by Nancy Madore
“Who dares to tell such lies!” thundered Poseidon so loudly that the walls actually shook.
“The stories have been attributed to someone called Homer,” replied Gordon.
“Athena is behind this!” insisted Poseidon, his face twisting in rage. “That lowly Nephilim imposter!”
Gordon stared up at Poseidon in astonishment, and Nadia could well understand his awe. Zeus might have been the hero of ancient myth, but Poseidon was definitely a force to be reckoned with. He had gone from calm to irate in a matter of seconds, and Nadia had the impression that he would’ve killed Gordon for daring to say such things if it hadn’t been for the ring. “Much of the story has been lost,” added Gordon quickly. “Why don’t you tell us the truth about what happened?”
“If I do…will you set the record straight?” asked Poseidon.
Nadia looked at Gordon, who appeared to be as surprised as she was by this naive request.
“Yes,” Gordon lied. “I will make sure everyone learns the truth.”
This seemed to pacify Poseidon for the moment.
“Start at the beginning,” said Gordon. “With the story of Uranus.”
“I will tell you our history, just as it was told to me,” Poseidon promised.
Chapter 23
The Origin of the Greek Gods
(As told to Poseidon)
In the beginning there was war. Then came water and finally, mud. The earth was reborn.
The Supreme Ones had won the battle, but they had yet to win the war. Many of the Watchers’ descendants had survived and were threatening to corrupt the world anew. So one of the Supreme warriors, Uranus, stayed behind to finish what they had started. But Uranus was a warrior among gods, and gods do not wage war against humans—not even half-humans. They do not need to. They have all of the earth’s resources at their disposal to accomplish their goals.
But now, since the war, the authority of the Supreme Ones had been challenged. Humanity had suffered a terrible blow because of their actions. The earth could not be misused in this way again—not by the gods. Yet the Nephilim had to be destroyed. It was decided, therefore, that Uranus would produce an army of warriors with which to destroy them.
Nephilim survivors could be found all around the world, but there was one place in particular where the giants outnumbered the men. It was a lush, mountainous region along the northern border of a large body of water the people called the ‘Great Sea.’ There was a small island in the Great Sea that had been abandoned due to its proximity to an underwater volcano. Uranus decided that he would breed his army there.
The Watchers produced their bodies from the dust of the earth, but Uranus used lava from the volcano beneath his island to create his earthly form. Then he chose a wife for himself from among the daughters of men. Her name was Gaia, which would eventually come to mean ‘earth goddess,’ because it was from her flesh that this new breed of gods would spring. Her sons and daughters would purge the earth of the Nephilim race, and eventually rule mankind.
The offspring of Uranus and Gaia were, far and away, the most extraordinary creatures to ever walk the earth. They were not primitive hybrids, like the Nephilim, nor were they carbon copies of imperfect man. They were an entirely new breed, a people unto themselves. They were stronger, smarter and more adept at everything they set out to do. They were superior in every way. Even their souls were superior, returning to the volcano from which they came when their flesh expired, and emerging from there fully intact. Like Uranus and the other gods, their souls could exist in this world without a body. Could the descendants of the Watchers do that?
Uranus took control of his offspring’s souls when they were still very young. It was said that he swallowed them, but none of them knew exactly how he did it. All they knew was that their souls were irrevocably tied to their father—even after death.
Under the guidance of Uranus, the young gods became great warriors that were feared by all—even the mightiest Nephilim. Uranus followed his army into battle to collect the souls of the slain Nephilim as they left their bodies. He imprisoned these in the center of the volcano, which he called ‘Tartarus.’
This first generation of gods quickly made a name for themselves as they swept through the land, wreaking havoc on the Nephilim race. There were twelve of them in all; six males and six females. The male gods were Oceanus, Hyperion, Coeus, Cronus, Crius and Lapetus; and their female counterparts, the goddesses, were Mnemosyne, Tethys, Theia, Phoebe, Rhea and Themis.
The Nephilim were proving a worthy adversary however. Having survived the flood, they were the strongest and most resourceful of their race. It was only a matter of time before Uranus’ gods began losing their fleshly bodies. Upon their deaths, their souls returned from the volcano and immediately found a replacement body from among the sons—and daughters—of men. But these new bodies were inferior to those of the Nephilim giants they were fighting. As the war raged on, the gods began to feel like a trickling river against a powerful tide.
Not all the descendants of Uranus and Gaia were perfect. There were some born defective, much like the Nephilim. These were considered little better than beasts. Uranus, in particular, couldn’t bear the sight of them. He murdered them while they were still very young and then trapped their souls in Tartarus along with the other Nephilim. This angered Gaia, who felt more compassion for these abominations than she did for the more god-like specimens that she had produced. And as it happened, Gaia knew Uranus’ secret for controlling and capturing their souls.
Losing yet another child to Tartarus, Gaia began to formulate a plan. Meanwhile, her daughter, Rhea, was just returning from the volcano after losing her body in the war. Gaia sent Rhea back into the volcano to fashion a sickle from the hot, molten rock within. Then she cautiously approached each of her sons, questioning them judiciously in an effort to find out if any of them had the courage to go up against their father. At first, it seemed as if none of them could—not while Uranus controlled their souls.
But there was one son who was different from the rest. Though he was the youngest, he was stronger than the others—and more independent. He had already exhibited small signs of rebellion on the battle field, going against Uranus’ wishes when he believed it would benefit their cause. There were times when he seemed to forget that he was not the one in charge. And the others appeared to forget it too. Though the twelve warrior gods considered themselves equals, they allowed this dominant brother to lead them in every battle. He even looked different from the other gods, favoring his father, whose dark, brown skin almost seemed to have a metallic sheen to it. His hair was silver, even as a child, and as bristly as iron. It was said that he once blinded an opponent by plucking out a strand of it and striking him in the eye.
Gaia was convinced that this youngest son, Cronus, could defeat Uranus and lead the gods. With this in mind, she worked on him day and night. She nourished in him the belief that he could be the reigning god of every living creature here on earth. Most importantly, she told him Uranus’ secret for capturing and controlling their souls.
When she felt he was ready, Gaia gave Cronus the sickle that Rhea had made from the volcano. The instant his fingers came in contact with the weapon, he could feel his will growing stronger. He began carrying it with him in battle. In fact, it would become a part of him, and later, he would rarely be seen without it.
The day finally came when the son felt strong enough to take on the father. But Uranus’ body was not like any other that had inhabited the earth before. The components in the volcano had made it stronger than what mere ‘dust’ could produce. It would be harder to destroy. Cronus would have to attack his father where he was most vulnerable.
On the fateful night, Cronus hid in the shadows while Gaia lured her husband to her bed. Catching his father off guard, Cronus castrated him and threw his testicles into the volcanic sea from which they had come. Uranus was forced to cast aside his emasculated body, which was thrown into the sea as well.
Cronus and the other warrior gods were now free. But only Cronus knew the secret for capturing Nephilim souls. He was, as Gaia promised, the reigning god.
Uranus was furious. He cursed all twelve of his offspring, dubbing them ‘Titans,’ which means ‘the straining gods.’ He threatened the wrath of the Supreme Ones.
At this, Cronus became afraid. He swore an oath to continue the Supreme Ones’ quest to destroy the Nephilim giants. This appeared to quell Uranus’ rage for the moment. However, he added another curse that Cronus’ offspring would likewise rise up against him.
But Cronus had no intention of allowing that to happen. Shortly after his children came into the world, he followed in his father’s footsteps by ‘swallowing’ their souls so that they would be bound to him forever.
To keep the bloodline pure, the Titan males married their sisters. This would ensure that all future offspring would return to the volcano after death, to continue their purpose as warriors.
Cronus married his sister, Rhea, and they immediately began creating their own little army of warrior gods. But Cronus proved to be an even more oppressive ruler than his father. He drove his children hard, allowing them no reprieve from the task to which they were born. Rhea resented this, and, eventually, grew to despise her husband. Desperate, she turned to her mother for help.
Having noticed that her son was, indeed, more like his father than she had anticipated, Gaia decided to interfere again. The women agreed that Rhea’s next child would be raised—in secret—by Gaia.
When the child came, he was switched at birth with the newborn son of a Nephilim. Cronus’ real son was whisked away to be raised by his grandmother. Unlike his siblings, this child was allowed to flourish. In lieu of the constant training, he was permitted to learn and play. Instead of being taught to hate, he was loved. In truth, Gaia loved him more than all of her other offspring put together. Both she and Rhea began to think that he should be the reigning god.
Gaia educated her grandson on all that she knew of the volcano and the mysterious power it held over the gods. He was an exceptionally clever child, and charming as well. But most importantly, he was kind. With every day that passed, Gaia became more convinced that he was the one to rule. She told him how Cronus had overthrown Uranus, preparing the young man for the day when he would do the same to his father.
When the time came, it occurred just as Uranus foretold. The young god rose up against his father and overpowered him, seizing his sickle and hurling it into the volcano. In this way, he freed his siblings from their father’s control and began an entirely new era for the gods.
But the Titans did not take this lying down. Together with Cronus, they declared war on Cronus’ rebellious offspring and a long battle for the throne began. In anticipation of their victory, this new breed of warriors called themselves the ‘Olympians,’ after the kingdom of Mount Olympus, for which they fought.
The young Olympian who had freed his siblings from their enslavement was now their leader, but he was nothing like his predecessors. He granted the gods complete independence, leaving only his powers of persuasion through which to control them. But this was enough for this young god. He was wise, confident and strong. He was vigorous and charismatic. His energy and influence could be felt from a great distance. His siblings—though gods themselves—followed him willingly, gratefully even. He was their liberator.
He was Zeus.
Chapter 24
Ancient Greece
Twenty-first century, BC
Poseidon studied his younger brother with mixed feelings. Zeus had given him back his soul. But if he expected Poseidon to bow down to him he was in for a surprise.
Zeus was, as far as Poseidon could tell, no better than he was. He’d simply been more fortunate, favored by their grandmother, and spared the fate the rest of them had suffered. He’d enjoyed a pleasant childhood where he had been permitted to learn and thrive. Poseidon supposed he could not despise his brother for this, but Zeus’ superior manner was uncalled for. And yet, Poseidon felt beholden to Zeus. He could no more strike him down than he could cut off his own arm. Still, neither could he keep his growing resentment from simmering.
Poseidon had been so young when his soul was taken from him that he couldn’t remember what it felt like to possess it. But he would never forget the day he lost it.
It was the first time that Poseidon had been to the sea. Though he was little more than a toddler, he felt no fear of the immense body of water. The magnificence of the waves as they rose up high in the air, and the resounding crash as they exploded onto the shore thrilled him. Even the pungent, briny scent that permeated the air was irresistible to him. He felt inexplicably drawn to the sea, almost as if it were calling out to him. His father’s instructions not to go near the water seemed trivial next to such a compelling supplication. So the moment Cronus turned his back, Poseidon disobeyed. He had meant to merely slip in the tip of his big toe—just to feel the water on his feet—when all of a sudden he was being pulled into the sea as if by a terrible force. Poseidon struggled against the water at first, but he realized quickly that it was far too strong for him to resist. He might as well let it take him where it would. He allowed his body to go limp, trusting in the molten waves that had lured him into their murky depths. He felt them lifting him up, to the surface, and his fear disappeared. It was almost as if one of the waves, like an enormous arm, was lovingly carrying him to the shore. He allowed himself to be transported there, almost regretfully. A part of him wanted to remain in the dark sea forever.
The wave dropped Poseidon onto the shore—at the feet of his father—and retreated back into the sea. Poseidon looked up to find Cronus glaring down at him. It was the first time that Poseidon felt fear, when his father bent down over him, his dark eyes menacing, and slowly opened his mouth. Poseidon was too afraid to move or speak. All he could do was to stare into the gaping mouth of his father. An awful whooshing sound was coming from his throat, like the sound of a very strong wind. Poseidon had the sudden impression that his father was about to devour him. He cried out for his mother, who was standing off in the distance, but she only shushed him. Poseidon was overcome with horror as he waited to be eaten alive. His father was a monster, and his mother was…something even worse. Even the sea seemed culpable. He tried once again to cry out but his cry was captured by the strange whirlwind that Cronus was creating over his face. It was taking his breath! He felt a fierce pulling, as if his insides were being ripped out of him. It hurt. Some small sound escaped his lips and his mother shushed him again. In that moment he hated her.
The pulling grew worse, and Poseidon shut his eyes so he wouldn’t see whatever it was that was being sucked out of him. It was bad enough that he had to feel it. His entire body shuddered violently and was nearly lifted off the ground by the force of it when whatever was inside of him finally surrendered.
And then it was over. Poseidon lay on the shore, feeling like a wet garment. The pain was gone, but he didn’t dare move. He was afraid to even glance down at himself, certain that he would find nothing more than a mound of dead skin, like so much seaweed washed up on the shore.
Cronus walked away. Rhea rushed over and forced Poseidon into the sitting position. His eyes moved reluctantly over his legs—then his stomach, and his arms—and he was surprised to see that they looked the same as they did before. They even felt the same. But something was different. Something was missing. Something inside. His thoughts and feelings were still there, but it was what came after that—the force that moved him to act upon those thoughts and feelings—that was gone. His father had taken that force from him.
In that moment, Poseidon felt nothing. He supposed that he should be happy to be alive. He would have liked to have been able to cling to his mother for comfort. He would have liked to have been able to cry. But he just sat there, staring out into the sea with blank eyes. His mother clasped him to her, rocking him, but he was beyond her ability to console.
Shortly af
ter that incident by the sea, Poseidon’s training began. He was told what was expected of him, and little else. Just about everything he learned related to destroying the Nephilim race. But even in this, Poseidon was only given half the story; for, although he knew how to slay the bodies of the giants, he had no idea how to capture their souls. But Zeus knew. He had been given the knowledge that was forbidden to the rest.
Why had Zeus—who had yet to slay a single Nephilim—been granted this most precious power?
And yet, they would need that power if they were to take on the Titans. And for this Poseidon was ready, and even eager. How many times had he damned his father to Tartarus in his heart? Now—with the help of this new brother of his—he would finally be able to make that happen. For the moment, he needed Zeus. Afterwards—who could say what would happen?
So Poseidon agreed to join Zeus’ army against the Titans, along with the rest of his siblings, Hera, Demeter, Hestia and Hades.
But it would not be easy. The Titans were the most accomplished warriors that Uranus could produce. They represented the perfect killing mechanisms, designed by one of the supreme beings of the universe.
The overwhelming majority of Poseidon’s cousins remained with the Titans—although a few of them defected to fight with the Olympians, such as the brothers, Prometheus and Ephimetheus, and a beautiful young warrior called Aphrodite.
Having always been free to do as he wished, Zeus had already fathered a number of children with the daughters of men. Disregarding the protests of his siblings, he brought in these Nephilim offspring and ‘turned’ them into Olympians. No one knew how he did it. But even upon their deaths, they, too, would spring back from the volcano in their spirit forms, just like the real Olympians did. The first among this new breed of Nephilim-born Olympians were Artemis, Apollo and Athena.