The Secret of the Emerald Sea

by Heather Matthews

  Neptune admired Diana’s tanned limbs. They seemed to glow in a short, white toga, which, she had once told him, allowed her to move quickly as she hunted. Her blonde hair was sleek and pulled back into a no-nonsense braid. A gold coronet circled her brow, further enhancing the bronzed skin.

  He smiled as she sat down with a thud and put her bow aside. He knew she hated sitting still for these infernal meetings that seemed to go on forever. The Huntress would rather be running free through an earthly forest, every muscle and fiber burning as she increased her speed.

  Minerva arrived last, and Neptune straightened his posture instinctively as a gesture of respect. Her eyes glowed amber as she surveyed the scene. Her russet hair was loose and hung in waves, as it always did. As was typical, the Goddess of Wisdom wore no jewelry—no sandals even on her bare feet. Her straight nose was elevated as she stepped into the area where she would sit.

  She turned her intense gaze upon the gods and goddesses who were quietly mingling and waiting for the meeting to be called to order. Her eyes swept over Neptune and she let a ghost of a smile steal across her face. He followed her glance, which was directed at his jewel-encrusted trident, which she probably found vulgar and showy, and he flushed crimson.

  “This council of the gods is now called to order,” Jupiter bellowed as he strode into the center of the circle, radiating power and authority. All the gods and goddesses quieted down, and Neptune steeled himself for what was to come.

  “Minerva, do you have the agenda?” Jupiter asked in a softer tone. Neptune knew he adored the goddess, as he often said she was an excellent sounding board during tricky moments at council.

  “Here, Your Grace,” she murmured, handing him a parchment scroll figured in beautiful calligraphy. “I think you will find it to your liking.”

  “First order of business is...” He glanced down and scanned the agenda. “Deeds, both good and bad, performed by the gods and goddesses during the last month.”

  Neptune watched as the others ducked their heads, and then he did the same. This was always the worst part, when Jupiter took them to task for any improper use of their powers. Occasionally, there would be praise, but generally, comments were negative. The King Of The Emerald Sea sometimes resented Jupiter’s obvious enjoyment as he corrected their behavior. After all, Jupiter was his own brother, and shouldn’t be able to lord it over him like this.

  Jupiter clearly enjoyed this task immensely, as he was above reproach, carrying a sort of diplomatic immunity due to his status as leader of the group. Once this part of the council was over with, everyone tended to relax.

  Neptune cringed on the bench, knowing he would be hearing about the massive and violent storm he had triggered at sea. He looked forward unseeingly, like a child in class who wished to make himself invisible so that he wouldn’t be called upon.

  Jupiter swept his ice-blue gaze around the circle of deities. No one met his eyes, for all of them were undoubtedly guilty of something. Neptune knew from painful experience that the power to intervene and change events to one’s liking was a difficult one to resist— willpower and patience were not the godliest of character traits.

  “Venus!” Jupiter thundered, and Neptune shuddered—his turn was coming. “I have heard about your latest transgressions.” The Sky God glowered at the Goddess of Love in a way that no one else ever did. “Would you care to tell us why you did what you did, in...?” He looked down at the scroll while Diana smirked in her seat. “Florence, Italy.”

  Venus stood up, as they were made to do when defending their actions. “I’m not sure what I could have done to displease His Majesty,” Venus murmured soothingly. “I’m sure I’ve done nothing wrong...this time.”

  The Sea God held his breath as Venus stood majestically before them. She smiled and surveyed the group, her teeth glowing white in the most dazzling of smiles. Her lips were so full and red they seemed to have been painted, although they were not. Her cheeks flushed pink as she let her large and beautiful eyes well up with crocodile tears. Neptune felt awful— how could Jupiter abuse the poor girl?

  He fantasized about rescuing her in many heroic ways, but as he did so, he made no move to help her out. When Jupiter became truly angry, thunderbolts and black skies and vicious cold rains disturbed the Sunlit Cloud, and they were all made to stand and suffer until he settled down and restored the lovely weather again. Intervening on another god or goddesses’ behalf was just the sort of thing that would set him off.

  “Venus, you must tell what happened,” Minerva said without any rancor. “This is a council of truth.”

  Venus sighed audibly. It was obvious to Neptune that she knew exactly why she had been called upon, despite her coyness.

  “Well,” she began, haltingly. “There is a museum in Florence, the Uffizi, full of art and sculpture.” She looked down at her feet. “They have many depictions of the gods and goddesses, and so often they get it terribly wrong. They draw us with messy hair or unflatteringly large hips!” she sputtered. “I remember when I saw this offensive painting for the first time. The Birth Of Venus, they call it. I saw it in the museum during the night. I went in and gazed at the depiction of me, and I was horrified.

  “In the painting, I was standing on a half-shell, like an appetizer,” she said, her tone outraged. “And truthfully, I am much slimmer than she is, and it was just all wrong, really.”

  Neptune smiled as she ran her hands down her curves to reassure herself that they were still perfect. Really, the lady was most charming.

  “Especially my thighs,” she muttered angrily.

  “What did you do with the painting, Venus?” Jupiter thundered. “It is a priceless piece of art.” The skies around the cloud darkened slightly.

  Neptune shivered. Jupiter was getting really angry now.

  “I...took the painting away because it was wrong,” Venus whispered. “I hid it where no one could ever see it again.” She looked down at her sandals and shook. Her guilt and fear showed plainly on her face.

  “Did you destroy Botticelli’s The Birth Of Venus?” Jupiter thundered.

  “This is an outrage!”

  Neptune stared at Venus, and then at the other gods and goddesses, who raised eyebrows. Clearly, they were as shocked by her audacity as he was. This is beyond a simple interference in human affairs, he thought. It is a bold and amoral strike at humankind, who, we all know, aren’t the brightest tropical fish in the ocean.

  “No...the painting”—Venus spat out the word—”is intact, Your Grace.” She gazed petulantly into space. “Just very well hidden.”

  “Well, get it back to the bloody museum right away, or you will be sorry.”

  Neptune knew the matter was now closed and final. No one could deny the wishes of Jupiter, not even a goddess, herself.

  Jupiter breathed deeply, and as he relaxed, Neptune watched the sky turn blue again, and he felt the air became warmer.

  “All right,” Jupiter spoke more gently. “Who is next on the agenda?” He looked down and his brow furrowed. “Not Neptune again, surely?” he muttered in disbelief. Neptune winced as the Sky God’s eyes pierced his own. “You have been quite unruly as of late! King Neptune, please rise!” he bellowed, and Neptune struggled to his feet.

  “The agenda says you caused a massive storm at sea, which resulted in the deaths of many forms of marine life, both great and small, and gravely damaged two fishing boats that were capsized and washed ashore.”

  Neptune watched sheepishly as Jupiter read more from his infernal list.

  Jupiter’s pale blue eyes were starting to burn angrily.

  “Although no one was killed, the fishermen who ran these boats were injured, and their boats are ruined, making it quite impossible for them to earn a living. Also, an anonymous complaint from one of your subjects underwater says that you were so angry over a personal matter that you endangered the lives of all the mermaids who are your courtiers. From all reports, they were lucky to survive.”

  Jupiter
sighed in exasperation, and The Sea God bowed his head in shame.

  “Neptune, I’ve told you time and time again that storms must follow the order of things...a natural pattern that is not dictated by your emotions. Storms may damage sea life and people, but they should be dictated by the weather, not your bad moods. I realize that when you are angry, tidal waves tend to form. I have the same problems with anger and lightning bolts. They descend so suddenly, sometimes on the innocent. We all need to work together in order to control our basest impulses. We must maintain public safety of the human and animal worlds as best we can.”

  He moved closer to Neptune, who was turning bright red and fidgeting. “What say you, Neptune? Did you maliciously cause this terrible storm at sea, as reported?”

  Neptune’s eyes filled with tears. “I did, my brother,” he answered quietly. The memories of that awful day when he’d lost his daughter were so fresh in his mind. He couldn’t even think of a way to pretend it was not his doing. “I caused the storm because I was angry.” He hung his head. “I know I cause trouble when I lose my temper, and I’d like to seek help.” He smiled a little as he continued. He had decided how to cope with this distressing situation. “I would like to request a meeting with Minerva after council. Perhaps she could grant me some advice about my problems. I respect your daughter’s brilliance and I cannot think of anyone who could help me more than her.”

  Neptune glowed again as he contemplated his own brilliance. In one fell swoop, he had flattered Jupiter by praising Minerva, whom he knew Jupiter indeed considered his child, particularly since she had sprung from his brow—instead of being born in the normal manner. He had also found a way to speak with her privately about his daughter. And, at the same time, he had taken the blame and distracted Jupiter from the matter of shipwrecks and unemployed fishermen. Or so he thought.

  “Well.” Jupiter smiled. “That is a fine idea. For your punishment, you must have your mermaids repair the fishing boats by magic, in the night when all the humans are sleeping. No matter how long it takes, I want those boats as good as new, even if you have to do it yourself.”

  Neptune fought the urge to roll his eyes. He always makes me repair the ships, he thought, sighing to himself. With all the power I possess, he still puts me on an assembly line with my mermaids!

  Neptune hated directing the mermaids, who fluttered around with tiny, white hands. Usually, he would squander all his magic on the problem, and then be left drained.

  I don’t want to repair their boats, he thought angrily. Let them stay out of my seas instead. Humans were always the source of his worst problems. But he agreed to fix the boats, knowing all the while that the humans would see this as a miracle of the Christian God, and not even give him kudos for doing it.

  * * * *

  Minerva rose regally and stood before Neptune, who seemed lost in thought—although she doubted the thoughts themselves were deep.

  “Neptune,” she began gently, in a low voice that was always carefully modulated, and never angry or heated. “I am honored that you would seek my advice.” She wondered idly how long he would prattle on about his problems, as she had a special game of chess set up in the Sunlit Cloud after the meeting. She would play against her own father, who tended to lose, but who was also a good opponent, or at least, the best she could find.

  Jupiter smiled benevolently at her as she chatted with Neptune, and she smiled at the Sky God, rare warmth flooding her heart. I love my father, she thought happily, whether he loses at chess or not...I will do this favor for him, and any other favor he asks of me.

  * * * *

  “Thank you, Minerva!” Jupiter boomed proudly. And, silently, he thanked the heavens that he would most likely be spared another punishing defeat at chess against his daughter. It was something he always failed to enjoy, but he knew it pleased Minerva no end to play with him.

  Perhaps today, now that he had a little free time, he could arrange another meeting with the charming milkmaid he had been observing through his omniscience. She was Irish, and blushed the color of a wild rose.

  What form shall I take this time? he wondered lazily, forgetting about the business at hand. The other misdeeds were minor, and summarily, the gods and goddesses were dismissed for strong Roman coffee and sweet Maritozzi buns, which Venus would never touch.

  “After the break,” Jupiter said, “Minerva can speak with Neptune for as long as he likes.” He bestowed a small smile on Neptune. In truth, he liked the sometimes-bumbling Sea God, who was his brother, after all, and he understood the anger that sometimes led to poor judgment. Jupiter knew Minerva did not share his affection for Neptune, but she was a good girl. It was her nature to be just and fair, and she would help the King Of The Emerald Sea—whom she had once referred to, quite cuttingly, as “The Buffoon Of The Deep”—if she possibly could, no matter how she felt about him privately.

  Chapter Nine

  Minerva sighed and moved closer to Neptune. The other deities chatted while she led him off to a secluded corner of the cloud to talk. As Neptune began his story, confiding in her so completely and with such emotional honesty, he seemed so sad and despondent that the Goddess of Wisdom was thrown off balance.

  As he spoke of his doomed love for a human woman, she was somehow touched by his words. She had not known the Sea God was capable of such feeling for another being. Minerva, herself, had never been in love. It seemed like folly, for she could see the end so clearly in most situations, right from the beginning. It seemed like something best left to the human race, and yet...many goddesses had known love, but she had not yet had her turn.

  Despite her better judgment, she soon found herself in the thrall of Neptune as he told his tragic tale of love and sadness. His secret daughter was clearly a source of great worry for him.

  A private corner of Minerva’s heart yearned for the passion Neptune displayed for this girl’s mother, who was now dead. But logic always cooled the Goddess of Wisdom’s head and cleared her mind. How can he love one still, one that left him, took his child, and then died without saying so much as a good-bye to him? Minerva wondered, bewildered. Logic told her it was simply his memories he cherished, but to look into his eyes was to see real pain, and real love.

  And now the daughter. Minerva, who had a marked talent for seeing the big picture, knew how dangerous it would be for the girl out there, unfamiliar with her own magic and power, lost among those who might find out what she was, and use her for it.

  How terrified she must have been, Minerva thought, to find out she was not truly human at all, and then to deal with the rage of a god. She was angry with Neptune for treating the girl so cruelly, but she could also understand his frustration. Human beings and half-deities never seemed to follow predictable patterns like animals did. They tended to veer off course and make decisions that seemed...ludicrous.

  She had studied the human race relentlessly, and her main observation was that they all had a sort of recklessness, something some of the gods shared, although she wasn’t one of those types. Perhaps this wildness was the link that bred love between god and human being.

  And now this young girl has disappeared, traumatized and distraught, she thought sadly. And yet she hasn’t returned to her village. She mulled this over for a moment. A girl of fourteen would doubtless be heartsick for her family and friends. If she hasn’t made it back to the village, perhaps she is lost..

  She wondered for a moment if the girl was dead, but dismissed the thought. Jane’s power, although untapped, would afford her more protection than she realized, and there were many creatures out there that might sense what and who she was and try to assist her. It was probable that there were good and bad forces, all amassing around this young, frightened girl.

  “Neptune,” she spoke softly. “We must be careful.” She stared at the King of the Sea. “This girl barely knows what she is, and she is still so young.”

  “I know,” sighed the king. “She seemed like little more than a child when I s
aw her, so tiny and innocent.” He put his head in his hands,

  “This girl may not be alone any longer,” Minerva said. “In my experience, children of gods tend to attract a certain element, and they give off a distinct aura to those who are sensitive enough to notice.”

  “Whatever shall I do?” Neptune pleaded. “I don’t know how to find her.” He wrung his hands in frustration. “Please help me, Minerva.”

  Minerva took his hands and unclasped them. She held them until they ceased to tremble. She felt terrible, as she had somehow misjudged Neptune who was not really so silly as she had thought, and she was bothered by her mistake—for she did not make many.

  Her curiosity was piqued. She was terribly curious about this girl, half- mermaid-goddess, half-human, wandering the Earth, and possibly other more ethereal places, looking for her home. It was spellbinding to think of it and to imagine the young girl’s thoughts as she learned to accept who she was and what had happened to her. Also, Minerva was quite wary, for if the girl stumbled upon the wrong sort of character, she could be formed into something different, something darker, than a mere mermaid and princess of Neptune. She could be quite dangerous...at least in theory.

  “I have a plan,” she told Neptune. “Don’t worry about a thing. I will find a way to locate your daughter, and I will bring her to her senses.” Minerva’s mind burned with the challenge, and she smiled to herself.

  Today has been an interesting day, she thought as she rose with Neptune and walked by his side back to the main council area. One can’t ask for more than that, really.

  Chapter Ten

  Cupid held Jane tight now, up in the sky. She felt as tiny wrapped in his muscular arms as he had been in her own embrace before the fateful storm. The first light of day would soon streak the clouds with a pale, rosy glow and the sky would turn a bright, clear blue. They had flown over the bad weather, through the long, cold night, and so terribly high that Jane was afraid, but the Cupid held her close, so close, and she drew comfort from the sight of his ecstatic face as his huge wings moved up and down, carrying them forward at an amazing speed.