Everyone Should Eat His Own Turtle (A Greek Myth Novel) by H.C. Southwark (nonfiction book recommendations TXT) 📕

But now was not the time for such questions. She and her father had only one question remaining, due to her foolishness. But apparently her own question was not yet answered to the old woman’s satisfaction, because when Isme’s eyes lit on her again the woman was observing her. Pursing her lips, the old woman said:

“Do you think old gods know the answer to what secret plagues young Zeus?”

Feeling the presence of her father by her side, how he was not answering, Isme considered the question. Then she nodded.

Something about the old woman changed. She sat less stiffly on her platform, and the lines of her face had eased. It was as though she had received a flattering comment. Perhaps she had. Perhaps Isme was the first person to whom she had asked that question in a long while, and the answer was everything she had hoped.

“Then this is the answer: Zeus fears what all men fear,” said the old woman. Isme found herself leaning forward, wanting to know the secret that extended far beyond even the king of the Olympians. The old woman continued, “He fears replacement by his own son.”

Isme frowned, considering. Then she recalled the tiny detail in-between the end of Zeus’s war against the Titans and the birth of Athena, who heralded the oncoming of the rest of the Olympians. For the pattern of the universe was thus: first the parent would birth the son, and then the son would replace him.

Mother Gaia had birthed Ouranos, who had claimed kingship over her. From their union came the Titans, the first generation of gods. The youngest, Kronos, had attacked and castrated his father at the behest of Mother Gaia. Then came the age of Titans. Kronos had feared losing his throne to a son, and so he had eaten all the children produced by his wife Rhea. In desperation Rhea had turned to Mother Gaia and hatched a conspiracy to save the next child. This was Zeus, and at his coming the first world had ended.

The detail after the story of Zeus’s ascent was this: he had married his first wife, Metis, for her sound advice during the war against the Titans. But after his rise to kingship, he had looked at the pattern of his ancestors and feared his own successor. Taking the habit from his own father, he inhaled and ate Metis. Thus, he gained all her wisdom inside himself—and prevented her from having a son who could later overthrow his father, as Zeus had once overthrown his, and as Kronos had overthrown Zeus’s grandfather...

Later, when his new wife Hera had challenged him that women were more valuable than men because they were the ones who gave birth, he had split open his own head, using the wisdom gained from Metis to conceive a new goddess, Athena. Not long after that Hera had tried the same trick, to give birth without the assistance of the other sex, but she had only produced misshapen Hephaestus.

And Isme saw then the reason why Athena, despite leaping from Zeus’s head, was a woman. Some stories insisted that men were more logical than women, and the head was the place where logic resided. So why was Athena, goddess of wisdom, a woman?

Because she was the sole child of Zeus; without a non-wife mother to render her illegitimate, she was therefore a legitimate heir. Only her being a woman prevented her inheritance and eventual usurpation—she was a daughter, not a son, and would not replace her father. And the same was true for any child of Hera: with her, his wedded queen, Zeus had only conceived daughters—Hebe the golden cupbearer and the three graces. It was only with other women that he produced sons.

Sons who could not inherit through their illegitimacy, whose power over the world was therefore tied to his own. And so had Zeus broken the cycle of chaos, the new overcoming the old and heralding new worlds into being—except, Isme knew, now every oracle across the earth was predicting the end of their world—

So Isme said, “The son of the highest god—that must be who will end this world.”

The old woman’s eyes flew open, so wide as though her eyelids had been flung from her body and the round orbs would pop out of their sockets. Isme started back—and realized that the old woman was not looking directly at her. She was blind.

After a breath, the old woman calmed. Said, “And who is the highest god?”

Isme would have answered with the name of Zeus, but that seemed far too obvious, or the question would not have been asked. So she said, “I don’t know.”

The old woman calmed. “Nobody knows, these days.”

She settled back onto her haunches. “I fear we will soon find out. It seems every Oracle is predicting the end of this world.”

Isme nodded, unsurprised that the old woman was thinking along the same lines she had. Beside her, her father placed a hand on her shoulder again, and then said,

“That is why we are here. The gods these days can absolve blood guilt, even if they do not always. We do not know what the next world will be like and whether any new gods will have any mercy. Therefore, since my brother is not able to answer, I ask you: how am I to absolve the blood guilt incurred by my daughter here?”

The old woman was silent for a long time. Long enough for Isme to wonder whether her father had been heard. Or whether there was even an answer forthcoming—until the old woman said:

“There is much wrong in your statement. The only truly correct thing is that we do not know what the next world will be like.”

Isme gathered herself, piecing together all of her father’s statements that the old woman had just declared was a lie. The ability of the gods to absolve? That they did not always wipe