Rise of the Goddess (****All proceeds from the Rise of the Goddess anthology will go to benefit the Elliott Public Library**** Book 1)

by Catherine Stovall

  "Not Deucalion. It was my second son. I was permitted to observe the humans, but my punishment was to do little else. If I wanted to interact with them, I must do so only as a vague presence, or through a secondary source. The gods created a host of servants for me. They are called angels, but they're little more than conduits for seeing and hearing thousands of humans at once. Otherwise, they are voices I may use to send messages, advising the few who still believe in me."

  "I do not understand. Why do you stay? Can you not simply leave, if you no longer care what happens to them?"

  "No. I cannot leave them, unless another god removes the responsibility from me, and I would not. They are still children of my children's children. Every human on Earth is my descendant, though fewer and fewer of them believe in any gods, anymore. Our kin on Atlantis are now nothing more than myth to most of these humans, trite precautionary tales to be enjoyed for entertainment, or mocked as the beliefs of primitive ancestors."

  "I will. I will take over this planet for you, and you can retire to Atlantis."

  "Ah! I will gift it to you, soon enough, child. First, however, I will finish my story, and show you why you mustn't simply eradicate humanity."

  "I doubt you can provide me with any evidence that will change my mind, but I will be patient a little longer."

  "And I will trust that Justinian instilled enough of her teachings in you to prevent genocide.

  "As the descendants of Deucalion increased and spread over the earth, they evolved and changed, just as Jupiter had made them to do. Sadly, they become more and more like the models from which they were created. Wars sprang up over territory, food, and most appalling, religion. I tried to keep up with it all, but the larger the population became, the more I lost my influence over them.

  "Mercury certainly didn't help. He couldn't resist causing some kind of mischief, and when he got out of hand on Atlantis, Jupiter or Saturn would send him to ensure I was suffering, still. If Mercury felt I was gaining any sort of order, he would mingle with the humans. He told them stories of the old gods, keeping their memories alive. In the guise of various prophets, he taught factions of the humans variations of the divine stories he'd concocted. Ever the damned storyteller, he revised, and changed the stories, sometimes directly contradicting previous versions. Everywhere he preached, Mercury sewed conflict and confusion. Even now, there is no unity in the remaining faith. Cultures and societies war over their religions, constantly."

  "These humans kill each other over religion?" Carm was shouting and the mountain rumbled beneath, shaking lose some of the stone and sending it tumbling down the mountain.

  ~All over Greece, people scrambled for safe places to ride out the earthquake. No few sent up prayers for their lives, or the lives of loved ones. ~

  Carm heard voices, thousands of them at once, crying out in terror and supplication! There were so many that it sent her mind into a spinning chaos. Her eyes grew wide, and she realized that she could see the people now, as clearly as if they all cowered at her feet, their voices like the roar of an oceanic storm.

  "I have awakened your third eye." Prometheus sounded distant and insubstantial under the crush of human voices.

  Carm stared at the god's assumed form. "My what?" She continued to shout, but could barely hear herself over the din.

  He pointed to his forehead, where an eyelid opened to reveal a third eye. He winced as it appeared and the eyelid blinked shut, leaving no sign of its presence.

  "Carm concentrated on her own third eyelid and forced it shut. The voices of the humans instantly vanished, as did their images in her mind.

  "Is that what it's always like when you watch and listen to them? I wonder that you haven't gone mad!"

  "It's worse when I open myself to the entire world." The third eye only connects us to the angels. What we hear and see is only what I have directed them to observe." Prometheus smiled at her, tilted his head a little to the right and raised one eyebrow. "What did you hear, Goddess?"

  "There were so many voices. I'm not certain." Carm closed her eyes and tried to sift through the memory. "They were calling for mercy, for protection. Some of them were begging for themselves, but many were asking for others." She opened her eyes and smiled. "So many were thinking of others, even in their fear."

  "But who were they pleading to?" he asked.

  "Well, to you, I assume." She squeezed her eyes shut again. "I heard...God, Lord, Father, Creator, Allah, Yahweh, Jehovah, Christ, Holy Spirit—" She opened her eyes to study him, and he smiled again.

  "Those and many more are my names. So many humans still believe, yet they argue over even which name is my "true" name."

  "Your true name is Prometheus, isn't it?" she asked.

  "My true name is whatever is in their hearts. They put too much stock in a name, a word, a phrase. They have split into many factions, most intent on proving that their beliefs, and only their beliefs, are right and true. The few instructions I gave to them have been changed. Powerful, educated men and women have taken from my words what pleases them, and fed only that to the masses. They disregard what does not please them, and embellish what does." He was frowning again.

  "So they argue semantics?"

  "They kill for semantics. Some have committed genocide for their beliefs. Others instigate wars over them. Each religion has those extremists who feel they must subjugate or eradicate those who don't follow their religion to the finest detail." He reached out for Carm's hand and she gave it to him. Prometheus drew her away from the mountain, south to a land of rock and desert.

  Carm searched the land below. The god pointed out two groups of men. Both groups wore some kind of uniform, yet they were trying to kill each other. She watched as one man died and another stepped over his body to continue the battle. She felt the anger rising again.

  "Can you not stop this? This is—" She couldn't think of a word to encompass the horror of what she was seeing.

  "Inhuman?" he finished for her. "This is all too human. Even here, though, there is good."

  "How can you say that? How can there be anything good in this?"

  "If you concentrate, you can focus your third eye, and hear the thoughts of one man at a time." He said.

  Carm watched as his third eye opened, and the creases on his face deepened. After a moment, he closed the eye and gestured toward one of the men below.

  It took a moment to direct her new vision. Even then, the man's mind was a vortex of emotion and thought. When she found what the god was referring to, it startled her out of the human's mind.

  "He isn't doing this for himself!" She said.

  "No. He is fighting in this war for many reasons, but mostly because he believes he is saving others from oppression, abuse and death by killing these few men. Some fight for glory, others for revenge, but many kill and die for what they believe is a greater purpose." He smiled again, but the sadness in his voice was profound.

  "This does nothing to convince me that humans should be saved, Prometheus." She said. "Their justifications notwithstanding, their disregard for the lives of others is appalling."

  "It is their capacity for selflessness I was trying to show you, Goddess. Please, give me your patience and I'll finish my narrative."

  Carm nodded. "You were telling me how your influence was waning over men after the flood.

  "Yes." He paused for a moment, staring off into the sky. "Men were growing restless. For some, the conquering of their neighbours was not enough, and they began to travel and explore the planet, even taking to the oceans. Atlantis was in danger of discovery, and I warned the gods and goddesses. They chose to move the crystal city far from Earth, leaving me alone to act as caretaker to the humans.

  "Deucalion had died centuries past. Humanity became less humane. I sent angels, I chose prophets, but my messages were subjected to interpretations I'd never intended, and often lost. Men committed atrocities, having twisted the meaning of my words. If they weren't killing and conquering in my name, it w
as that of the old gods. I began to despair.

  "To assuage my fear and depression, I sought out the most pure among humankind, the children. Among them, I found joy, even in the vilest living conditions. Children have dreams and fantasies adults can no longer comprehend. They have innocence and hope, despite all abuse and suffering." His voice had taken a gentle, dreamy quality.

  "One child, in particular, radiated kindness and love. I was drawn to her many times over. As Miryam grew into a young woman, her beauty and generosity soothed me. In time, I could no longer resist the compulsion to be with her."

  Fury, burning hotter than the eternal flame, rose in her, and she opened her mouth.

  "No, I did not rape her." He spoke quickly to avoid her interruption. "I have never taken a lover unwillingly, goddess or human!"

  He smiled as Carm felt the rage recede.

  "In the guise of an angel, I lay with her. She cried after, tears of joy, regret—and pain. Mark this, Goddess, the passion of a god is almost greater than a human can withstand. I couldn't bear that I had so devastated her innocence. For the first time in centuries, I created a miracle." His head was down. Carm couldn't tell if it was shame that kept Prometheus from looking at her as he spoke. She wished she could read this god as easily as he read her.

  "But how could you? You were bound—"

  "By my oath, yes. I broke my oath. I justified it as granting Miryam mercy. It was selfishness and arrogance, the doing and the undoing. I would pay dearly, as would humankind.

  "I restored her body and removed her memory of what I had done. Even as I did, I discovered a wonder. She had conceived of me, a life barely begun. He would have his mother's generosity, compassion, and my power. I could not—would not extinguish that life, no matter the consequences. The child could be my instrument, with which I would repair humanity, or so my arrogance led me to believe.

  "Did he rebel against you then?" Carm asked.

  "Oh, no. He did exactly what I demanded of him." He looked up now, and there were tears raining down his cheeks.

  "Yehoshua performed miracles, healed the ailing humans in body and spirit. He redeemed many men and women, but he could only influence those who were in his presence. There were too many humans who were beyond his reach. Many of those men were in positions of power, and Yehoshua was a threat to their authority.

  "I believed that, eventually, my many descendants would succumb to his gentle guidance and compelling charm. However, I underestimated humankind, and I demanded too much of Yehoshua in my increased weakness. You see, Mercury was visiting when I restored Miryam. I did not know until after he had reported to Jupiter. The most powerful and ancient of the gods came, all of them together. I was stripped of much of my power, then. Before, I was oath-bound to inaction. Now, I am incapable of action, with one exception, granted only due to Mercury's mischief from before the exodus of the gods: I can reverse anything wrought by any god but Jupiter or Saturn.

  "That is how you were able to undo what I changed!"

  "Yes. So you see, I could no longer intervene with humanity directly. I could, however, use my demigod son as an instrument of my will, if he were willing. He was.

  "By my command, Yehoshua tried to bring the humans together. Every miracle he performed, or sermon he gave, was designed to bring men to a common belief in me as the one god, but many did not understand. They heard only what they wanted, only what justified their own ambitions and behaviours. Even his closest followers clung to certain teachings and overlooked the rest."

  "If Yehoshua attempted to rectify some leaders' misconceptions, those people turned away from him. His power created fear in some, hatred in others. Many sought his demise."

  "But he was immortal! How could they possibly kill him?"

  "They did not have to. They had only to murder his spirit. As I had, he began to despair. Atrocities were committed in his name, as they had been in mine. Many of Yehoshua's followers suffered persecution at the hands of his enemies. As men died for their faith in him, he became increasingly distraught. He begged me to release him, first from the mission I had mandated, then from his divinity, and finally from existence. I denied him many times over. I begged him to carry on, but he refused.

  "Yehoshua allowed his most powerful enemies to capture him. In fact, he set one of his own men to betray him. These enemies tortured him, and he begged me for release. When I could bear his pain no longer, I granted it."

  "So you destroyed him." She ached for the god, finally understanding what it must have cost him.

  "I released him, yes. I brought him back from the dead, too. I'd hoped it would provide inspiration and strength to those who tried to follow his teachings. Much had changed in the way I wanted humans to live, and Yehoshua became a symbol of, and a martyr to, that change. Sadly, humans were just as divided over Yehoshua as they were over me."

  "So you just gave up? Why did you not simply travel to Atlantis and beg for your liberation? Surely you had been punished enough for your indiscretions by then?"

  "Perhaps, but I can't just abandon humankind." His lips quirked to the left in a half-smile, even as the tears continued to fall.

  "Isn't that exactly what you did?"

  "I withdrew to mourn. I didn't—" He bowed his head again.

  "You withdrew for over two thousand years, Prometheus!" She felt cruel for berating him, but he must see her point, now. "I'm surprised they haven't exterminated themselves! Just leave them, already. Let me awaken Gaia, and she will obliterate the vermin for you!"

  "No!" The mountain shook beneath them. His lips thinned as they pressed together.

  He took the form of a cloud and began to glide through the sky. Carm hurried to follow his lead. Soon, they were two monstrous clouds racing on the wind.

  As they sped over a city, a gathered crowd caught the attention of the goddess.

  "See?" Carm slowed to point at a grand palace, before which a crowd of humans had gathered. They were holding signs, shoving each other forward, and shouting at the walls, while a row of men wearing black uniforms and protective helmets tried to force them back. Some of the uniformed men struck at the protesters with black clubs, or knocked them down with long shields. There was blood and anger everywhere. "Oppression and fear, anger and hatred."

  "I do see," Prometheus hovered next to her, "but you are discounting courage and hope. You've completely discounted compassion and generosity."

  "Where? I see none of that!"

  "Look closer. There, the elderly woman." He pointed. "See the young man helping her away from the crowd. There! The soldier tending that man's injury. And there, at the back. Do you see the young woman sharing her lunch with the beggar?"

  "Three, in a crowd of thousands!"

  "But there are three. Three loving, giving souls. All came here with rage and panic in their hearts, yet they have turned away from the violence, if only for a few moments. Come, there is more." He began to drift again, and she followed, eager enough to be away from the noise and stench of the crowd.

  They came to a row of filthy roads, where the stone buildings crowded together and a rivulet of polluted water ran down the centre of each street. Adults crouched in the doorway, looking as grey and dirty as their environment, while ragged children ran in the road.

  "See? Hunger and sickness. These people live in filth. Why do those in the palaces not share their excess?"

  "Because they are powerful and greedy for more, always, but that isn't why I brought you here. Look for the goodness. It is here."

  "I see deprivation and sadness, but no goodness here."

  "The children. Look to the children!"

  A small girl skipped and sang around a huddle of children crouched in the mud. Her eyes were over-bright, her face different from her peers, flatter and broader. This child was older than the others, but seemed younger of spirit. The smaller children were drawing pictures in the muck with their fingers, stick renderings of people. Carm looked closer and saw that all of the drawn figures wer
e smiling. One of the boys lifted a mud-covered hand and smeared the face of the child next to him. She squealed and scooped up a handful, tossing it at the boy. Another child laughed. The skipping girl fell, letting loose a cry as she skidded on the stone.

  The burgeoning mud-fight ceased immediately, and four of the children helped the injured girl to the nearest adult. It was a woman. She held a cup of water, clean water, as though it were her most prized possession. She'd been sipping at it slowly, while she watched the children play.

  When the woman saw the scraped knee and the blood, she tore off a piece of her hem, dipped it in the cup and washed the wound clean.

  "See how kind the woman is? How caring?"

  "She tended her child. What does—"

  "Not her child. The girl is an orphan. The man in the doorway, three more to the right? He took the child in with his own. He feeds and clothes her, and keeps her from starvation. The woman is just a neighbour, and that dress is the only one she owns. The woman's cup contained the last of her clean drinking water. She will walk miles in the heat, now, to beg for one more jug. Clean water is not easy to find here. By using it to clean the wound, the woman has saved the child from an infection that would endanger her young life. Moreover, by using the water, she has risked her own health. If she cannot get more clean water today, she risks dehydration. If she drinks dirty water, she risks sickness and death, yet she did not hesitate. She is selfless. Should I exterminate this woman, Goddess?"

  "Well, no but—"

  "Or the child, herself, for whom so many seem to care?" he interrupted her argument. "Many would label her defective, despite the joy she brings to those who love her. Should I have denied her existence?"

  "No, but—"

  "What about these other children, those who halted their game to carry her. Should I extinguish their souls?"

  "No, but—"

  "What about the man who took an orphaned child into his home?" he asked. "He has less of everything for himself and his own children because he is kind. Shall I take his life?"