The Birth of Athena and Dionysos
I begin my tale by honoring the Muse Polyhymnia, she who safeguards the hymns of the gods both on Olympos and in the Underworld, and ask that she write through me of the birth of the gods Athena and Dionysos, twin siblings so different in temperament and yet intertwined in each other’s domains. Though Dionysos was once known by another name, and was born dressed in the clothing of a girl, he now resides on Olympos with his family, and I will not dishonor the son of Zeus by sharing the name he was given then, for I have no desire to share the fate king Pentheus of Theba.
In the time before Zeus would become ruler of the Olympos, during the reign of the Titans, Rhea, mother to the Olympians, grew tired of her husband Kronos swallowing her hard-formed children, and secreted away her youngest son with the help of her mother Gaia, so that the young babe Zeus might avoid the fate of his siblings. His story I shall recount in detail elsewhere, but mighty Zeus grew strong and brave. Allied with wisest Metis, daughter of Okeanos, Zeus freed his siblings and divided up the world with his brothers. Receiving the sky for his domain, Zeus retired to rule with his wife by his side. In time, he came to learn that she was with a child. Zeus feared the prophecy given to him by Gaia, that Metis would one day bear him a daughter wiser than he and then a son more powerful, who would one day be king of the gods and men. He gulled Metis with crafty words and absorbed her into his stomach, so that she might continue to provide him with her wisdom. Unknown to Zeus, however, Metis’ child was no single child at all, but twin children, who did not perish with their mother, but were born from her inside of their father. In time, Metis faded to Zeus’ subconscious, becoming a voice of reason and wisdom to guide the king of the gods and men.
Eventually Zeus married again and again, finally taking the goddess of leadership and fidelity, Hera, to be his wife. Not knowing of his secret children inside of him, Zeus carried about his duties as the king of the gods and fathered further children, some of them even with Hera. One day, he began to come down with a headache. At first, he ignored the building pain in his head, but it only grew and grew, eventually becoming unbearable. His cries of pain grew so loud they shook the heavens and the earth, terrifying all who heard him. Clever Hephaistos realized the cause of his father’s pain. Taking an axe, Hephaistos split open his divine father’s head, and out burst two children, both appearing as young girls. The first was arrayed in battle armor with olive skin, short red-brown hair and her mother’s fierce grey eyes, which bore a piercing gaze that gave the impression she was contemplating a thousand battle strategies all at once. The second child wore an embroidered linen dress of the kind one would wear to friend’s party and had soft, pale skin, long flowing hair of raven’s black with a hint of sea blue, and eyes to match Zeus’ vivid sky-like orbs.
The elder of the twins, the one bearing arms and armor, was named Athena, and expressed a great desire to learn the ways of war and strategy. She was sent by Zeus to live with the god Triton, son of mighty Poseidon, at the bottom of the seas, there to receive instruction from one of the most skilled fighters among her extensive family. The other twin was Dionysos, though he went by another name then, and asked to be sent among mortals to live and observe our peculiarities.
Triton’s palace is at the bottom of the seas, where he rules in the name of his father. It was here that young Athena went to live and train alongside Triton and Chremetes’ daughter, Pallas, who was well-learned in combative arts, in spite of her similarly young age. The two girls formed a fast friendship and spent much of their time together, training, telling jokes, or sneaking snacks from the kitchen (or as Pallas would tell her friend, they were “stocking up on much-needed supplies”).
Soon Athena caught the eye of Aphrodite, who still lived beneath the waves. The goddess of love saw the adolescent goddess of war and thought her a perfect match for Nerites, son of Nereos, the Depths of the Sea. Aphrodite conspired in every way she could to bring the two gods together and to split up Pallas and Athena, but all of her efforts came to naught. Once, Aphrodite forged a letter from Nereos to Nerites, inviting him to watch Athena and Pallas’ sparing match; he slipped away to swim with Euphrates, one of Athena’s uncles. Aphrodite next invited the Hesperides to visit, bringing their gold and orange dresses to cover the palace with the colors of the sunset when she knew Athena and Nerites would be reading in the palace courtyard in the hopes of creating a romantic scene; they barely looked up from their scrolls. Growing desperate, she even brought her adopted son Eros to loose his Arrow of Love into Athena, knowing she would fall for the first person she saw, but to Aphrodite’s horror and utter bewilderment, Athena proved immune to the effect, and chased Eros from the palace in a fury, hurling her spear after him so hard that it pierced his klismos chair, high in his palace on Olympos. Eventually Aphrodite grew tired of playing matchmaker under the seas and set off for Olympos herself, blaming Nerites for her failures and cursing him to take the form of a shrimp until he learned to return the affections of others, forgetting for a time that Athena had shown no interest in the young man. The palace quieted down after that, and Athena returned to her training with Pallas. In time, the two grew to be the best of friends and soon outpaced even Triton in the combative arts.
The two girls’ skills grew further as they grew into later adolescence. They developed different, but complementary fighting styles: Pallas fought with a great deal of improvisation and was frequently arrayed in hardened linen armor, lighter and more maneuverable, but less protective. Athena favored to study her opponents, fighting defensively while wearing heavier and more tiring metal armor before striking at the exact right moment. Word of their skills began to spread amongst the other gods, and so it was that Triton invited them to visit in his palace and observe a match between the two friends. The victor of two out of three rounds was to be declared the winner.
When the day of combat arrived and the two goddesses stepped onto the beach where a plot had been cleared for the contest, the collected crowd of gods drew a breath as they beheld the two fighters, both resplendent in their armor. Pallas’ linothorax breastplate was died in the colors of the seas, contrasting strongly against her dark skin, giving the impression as she moved of swirling waves surrounding and protecting her. Athena’s armor was no less resplendent, made of gleaming bronze, the color blending into her skin and giving the impression that her whole body was covered in gleaming golden armor.
“May Nike (Victory) favor the better combatant, my friend” said Pallas, offering her hand to Athena.
“You only say that because she is watching and you think she looks cute” gently chided Athena, gripping Pallas’ offered hand and smiling.
“Hey! No fair!” yelped Pallas, her composure shattering and her face turning fiery red.
Athena laughed, pleased with herself. “Well, I must have some chance of defeating you!”
“Hmph! Well, if that’s how it’s going to be, I don’t have to hold back anymore!” retorted Pallas, grinning despite herself.
The combatants shook hands and waved to the crowd, then retreated to opposite sides of the field, ready to fight.
The first match was lit by the first rays of Dawn and was to feature swords; Pallas was far more creative in her strikes and lithe in her movements than Athena, who relied more heavily on her armor to protect her. They fought for over an hour, dancing back and forth across the field. The crowd would roar whenever a blow was parried, gasp when one was narrowly avoided, and cheer at the artful display before them. In the end, Pallas’ intensity and creativity won the day, reflecting Helios’ rays into Athena’s eyes before striking her squarely in the chest with her blunted sword. After a brief rest to recover, the second round began. This was to feature shields as well as their swords; this time, Athena’s mastery of defense and ability to analyze her opponent allowed her to sweep Pallas’ leg after Pallas let lose a flurry of blows, bringing the contest to a tie. The third deciding match was to replace the swords with spears. Aphrodite watched from high in the stands, ever wrathful. Having made her way to Olympos from the sea, she had fumed endlessly about Nerites. After much stewing over her failures, Aphrodite had eventually recalled Athena’s lack of interest in Nerites. Her rage was palpable over the friendship Athena and Pallas had built, for it was as strong as any marriage, but strayed outside of her domain, something the goddess of love saw as an affront to her. To speak the full truth, however, she saw most every relationship she had not personally played match-maker for as an affront to her in one way or another. While preparations were being made for the final round, Aphrodite crept away to find the weapons the girls would use in their last bout. Replacing Athena’s blunted training spear with one that Hephaistos had forged for Ares as a defense should Typhon ever break lose his bonds deep in Tartaros, she returned to the arena just as the combatants were preparing. The crowd went silent as if the god Harpokrates himself had left his palace on the banks of the Nile when the two goddesses emerged arrayed in full armor and bearing gleaming shields and powerful spears. The skills displayed up to this point far surpassed the skills of any, and the combatants were as equally matched as any two fighters could be. Thrusts were parried, punches blocked, and kicks dodged with artful grace as the two danced back and forth upon the stage in a deadly display of skill and inhuman grace that lasted until Dusk came with his daughters and blanketed the beach in their golden dresses, sapping both goddesses of their immense strength. Eventually, Athena thrust her spear at Pallas’ shoulder, and Pallas, exhausted from the long fighting, was just a hair’s breadth late in blocking. Athena laughed in triumph as her spear struck home until she saw the rainbow ichor gushing from Pallas’ wound, and her joy immediately turned to horror. Her spear fell to the ground with a clatter next to Pallas’ severed arm. A halt was called to the combat, Pallas rushed to a tent to be tended to, and the healer Paian and his student Apollo were summoned. They emerged from the tent hours later, their faces grave.
The gods gathered around as Athena ran to her half-brother, tears in her eyes as she feared the worst. “Is she…?”
“She will live.” Apollo consoled her. “But I fear the spear severed too much of her arm, and we were unable to reattach the limb.” His brow furrowed. “Where did you find that weapon? That spear could easily have meant the death of your friend! Did you not realize it was a different spear from the one you were training with?”
“No! Never!” Athena was shaken; tears began to flow. For the first time in her life, she had no strategy, no plan. No idea what to do. “It was with all of my other equipment the whole time! Please! I, I would never do anything to hurt her! I… she’s my best friend!”
Apollo scowled, studying her face. Then, they leaned in and hugged her. “It’s ok, I believe you. She will live, that I swear. But if you did not use the weapon deliberately, we must know who placed it there to be used.”
He released her and turned to Ares, his face contorting in rage and his voice hardening with anger. “Our sister did not commit the act herself, so how, pray tell, did your spear end up in her hands, brother?”
“How dare you!?” Ares roared. “You would accuse me of resorting to such trickery! You failed to pin this on her, and so you aim your attacks on the next of your siblings?! If you don’t watch your tongue, little healer, there’ll be two gods who will require attention!”
“ENOUGH!” Zeus’ roar shook the very heavens. “My sons will mind their tongues, or they will share in the punishment of whomever was responsible for this crime.”
All those assembled fell silent at once. Zeus continued, his voice booming over the crowd that had gathered outside the tent, “my siblings and children shall go to Olympos where I will meet them shortly, and we shall determine who is responsible, and what the punishment shall be. In the meantime, Paian, tend to Pallas. I would know the full extent of her injuries. Lord Triton, Athena, my dear, you should come too.”
Apollo led the gods back into the tent, where Pallas lay propped up on a small mountain of pillows. Her right sleeve lay limp and empty by her side, but when she saw Athena, she attempted a smile that came out more as a pained grimace.
“You know, it’s not so bad. The pain is gone thanks to him” she said, gesturing to Paian. She saw the tears in Athena’s eyes. “And besides, I was looking for a way to lose some weight. I can always grow it back, once I learn that trick dad uses to turn into a whale when he wants to have some fun.”
Triton sat down beside her and gripped her remaining hand, tears welling in his eyes.
Zeus laid a gentle hand on her uninjured shoulder “I… am afraid that is simply impossible, my dear. That spear was forged with one purpose in mind: to kill a god birthed with powers to rival even my own. Even your mighty grandfather was hard-pressed against his strength. Even I barely defeated him. And so my cunning son Hephaistos forged us all weapons meant to kill even we immortal gods. While your father and I would be more than pleased to provide instruction in the art of shapeshifting, there are limits which even we cannot surpass.”
Realization struck Pallas like a brick. The smile dropped from her face, and she stammered “but, but how am I supposed to fight? How am I to compete on equal footing without my shield?”
“I…” began Zeus.
“With me.” Everyone turned to Athena, her grey eyes shining with renewed purpose. “We will fight together, side by side, as one; I… took your shield arm, so I will be your shield, and you can become my spear!”
“Is… is that even possible? Father only ever shapeshifted into sea animals.” Pallas asked, looking to Zeus and her father.
“I can’t say I see a reason why not” said Zeus, beaming at Athena. “Pallas, Athena, your training will begin as soon as I return from Olympos and you have fully recovered.”
With those words, Triton and Zeus departed the tent and set off for Mount Olympos, there to decide the identity and punishment of the person responsible for the entire situation. Athena and Pallas returned to Triton’s palace below the waves, where they comforted each other; to commemorate her dedication to Pallas, Athena set about carving a statue of herself and Pallas out of an oak to be set in the halls of Olympos as an eternal reminder of the comradery shared between the two warriors.
As young Athena set off for Triton’s Palace, the child who would one day be known as Dionysos swapped his fine dress for a simple boy’s tunic, cut his hair short to match his sister’s, dirtied his face, and set off from Olympos to observe the compunctions of mortals. There were many who would question the presence of a young girl in finery far more than a boy in a simple tunic, and he wished above all else to avoid unnecessary attention, especially from bandits or pirates. Dionysos wandered while Athena trained, passing from town to town, observing the comings and goings of mortals. Months passed, and then years, and eventually, he arrived in Theba, wherein ruled King Kadmos and his wife, the goddess Harmonia, a product of Ares and Aphrodite’s love. Dionysos was welcomed into his niece’s family and soon made friends with Harmonia’s mortal daughters.
In spite of his family, these years went by in misery for Dionysos. He found little comfort in the fine dresses his parents bought him, but sought refuge in his observations of humans as they carried out their business around the city. His cousin-sisters made note of the fact that Dionysos seemed to grow unusually slowly and questioned him about it regularly as they reached adulthood and married. Dionysos always left the room when the conversation turned to the topic, or tried to steer it towards a more comfortable subject, such as the latest gossip about local boys. So slow was his aging, that by the time his cousins were starting families of their own, he looked but eleven years old, and spent less and less time at home, frequenting the agora or the shepherds in their fields where he could offer words of advice on wrangling cattle and sheep or observe mortals trading goods. One day as Helios reached his zenith, Dionysos found himself sitting beneath an oak tree, lazily eating a pomegranate when a man caught his eye, a large dog laying contented by his side as the man slowly rubbed the animal’s belly. He was well muscled, as Dionysos could see through his thin summer tunic and sported a long dark beard that contrasted against his skin which had the complexion of someone who worked indoors, perhaps a palace servant or rich merchant. There was nothing unusual about this man who sat alone beneath a cypress tree save that the people coming and going about the agora seemed to avert their eyes from him, as if the very sight terrified them to their core. Something about the man struck a chord with Dionysos, deep in his mind; it was not infatuation, not like the crushes he’d had on some of the neighborhood girls and a few of the boys. He didn’t want to be with the man. He wanted to be this man, he realized, or at least, he wanted to look exactly like him. After all, he reasoned, it would be so much harder for adults to ignore him if he looked like that.
Dionysos returned to the palace that night, consumed by thoughts of walking through the town center in a short tunic, chatting and telling stories or perhaps playing an instrument and dancing to the applause of those around, without having to worry about tripping over his dress. Unable to sleep, he walked down the narrow hall that ran parallel to the central courtyard of the palace, and out to the storeroom. Tucked away in the corner where the jars of syrups and juices were kept, Dionysos curled up and poured a measure of cherry juice from a small jar into a shallow cup. Lost in thought, he took a sip of the reddish juice and spat it out instantly. The juice had lost its sweetness and acquired a distinct and pungent flavor, one that he had never tasted before. Curiosity got the best of him, and he took a second sip, finding it surprisingly pleasantly now that he was not expecting sweetness. The juice had a bite, not unlike the pomegranates he enjoyed, but retained much of its fruit flavor. In fact, there were other flavors from the cherries that the sweetness had covered up, but now they were coming through. He poured another measure. This tasted pretty good. Another. His mind began to wander to the man from the agora. Why should he, son of Zeus, be forced to denigrate himself by living by mortal norms and standards? Another. Why shouldn’t he change his form as he saw fit? If he was the son of a god, the mortals would never dare question him. Another. Was the room spinning or was that just his head?
Dionysos awoke on the stone floor of the storeroom. Cold and stiff, he lurched to his feet, toppling a small glass statue he hadn’t seen the night before from its perch on a barrel. Thankfully, it fell on a pile of straw, and he stooped to replace it so that no one would know he’d been there. Picking up the statue, Dionysos was shocked to see the body and beard of the man from the agora the day before. Every detail was perfect, as if the man had been cast into the dark-colored glass. He needed to be out of the storehouse before the servants arrived, so he tucked the figure into a fold in his dress, pulled another jar of juice from the floor, and crept back to his room just as Dawn arose in her rose and saffron robe to open the gates of heaven so that the Sun might ride across the Sky.
For the next several weeks, Dionysos refused to leave his room, except to secret away more juice. Unfortunately, every subsequent jar tasted like perfectly ordinary cherry juice and unlike the special jar he had found that night. He tried mixing in different herbs he snuck from the kitchen, but no matter what, the weird head-spinning fuzziness never returned. His sisters noted the lack of activity and snuck to his door, peaking through the crack between the wood and the doorframe. Each saw the same thing: their brother sitting in the dark with the glass figure propped against the window. Dionysos had discovered an inscription on the bottom that read ‘Hades’ and was thinking wistfully about what he would say to his uncle when they met, but his sisters could not see the inscription, and came to believe it was a statue of Zeus, and that Dionysos was falling in love with the king of the gods, a subject that became a regular topic of gossip among them, unaware as they were that Dionysos was himself a god and son of Zeus.
Dionysos’ sense that something was wrong continued to grow as time passed, and seeking someone he could talk to, sent word to Iris, rainbow messenger of the gods, who carried his letters to Athena beneath the waves, for even now she had demonstrated a sagacity to rival their mother’s. Athena was yet in training in the palace of Triton, but had observed her foster father shapeshifting on numerous occasions. She advised Dionysos to seek out one of the other gods and ask for education, and offered her support in refining the appearance Dionysos wished to take once he mastered his skill, should he deign to visit Triton’s palace.
Word of Dionysos’ search for a tutor reached Hera, high on Olympos. Ever suspicious of her lecherous husband (and with good reason), Hera knew not that Athena and Dionysos had been born of Zeus’ first wife, but only that they had appeared one day, and that her husband was involved. Suspecting yet another affair and seeing an opportunity, Hera descended to Theba in her favorite guise of an old woman. Coming to Kadmos’ palace, wherein Dionysos dwelled, she spoke to the younger god.
“Dear child of mighty Lord Zeus” she said with a feigned kindness, “your lord father has heard of your plight and sent me to aid you in seeking tutelage in the divine art of shapeshifting. I am but a mortal, and cannot provide instruction myself, but I know who can teach you to take the form you desire. You must travel to the underworld and into the depths of Tartaros. For that, you will need permission from your uncle Hades, who rules over all who dwell below the surface. Bear you to him this letter from your father, for it will explain your need and contains his blessings as king of all Olympos.”
Dionysos thanked the queen of the gods and made preparations, while Hera hastened to the underworld, delving into the deepest depths, where primordial Tartaros dwells and within whom the gods imprisoned the Titans, and there she made preparations. Of all the gods, Tartaros was among the closest to Chaos, who came into being before all others, and who has always been. Before bearing their children, Chaos experimented with different forms, playing with various appearances before growing bored and changing. When Chaos birthed Tartaros, Eros, and Gaia, they taught their children the same skill. These were among the oldest beings, and so had the most practice. Therefore, it was to the Abys that Dionysos would be sent by Hades when he arrived. He made his way from Theba to Korinthos, and from there bought passage on a ship bound for Kriti which was to stop at Tainaron, where Dionysos would find one of the entrances to his uncle’s shadowy realm. As Dionysos passed into the underworld, he was greeted kindly by Hades, who knows all of the souls which exist in his realm. As one might imagine, the letter Hera sent along with Dionysos contained not a plea for aid from Zeus, but a request in his name to grant permission for Dionysos to enter Tartaros; it informed Hades that his nephew was highly capable and already knew the way by which he might navigate the blackness of the Abyss without losing his way. Distracted by his duties, Hades glanced at the letter only briefly before sending a servant to lead Dionysos to what he sought. The servant led Dionysos down along the River of Fire, to a cave through which the marshy river flowed. On one side of the river was a path that led into the cave, but blocking entry by both the path and the river was a colossal bronze gate which sunk into the Phlegethon and which was guarded by giants with fifty heads. The servant gave the word to the Hekatogcheires, who opened the gate and stood back to allow Dionysos to pass through. Stepping over the threshold, Dionysos was immediately engulfed by a darkness so complete and so piercing that even holding a hand to his face, he could see nothing; the darkness seemed to press in on his eyes, surrounding him completely. Not even the flames of Phlegethon gave light in that place. The only source of direction he had was the sound of the gate being closed behind him, but that quickly faded, and within seconds, his sense of direction was gone. Then, out of this darkness, a voice called to him.
“My child.” The voice seemed to echo around the empty blackness and come from all directions at once. “I am the one you seek. Follow my voice and I shall teach you what you desire.” The voice grew fainter, as if receding into the utter darkness that seemed to permeate Dionysos’ very soul.
“Where are you?” Dionysos called. “Don’t leave, I can’t see anything! I don’t know which way to go! Please, don’t leave me alone!” He stumbled forward, hands outstretched, hoping to feel his way forward, but there was nothing tangible by which he might guide himself, not even the walls of the cave he knew should be right beside him. Dionysos inched along. The floor was intangible yet solid: it supported him when he took a step, but there was a weightless quality to each step, as if he was walking above a terrible, endless, hungry, gaping abys, and only the thinnest of forces held him suspended. He couldn’t even be sure that he was moving at all. He couldn’t even tell which way was up or down. The lack of sensation was so complete, he might have been hanging by his feet over the abys instead. A terrible thought burst forth in his mind: what if he took a step and whatever was holding him in place released him? Would he fall forever? Or would he eventually come crashing down, leaving nothing but a rainbow smear? The thought kept him frozen for what felt like an eternity. But he could not stay suspended forever. He steeled his entire will and took a tentative step. And then another. The ground remained blessedly solid beneath his feet. Yet, with every step, the darkness grew somehow darker, and another sensation was stripped away, eventually leaving Dionysos with nothing in the endless darkness save the beating of his heart, which was growing faster and faster in his chest. “Where are you?!” he tried to call, but the words were absorbed by the blackness all around, and the sounds refused to reach his ears. “Please! Just don’t leave me here!” he cried silently.
The voice did not answer. Panic set in. The vast empty blackness pressed in on Dionysos as he crumpled to his knees, unable to move forward. Which way was forward? There was no way to tell, no sense of any direction in the Abys. Not up nor down nor left nor right, nothing to tell him where he was, and no way to know how to escape. Dionysos began to cry, tears streaming down his face as he crawled, hoping against hope that he would run into something, anything at all. Even a wall could give him something solid, something tangible. He continued for what felt like an eternity, but there was nothing. Then, all of a sudden, he put his hand out to move forward, and he felt something cold and smooth, like polished metal. Something that gave off a faint golden light.
Suddenly Dionysos realized he could see. The faintest light was pushing through the darkness, barely enough to make anything out, but it was light. Enough to determine that what he saw were massive chains, thicker than his chest and large enough to trap even the giants outside the cave, and forged from bronze oreikhalkos, the metal favored by Hephaistos. Wiping his eyes, Dionysos clambered over the chains and hurried towards the light, hoping, praying that it was another way out. As he drew closer, the light coalesced into the shape of a man. Dionysos froze, his heart beating so hard he was worried it would break its way out of his chest. He shrunk back in fear, trying to move away from the Light, for Dionysos was looking on Hyperion, Titan father of the Sun, Moon and Day. Athena had mentioned the Titans in one of her letters when telling him something about a spear that was forged to kill a great monster, and how the monster had been imprisoned in the deepest pits of Tartaros, deeper even than the Titans. Zeus’ victories, it seemed always ended with him condemning the loser to live out ages in chains, often driven temporarily mad by the darkness and isolation, and Dionysos knew ones imprisoned for so long would not hesitate to kill the child of their jailor, even if that child was also their own grandson. He turned to run, for anywhere was better than there, but something grabbed his arm. Koios and Phoebe, Titans of Logic and Mathematics, stood there grinning in the dim light. Of all their siblings, they had suffered most, deprived of all senses and held captive, their minds had broken, and they were now driven by little more than basest instinct, intent on only finding something to sate their appetite for sensations. The minds of the Titans were stronger than any mortals; that they retained any semblance of ‘self’ was testament to that. Upon release, their minds might eventually return, but for now, they were driven by a cruel instinct and lifted Dionysos into the air, pulling one of his arms, breaking it free from the socket. The screams that erupted from Dionysos’ throat broke through the pressing silence and drew the attention of the other Titans, all driven senseless by their long imprisonment. Phoebe gave the arm an extra tug, ripping flesh and nerves and pulling the limb from the body. Iapetos, the embodiment of Mortality, was next to arrive, and with a wicked grin, twisted Dionysos’ leg right around, shattering the bone. Klymene followed her husband and pulled on the leg until it was ripped from Dionysos’ body. One by one, his limbs were ripped off, only to be swallowed raw by the children of Ouranos, the ichor of his veins staining their lips and flowing over their chins, splattering against the ground. His screams of agony only completely ended when Kronos bit off his head. The titans gorged themselves on the remaining pieces, splattering bits of muscle and fragments of bone all around. One part went unnoticed: Dionysos’ heart. Whether by accident or by the will of the Abys, the heart rolled away until it fell into the marshy Phlegethon as it flowed lethargically away.
The remains of Dionysos flowed through the Phlegethon, untouched by the fires that burned eternal in those infernal marshes. Time has no meaning in Tartaros, and so while only a few weeks passed since Dionysos entered Tartaros, I cannot say how time passed for the young god’s heart as it drifted through the marshes, only that eventually the river’s currents carried it out of the Abys and to his shores in view of Hades’ palace. There at the shore, a young god named Zagreus was playing with his mother, the dread queen Persephone. Young Zagreus was possessed of a keen mind and gentle soul, and took notice of the ichor-soaked heart lodged in the mud but uncharred by the flames flickering around it. Picking it up, he noticed that in spite of everything, the heart still beat.
“Mama!” he cried, running to the queen. “Mama!” The boy in the heart needs our help!”
The dread queen looked up. “‘The boy in the heart’? Of what do you speak, Zagreus?”
“Look at what I found! There’s a boy in there, and he needs our help!”
Persephone took the heart in her hands. The rainbow ichor stained her skin, and though she did not know whose heart she held, she knew it belonged to a god. She turned back to Zagreus, nodding and placing the heart back in his hands.
“Take hold this heart and focus your mind on the boy you hear inside. Focus all of your attention on him, and do not allow him to fade away” she instructed. She turned to her attendants. “To the palace, bring me all of the ripe pomegranates you can carry. Now!” While it is commonly known that the pomegranate has powers in the underworld, what is far less common knowledge is that their magic can only be accessed by those who know the proper rituals, and contrary to common belief, their consumption poses no threat to mortals. The Dread Queen of the Underworld, however, was one such who knew the proper rituals, and could harness their powers. The servants scurried off as fast as they could while the Queen of the Underworld turned back to her son.
“I may draw on the power needed from the underworld, but you must be the conduit to aid your friend” she instructed. Zagreus’ wide eyes grew serious and he nodded in return. Persephone knelt next to her son and placed her hands on his and began to chant.
“O Theos fylakisménos se aftín tin kardiá, ákousé se ta lógia tis Vasílissas tou Káto Kósmou, kóris ton sitirón pou réoun, kai syzýgou tou megalýterou giou tou Krónou kai tis Réas. To sóma sou cháthike, allá den tha petháneis! Oi Moirai den échoun akómi metrísei ólo to míkos tou nímatos sas. Ákou ta lógia mou kai nióste ti dýnami tou káto kósmou na pernáei apó mésa sou. Anaktíste tis dynámeis sas kai epistrépste kontá mas. Ákou ta lógia mou kai xanapáre ti morfí sou!”
The air around the gods shuddered. The servants returned from the palace bearing the fruits. They began to mash the fruits into juice as Persephone continued her chant. The marshy Phlegethon’s flames sputtered, and even Darkness drew nearer as Persephone continued, channeling the combined powers of Night, Death, Sleep, Rage, Memory, Forgetfulness, Mercy, Discord, Hubris, Fate, Friendship, and Dreams through young Zagreus into the heart before her. At their queen’s signal, the attendants poured the juice from the pomegranates over the heart. Instead of flowing onward, the juice stuck to the heart, forming a shining red layer around it. The heart twitched. Then, slowly at first, but with increasing speed, muscles and bone and sinew grew out from the god’s heart and began coiling around each other, forming limbs and a body. The pomegranate juice shell swelled as the body expanded, coalescing around the muscles, forming a skin as hair sprouted from the head.
Persephone stepped back with a gasp and Zagreus laughed, standing up and crying out “he looks like papa!” For indeed, the body before them perfectly resembled the Lord of the Underworld, save that a pair of curved bull’s horns protruded out from his head. Persephone had the unconscious god brought up to the palace and went to inform her husband of the news. Zagreus remained behind with the god, fascinated by the whole affair. Dionysos awoke just as Persephone returned with Hades, bolting upright, revealing his once sky-blue eyes had been recast a deep shade of purple.
“Welcome back to the living, my boy” Hades said quietly, easing him back down and seeing the questions in his eyes “it seems you went through quite the ordeal since last you passed through my halls. I must apologize for the affair; your father has always given your aunt Hera reason to be angry, but I never guessed she would take her rage out on you. She sent the letter and set the Titans loose from their chains, all to kill you. I should have taken greater care when reading the letter you brought, and for that, I can only apologize and offer my hospitality. You may rest in my domain for as long as you wish. My halls will always be open to you. If you need something to do, I am sure you will find your distant family very eager to meet you. Philotes especially seemed even more chatty than usual, though I warn you, she can go on for quite some time.”
The reborn god nodded, his head still spinning with a million questions. Young Zagreus, growing impatient, popped his head over his father’s shoulder “Hi! What’s your name? I’m Zagreus. I’m the prince of the underworld, I’m really good at magic and I’m going to be Hekate’s assistant! Want to see what I’ve learned so far?” he rattled off the questions as if afraid that even a second of silence would be left for anyone else to think.
Taken aback, the young god could not think of an answer. Zagreus, oblivious to his father’s stern look, stared at the god impatiently.
“Zagreus, give him time to think,” said Hades.
As the reborn god thought of his answer to the first question, his eyes were drawn to the resplendent architecture, to the many fist-sized jewels that adorned the tops of the marble columns that glinted in the dim light to the man before him, the man from the statue, muscled and sporting a truly magnificent beard and matching black robe inlaid with gold thread and adorned with gleaming rubies at the neck, to the young Zagreus dangling from his muscular arm. “Dionysos” he said, speaking the name aloud for the first time. It was a name he had always liked the sound of, something he heard once that spoke to him of foreign lands and the extasy of insanity, and one that he had always felt a tingle in the back of his mind when he thought it to himself at night, in his room in Theba.
“Dionysos”, asked Zagreus without missing a beat, “what are the mortals like? What do they do all day? Is it true that their blood is red? What’s Olympos like? What does the sea feel like?” This was the first time any of his family had come from above, and he wasn’t going to miss a single opportunity to learn about the world beyond.
“Zagreus, leave him to rest” chided Persephone gently. “He has been through much, and must recover his strength.”
“But Mama!”
“No ‘but’s. I think our guest here has been through enough.” Addressing Dionysos, she said “After everything you have been through, you must be hungry. If you would like, I can have some food brought over.”
Dionysos nodded again. “Thanks for all of this. I don’t mind if your son stays, but I haven’t even a memory of what happened after…” his voice caught in his throat.
Hades’ brow furrowed. “As I said, your father has given Hera many reasons to distrust him. She believed you and your sister were the latest in a line of inappropriate children, and when she could find no mother, she took the opportunity to punish my brother through you. I suspect she intended any remains of yours to be trapped in Tartaros forever, but it seems the Fates had other plans. Zagreus here found what was… left over floating in the Phlegethon, and we brought you back. We only just managed to get the Titans rechained earlier today.”
Dionysos dropped his eyes to the blanket covering him, processing what had happened. “But you know. Why can’t you just tell her?”
“We know not where she hides” said Hades simply. “Iris reports that she has been missing since she left my domain. I can tell you she is not here now, but beyond the entrance my powers do not extend.”
Dionysos swallowed, realizing his throat was dry, with fear or because of the cold bite of the underworld he could not say. He turned back to Hades and diverted his own thoughts by asking “You don’t have any juices down here, do you?”
Persephone nodded understandingly and motioned to a nearby shade, who set off immediately to fetch the items. Hades and Persephone departed to tend to their domain, and a few moments later, the shade returned, accompanied by several others. They bore trays laden with food truly fit for the gods. In the very center of the feast was a roasted goat, slightly charred, and seasoned with cinnamon and honey and surrounded by cheeses, fruits, and wheat breads; another shade bore jars of fig juice flavored with mint and lavender. They set the food down and departed. Dionysos set about his feast as Zagreus chatted away, asking questions that Dionysos was eager to answer, keeping his mind from the horrors he had experienced.
Dionysos finished with the fruits and cheeses and was just tucking into bites of spicy, charred, slightly sweetened meat when Zagreus asked “so what are you the god of anyway? Mother says our family get to pick our domains once we’re old enough.”
“I… don’t really know?” Dionysos said sheepishly. “I have a sister whose pretty smart and good at fighting, but I never figured any of that out myself. I think I figured out this thing to do with juice, it makes your head fuzzy.” With a gesture, the remaining juice frothed violently before calming, now a darker color. Dionysos took a sip. “Delicious” he sighed. He swallowed the rest and poured another cup as his cheeks grew rosy. “Maybe I’m the god of fuzzy juice” he shrugged. “Do you think I should keep the horns?”
Zagreus let out a bark of laughter.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“You! You’re weird!”
“Well, if you think I’m so weird, then I won’t tell you what my domain is even when I do figure it out. So there.”
“Hey, no fair!” said Zagreus.
Dionysos gave a pointed silence in response.
“Fine. Fine! It’s not weird. Without the horns you look just like my father, except your eyes are purple.” He took a bite of fig. “But they do go well with your beard. Happy?”
Dionysos answered with a smile and finished his food as Zagreus continued his questions. When he was finished eating, Dionysos lay back on his bed, eventually drifting off to sleep.
Dionysos remained in the underworld for some months after, training with his cousin and learning from the denizens of his uncle’s domain to shapeshift as he saw fit. When time allowed, he and Zagreus would go exploring the underworld together, or merely sit at the banks of the Styx and talk with her about various goings-on. Dionysos and Zagreus became such close friends during this period and so frequently associated with each other that some mortals have mistaken one for the other in the ages that have come and gone since. During one of these downtimes, Zagreus and Dionysos were sitting by Styx’s banks, sipping on a pitcher of cherry-mint wine, talking as they watched Charon deliver another soul when a pair of bodies flopped down beside them.
“Hey bro. So glad you thought to let me know how things were going, and that ol’ Grandpa Kronos ripped you to pieces!” said the first body.
Dionysos turned over to see Athena’s scowling face. “Oh hey, ‘Thena. How’s it been up there on the mountain? How’s Dad?”
“‘How’s it been?’ I’ve been worried sick about you! You disappeared into the underworld months ago and stopped returning my letters!” Athena’s face was contorted with anger and pain. “Your foster sisters have been telling everyone that you are a mortal girl who had an affair with a mortal and claimed it was Father. Meanwhile, I accidentally stabbed my best friend because Aphrodite apparently wanted me to go on a date with a distant cousin living in Triton’s palace, and Queen Hera has been telling everyone that you got lost and killed by the hydra of Lernaea, and after all that, I find you here, drinking juice!?”
“Wow. Sounds like a lot” said Dionysos, not fully taking in his sister’s words. “Wait. You did what? And they said what about me?!”
“Oh, now he starts paying attention! You heard me. Now you, little brother, are going to come with me so we can clean up this mess and finally get some peace and quiet on Olympos. And then you and I are going to sit down and have a talk about returning your sister’s messages!”
“Athena, I’m sorry. I didn’t write ’cause I figured you could come down for a visit if you ever wanted to chat. I really thought you’d been told about what happened” said Dionysos, sitting up. “This is Zagreus, by the way, he’s our cousin. Now, sit, have something to drink, and walk us through everything.”
Athena sighed. “Hi Zagreus. This is Pallas, my friend. I am sorry for blowing up at you, but I’ve had no communication from you in months, and the queen has been telling everyone you were killed, and your sisters have been spreading rumors that don’t even begin to make sense to me. I know you would never claim to sleep with our father, but the mortals are starting to talk, and it distracts their generals during battle preparations, and I cannot allow that.”
Dionysos barely suppressed a grin. “Right back to business, Athena?” He patted the ground next to him. “Won’t you sit down, have some wine, and you can fill us in on what’s been going on topside.”
Pallas pushed herself in front of Athena, nudging her in the side and taking a cup of wine, saying “we would love to try your wine juice, wouldn’t we?” Athena muttered under her breath in response.
The four gods sat and talked, covering everything that had happened since they had gone their separate ways from Olympos, from the glass statue and the fermented juice Dionysos had found, to Athena’s sparring match and its disastrous conclusion and the two goddesses’ decision to travel to the underworld to swear oaths on Styx. Once everyone was all caught up, they began debating the best course of action while sipping on a second pitcher of wine, and then took a short break to allow the alcohol to wear off, revisiting the same plans to ensure their ideas were sound.
Unknown to the four gods and even to Hades, Hera had a spy in the underworld, and she had been quick to inform the queen of Dionysos’ survival; it was from this that she had begun spreading the rumors about his demise, which had spread to Theba, leading to his cousin’s rumors. For the naiad Minthe had been present from the meal Dionysos had eaten back in the palace, and even now was present as the younger gods discussed their plans. She passed her knowledge on to Iris whenever the messenger came to the underworld, and the Rainbow reported back to Hera as soon as she was able. Hera was limited in her ability to act as long as Dionysos remained in the underworld, but as soon as he left, he would lose the protection afforded him by Hades. High on Olympos, Hera watched, as a flock of small unassuming birds made their way towards the cave entrance that led to the underworld.
“No! I refuse to go into hiding, like some mortal!” Dionysos shouted angrily. “I am the son of Zeus, by Chaos! I won’t sit by while those backstabbing liars tell everyone I’m a mortal girl with delusions of grandeur, pretending to be sleeping with the king of Olympos!”
Athena sighed. “We are not telling you to let it go, Dionysos. We just need to figure out how to get a message to Father first, so as to halt Hera’s wrath. Now, if as I suspect, she attempts to lead any force against Hades, you must flee, else you may be caught in the fighting. If you went south or east, you could hide among the gods of those lands, but going east would take you farther away. I recommend that option. The real question is who we can trust if it does come to a fight?”
“We most certainly cannot trust Iris” said Pallas.
The others nodded, Dionysos’ rage subsiding as he sat down. Iris was fond of Hera, and they couldn’t risk her betraying them now that things were coming to a head.
“I think we can trust your father, Pallas, and uncle Poseidon” said Athena, her brow furrowed. “And Father will probably help us, if he can hold off ogling mortals for five minutes.”
“And Arty and ‘Pollo, they don’t like Hera either, and of course your parents, Zagreus, should be ready to fight Hera’s children.” added Dionysos. Zagreus nodded enthusiastically.
“We could invite Ares down and introduce him to Auntie Nyx”, he suggested.
Athena nodded in approval “I agree with bringing Ares down here. He and I never manage to see entirely eye to eye, and I cannot say which side he will favor”.
“Ok,” said Dionysos, “say I go along with this plan. If it comes to a fight, we know our friends and enemies, but how do we alert them if we can’t even trust Iris to deliver the message?”
“Pallas and I can deliver it to Olympos,” said Athena. “Aside from Father, we can best any one of them if needed. Once we get there, we should be able to gain the support of Artemis, Apollo, and of uncle Poseidon and Triton on the way. That will give us an advantage in a fight. While we do that, you, my little brother, will stay here and should anything happen, you will run to the east, away from Olympos, until all of this calms down.”
“All right. I’ll do it, but when this is done, I get to deal with my ‘sisters’ as I see fit, no interference from anyone else. Not even Dad or Harmonia. You promise to make them agree to that, deal?” Dionysos’ face grew hard.
The others nodded in agreement.
Their plans made and oaths struck on Styx, Zagreus left to inform his parents of the details and to make preparations, while Athena and Pallas left the underworld first, speeding off to Poseidon’s palace on route to Olympos. Dionysos waited for hours after they left, hoping that they could at least keep Hera from trying to kill him, but as he pondered, a thousand-thousand cuckoos burst into the underworld and began calling with such volume that Dionysos assumed Hera to be leading her army against him. He made a dash for the cave entrance, followed closely by the cuckoos. Before he knew it, he was standing outside the entrance to the underworld. Knowing he was still unsafe, he ran east as fast as he could, trying to outpace the birds. He feared no danger from them directly, but as agents of Hera, he would not be safe so long as they could report on his location. The cuckoos followed him, pestering him endlessly with their calls. He ran through a desert and through the twin rivers and into the mountains beyond, but still they followed him. Night and day they called and called and called until eventually, the endless noise bored its way into his head and the world became one great loud cuckoo’s call, driving him ever on until his mind shattered. Now at last, the cuckoos finally left him, their job finally done. Dionysos ran and ran until he found a great river far to the east, and a village there, and they welcomed him, mistaking him for a deity who lived in those lands, for they were of similar domain. There, in that village, Dionysos would remain for many years. He no longer recognized his friends or family, and refused all attempts to communicate when they found him at long last, and so Rhea and Demeter agreed to watch over him in turns, hoping for him to regain his sanity.
