It is ironic, maybe, that while Hera thought Zeus was cheating on her, he wasn’t. At least, he wasn’t cheating on Hera before her solitary conception of Hephaestus. However, following the scandal – and Hephaestus’ fall from both grace and Olympus – Zeus began to look at his wife differently. Zeus could only see ugliness in Hera’s beautiful eyes, never thinking that it was simply his reflection in her silvery glance.
And so Zeus continued on his hunting trips – instead of hunting for wildlife or answers, though, he took to hunting lovers. He went from town to town, village to village, looking for beautiful women. He walked in the marketplace as a young fisherman, in the palaces as a traveling diplomat, in the temples as a pilgrim, all simply to steal looks at the women in the billowing robes. However, none of the women – not even those who stood in their dark doorways and beckoned him in – could entice him.
There was one lady named Euthalia, the daughter of a merchant, the widow of a soldier. She had short, brown hair that waved with the wind – she had hazel eyes with flickers of emerald – she had a necklace of gemstones her mother had once given her. She was gorgeous, and her shy smile soaked up the world around them. But, even in the rare moments when Euthalia snuck out of her father’s house, all to visit the disguised Zeus, nothing ever came of those moments. At one point, the two of them sat on the edge of a stone bridge, their feet dangling just above the river washing under them. The wineskin that sat between them was deflated. But even then, with the two of them drunk, Zeus couldn’t love her. And so he left suddenly, without even providing an excuse. Euthalia chased after him but he vanished down the moonlit road. And Euthalia collapsed, her tears pooling around her, wondering if she could ever be beautiful to anyone again.
This abandonment was the first but not the last. In the months and years that followed, Zeus loved many women, but he could not become intimate with them, as much as he wanted to, just like he used to love Hera. It was his curse, as much as Zeus was afraid to admit it – the horror was real enough just being silent. And so Zeus, as powerful and striking as he was, became a wanderer across the world, loveless, homeless, with no sheath for his sword.
Sometime later, though, when Zeus was walking along a mountainside pass, rejected, the scenery felt familiar. But where did he remember it from? Zeus frowned for a moment, trying to remember, then his eyes light up. His distant cousin, Metis, lived nearby. Metis was the daughter of Zeus’ uncle, Oceanus, the sea god. Oceanus was always Zeus’ favorite of the elders, a bulbous god who walked like lead but never sank in the ocean. During the war, when Zeus and his siblings had overthrown their elders, casting the arrogant Titans down to their prison in the Underworld, Oceanus was one of the few granted freedom. Zeus allowed his uncle to escape to the cool depths of the ocean, as thanks for Oceanus once hiding Zeus from his terrible father, Cronus. The siblings had protested this, saying that Oceanus could easily free Cronus, and then the Olympians would have been ruined, or even worse. But Zeus silenced his siblings and he let Oceanus go. True, it may have been a foolish thing for Zeus to do, but then again, it was a foolish thing for Oceanus to do, betraying his family to save the life of a young Zeus. That Oceanus had faith in Zeus was enough for Zeus to have faith in Oceanus.
But when Oceanus sank into his cold refuge of the ocean, his daughter refused to come with him. Metis, a stunning goddess with thick, blonde hair and a little smile, was afraid, in the ways a goddess shouldn’t have been. She loved to splash around in the tide at the beach, where the brine caught in her hair and sparkled in the sunshine. But she was terrified of stepping out any further, past the point where she had to swim in the water. She couldn’t see as well as her father did while underwater, and all Metis thought of was the fish and serpents in the darkness, swimming around her kicking legs. And so Metis stayed behind on shore, waiting for the day when her father would come back. It had been thousands of years since Oceanus last dove into the waters, but everyone has to come back up to breathe sometime, even the gods.
But while Zeus’ siblings knew about the amnesty for Oceanus, they didn’t know about the same gift for Metis. Zeus had hidden her away, in a deep nook in the cliffs, far from the prying eyes from high above. He had to hide her, because none of the goddesses could bring themselves to trust her. She was a clever goddess, after all, one who had tricked Hera and Demeter all too often. Metis never said why, but Zeus figured it out long before, when the tricky goddess had asked Hera to take a walk with her. To Hera’s dismay, she was led into a field of clay – she sank knee-deep into the clay, which then immediately hardened from her fierce warmth. Zeus had happened upon the scene just in time to hear Hera begging for mercy, and Metis laughing hysterically. Zeus was able to pull Hera safely from the clay, but the future Queen never forgave Metis for the trick.
Of course, Metis tried to trick Zeus as well in those days, but the young god always outsmarted her. Instead of being frustrated, though, Metis was impressed, thrilled even that she could never trick him. And so Metis began dreaming of the one day when she would trick him, and that anticipation transformed somehow into love. And Zeus loved Metis as well, simply because she loved him.
And so, in his moment of weakness, Zeus decided to pay Metis a visit. He trailed from the dirt road and into the forest. The woods were stripped of leaves, the branches twisted, almost a graveyard. The locals were afraid of the area, how all of the trees had their branches pointing up toward the sky. The villagers knew there was magic to the woods, and so they stayed away, but that was why Zeus came.
The ground began rising under his feet as he climbed a hill that became a mountain that became a cliff. And there he was, standing hundreds of feet above the kicking surf of the Aegean. The sea was a harvest that went on for miles, its blueberry leaves rustling in the wind. Even from the height that he stood, Zeus thought he saw something leap up from the waters below. It looked like a dolphin, but even Zeus wasn’t sure.
Although the cliff was steep and smooth, Zeus didn’t have much trouble clambering down the side. His fingertips were strong enough to carve into the solid stone. Just some distance beneath him, he could see the cave entrance, just as he had remembered it. And, with night striding in from the east and darkness falling, he could see a flickering light escape the cavern. Even with the roar of the tides far below, he could hear the crackling of fire, and the singing of songs:
“I hope that as long as you live, you shine,
and that you never feel pain at all.
Because we all know that life is short,
and death always demands its toll.”
Zeus smiled as he neared the cavern – Metis always had a beautiful singing voice – he was glad she never lost it. Whenever she spoke, he couldn’t help but listen – and how could he not, with her voice like water over pebbles?
Hanging from the lip of the cavern, he let go and landed inside. The entrance was narrow, but the cave itself was deep and massive. The cave walls were lined with shelves of works, all written by the brightest minds in the world, both known and unknown. The floor itself was a gigantic map of the world, Greece alone consuming most of the space. Zeus looked up and, by the light of the dancing fire, saw that Metis had finished painting the ceiling of the room since the last time he visited. The ceiling was now a reconstruction of the nighttime sky – here though, the constellations actually moved. Zeus watched in silent amusement as the bull and the lion played and fought with one another in the mock sky.
“They were quiet a few minutes ago, you know.”
Shook into focus, Zeus looked across the room, beyond the crackling hearth, at Metis, reclined in her lounge. She had her head propped in one hand, with a thick pillow of parchment beneath her. Metis was slim but full of life, her long, blonde hair having never lost its youth. She was smiling, but her eyes looked at him shrewdly.
Zeus was quiet and she continued, saying, “Normally, the stars stay still. Since I have a guest, though, they must be exc
ited. It’s not often that I have visitors.”
“It’s beautiful artwork.”
“Thank you, but it’s more than art to me.”
“Oh?”
“It’s hard for me to leave,” Metis said as she slowly got up, stretching her stiff arms. “This is all I have left of the outside.”
As Zeus walked towards her, he asked, curious, “Have you ever left?”
“No.”
“Why not? Are you afraid of Hera and the others seeing you? Are you afraid of what they’ll think, of what they’ll do?”
“No, not that. I was never afraid of them. It’s…” Metis’ voice trailed off, and even her little smile vanished.
Zeus suddenly knew better than to ask. She was still afraid of the sea – she was afraid of slipping on the rock and falling into the water that was blue to him but black to her.
Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “Then how did you build this library? And paint this floor and ceiling? Where did you get the materials?”
Metis pointed to the corner of the room, just past the lounge. There, Zeus saw a stunted tree somehow growing from the stubborn stone floor. Hidden in the nest of branches, Zeus could barely see a brood of owls – the branches seemed to quiver with their soft, rumbling hooting. She said, “I have my assistants – they’re good enough.”
“How are you?”
“Fine, just fine. I have been having trouble sleeping, though.”
“Is that why you were singing earlier?” Zeus asked. “To sing yourself to sleep?”
Metis looked amused. “Oh, I guess you heard me, then?”
“You were loud enough to have the whole cliff as your audience.”
Metis laughed. “You know, one of my owls once brought me a comedy it stole from a local playwright. The play is about a farmer who hears singing in the wilderness during the night. The farmer tells everyone, but, of course, no one believes him. I like to think that play is based on a true story.”
“Ah, another practical joke of yours?”
“Well, when you live in a cave and can never leave, you have your laughs when you can.”
Zeus saw that Metis was serious. He asked, “Let me help you leave then.”
“I can’t…it’s just…this is enough for me, for now,” Metis said with a sigh, motioning towards the shelves of manuscripts that surrounded them.
Zeus looked helpless for a moment. “Well, if you don’t want me to bring you out into the world, at least let me bring the world to you.”
Metis looked somewhat taken aback, not sure what to say. She finally asked, “Why would you do that for me? After you had abandoned me so many years ago? Why now?”
“I need someone to be lonely with.”
Metis looked up sharply at Zeus, having never seen a wounded side to him. She said softly, the emotion rising in her throat, “Okay. Okay.”