else struck his fancy that day, but no one knew exactly where he was, and so Apollon had tried his best to fill in the healthier portions of the meal, although frankly, no one was expecting much on account of that one time when he had cooked asphodel at room temperature using “enzymes.” No one quite knew what that was, but when he explained that it came from a cow’s guts, not even Athena would try it.
Most of the gods were there. Aphrodite and Hephaestos were late, but I think everyone there understood why, so Zeus performed the ceremonial function of watering the wine, and passing it around for everyone to drink, to signify that the meal had officially begun. Once everyone was eating, the Cloud-Gatherer spoke:
“A toast to Poseidon, for bringing an end to all of our suffering and woe.”
And of course there was a round of, “a toast! a toast!” and some people spilled out a little wine for the Sea god, who could not make it all the way to the top of the Mountain.
The food was amazing, but I’m not going to lie, that first family sit-down dinner after the war was damned awkward. Everyone was careful not to bring up any controversial topics, but that was what everyone was thinking about. Everyone was over-sensitive about breaking off into cliques based on who had been for the Trojans, and who had been against them, and so no one spoke for a long time.
It was not until Dionysos arrived, rather unexpectedly, with two Trojan hand-maidens, and several amphoras that everyone started talking all at once.
“Dionysos, you’re back!”
“Where were you?”
“Why did you leave?”
“Yeah, we missed you!”
“What’s in the jars?”
“Did you bring a casserole?”
“Shut up, Ares”
“Sorry Artemis, this steamed whatever the hell vegetable it is? Bland.”
“Who are those women?”
“What the hell is that you are wearing?”
“No, seriously, who are those women?”
“Don’t be rude! Offer them a drink, at least, before you start interrogating them!”
“Sorry Dad”
“Sorry Dionysos.”
“Sorry ladies.”
“Sponde!”
“To Dionysos!”
“To the beautiful women!”
“Bow chick-a-wow-wow-OW! Seriously? Was that called for?”
Dionysos waited as chairs were brought for his lady friends, then set his jar down on the table, sat, drank, and then spoke.
“I was in Africa,” he began.
“Figures,” snarled Ares. “If there’s fighting to do, you disappear.”
Dionysos frowned. “If the fighting is petty, and pointless, and going to draw a black line down the center of the mountain that no one can cross? I suppose I could have stayed, and fought, but then I, too, would have been sitting in awkward silence with the rest of you.” Then he smiled, “Instead, here I am to lighten to mood, and help you all get together and be a family again. Now… did you want to find out what amazing thing I brought back for you or not?”
“Is it wine?” asked Hermes. “Because, for serious, we haven’t had decent wine in ten years.”
“Better than that,” responded Dionysos. “Bring me fresh snow, and water… two glass pitchers, and a cobalt bowl.” The attendants of the gods brought these things. Now, I know what you are thinking. They did not have clear or cobalt glass during that time period. I’ll keep my explanation brief: All innovations are created first in heaven, and then on Earth. Hephaestos perfected glass blowing and coloring long before humans learned the art.
With all the airs of a stage magician, Dionysos made a great show of pouring what appeared to be water out of one of the amphoras into a clear pitcher. It looked like water, but it smelled rich, spicy, exotic, and very strong. He waved a spoon, in a dramatic way over the pitcher full of clear, aromatic liquid, then filled another clear pitcher with water. Then, he placed snow, in a large mound to look like a tiny mountaintop, into dark blue bowl, and poured in the water, then carefully added the other substance. He paused dramatically, and everyone watched as clouds formed in the blue bowl, looking much like clouds in the sky.
Everyone was duly impressed by this display.
“Clouds gathered in the sky, for the sky gods ruled by the Cloud-Gatherer!” Dionysos proclaimed. There were some chuckles, and a little applause. Then, he stirred the water, liquor and snow together into a slushy, milky looking mixture, making an open-ended gesture.
“Well?” He said, “Drink!”
And after that display, no one could say no, not even Apollon.
A little something you ought to know, if you ever find yourself in the company of Dionysos, being offered a drink. Do not think for even ten seconds that you can judge how strong the drink is by the way it tastes. Do not think that because it has been mixed with water that the overall effect of quaffing said potion will not be like having the sensible side of your nature knocked unconscious with a frying pan. The gods know this well, but in all of the excitement over his return, and the awesome trick with the blue bowl, they all forgot. All of them, and especially Ares, who took to the mysterious new beverage as though it were the missing side dish.
Now, hearing laughter in the courtyard, and the sounds of genuine enjoyment, Aphrodite and Hephaestos made their fashionably late appearance, and were in some small part dismayed, but in a large part relieved to see that they were by no means, at this point, the center of attention.
Ares, normally a quiet, surly sort, being properly speaking hammered had moved his chair to sit next to Athena.
“Augh man…” Ares said, slapping Athena on the back, “You really kicked some ass down there on the battle field. That thing where you shoved the spear in the guy’s chest and it came out his head? It brought a tear to my eye! Did… Did anyone see when she took those two guys and brained them on each other’s armor?? That was amazing.”
“Thank you,” Athena responded patiently.
“Aphrodite, you got creamed!” Ares continued.
“Thanks,” replied Aphrodite grumpily.
Ares poured himself some more of the strange concoction. “But I, Ares, truly spilled blood in the most spectacular way. In a day, I killed 35 men on the side of the Trojans, and 33 Greeks.”
“Well, that’s one way to stay neutral,” remarked Dionysos dryly, then to the women, he said, “Don’t mind him. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“I discovered, for example, that I could shatter a man’s rib cage with a single blow, unarmed.” Ares continued.
Many eyes were rolled as Ares’s boasting escalated. Apollon whispered something to Athena that nearly made her spit out her drink. Hermes squirmed in his seat. Aphrodite yawned loudly.
“Well that’s pretty good,” said Hermes. “I’m really proud of you Ares, you’re moving up in the world. Some day, you might even match my own battle prowess.” Hermes flexed his wiry arms over his head.
“What nonsense has passed the bar of your teeth, son of Maia?” Ares roared, “I am the god of war! You are the god of trickery and thieves!”
“I dunno. Thieves thug it up pretty hard core,” retorted Hermes. “You, yourself, know from your experience with the art of war that speed is just as important as strength. Actually, I might say that it is, in fact, the same as strength. Seeing as how speed and weight add up to velocity, which is what gives a punch or a kick its force. I am famously the fastest of the gods… I never heard anyone say that you were the strongest. Indeed, I calculate that while you have about two-thirds more muscle mass than I do, I am about twelve thirds faster. I think that means that I am at least ten times as strong as you.”
“And how many men did you kill in combat?” Ares demanded.
“I dunno, I lost count after a hundred.” Hermes said, leaning back in his seat, and steepleing his fingers together with a distant look in his eyes. “You just kind of go into this zen state of ass-kicking, and dudes just go down left and right, and who knows how many people died anymore? It is no longer about the body count, but about the artistry of each blow.”
Ares was at a loss. At length, he was forced to agree. “Yes,” he said, “That is true. The artistry of each blow is important.”
"For example," Hermes continued, "That guy I killed using only my left foot. I never realized that a man could die instantly from a shot to the nuts."
"Indeed," said Ares, "It was most likely not the kick to the testicles, but rather, you probably inadvertently shattered his spine. It was in this way that I killed Muwas with a single punch to the mid-back."
"I dunno. One-shot kills are a lot less interesting. My favorite kill was Aleksandus. I just punched him in the chest, and bam, his armor instantly liquified. Then, with a palm-strike, I sent the molten bronze shooting through his chest."
"That was using magic," Ares protested, "A far better kill was that of Skamander, whom I killed by piercing his breastplate with my spear, and then tearing out his beating heart with my bare hand."
"What about multiple kills?" Hermes asked, "Like when I head-butted some Trojan dude --he died on contact with my forehead, and the force of the blow sent him into another guy who died, and then the second guy hit a third guy who also died and exploded when he hit the ground, sending shrapnel onto other guys... like...an ass-kicking shock-wave."
"I similarly skewered three soldiers with two swords, sending metal flying onto other soldiers" said Ares.
"Yeah," Hermes said, "but you didn't do it with your face."
"I can kill seven men in under three seconds!" Ares shouted, rising to his feet.
"And I," Hermes said with a cool smile, "can kill seven men simultaneously with a single wooden toothpick."
Ares roared and pounded the table with both fists, overturning his kylix, upsetting a serving bowl full of soup, and knocking over a pile of cream puffs. Then, he stalked off in silence.
Everyone sat stone still for a moment before bursting into uproarious laughter, which Ares heard. In a blind, drunken rage, he tore a swath of destruction. Skirmishes and wars erupted between neighboring villages in the wake of the war god’s potent fury. Brother fought brother, and wife raised spear upon husband. He slaughtered man and beast alike, taking no notice of what direction he was going in, and making no note of landmarks.
It was not too long before his rage subsided, and it occurred to him that he had absolutely no idea of where he was. The place he was did not seem unlike Egypt. There was desert and fertile farmland, close enough that he could have thrown a stone from one to the other. Wheat grew in abundance here, and he could smell the scent beer fermenting. There was a river nearby, and between reeds and bulrushes, the god spied a woman’s garments; a tunic made from white linen, and a girdle made from gold and lapis lazuli.
Spying between the reeds, he caught sight of a woman with bronze skin, and long black hair bathing, with her back to him. Her arms were not pale, her skin was not white, her hair not blonde nor with any hint of curl, her limbs not delicate or frail, but she was beautiful. She turned and looked at Ares with her large, dark eyes, and his weapons fell from his hands. Rather than yelling, or running away, or calling out to the river gods, as a Greek woman might, this woman smiled a knowing smile, and approached him, climbing out of the water, to let the sun shine down upon the full glory of her nakedness, then approached and touched his hair.
“Who are you, stranger, and where are you from,” she began to ask, “that your hair is the color of gold?”
Ares, overcome with lust, did not bother to answer, but embraced the woman, who, to his undisguised shock, wrestled him to the ground and sat on his chest.
“Foolish drunken man!” she laughed. “You will take delight between the thighs of no woman with such terrible manners! If you want to enjoy my vulva, you will need to be more polite.”
Now, Ares had no idea what sort of a woman spoke so lewdly, but in his current state, he was not prepared to think about it for too long. At any rate, the woman seemed to have forgotten her momentary irritation at his initial outburst, and began removing his armor.
Some time later, after a day and a night of exhausting pleasure at the hands of the peculiar dark woman, Ares returned to Olympos. The fleet-footed messenger of the gods sought him out as he returned to his house.
“Look, Ares,” Hermes began sheepishly. “I’m really sorry. We were all pretty drunk, and-“
“Think nothing of it!” Ares exclaimed boisterously. “Everyone knows that you are famous for lies, and of course, for your unsuccessful pursuits in love, whereas last night, I had a woman the likes of which no god who dwells on lofty Olympos has ever known, beautiful like Aphrodite, eager to please, and well versed in love arts.”
“What?” Was all Hermes said.
“Off to the East,” Ares continued, “lies the home of this woman, unabashed in her nakedness, and hungry for male companionship.”
Said Hermes, “I think you just told me that you found a barbarian hooker, which, while awesome, makes me think that you might want to visit Apollo, and, you know… make sure you didn’t catch anything.”
Ares laughed, and went into his house.
“Unsuccessful in pursuits of love indeed,” Hermes muttered to himself angrily. “We’ll see who’s ‘unsuccessful,’ twerp older brother.”
(to be continued.)