Dionysus

“The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.” - Homer, Iliad 

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Chapter 1 - Glimpse of Gold 

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Greece, 320 BC 

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The small mountain range of the Grecian borders hadn’t seen a storm like this in centuries. Lightning painted the mountainside white just for a moment, revealing a cloaked shadow bolting from the trees, cutting a charcoal shape leaning against the wind. The figure’s head was bowed against the rain, one hand grasping his hood, the other clutching a bundle of blankets beneath his cloak. Rain had long soaked the man in its whiplike lashings that stung his exposed skin and eyes as he squinted into the gloom. 

     A small house carved into the mountainside stood impossibly high above him, the small glimmer of orange light from the windows the only sign of life for miles around. The windows were a slash of burnt firelight against an indigo sea. The building was perched on the very edge of the tall-standing pines, looking like one small shake of the storm will have it tumbling from the mountainside. The white expanse of rock of the mountains was pocketed with small collections of pine trees, little ornaments of refuge against a barren surface. The trek looked perilous enough that a less-desperate traveller would’ve reconsidered, but the man gritted his teeth and pushed forward. 

He had to get there before she noticed.  

     A flash of light and thunder rumbled across the mountainside, so loud, the man swore rocks were shaken loose from their shelf. He knew the storm was necessary to hide them, but did their father have to make it this intense? 

     The bundle in his arms started to cry. 

     Startled, the man ducked behind one of the large pine trees, pressing one shoulder into the bark to shield the infant in his arms from the elements as best he could as he peeled back his cloak. To anyone else, the darkness would’ve been all-encompassing, but not to the man and his charge. A sliver of light from the storm-torn sky revealed the brown curls – similar to the man’s own blond ones – and the golden eyes of his baby brother, hiccupping with tears.  

     “Come now,” he chided, pulling back the blanket. “What’s the fuss?” 

     The baby blinked up at him, tears immediately stilling.  

     “Don’t worry. We’re nearly there.” 

     The baby’s face scrunched up with more tears and the man bounced him in his arm, a cheap imitation of what he’s seen mothers do, only to nearly drop the child when a strong gust of wind slammed into his back. He just managed to catch the baby’s head before it could hit the floor and the child laughed like it was a game. He breathed out in relief. Gods, the man did not know what to do with a baby. Especially one that did not seem to want to stay still. Why did this have to be him?  

      The baby laughed again. He swore it was at him. 

      "Don’t mock me.” He pointed a finger at the baby. “I’m saving your life.” 

     The child reached out and stuffed his finger into his mouth, its cherub cheeks rosy and the very picture of innocence. The man supposed the child was… sweet in his way. Sighing, he took back his finger and wiped it on his cloak. He would be sweeter if he didn’t wriggle so much. Or drool. Or cry. 

     There’s a whisper brushing against the shell of the man’s ear, a howl from another realm that jerked his head to the side, listening underneath the storm for that familiar, caressing promise of pain that dragged a finger of fear down his spine. Did he imagine it? Or was she already on his trail? 

     He swaddled the baby once more and stepped out into the storm. He couldn’t fail now.  

     When he reached the cabin, he was about to knock on the old wooden door of the house when it swung open, revealing an old woman in a cotton dress and grey hair pulled back in a loose bun. Her eyes were steel grey and impassive. The man swore, nearly dropping the baby again. 

     “I was expecting you.” The woman said, by way of explanation. 

     “Of course, you were.” The man muttered, then straightened up. “Then you know why I am here?” 

     “Yes.” 

     He removed his cloak from around the child and his baby brother blinked at the light. The man turned to the stern-faced old woman.  

     “I will hide you and the child from her. She must not find this place. She must not find him. If she does…” 

     “I know.” 

     The man went to hand his brother over to the stranger when the child reached back to him and he paused, arms outstretched. He saw the light that danced in those large hazel eyes, innocent to the path of politics and blood that lay before him, that already painted his infancy. The man hoped he would never know of that day, of that blood-soaked room. He lifted the baby up to his face and pressed his forehead gently to his little brother’s.  

     “Be better than the rest of us.” He whispered fiercely, closing his eyes. “You have to be better than the rest of us.” 

     The child cooed, his little hands exploring the man’s face with what felt like reverence. It even made a smile fight its way onto his face. Then the baby grabbed one of the man’s blond curls and gave it a hard tug.  

     “Ow!” The man attempted to pry the fingers off, amazed at the strength of those tiny hands. The old woman was nearly smiling, but not offering any assistance. “You little–” 

     The baby looked up at him and the mischief already there made the man smile.   

     “Keep him secret," he said to the old woman, managing by some miracle to free his hair. He passed the child into the waiting arms of the nanny. “She cannot know what I’ve done here tonight.”  

     “I know,” she said. Obviously. 

     The man nodded, trying to untangle himself from the child’s blankets. “As soon as the child is grown, I will return so he can fulfil his duties–” 

     He tried to pull back, but the child has wrapped his whole hand around the man’s little finger. He looked at the details of the skin, the tiny fingernails. Something clutched at his chest, remembering the blood still-spilling from his friend, the delicate hairclip in her cold hands and the charred flesh. 

     He swallowed and pried the child’s hands from his own. “I will be back, I promise. I won’t let them hurt you. I won’t leave you to walk your path alone as I did.”  

     It’s what his friend would’ve wanted.  

     The man turned away from his half-brother and pulled out a mid-length ancient staff, gifted to him by their father. Their father who had commanded that he never breathe a word about what had happened that night, that he had no choice to obey. Curled snakes carved in impossible detail twist around the staff, the two heads of the vipers poised as if to strike the wooden eagle that crowns it.  

     As he walked back into the storm, the wings that had been painted on the man’s scandals peeled away from the leather and transformed into white feathers, moving as if alive. Electricity rippled through the air. He murmured an incantation and the whole storm went silent like the world was straining to listen. Energy began to hum and crackle and an echoing noise like thunder rolled across the mountain, but from something bigger than the storm.  

     The old woman turned around with the infant in her arms, holding tight despite all its kicking and squirming, and shut the door.  

     The man barely heard it. The cloak flew from the man’s shoulder, snatched by the feral winds, but it did not matter, there was no storm where he was headed, only gentle golden skies. Gold-plated armour covered the man’s entire body and his eyes glowed molten in the dark night, burning brighter than any humans could. Twin suns in a storm. 

      The man lifted his staff and swung it in a striking motion and sliced the sky in front of him.  

     The world cracked open.  

     An unnatural roar rushed past the man as the fabric of the sky tore apart, but he stayed rooted as trees bent around him. White and crackling light poured from the rip, energy brighter than the lightning that flashed in the sky.  

     A child’s cry came from the mountain abode. 

     The man turned his head once more to the door, sealed tight against the elements and his storm. Would it be enough, hiding him here? 

      His friend entered his mind, laughing in a field of flowers, the same gold-flecked eyes squinting against a summer sun that he saw in his brothers’. Semele.  

     For her. It has to be.  

     He stepped through the burning void.  

     There was a noise like the air was being sucked and smothered – and then nothing. The world shivered. 

     A baby’s cries were all that could be heard above the storm.