Zeus was looking down at him from his celestial throne, the night sky creating a shimmering backdrop, his eyes the very vision of a deadly wave. His stern frown was buried beneath the snow-white beard that fell from his face, blanketing his chest. He was looking intensely at Eros and he suddenly realized, too late, that all his thoughts were being read. Eros tried to blank them, to hide his true vulnerabilities, but the idea of Psyche gone from this world crushed his soul deeply, and he could not suppress the feeling. The anguish was so overwhelming, he feared he would start to weep before his one true master like the pathetic little boy he used to be.
“She is still alive.”
Zeus’s unexpected statement brought a relieved sob that was hovering in Eros’s throat threatening to completely unman him in front of the most powerful being on earth. The thought he heard a snicker from behind, he wondered which to the deities found the most joy in his suffering. Was it Apollo? Or perhaps Athena. It didn’t matter. Zeus’s words were a sign of mercy from his grandfather, and perhaps the last bit he would ever receive. Nonetheless, he was grateful for the information. Eros felt he had to be strong now, for there was still some hope, albeit very little. Eros squeezed back tears of relief and lifted his chin to face his fate with whatever courage he could muster.
Zeus cleared his throat. “But there is no telling how long that will last. Eros, you have made several very large errors in judgment. First, you have betrayed your mother, goddess of love and beauty. Second, you have married a mortal woman under false pretenses and worst of all, you showed her your true form. Showing yourself to a mortal could divulge to mankind secrets reserved only for Olympus. You are a god of high rank who carries much responsibility and privilege. Yet, you make me and all of Olympus question your ability to perform your duties with sound mind. Do you understand the charges against you?”
“I do,” Eros replied with equal formality.
“Then, you are ready for your sentencing?”
“I am.”
Zeus glared down at him, his face impervious. “The truth is, your behavior surprises me. I cannot confiscate your arrows yet, for I have not found a suitable replacement for you. In a week’s time, you will go trial where the Twelve honored Olympians will determine your fate. Until then, you are not to leave Olympus. We cannot have you fleeing, trying to protect her. As for the betrayal of your mother, that is a family matter and she will deal with it as she sees fit. You are, however, forbidden on Earth. Your work must be done from the sky, The North Tower, the highest point in Olympus.”
“That is too far. Lord Zeus, I cannot aim from such distance—”
“Really? I have been told that you were able to hit your target quite accurately at one time.”
Eros swallowed. “That was… did Hermes…”
“Hermes is my eyes and ears, Eros. Don’t ever forget that. You should know better than to trust a liar and a thief. I don’t care if your arrows are not accurate. I do not care who falls in love with whom. Make sure the world continues populating itself. Too much bloodshed blood was spilt in that shameful war in Troy. We need more children, and you need to assist in ensuring this. However, as long as Psyche is alive, you are forbidden on Earth. If you care about your work, you should hope her death swift. Do you understand?”
Eros nodded, knowing there was no use arguing. It was possible to hit his targets from the tower. Last time, he had the assistance of Hermes’s shield. Without it, it was difficult to know who would be most compatible with whom. Love was going to be a random, disastrous affair. But what did his grandfather know of the time and effort it took to make sure matches were appropriate? To Zeus, Eros just needed to point and shoot his arrows and hit human beings of the opposite sex in order to repopulate the earth. Child’s play compared to the work of Zeus, and yet, no one had any idea how hard it really was. “Yes, sir. But if I may ask a question...”
Zeus hesitated, narrowed his eyes, then nodded once.
“Could you not protect her?” Eros knew it was hopeless. But if anyone could help Psyche, it would be Zeus. And if she were alive, perhaps, someday, she would hear him out. Perhaps, someday, he could touch her again, even if it was just for one last time.
“I want everyone to leave the room. I will have a word with my grandson in private.”
Eros watched with dread as the last of the deities and Zeus’s guards had gone. This usually happened when Zeus was about to strike someone and didn’t want anyone else to see him lose complete control. Eros watched as the door shut behind the last creature with a thud.
Zeus stood from his throne and approached his grandchild slowly. Suddenly, his stern and rigid countenance broke.
“What were you thinking, being so imprudent?” Eros breathed a sigh of relief. He recognized his grandfather’s more relaxed tone. But Zeus’s eyes remained severe. “We are all allowed our dalliances with the human world, we all know how irresistible some of them are, but to be so careless, so reckless. The rules that were created to make sure we don’t overstep our boundaries. Humans are not like gods, Eros. They cannot handle their emotions. They cannot contain their fear or their excitement. They overreact, and in doing so, can cause endless harm to themselves and to others.”
“Psyche is not like that.”
“Did she not look upon your face when you strictly forbade her not to?”
“That is different—”
“She disregarded your commands. She flagrantly disobeyed you! You should have struck her the instant she did this. It is an act of complete disrespect. Even if you were human, she was wrong in betraying your trust.”
“I never commanded her—”
“Did you not make her promise not to look upon you?”
“Yes.”
“And did she not break that promise?”
Eros hesitated, not knowing how to explain to Zeus.
“You do not have to explain,” Zeus’s voice cut in. “Do not look upon me like I do not know love. But you are a fool for wanting to protect her when she would never do the same for you. She cared more about satisfying her precious curiosity than keeping her noble promise to a god. Faith, Eros! Your precious Psyche had none of it. And without human faith, where would any of us gods be? She is not worthy of you. She is not worthy of lowliest rodents! I will not protect her. Nor will I sully my hands with her. I leave her to your mother to punish accordingly. No doubt she will do a very fine job.”
“Please, your Eminence. Whatever punishment you have in store, grant them upon me and me only.”
“Oh, your punishment is coming, lad. And perhaps, long overdo. Do you have any idea how many complaints I’ve gotten of your reckless, thoughtless acts? When you stand chained to the North Tower, there will be no escape for you from anyone. All of Olympus will be free to punish you as they see fit. Aphrodite, Apollo, Hades himself for all I care, anyone you have wronged, you will face them all and deal with the consequences of your childish games. You have caused mischief all over Olympus, and have made me look weak before my subjects. I have wasted enough time with your nonsense. I want you working harder than you’ve ever worked in your life. The world needs more children quickly. I want you to shoot those arrows as fast and as many as you can and you are not to rest until I say. You are dismissed. I don’t want to see your face again until a week from today. You are a sore disappointment.”
Chapter 23
Psyche found herself before a familiar building that she had recognized as the temple of Aphrodite in the center of her village. Hermes had picked her up as soon as she had given him her hand. This flight was nothing like the one on Zephyr where she was able to look down at the world beneath her and enjoy the soft breeze. One touch of Hermes hand and all she saw were lights and flashes. Psyche had to close her eyes to prevent a painful nausea. When she opened them, she was at the base of Aphrodite’s temple.
“Appeal to her womanly senses,” were Hermes’s parting words before he vanished straight up to the heavens.
Psyche stared at th
e edifice she had passed so many times in her past. The temple of Aphrodite was usually quite populated, but it was late in the evening, and the square was completely deserted except for a beggar at the foot of the steps seeking alms. The village and its buildings looked old and weathered compared to the beautiful surroundings she had enjoyed in Eros’s palace. Her eyes had to adapt to the change.
Again, she wondered how it was that she did not guess Eros’s identity. She had so much pride in her readings and her knowledge yet she could not solve the most important riddle of her life. She was still reeling over the fact that the shadowy creature and Erik were the same this whole time. She thought of how hard it must have been for him to carry the secret for so long. She thought of Erik’s sudden mood changes, his long absences, and his mysterious appearances, always when she needed him the most, as if somehow, he knew. She compared him to the mysterious creature she married, and remembered the strange questions about love and life that he always seemed to bring up. Then, there was the story of Persephone and Hades. How he must have wanted to tell her so many times, but knew he couldn’t. Regret tore into her as she thought of everything Eros must have sacrificed and risked for her.
Now, all she had to do was face his mother, Aphrodite. If Psyche could convince Aphrodite of her remorse, surely the goddess would take pity. If she couldn’t…. Psyche did not allow herself to finish the thought. But she knew that many other mortals had been punished for much less.
Psyche dropped a coin in the beggar’s hand then hurried inside.
The statue of Aphrodite stood sullenly before her, the torches surrounding her throwing shadows against her marble face. As a child, Psyche always thought this statue of Aphrodite looked regal, beautiful, and warm. But now, Psyche felt that its eyes were looking through her, slicing into her heart and wishing her nothing but ill. “Appeal to her womanly senses,” she repeated to herself. But how could she do this when Aphrodite was a goddess not a woman? Taking a nervous breath, Psyche dropped to her knees and began her prayer.
Psyche prayed as she had never done before. She hid nothing from her thoughts, nothing from her heart. She recalled every moment of her time spent with Eros, from the day she saw him as Erik, the laughing shepherd with his dancing eyes, to the warm moments in his arms in the strange Spartan room. She recalled his face and the beauty of his form that she had not allowed herself to appreciate when she saw it the first time in the light. She thought of his expression as she cursed at him. It was one surprise after the other. How horrified he must have been. And yet, there was no rage in his eyes at her clear betrayal, only sadness and fear. Not for himself, she was certain of that now, only for her.
Tears poured through her eyes as she continued to beg Aphrodite for mercy. She heard others coming in and then quietly shuffling away as they saw the raw anguish of the girl bent before the statue’s feet. Psyche did not know how long she crouched there. She suspected it was several hours. Her knees felt like they would break. Still, she knew that she would have no will to live if Eros came to any harm.
Vaguely, she heard someone call her name. Hoping Aphrodite was alas responding to her prayers, she blinked up but only saw her mother frowning at her, holding her shoulders and trying to pull her up.
“Psyche, what are you doing? I heard that someone had seen you here, but I could not believe it. Did the beast release you at last? Did he take your mind? What is wrong with you?”
“Mother, please. He is not a beast. I am here to plead for his return.”
“What nonsense is this? You are safe now. Come home and stop being ridiculous. We’ll find you another. He will make you forget all about that terrible husband of yours.”
“He wasn’t terrible. Mother, please just go home.”
“But Psyche—”
“Mother, go! You have no idea what I am dealing with. You have no idea what is going on. For heaven’s sake, listen to me for once and get away from here! It is not safe!”
“What are you talking about? You are talking nonsense.”
Psyche pushed Hermena’s hands away from her. “Mother, stop it! I am finished with listening to you and your poisonous words. And the hate, all the hate in your heart, I’m done with it! Just go, and let me pray for him. Let me pray for the one person I love more than my entire being. Don’t pretend to understand, because you never will. Because you have never loved anyone more than you love yourself. So leave and enjoy your newfound wealth and your future son-in-law. Leave, for I am already dead!”
“Psyche…”
“Go! If you care about me at all, go at once!”
Hermena backed away slowly, deciding that she hardly recognized her daughter and afraid of what trouble she had brought back with her. She watched as Psyche returned to her prayers, tears continuing to fall in a steady stream from her eyes. Hermena looked up at the stone face of Aphrodite and felt a chill run through her. Saying a silent prayer for her daughter’s life, she hurried out of the temple. Hermena knew she needed to get help.
Just as Psyche thought she would faint from exhaustion, she opened her eyes one last time and stared at the face of Aphrodite’s statue. For a moment, she thought it was her mind playing tricks on her. The statue’s white marble pupils were now a brilliant blue and they were hatefully staring down at her. Unable to take anymore, she felt the floor give way, and she tumbled to the ground.
Eros’s fingers bled as he obeyed his grandfather’s command and shot his arrows as fast as he could throughout all of Greece. A pile of thousands of arrows lay before him and he was to shoot each one before sun down. Hermes occasionally stopped to check on him but his stiff and cold expression made it impossible to ask any questions. On the third visit however, when Eros spied his old friend, he asked desperately.
“Have they hurt her?”
Hermes shook his head. “I cannot stay for long but it is noon and many of the eyes are preoccupied with other things right now. She is safe, but you are not making it easy for her.”
“How do you mean?”
Hermes stepped in closer. “You are making enemies of the very people who could protect her. Do you truly think that waging war with Aphrodite will help?”
Eros looked defeated. “What else could I have done? She will punish Psyche no matter what.”
“Well, for whatever reason, she has not done so just yet.” Hermes stopped abruptly as if sensing something. His tone changed immediately. “Why are you dallying? You are not to stop until sunset.”
Understanding that Hermes sensed an All-Seeing Eye upon them, Eros nodded. Suddenly remembering something, he called out to Hermes. In his mind, he said, Thank you.
Hermes only smiled slightly before speeding off.
Eros continued to work. As long as Psyche was not being harmed, he would continue. When the sun touched Earth’s horizon, one of Zeus’s minions, a winged, armored creature approached Eros and told him he could stop. He confiscated the last two of Eros’s arrows and told him they would return with more in a few hours when Apollo returned to give Olympus daylight.
Eros felt distinctly naked without his bow and arrows. He was at the top of the tower where the glare of Apollo’s mocking sun almost burnt his flesh. Eros had nothing but his invisible chains to fiddle with and his dark thoughts to keep him occupied. He watched as the sun approached him leaving the earth in complete darkness and spreading its brightness upon Olympus.
Apollo approached with a scornful smile, his thick arms guiding his massive chariot that dragged the gigantic sun behind him and passed directly in front of Eros, the heat almost searing his eyelashes, before swinging away. He then made an impressively sharp turn back, clearly not finished with punishing his nephew. Eros waited for Apollo with growing dread.
The god of the sun was no friend of Eros.
Time and time again, the god of love had caused mischief for his arrogant uncle, Apollo. The last event involved a wood nymph named Daphne. It was a cloudy summer’s day and Apollo was bored with inactivity. For sport, Apollo de
cided to poke fun at his youngest nephew, insulting Eros’s craft, calling his arrows a useless child’s toy in the form of an honored weapon. The sun god then showed off a mighty serpent he had downed with one of his own fearsome golden arrows and asked what mighty creature Eros had brought down with his bow. The gods and demi-gods who overheard the conversation were starting to gather and laughed derisively with Apollo. Most days, Eros was able to shrug off Apollo’s derogatory comments as he did with all the gods mightier than he, but that day, Eros’s mood made it impossible. Infuriated, the god of love waited for Apollo to be close enough to one of the most frigid nymphs in the universe, Daphne, who would rather read a poem than receive a kiss from a handsome youth, who cursed men as devilishly useless distractors and swore she would remain a virgin for all time in honor of the lovely Artemis, goddess of the moon, and Apollo’s twin sister. The maiden was in the midst of playing the lyre, Apollo’s favorite instrument. The sound had attracted the passing god, and just as he turned to see where it was coming from, Eros struck him straight in the heart causing the chariot to reel over and unceremoniously dump its contents on earth. Apollo literally fell from the sky, landing just a few paces from the shocked nymph. They stared at each other for a moment. Apollo did not seem to feel any pain from his fall. With wicked dexterity, Eros struck Apollo again from miles away directly at his heart. With two doses of love arrows, there was no hope of escape for Apollo. But, perhaps, it had been overkill. Eros wondered if the sun god had been reading Daphne’s beautiful mind when that second arrow fell, which made the poison even more potent. Eros had no doubt Daphne had one of those amazingly clever minds that few gods could ever hope to achieve. But what Daphne saw in Apollo, he could not guess. Most maidens fell head over heels for the beautiful sun god, for when he chose to, Apollo could be utterly charming. Perhaps, even Daphne would not be immune to such charm.
Scorched Page 18