He looked up to the girls and all of this fled his mind.
They stood still. Like stone. Three statues. The three Graces; oblivious to all else, oblivious to their beauty. All staring at a single point, somewhere back behind Dad.
He turned around to look. Being taller he could see a hint of the mountains. He turned back to his daughters; they remained mesmerised.
“Girls! What is it?” The alarm in his voice broke the spell. They all looked at him, somewhat dazed. “Girls, what is it?” His voice was calmer now, full of concern. “What do you see?”
Leda was the first to point.
“That, Daddy. The Mountain.”
Dad looked to where she was pointing. He could see the peak rising above the nearer line of rugged hills. He turned back to his daughters.
“What about it girls? Is that what you’re all looking at?” They nodded. He turned back to the distant summit and stared at it for a moment.
“Oh!” he breathed, just loud enough to hear. He turned back to them, looking a little startled.
“Girls, I think it is Mount Ida!” He took a couple of steps towards them and they came to him as well. When all four were close, they turned back and looked to the peak.
Nearby was a group of North American tourists, their origin obvious from the accents. An older man had been giving the rest a bit of a description of the palace and its origins, and at a volume that no one within earshot could avoid. However, from the dubious content of his descriptions, it was clear he was not an educated tour guide – probably just an enthusiastic amateur. He had been relating something about the Romans besieging King Minos for the Golden Fleece. Some of his companions had drifted from his riveting tale and noticed that the protracted attention of the girls and Dad was transfixed on something on the horizon, and promptly asked their “guide” what it might be. He looked where they were now pointing as well.
“That mountain?” he responded in a drawling bellow, “well, that is Mount Olympus! It’s where the Greek and Roman gods lived!” He then commenced on a tangential narration that was either aimed at satisfying his companions’ curiosity, or preserving his aura of authority, or perhaps both. Dad glanced at him with a look that was half-amused, half-irritated, then turned back to his girls.
“No girls, it’s Mount Ida. Well, that’s not what it is called now, but it was in ancient times.”
This did not mean anything to the girls as the name of the mountain was unfamiliar, and it did not explain what it felt to them. Dad could see he had not helped.
“Mt Ida,” he continued gently, as if he was breaking bad news; “it is the birthplace of Zeus.”
The moment they heard this, it all made sense. Of course. That was what was disturbing them. They were in the palace of a son of Zeus, and within sight of Zeus’ birthplace. It was no wonder that such strong associations were so clearly felt.
“I didn’t know he was born there, Daddy.” Grammatically this was a statement, but by Leda’s inflection it was clearly a question.
“Well I didn’t know until last night either, girls, so don’t feel like you should have known! I had heard of Mount Ida in the Iliad, but couldn’t remember the context. But when I was reading last night I came across the story.
“Zeus was the son on Kronos, right?” The girls nodded in agreement. “And Kronos was the king of the Titans. Well, Kronos’ parents were the Sky and Earth gods – Ouranos or Uranus, and Gaia. They prophesied that someday Kronos’ son would overthrow him. So Kronos decided to avoid this by eating his children! Now he was married to his sister, Rhea…”
“Eeew!” interjected Leda.
“Yeah gross right?” agreed Danae.
“Yeah I know,” Dad continued, “all the Greek gods were inbred weren’t they! Anyway, Rhea gave birth to her children one by one. First was Hestia, then Demeter, Hera, Hades and Poseidon. Kronos ate them all. But Rhea wanted to protect the next child and asked Ouranos and Gaia for help. They whisked her away here and she gave birth to Zeus and hid him in a cave up on Mount Ida. Apparently you can still visit the cave, not that you’d probably want to go. Anyway, Rhea got some ancient minor gods or spirits – the Kouretes – to guard him.”
“The Kouretes?” Ilia said, “never heard of them.”
“No, neither had I. Apparently there were a few of them – either 5, 7 or 9 according to different sources, and they were associated with ancient crafts like metalworking and shepherding and…beekeeping…and one other. Can’t remember. Oh yes! Hunting. Anyway, they were the first armoured gods and they danced around Zeus, clashing their spears on their shields to muffle the sounds of baby Zeus crying.
“Meanwhile, Rhea wrapped a big stone in swaddling clothes and gave them to Kronos, and he scoffed it right down thinking it was Zeus and didn’t notice the difference apparently. Then Gaia raised Zeus here in Crete in the cave on Mount Ida. So if you think about Mother Earth raising someone in a cave until he was grown up – it’s sort of like being born from the Earth isn’t it? You get a lot of that type of symbolism in ancient societies. Anyway, when Zeus was grown up, he left the cave, gave Kronos something to make him vomit up his other children, then Zeus and Poseidon and Hades banded together and did over Kronos, and Zeus became head of the gods. Other myths say he got the help of the Cyclops and the hundred handed giants. But either way, he did over his Dad and became top dog on Olympus. ”
“And that happened up there?” Danae said, looking doubtfully at the distant peak.
“That’s the story!” responded Dad.
“Hmmm, not sure if I believe that.” Danae was a natural sceptic. “But then,” she added with a grin, “I wouldn’t have believed in Apollo either, if I hadn’t met him!”
“I know,” agreed Ilia. “But also, this feeling isn’t normal either. There’s no denying it.”
“What do you mean?” Dad asked.
“This whole place…” Ilia began.
“Since we arrived…” Danae said at the same time. The two sisters looked at each other and smiled at their coordinated expression of a common experience. Leda exploited the moment to jump in.
“It’s like someone is watching us Daddy, like someone is here. Like the mountain is watching us.”
“And more,” Ilia continued. “The Sight – usually we don’t feel anything unless we touch something special. Then we get a whole rush of images and things and we can sort of pick one and zoom in. Or that’s what we’ve learned to do. But here, I don’t need to touch anything. There’s like an echo of shadows and whispers all around me, and it feels like I could just pluck one out and focus without touching anything.” She pulled a face, clearly unconvinced that she was doing the experience justice.
“They’re pushing in on me everywhere.” Leda sounded a little alarmed as she said this. “I don’t like it – I don’t think I can control it. It’s like being in a noisy crowd and they are all around you.”
“Come here sweetie,” Dad said reassuringly, “you’re safe with me. I promise.”
Leda accepted Dad’s invite and came in for a hug. He enveloped her for a few seconds, trying to wrap her up completely in his arms.
She was more reassured than he was.
Corfu
The Palace of Knossos
The Palace of Knossos
Chapter III
The Last Good Days
“We men are wretched things, and the gods, who have no cares themselves, have woven sorrow into the very pattern of our lives.”
– Achilles to Priam, The Iliad, Book 24
While Dad was reassuring Leda, Ilia meandered over towards the block of stone, her eyes straying all around her as any number of things caught her eye. There were the mundane of course, such as the tourists from countless countries with their guide books and maps and water bottles, following their umbrella or flag-wielding tour guides, swarming around the ruins like a plague of ants. Then there were the less mundane but still unremarkable elements – at least unremarkable in the sense that they were a p
art of the natural world and needed no special explanation; the incredible ruins and rugged backdrop of the surrounding hills. But apart from all of this, there were the slightly disturbing phenomena that the three sisters had alluded to before, both visual and to a lesser extent auditory.
There were hints of movement on the edge of Ilia’s vision that kept catching her eye – everywhere – but whenever her eyes tried to track any individual movement, it disappeared. It was like when you look at the night sky and your peripheral vision is full of faint stars, but then they vanish as soon as you look directly at them. This was, of course, far more disconcerting than the night sky, as it seemed that the place was full of moving phantoms and fleeting wisps of smoke that did not want to be seen. The fact that it was blazing sunshine, it was a public place, she was with Dad and surrounded by people, this all somewhat moderated the fear induced; she did not want to imagine what it would be like alone and in the dark. Hopefully that would not happen.
Casually, she backed up to the great piece of shaped stone. It was about waist height and a convenient place to lean. She did exactly that, her hands straying to the edges to steady her…
A lurch!
Her stomach turns!
She had not expected that. Not since the early days of discovering The Sight has she been so out of control. They had all learned to control it. As they approached an object they could feel how strong an experience it offered before they even touched it. Then when they did, an array of images or sounds presented themselves and they could choose and focus in on one, or pull out if they wished.
But not now. Not this time. She is unexpectedly projected into an experience without warning.
And it is horrifying.
Same courtyard, she thinks. But complete. Colonnades all around, holding up tiled roofs. But pandemonium. People are running in panic everywhere.
Through the great opening above the courtyard, the sky is dark. Not night, but dark, an unnatural dark. Similar to when the blackest clouds suddenly blot out the midday sky and you know a terrible tempest is imminent; but this darkness is more unnatural even than that – it is sinister.
If you have ever seen a dust or sandstorm, when a violent front sweeps across a parched and skeletal land and strips thousands of tons of topsoil from the baked earth, elevating it upwards into a vast wall miles high and tens of miles wide, and you see that unnatural and all-consuming curtain approaching from the horizon, blotting out all as it comes on, relentless and unstoppable and unforgiving, and even the mighty sun is reduced to a pale disc in the darkness and it feels like the end of the world may indeed be imminent…
Or on the edge of an uncontrolled bushfire, where a hot blasting gale of 45 degrees fuels it to frenzy, spreading across thousands of square miles of tinder-dry forest, and the flames are fanned to heights of a hundred feet or more and the firestorm consumes so much oxygen that it is sucking the air in from hundreds of miles around, which in turn feeds the insatiable inferno even further. The temperatures can reach eight hundred degrees and it heats up the oil in the trees to such an extent that their trunks literally explode as if the forest is under artillery fire, and the front sweeps across dams and rivers and dries them instantly without pause, and the sky is darkened by the smoke and the midday sun is a red ball in the dark haze and the hot smoke burns and assaults the lungs and one is certain that Armageddon can be no more terrifying…
Yet forest fires and dust storms and even typhoons and hurricanes are as nothing compared to that apocalyptic fury which the earth reserves for special occasions, when it decides to unleash its full power, opening a channel from its very core to vomit the molten contents of its bowels into the atmosphere and upon the face of the earth, releasing earthquakes and lava flows and tidal waves, flooding all Creation with Destruction, sending pyroclastic flows of a thousand degrees travelling 500 miles per hour to cremate entire landscapes, boiling oceans and evaporating lakes and harbours, instantly incinerating flesh and wood, melting sand and stone and metal; literally ending civilisations.
This is where Ilia finds herself, in the same courtyard, but in a semi-darkness lit by a fiery orange glow tinting all surfaces to red. And the immediate thing she notices is a pillar to heaven; to the north, something beyond description, an incomprehensibly massive column of smoke and fire reaches from the horizon and upwards into the stratosphere where it opens out into a new roof on the world, a roof of darkness underlit with red. Not even the power of God manifest in a great pillar of fire to hold back all the hosts of Pharoah could compare. It is as if some ancient god of Destruction is claiming all the earth for itself, reroofing it in smoke and ash, supporting that roof with this column of fire and brimstone, and lighting it with the red glow of molten rock and glowing metal and searing flames. The world is being turned into the Inferno of Dante’s Divine Comedy…
Or perhaps it is the World Dragon of Norse Mythology, intent on bringing Ragnarök to being, opening his great maw to erupt flame and smoke and ash into the sky to bring darkness to Midgard, heralding the ending of the world when the gods themselves will battle and die on the plains of Vigrid, and the walls of Asgard fall and the Bifrost bridge will be engulfed in fire, and the Aesir and Giants will engage in their final battle, and amidst the flames and riven lands of Midgard the great wolf Fenrir will break his chains and devour Odin, and the Midgard Serpent will rise from the seas to do battle with mighty Thor, each dying at the other’s hands, and Heimdall will defend the Aesir from Loki and each will slay the other…
Terror.
Panic.
Screaming.
Frenzy.
All around her.
The ground beneath is shuddering and unsteady. She staggers. Rock is tearing and splitting and falling. She has never heard such a sound as when the rock of the earth is tearing itself apart. The sun is extinguished and replaced by smoke and darkness and fire. The very air is replaced by a roaring tempest of heat and ash that sears skin and withers trees, either fuelled by, or feeding, the conflagration that seems to be ending the world.
Ilia knows what this is and she has no interest in seeing more.
She lets go…
It worked. She was out. Searing sunlight. Blue sky. Tumbled stone. Peaceful hillsides dense with olive trees. Dad and her two sisters were standing before her.
Ilia stepped away from the stone block, breathing heavily. The others could see something was wrong. She did not speak immediately. She looked around, taking in the normality of the surroundings, and allowed it to feed her adjustment. Dad stepped forward and held out a water bottle. She smiled feebly and received it gratefully. She took a swig and the cool liquid soothed her throat, washing the ash away…
No, not ash. She had only seen it, she had not been there.
And yet her throat truly seemed to burn. She drank deeply.
“Oh my god,” she said finally. “That was horrible.”
“What was sweetie?” Dad asked quietly. She looked at him.
“I think I saw the eruption you were talking about. Mount Thera. I was here, in this courtyard, and something I cannot describe, like a pillar holding up the sky, only a pillar of fire and smoke, it was up there.” Ilia pointed to her right, over the north wing. “The world really was ending. The ground was shaking and everything was falling down. The sun was gone and everything was lit by fire. It was like I’d imagine Hell to be.”
“Wow!” said Danae, her eyes glowing. “I’ve got to see that!” She took a step towards the stone block.
“Danae!” Dad’s voice was sharp enough to catch her attention, but not angry. “Not a good idea I don’t think,” he said seriously. “I mean, have a look at Ilia.” Danae paused and looked at her visibly shaken sister. Then she turned back to Dad.
“Seriously, Dad? Are you telling me that if you had the chance to see Mt Thera erupting, or Vesuvius, that you wouldn’t want to?” Dad returned her gaze, held it for a moment, then shrugged.
“Of course I would,” he admitted. “Go ahead
then, but just be prepared! You’re already learning that many things that sound fascinating or appealing can be quite horrible to witness.”
“I know,” she responded. “And I’m ready for it.” With a smile Danae turned and made her way towards the stone. Dad turned to Leda at his side.
“You don’t want to look, do you Leda-Bee?”
“No Daddy! I’m fine thanks.” He took her hand and looked back to his second daughter.
Danae only took a moment. She walked up to the stone, reached out and touched it, then turned around immediately to face them.
It was because it was so quick that the change in her expression did not make any sense. From their perspective, Danae had done nothing but touch the stone. But her face was transformed. The mischievous grin and the glint in her eyes were gone. She almost looked like she was in pain; but it only lasted a moment, then she looked up.
“Wow.” She did not use this expression the way she usually did, as if something was amazing. It seemed more a substitute when no words will suit. “I need a drink.” Ilia passed her the water and she drank thirstily, gulp after gulp.
“The worrying thing, Dad,” said Ilia while Danae busied herself with drinking, “is that I had no control. Normally we can control these experiences, but it just threw me straight in.”
“And usually we have to touch something to see…” and here Leda looked around the courtyard and made a sweeping gesture, “…to see any of this stuff. But now I can see it all the time, in the corners of my eyes.”
The Progeny of Daedalus Page 6
