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CHAPTER 13

Ariadne felt the blood drain from her face and clapped her hands over her ears. Strong hands gripped them gently and pulled them away, and she heard Dionysus laughing.

"Silly child," he said. "Why do you try to close your ears? You've suspected for a long time that I wasn't a god."

Her eyes, which she had squeezed shut, snapped open. Her glance met his. The bright blue eyes were sparkling with amusement.

"How do you know that?" she asked sharply. "I never told you or asked a question. Only a god can know what is in a person's mind without—"

His renewed laughter interrupted her. "Anyone not an idiot would've known what you suspected. I'm sometimes bemused, Chosen, but I'm not stupid. The very care you take to hide from your priests and priestesses that I can be sick and sad and tired, that when I am wounded, I bleed and don't heal instantly, that when I overwork it my body stinks like that of any peasant in the fields—that care betrays that you know and don't trust them to know."

Ariadne looked down. Dionysus put a finger under her chin and lifted her head. "You're only saying that because you want me to come to Olympus." She heard the shaken pleading note in her voice and tried to steady it. "How can you not be a god? You were here, as you are now, in my ancestress's time. You have lived as a young man for four or five lifetimes of my people. You must be a god."

"It's true that I want you to come and live with me in Olympus," he said, "but why don't you want to hear me confirm what you already know, Ariadne?"

Her lips thinned and although she tried to control her expression, she knew her eyes were bright with anger. "Who likes to know they've been dupes and fools, that they've been worshiping false gods? If you aren't gods, why should we bring sacrifices, why should we praise and pray?"

Dionysus raised his brows. "Why do the people of Crete bring your father tithes and taxes? Because he protects them from others, because he sometimes grants them what they petition for, because he is more powerful than they and would punish them if they didn't obey his laws. That's why you pray and sacrifice to the `gods' of Olympus. I said we weren't gods. I didn't say we weren't different from the native people in this part of the world."

"Then you are gods."

Dionysus shivered slightly. "Many Olympians claim it. Perhaps by now they even believe it. But it isn't true. Our power comes from elsewhere—that's why it can be exhausted, as I was exhausted yesterday. I can feel that power come into me and leave me, and I believe the power comes from the Mother. Eros, who is one of the oldest among us, who remembers our coming into this land, prays to the Mother."

"The Mother is a true god?" Ariadne whispered.

"So I believe. Her power is inexhaustible. She needs no sacrifices to eat or drink, no offerings to furnish Her house. You can't see Her or touch Her; She can't be hurt, but She is there. And She can be felt here in Knossos, in Olympus, and in the East from where I come, all at the same time. She is never mean or petty, jealous of another's strength, and She knows, as we do not—everything."

"I believe that also," Ariadne said with a sigh. "That is how a god should be."

"Yes. And we Olympians aren't. Our faults stick out like black warts on a white face. Zeus the lecher, Aphrodite the whore, Apollo the unreasonable, Artemis the vicious, Athena who might as well be one of her statues for all she allows herself to feel, Poseidon the totally irresponsible, and last, but not least, Dionysus the mad. Oh, there are others who are nearly gods. Hades is kind and just; Persephone is . . . Persephone, a wellspring of power upon which others can feed—almost Motherlike. But they, too, are tainted with humanity because they love each other with the same foolish, unreasonable passion as any native."

Ariadne put a hand on his. "You are not mad, Dionysus. You are young and haven't yet learned to master your own will." Like Asterion, she thought, but she didn't say that. It wouldn't be safe to mention her half brother and less safe still to compare Dionysus to him. "I understand what you're trying to tell me," she continued, "but it makes me more afraid. I can't come to Olympus. To abase myself before a god—that I can do. I feel no shame to kneel before the Mother, to appeal to Her with lifted arms, but to do so to white faces with black warts . . . No, I couldn't. I would anger them, Dionysus. You say they are petty and mean and yet terribly powerful. They'll destroy me."

His lips drew back slowly, a show of teeth that was utterly vicious. "No. You need fear no Olympian. They know that if they anger me I can pull down their whole private world. I can make them all run mad and turn their power against each other. No. They'll do you no harm."

Ariadne gasped with horror, her hand tightening convulsively on his. "No. No. You mustn't. Not ever. Not for me. Not even for you. You can't destroy a whole people. You couldn't live with the memory."

His face had twisted in remembered pain. He had nearly done just that to Pentheus' people. The breath that he had drawn in eased out in a long sigh. He raised his free hand and stroked her cheek.

"Don't you see why I need you, Chosen?"

"Yes, I see. But if I should come to grief in Olympus, through my own weakness or stupidity, matters would be even worse. Can we find no other way except that I live in Olympus?"

He frowned. "Perhaps, but why shouldn't I have you always beside me?" The words, spoken in a kind of petulant resentment, reminded him of the woman who, out of love, had almost killed Eros. He bit his lip and got to his feet. "I must go. I'd almost forgot that Eros is very ill. I must find out if he's healing and whether Aphrodite has kept her word about not harming Psyche."

Ariadne had gotten to her feet too, still clutching his hand. "Will you return, my lord? I hope you aren't angry with me for being afraid to come with you."

He shrugged. "I cause you no awe and terror. I've told you no Olympian would dare harm you, so why should you fear them?"

"The difference is that I love you, my lord. Even if you make me run mad I will love you. I fear what I don't know."

"Perhaps if you learn more about us, you'll be less afraid. I brought a scroll here—unless you discarded my things when I was absent for so long?"

Ariadne laughed. "If I found a hair that you had shed, I would keep it carefully. The games and scrolls are all here in that chest." She nodded toward it.

"Very well. Among them you'll find one called The History of the Olympians. Read it. You'll see that the so-called gods are not very different from you and your people. They eat and drink, piss and shit, love and hate, can easily be managed by flattery and amusement, and can be just as silly as any native."

Except, Ariadne thought, that her people didn't throw thunderbolts when they were annoyed, or cause the sea to rise into mountains, or make sane men and women tear their families and friends into gobbets of raw flesh. But she didn't make that protest. She said, "But I won't understand everything. I know I won't. Won't you come back and answer my questions?"

He smiled and touched her cheek again. "I'll come, little wheedler, but I doubt that I'll be able to answer your questions." He shrugged, looking a bit shamefaced. "I've never read The History of the Olympians myself."

"But you are an Olympian. Don't you know the history?"

He shook his head. "I'm the youngest to breed true from a mating of Olympian with native. You know I was born in the East and that to hide his infidelity from Hera, my father, Zeus, took my mother to the Underworld, leaving a shower of gold in her place. He left me in Ur with the Nymphai. I am not sure whether that was to protect me from Hera—who was terribly cruel to poor Heracles—or because he didn't want to be bothered with a babe. Anyway, I only came to Olympus when I was a man grown, long after these events." He grinned at her. "If you'd come with me to Olympus, Eros could explain—" The grin disappeared and he freed his hand from hers. "You seduce me, Ariadne. When I'm with you I'm at peace and I forget everything else. I must go now!"

On the word, he was gone. Ariadne sighed—a sigh of relief, this time. He'd return, he'd said so, so she hadn't lost him, and she had escaped, or delayed, being dragged away to Olympus. She shuddered at the thought and then wondered why, considering what he could do, what she'd more than once felt rising in him, she didn't fear Dionysus. But she knew why. He'd said it himself. She was his peace, his assurance that he wasn't mad, his hope that he could bring order to his life.

Ariadne sank down again onto the cushion beside Dionysus' chair. Her heartflower had closed, as it always did when he was beyond the reach of the silver mist, but not into a tight, hard knot. Her Call could reach him anywhere, she knew. Would the silver tendrils some day stretch that far? If so, she wouldn't need to leave Knossos and live in Olympus to bring him peace.

The thought was passing, but the "leave Knossos" echoed in her mind. Reconsidering the words, she suddenly began to wonder whether it was fear of the Olympians or fear of leaving Knossos . . . no, not fear, the need not to leave Knossos. Ariadne blinked slowly, then got to her feet and walked into her bedchamber to stand before the shrine of the Mother.

"You want me here," she said, and the shadows shifted slightly on the dark face. "Why?"

To that there was a response Ariadne at first didn't recognize and then perceived as a feeling of incompleteness, like a memory of a task left undone that wouldn't come clear. Although she didn't know what the task was, she was certain it must be accomplished before she could leave Knossos.

"May I tell Dionysus?" she asked—and felt a touch of warmth, and, more disconcerting, a kind of lightness, as if the Mother were amused, and then, almost as if she had been pushed, a need to look at The History of the Olympians.

Fortunately the book was in the trade tongue, which Ariadne could read, and she soon found herself lost in the epic, which began with Kronos' attempt to unseat his father, Uranous, from his throne. It was not clear where the land was, except that it was landlocked and surrounded by mountains that made those in Greece look like molehills. Ariadne read the descriptions of the land carefully, but it was clearly not a place to which any Cretan trader had ventured.

Kronos' rebellion was not without cause. Uranous, mistrusting those who might have a right to rule in his stead—for he was not loved by his subjects, who would be glad to replace him—had already buried one male child in the bowels of the earth and planned to be rid of all his children in the same horrible fashion

Despite his people's hatred of their ruler, the rebellion did not succeed. Although some of the younger men and women with power supported Kronos, many others said he was too much like his father, only a devil they didn't yet know well. Those felt they preferred the devil with whom they already knew how to deal. Still others would support neither and the realm erupted into chaos. Kronos couldn't overcome his father, but Uranous was weakened sufficiently to allow Kronos and those who supported him to flee before Uranous could catch them and cause the earth to open up and swallow them.

Had he followed, the writer of the history remarked, Uranous could have had an easy vengeance while Kronos and his people struggled through the mountains. There were enormous chasms that Uranous could have pulled shut over the refuges and cliffs he could have tumbled down atop them. Fortunately, the writer noted, Uranous must have been too busy trying to reestablish his authority over those who remained to pursue or too uncertain that he could defeat Kronos.

Even without Uranous' interference, the passage through the mountains was far more exciting and marvelous a story than any tale Ariadne had heard chanted for the pleasure of the court. It could never have been accomplished by mortals. When Dionysus returned in the evening, Ariadne questioned him eagerly about the Gifts of the Olympians, which the writer took so much for granted that he never described in detail.

"What does he mean when he says the rock was made brittle so that the strokes of the giants shattered them?"

Dionysus wrinkled his brow while he sought through a platter of sliced lamb for a piece done just to his taste. "I was not alive then, but it seems to me that I have heard Eros say it was Kronos' Gift to suck heat from any source. If you draw all warmth from anything, it grows brittle. Then Koios, who was a Titan and tremendously strong, could strike it with his hammer. I suppose the rock then fell to dust and gravel and opened a passage."

"But a whole mountain?" Ariadne cried. "And then another and another? I know how many hills pile about each other in the spine of Crete. How long would it have taken them?"

Having found the perfect slice, Dionysus folded it and stuffed it in his mouth. "If you do not eat, you will never grow," he said to her. "And you once promised me you would grow up as fast as you could."

"And you promised me you'd explain what I didn't understand in this book," she said, but she scooped up a stewed grape-leaf stuffed with savory chopped meat and vegetables.

"But you ask what I can't answer," Dionysus protested, laughing. "I wasn't born until Zeus had long been King-Mage in Kronos' stead. And Zeus was born in Olympus. Even he did not cross those mountains with Kronos. Koios would know." He grinned at her wolfishly. "Gather up your courage and come with me to the Underworld. Koios is there. He's Hades' steward. He's horrible to look at because he was badly mutilated in the war between Kronos' people and the Titans, but he's a kind and gentle person and I'm sure he will gladly answer any questions you have."

Ariadne stared at him reproachfully. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter how long it took. Several native lifetimes, I'm sure."

Dionysus nodded and popped another stewed grape leaf in her mouth before she could go on. "Perhaps telling you to read that book wasn't such a good idea," he said.

Mention of Koios' mutilations had reminded him that what Ariadne would read in the later parts of the History was not at all flattering to the Olympians. What might have seemed at first a heroic effort on Kronos' part to protect his siblings and a truly epic struggle through terrible hardships degenerated as the challenges were overcome. Dionysus had intended that Ariadne see the Olympians as they were, rather than wrapped in an aureate cloud of godship, but what they were was sometimes very ugly and he was not at all certain she would not be so disgusted she would want nothing more to do with him or Olympus.

She made no protest but put the scroll away and began to tell him about an odd problem that was troubling the vines of a shrine near Mallia. He agreed to go with her to look at the vines and they finished their meal and leapt to the area. It was an insect—Dionysus showed her the small grubs that were pulling the leave all awry by wrapping themselves in silk. He knew no answer but for the farmers to pick them off.

"I can make the vines strong and the grapes sweet," he said with a shrug. "Bugs are no part of my Gift."

He was distracted enough, however, to forget that he'd intended to tell Ariadne to abandon The History of the Olympians, which had been her intention, so she was satisfied. She was far too fascinated by what she had read so far to abandon the tale, but at least Dionysus' discomfort had given her some warning. She was thus somewhat prepared for the descent from the heroic which the succeeding chapters disclosed.

The first sour notes were played when Kronos and his tribe came out of the mountains that ringed their homeland into more inviting country. Although the land was clearly fit for taming, a good mixture of forested and well-watered meadows, Kronos insisted they continue. The lands were empty of inhabitants, and Kronos had no intention of becoming a farmer or herder to keep food on his table.

Koios and the Titans felt differently. When they saw the specially fertile and well-protected valley of Olympus, they decided to go no farther. They were not afraid to swing their axes and hammers in a peaceful purpose, Koios said, and they would be content to found a city in that place. Kronos sneered a little at the notion of the noble Titans cutting trees and plowing the soil, but he made no real effort to force them to continue with him.

He and his remaining supporters continued south until they found primitive folk along the shores of the sea. Having seen that those people could raise no defense against his tribe, Kronos turned north again and attacked Koios and his folk, who had welcomed them back.

Ariadne shook her head over the treachery, but she was not nearly as horrified as Dionysus seemed to fear. Such acts were all too common among the nations with which her father had to deal. So, in a way Dionysus had gained his purpose. The History showed Kronos and his tribe to be not so different in their actions and desires from people Ariadne knew and understood. In another way their "humanness" made them more terrifying because their powers were so much greater.

A combination of surprise and lavish use of his and his supporters' Gifts defeated the Titans. Most of the men were killed outright without mercy; a few, like Koios himself, were held hostage for the passivity and good behavior of the womenfolk—tortured if the women resisted the demands of their conquerors. When Koios and the others had been reduced to helpless hulks and looked unlikely to survive more mistreatment, they were cast out of Olympus. The women and children, now habituated to obedience, Kronos kept to prevent the pitiful remnants of the Titans from seeking a suicidal revenge.

Kronos had married Rhea, Koios' sister, before they left their native land to bind the agreement between Mage-Lords and Titans. Leto, Koios' daughter, Kronos kept in his own household and put in the charge of his middle daughter, Hera.

When Olympus was secure Kronos took with him Thaumos, who could inspire terror, Phorkys, who could induce crippling cramps, and Phorkys' ferocious sons the Graiai. With them and a small troop of the unGifted, he winnowed through the helpless native people. He captured first hundreds, whom the Graiai drove over the mountains, and in raid after raid over the years, thousands. These, kept as slaves, tilled the soil in Olympus, which Demeter's Gift made bear triple and quadruple what normal fields produced, and built a city of surpassing beauty.

Ariadne read dispassionately. It was common enough for a conquering people to use the conquered as slaves. Kronos did seem harsher and more wasteful of lives than most, and he was even cruel and treacherous within his own tribe, which Ariadne was sure would lead to trouble, but she found nothing truly shocking except Kronos' behavior toward his children.

He ignored the females: Hestia, meek and seemingly only interested in the duties of householding, shielded the younger ones, and Kronos never heard of Hera's power as seer and manipulator of events. The eldest boy, Hades, was virtually imprisoned and totally isolated. Often, when other powerful mages came to deal with Kronos, Hades was actually kept in a dark cellar, apparently in an attempt to prevent any possibly dangerous dweller in Olympus from knowing that Kronos had an heir. Later, the history commented, it was said that Kronos had swallowed the boys. Ariadne shuddered. In a sense, that was true.

Rhea did what she could for her son but it was little enough. She tried to comfort him and warn him, explaining Kronos' fear of a powerful son by telling Hades of Kronos' revolt against Uranous. She brought Hades light, made sure he was fed, taught him to read and write, brought him books to occupy his lonely hours. It was the books that exposed to Kronos the fact that Hades was Gifted. Having few other toys, Hades had always played with the rocks and stones of his cells. He found that he could heat them to warm himself and, even more fascinating, push his hands right through them. Thus, when Rhea warned Hades that Kronos intended a visit to the barren cells in which Hades lived, the boy became desperate to hide his books, his one pleasure, and having no other place, he willed the rock walls to open so he could hide the books within.

Kronos sensed the magic. He demanded to know what Hades had done; Hades had only the choice of silence or losing his books. He chose silence and was beaten, not for the first time; fortunately, the feel of Hades' magic was mostly within the rock and Kronos thought his son's Gift was a minor thing. Kronos wasn't yet ready to risk killing the boy. So far fear had kept Rhea silent, but Kronos suspected the death of her son would drive her to cry aloud of his unnatural act, and she was fractious now, big with her fifth child.

After Poseidon was born, matters grew worse, and when Rhea conceived a sixth time, she became desperate. She told Hades he must flee Olympus, that his father would kill him if he didn't. When he said he couldn't leave her to bear the brunt of Kronos' anger alone, she admitted that she too intended to escape. She offered to leave Hades' cell open, but he bade her lock the door so she wouldn't be blamed and he showed her his Gift, his power to walk right through the stone wall.

When Hades was gone, Rhea waited for Kronos to discover he was missing and set out to search for him. Then she took Poseidon and fled herself, driving herself unmercifully so she could be out of the valley of Olympus before Kronos returned. Beyond Olympus she found succor from Themis, one of the few Titan women who had escaped.

She was passed from one to another household, hidden, protected, but Kronos still searched and heavy with child as she now was, carrying with her a two-year-old boy, she was too easy a mark to find. On the island of Aegina, the childless king begged her to leave Poseidon, who already showed some mastery of water and its denizens. The island king promised to raise the boy as his own, to make Poseidon his heir. They would both be safer when they were separated, he pointed out to Rhea. Half mad with fear and only days from her delivery, Rhea left one son to go to Crete to deliver another.

Since Ariadne knew that Zeus was now the King-Mage of Olympus, she could easily guess that he'd grown to maturity and overthrown Kronos. She put down the scroll and stared out of the deep-set window toward the palace of Knossos.

In her society that a son should strike out against his father was almost unbelievable. How could such a son expect his sons to support him? Of course, Zeus had a bad example to start with. Even though Uranous was not blameless—hadn't he tried to imprison all his children in deep caves in the earth?—a family must hold its blood bond or be terribly vulnerable. Olympians seemed indifferent as if their own powers could protect them!

Ariadne suddenly sat up straighter. No wonder Dionysus had been able to suggest that she stop Asterion's heart when he was newborn. He meant no insult to her. He simply didn't understand that once her father and mother decided not to be rid of him, her half brother, no matter how useless and horrible, would have the protection of his family. Still the tale was fascinating. She propped up the scroll holder so she could read right through the midday meal and discover whether her assumptions had been right.

She discovered that the women were as bad as the men. Against their oaths and honor as wives, mothers encouraged and aided their children's rebellion. Not content with her escape—of which Ariadne heartily approved—Rhea implanted in her youngest son a hatred of his father, a need to be revenged against him, to bring him down to a powerless nothing. The lesson was indelibly imprinted when Kronos' tireless hounds began to close in and Rhea had to leave Zeus, who was nearly ten. The child was old enough to remember his mother well, old enough to resent violently the fear of Kronos that made her flee, and old enough to recognize in her passing him secretly to other guardians that Kronos was as great a threat to him as he was to her.

Ariadne shook her head and rerolled the scroll. What a tangled skein. Rhea, of course, had a terrible conflict. Her father's terrible mistreatment at Kronos' hands naturally warred against loyalty to a husband who also seemed to intend to murder her children. In addition, Kronos did seem unwilling to leave his sons in peace even when they didn't threaten him. But Ariadne couldn't see any end to the cycle. No one seemed to understand the concept of duty and blood bond.

In the afternoon she paid a brief visit to Asterion. He was, as usual, delighted to see her and she allowed him to show her how some toys worked. To her pleasure there were several new ones, given Asterion by two of the attendants and he called them to join him in his play, which they did. She praised them and Asterion and returned to the shrine thinking hard. Perhaps in the not-too-distant future, Asterion would no longer need her.

The thought was cheering and stimulated her interest in the Olympians. In the back of her mind was the knowledge that she'd either need to give up Dionysus or be deeply involved with them. If a new disaster was brewing . . . She returned with alacrity to The History of the Olympians, which, having described Zeus' new guardians and the devices they used to protect him, had now gone back to the doings of Kronos.

Here she found the first mention of Eros in the description of Kronos' hunt for Rhea, Poseidon, and her unborn child. Eros had played a despicable role of seducer and spy. He betrayed many, all of whom suffered and some of whom died at Kronos' hands, but Rhea had feared Kronos' use of such tools. She had confided in no one in Olympus, asked no one for help. No person, no matter how sympathetic to her and her children held any information; Poseidon and Zeus escaped their father's hunt and grew to manhood.

The revolt of the next generation seemed foreordained. The only surprise Ariadne felt was that it was the women who initiated it. Deprived of Rhea and suspicious of even his closest confederates, female as well as male, Kronos turned his eyes on the women of his household whom he believed to be helpless. Hestia was too meek and dull—Kronos liked a spirit to break—but there was Leto, his old enemy's daughter.

Kronos had underestimated the women. Hestia, from years of watching him, could often read his intentions before he had made them clear to himself, and Hera had some forevision and an ability to manipulate events. Between them, they convinced Demeter that she must arrange a need for the three daughters to travel the valley to ensure its fertility. They took Leto with them, and none returned. Demeter gladly moved into the shrine that had been prepared for her, and Hera and Leto fled to Themis.

That Leto and Hera sought out Zeus rather than Poseidon, who was the older and more bitter, puzzled Ariadne. To Cretans, Poseidon seemed the more dominant god because it was he who shook the earth and raised up mountainous seas to drown them. Lightnings that leapt from sky to mountain top or even to house or tree seemed much less awesome.

Also Zeus was younger and rather frivolous; he intended some day to have his revenge, but he was in no hurry—until Leto seduced him and wakened both the hate and fear that Rhea had implanted in him. And once Leto was pregnant, Zeus knew there was no going back because Hera confessed that she had foreseen that Kronos wanted Leto in his bed. When Kronos heard that she had been taken by his son, the hunt for Zeus would start anew with greater ferocity.

Ariadne enjoyed the adventures of Zeus as he sought out his brothers and bargained for their help in destroying his father. She'd just reached the point in the story where Zeus had enlisted the aid of Hades, who agreed to open the earth so that those who supported Zeus could enter Olympus undetected, when Dionysus reappeared. His body blocked the light from the window well near which Ariadne had set a chair. She looked up and jumped up with a cry of mingled guilt and gladness, spilling the scroll from her lap as she stretched her hands to him.

Smiling, he took her hands in his, and when she babbled excuses for having continued to read the History, he kissed them, and let them go. For once he was not exhausted, physically or emotionally. His hair was combed, his tunic spotless, his eyes less overbright than usual. The mist of tendrils lifted toward him slowly, like an intimate caress rather than a protective barrier.

"You have been very diligent, I see," he remarked, bending to pick up the scroll and noting the thickness of rerolled parchment and the small amount still on its original spindle. "I should've known from the beginning that if I wanted you to read this, forbidding you would be more effective than urging you." He grinned at her. "If I forbid you to come to Olympus, will you begin to importune me to take you there?"

Ariadne took the scroll from him with a small sound of protest. Ignoring his final question, she said, "That's unfair. Usually I'm very obedient to you. But you made me interested . . . and you didn't forbid me, only said that maybe reading the book wasn't such a good idea. And you shouldn't be picking things up for me."

He touched her cheek. "Well, it's true that I didn't forbid you to read more." Then he laughed. "But haven't you learned anything from all that reading? Do you still believe we're such exalted beings that we can't pick up articles that fall to the floor?"

"I haven't got that far, if such matters are ever mentioned. All I've learned so far is that the Olympians don't understand what a family is. Father attacks son and son makes war on father. It's horrible! Even if they hate each other, my people know better than that. The family stands together against outsiders."

He looked at her soberly. "When you forswore your father and mother to become my priestess, that was a far greater sacrifice than I understood." He went and sat down; Ariadne followed him, sinking onto the pillow beside his chair. "I came and offered to take the place of your family, and you accepted that—" he grinned "—such innocence. But what if I hadn't come?"

She looked away. "My parents would still have considered me part of the family. In fact, they did even after you came. They expected me to continue to put the family first. My father was very shocked when I made plain that I would do your bidding rather than his . . . and I was very much alone when I angered you and you abandoned me." She shuddered and then, remembering what reunited them, asked, "How is Eros?"

"Safe but in considerable pain and will be for some time to come. Poor thing. He's in considerable agony of mind too, because he has no idea why Psyche hurt him."

"I wish I could tell you more," Ariadne said, frowning slightly. "All I know is that Psyche wanted to remove the blackness, and she wanted to remove it because she loved what was within it, but your Vision didn't tell me more than that." She cocked her head questioningly. "Is that Eros' Gift, to conceal himself?"

"No, Eros' Gift, in the beginning, was that all who saw him loved him."

"And he used it to spy and pry information, knowing that Kronos would kill or maim those he betrayed?" Ariadne sighed. "And this is the being for whom you are so concerned that you exhausted yourself to illness?"

"He's not like that now," Dionysus said. "What you read happened eons ago. Poor Eros was horribly punished. Aphrodite was forced to bespell him so that the full power of love that he had exerted was changed to revulsion."

"Aphrodite?" Ariadne echoed. "Is that the same Aphrodite who would have killed Psyche for hurting Eros? Why did she do it?"

"Because all the others demanded that she work the spell. She had no power to resist. And he had done ill. He deserved punishment."

"Yes, but why make Aphrodite, who was fond of him, pun ish him. Why didn't Zeus, or Hades, whom his actions might have destroyed, punish him?"

Dionysus looked very puzzled. "Well, I suppose because Eros's Gift was still functioning and Zeus and Hades couldn't bear to kill him. After all, all Zeus could do was fry him with a lightning bolt and Hades could have sunk him into the earth and closed that over him, but then he would have died, and they didn't really wish to lose him entirely by death or by draining him and casting him out of Olympus."

Now Ariadne looked even more puzzled than Dionysus. "But if Aphrodite could cover his Gift so that it repelled instead of seducing, why couldn't Zeus or Hades do it?"

"It's not their Gift to make or befoul love," Dionysus said, cocking his head to the side. "Oh, either one could have got the spell from Aphrodite and used his power to set it on Eros, but for one thing that wouldn't have been as strong as having Aphrodite do it herself and—" Dionysus chuckled "—for another, I'm sure neither trusted himself to cast the spell at all with Eros' Gift in his control. Aphrodite, whose Gift is also Love, is quite immune to Eros."

"But she seems utterly devoted to him."

"Yes, but as a friend. They've been together for thousands of years. As his Gift didn't touch her, so did her turning of that Gift touch her less than any other. She gave him a home when no one could endure to be near him and he gave her service and devotion. She doesn't couple with him nor he with her nor does either desire that. They are a safe haven for each other."

Ariadne glanced quickly at Dionysus. That might satisfy Eros and Aphrodite, but being a safe haven for Dionysus wasn't what she wanted. She spoke hastily to divert him from an idea that she felt was dangerous to her.

"I still don't understand," she said. "If Zeus had power enough to protect himself against Kronos—"

"But that was part of his Gift. Zeus can call lightning. Usually he uses that in the form of a thunderbolt, a strike to amaze, terrify, or destroy, but against Kronos he raised sheets of lightning and in trying to drain Zeus of heat, Kronos absorbed too much and was burnt. While he was weakened, Zeus drained him of power."

"Is that also Zeus' Gift?"

"Draining is not Zeus' Gift. I don't think anyone has so terrible a Gift, except the Mother, perhaps. That was a special spell, and it's rumored Zeus got it from a native—not easily. It was a one-time spell . . ."

"You mean the native is dead."

Dionysus shrugged. "I don't know. Zeus isn't often murderous and one would think he would wish to preserve so valuable a source. And Zeus didn't kill Kronos. I wasn't in Olympus then, but I was told that Kronos killed himself."

Considering what she knew of rulers in Crete and other places, Ariadne wasn't much surprised or horrified. She was more interested in discovering how the powers of the Olympians worked. "Are you telling me that Zeus' power is limited to one Gift?"

"Oh no. His great Gift is lightning and he has such enormous strength that he can use any spell bought, borrowed, or stolen. As a second Gift, he can create illusions." He smiled. "He made me look like a Cretan so I could come and watch you dance for the Mother."

"You stood just below the dancers on the step when I came for the turn of the year ritual!"

Dionysus smiled more broadly. "You knew me. I knew you did, but I was still being stupid so I closed myself away." He touched her shoulder.

Ariadne put her hand over his and held it against her flesh. It moved a little, as if Dionysus was uneasy, and she said quickly, "But I've heard that Zeus appears here and there, as you appear. Can all Olympians leap from place to place as you do?"

"No. That's Hermes' Gift." Dionysus squeezed her shoulder, slipped his hand free, and laughed aloud. "And if it weren't so precious, that mischievous meddler would've been skinned and hung by his toes again and again. Hermes can make a spell of that Gift and give that spell to anyone else, as I gave the spell for stasis to you and the spell for lighting fire."

She sat blinking at him for a moment, then said in a very small voice, "Do you mean to tell me that if the Mother granted me enough power, I could leap from place to place, call lightning, move water . . ."

He laughed again. "Yes and no. No one, no matter what his power—or hers—will call lightning because Zeus doesn't release that spell. Of course, if he was overthrown as Kronos was and forced to disgorge the spell . . . But that's very unlikely. Although he has his faults, Zeus isn't a bad person and the other Olympians are satisfied with his management. He, in general, has treated his children well and they would support him. I would and Athena and Apollo and Artemis, even Hephaestus would."

Ariadne barely restrained a huge sigh of relief. It seemed as if the terrible cycle of son overthrowing father had somehow been broken. She looked forward now with considerable delight to reading the remainder of The History of the Olympians, but she didn't say anything and tried to catch up with what Dionysus was telling her.

"Illusions," he said, naming Zeus' second Gift, "he grants freely to whoever desires them—after proper payment, of course. Hermes will sell a spell to go from one particular place to another, but he has never—and I don't even know if it would be possible for him—transferred his whole Gift to another."

When the sense of what Dionysus had said penetrated past her original relief that no war among the gods was imminent, Ariadne shuddered and hid her face in her hands. "I couldn't bear it," she whispered. "Oh, I see what you're trying to teach me. I understand that if I came to Olympus and the Mother granted me power, I could have a little piece of all the Gifts that we common folk worship in the beings we call gods. Don't ask it of me, Dionysus."

"Why, Chosen?" He lifted her face.

Her eyes filled with tears and they hung in the lower lids for a moment before spilling over and running down her cheeks. "I know what I feel, but I don't know how to tell you so that you'll understand. In my own mind, I'm a small thing, my lord, my god—no matter what you say of yourself you are still my god. If I were suddenly made what to me is still godlike, I don't know how I could fit that into what I know I am. I think I would break apart inside myself and that my thoughts would become confused. I would be unable to recognize myself . . ."

Dionysus pulled her up and onto his lap, stroking her hair and holding her close. "It doesn't need to be today, Chosen. You're still very young. But you must promise me to think about this, to try to accustom yourself to the fact that you aren't a small thing. You're not only my Chosen but also Chosen of the Mother—and that's a very great thing." His eyes grew distant, but not fixed or fearful; they still saw her, and he added slowly, "As you grow into your power, you won't fit here in Knossos any more. Think about that."

"I will, but . . . but won't you help me, my lord? Won't you come often and stay long and talk to me of the people and doings of Olympus so that they become familiar to me and not a distant image one wishes for but can't really believe in, like the blessed lands?"

After a little silence, Dionysus lifted her chin so that she had to look at him. His lips were pursed with the effort not to smile. "You aren't a little thing but a great and terrible wheedler. Perhaps I'm a god in your mind, but that doesn't stop you from setting your will over mine, does it? You intend to have your way in all things. Ariadne wants Dionysus, but Ariadne won't come to Olympus so Dionysus must come to Knossos. Very well, minx. I'll come, but in the end a god must have his way."

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Framed

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CHAPTER 13

Ariadne felt the blood drain from her face and clapped her hands over her ears. Strong hands gripped them gently and pulled them away, and she heard Dionysus laughing.

"Silly child," he said. "Why do you try to close your ears? You've suspected for a long time that I wasn't a god."

Her eyes, which she had squeezed shut, snapped open. Her glance met his. The bright blue eyes were sparkling with amusement.

"How do you know that?" she asked sharply. "I never told you or asked a question. Only a god can know what is in a person's mind without—"

His renewed laughter interrupted her. "Anyone not an idiot would've known what you suspected. I'm sometimes bemused, Chosen, but I'm not stupid. The very care you take to hide from your priests and priestesses that I can be sick and sad and tired, that when I am wounded, I bleed and don't heal instantly, that when I overwork it my body stinks like that of any peasant in the fields—that care betrays that you know and don't trust them to know."

Ariadne looked down. Dionysus put a finger under her chin and lifted her head. "You're only saying that because you want me to come to Olympus." She heard the shaken pleading note in her voice and tried to steady it. "How can you not be a god? You were here, as you are now, in my ancestress's time. You have lived as a young man for four or five lifetimes of my people. You must be a god."

"It's true that I want you to come and live with me in Olympus," he said, "but why don't you want to hear me confirm what you already know, Ariadne?"

Her lips thinned and although she tried to control her expression, she knew her eyes were bright with anger. "Who likes to know they've been dupes and fools, that they've been worshiping false gods? If you aren't gods, why should we bring sacrifices, why should we praise and pray?"

Dionysus raised his brows. "Why do the people of Crete bring your father tithes and taxes? Because he protects them from others, because he sometimes grants them what they petition for, because he is more powerful than they and would punish them if they didn't obey his laws. That's why you pray and sacrifice to the `gods' of Olympus. I said we weren't gods. I didn't say we weren't different from the native people in this part of the world."

"Then you are gods."

Dionysus shivered slightly. "Many Olympians claim it. Perhaps by now they even believe it. But it isn't true. Our power comes from elsewhere—that's why it can be exhausted, as I was exhausted yesterday. I can feel that power come into me and leave me, and I believe the power comes from the Mother. Eros, who is one of the oldest among us, who remembers our coming into this land, prays to the Mother."

"The Mother is a true god?" Ariadne whispered.

"So I believe. Her power is inexhaustible. She needs no sacrifices to eat or drink, no offerings to furnish Her house. You can't see Her or touch Her; She can't be hurt, but She is there. And She can be felt here in Knossos, in Olympus, and in the East from where I come, all at the same time. She is never mean or petty, jealous of another's strength, and She knows, as we do not—everything."

"I believe that also," Ariadne said with a sigh. "That is how a god should be."

"Yes. And we Olympians aren't. Our faults stick out like black warts on a white face. Zeus the lecher, Aphrodite the whore, Apollo the unreasonable, Artemis the vicious, Athena who might as well be one of her statues for all she allows herself to feel, Poseidon the totally irresponsible, and last, but not least, Dionysus the mad. Oh, there are others who are nearly gods. Hades is kind and just; Persephone is . . . Persephone, a wellspring of power upon which others can feed—almost Motherlike. But they, too, are tainted with humanity because they love each other with the same foolish, unreasonable passion as any native."

Ariadne put a hand on his. "You are not mad, Dionysus. You are young and haven't yet learned to master your own will." Like Asterion, she thought, but she didn't say that. It wouldn't be safe to mention her half brother and less safe still to compare Dionysus to him. "I understand what you're trying to tell me," she continued, "but it makes me more afraid. I can't come to Olympus. To abase myself before a god—that I can do. I feel no shame to kneel before the Mother, to appeal to Her with lifted arms, but to do so to white faces with black warts . . . No, I couldn't. I would anger them, Dionysus. You say they are petty and mean and yet terribly powerful. They'll destroy me."

His lips drew back slowly, a show of teeth that was utterly vicious. "No. You need fear no Olympian. They know that if they anger me I can pull down their whole private world. I can make them all run mad and turn their power against each other. No. They'll do you no harm."

Ariadne gasped with horror, her hand tightening convulsively on his. "No. No. You mustn't. Not ever. Not for me. Not even for you. You can't destroy a whole people. You couldn't live with the memory."

His face had twisted in remembered pain. He had nearly done just that to Pentheus' people. The breath that he had drawn in eased out in a long sigh. He raised his free hand and stroked her cheek.

"Don't you see why I need you, Chosen?"

"Yes, I see. But if I should come to grief in Olympus, through my own weakness or stupidity, matters would be even worse. Can we find no other way except that I live in Olympus?"

He frowned. "Perhaps, but why shouldn't I have you always beside me?" The words, spoken in a kind of petulant resentment, reminded him of the woman who, out of love, had almost killed Eros. He bit his lip and got to his feet. "I must go. I'd almost forgot that Eros is very ill. I must find out if he's healing and whether Aphrodite has kept her word about not harming Psyche."

Ariadne had gotten to her feet too, still clutching his hand. "Will you return, my lord? I hope you aren't angry with me for being afraid to come with you."

He shrugged. "I cause you no awe and terror. I've told you no Olympian would dare harm you, so why should you fear them?"

"The difference is that I love you, my lord. Even if you make me run mad I will love you. I fear what I don't know."

"Perhaps if you learn more about us, you'll be less afraid. I brought a scroll here—unless you discarded my things when I was absent for so long?"

Ariadne laughed. "If I found a hair that you had shed, I would keep it carefully. The games and scrolls are all here in that chest." She nodded toward it.

"Very well. Among them you'll find one called The History of the Olympians. Read it. You'll see that the so-called gods are not very different from you and your people. They eat and drink, piss and shit, love and hate, can easily be managed by flattery and amusement, and can be just as silly as any native."

Except, Ariadne thought, that her people didn't throw thunderbolts when they were annoyed, or cause the sea to rise into mountains, or make sane men and women tear their families and friends into gobbets of raw flesh. But she didn't make that protest. She said, "But I won't understand everything. I know I won't. Won't you come back and answer my questions?"

He smiled and touched her cheek again. "I'll come, little wheedler, but I doubt that I'll be able to answer your questions." He shrugged, looking a bit shamefaced. "I've never read The History of the Olympians myself."

"But you are an Olympian. Don't you know the history?"

He shook his head. "I'm the youngest to breed true from a mating of Olympian with native. You know I was born in the East and that to hide his infidelity from Hera, my father, Zeus, took my mother to the Underworld, leaving a shower of gold in her place. He left me in Ur with the Nymphai. I am not sure whether that was to protect me from Hera—who was terribly cruel to poor Heracles—or because he didn't want to be bothered with a babe. Anyway, I only came to Olympus when I was a man grown, long after these events." He grinned at her. "If you'd come with me to Olympus, Eros could explain—" The grin disappeared and he freed his hand from hers. "You seduce me, Ariadne. When I'm with you I'm at peace and I forget everything else. I must go now!"

On the word, he was gone. Ariadne sighed—a sigh of relief, this time. He'd return, he'd said so, so she hadn't lost him, and she had escaped, or delayed, being dragged away to Olympus. She shuddered at the thought and then wondered why, considering what he could do, what she'd more than once felt rising in him, she didn't fear Dionysus. But she knew why. He'd said it himself. She was his peace, his assurance that he wasn't mad, his hope that he could bring order to his life.

Ariadne sank down again onto the cushion beside Dionysus' chair. Her heartflower had closed, as it always did when he was beyond the reach of the silver mist, but not into a tight, hard knot. Her Call could reach him anywhere, she knew. Would the silver tendrils some day stretch that far? If so, she wouldn't need to leave Knossos and live in Olympus to bring him peace.

The thought was passing, but the "leave Knossos" echoed in her mind. Reconsidering the words, she suddenly began to wonder whether it was fear of the Olympians or fear of leaving Knossos . . . no, not fear, the need not to leave Knossos. Ariadne blinked slowly, then got to her feet and walked into her bedchamber to stand before the shrine of the Mother.

"You want me here," she said, and the shadows shifted slightly on the dark face. "Why?"

To that there was a response Ariadne at first didn't recognize and then perceived as a feeling of incompleteness, like a memory of a task left undone that wouldn't come clear. Although she didn't know what the task was, she was certain it must be accomplished before she could leave Knossos.

"May I tell Dionysus?" she asked—and felt a touch of warmth, and, more disconcerting, a kind of lightness, as if the Mother were amused, and then, almost as if she had been pushed, a need to look at The History of the Olympians.

Fortunately the book was in the trade tongue, which Ariadne could read, and she soon found herself lost in the epic, which began with Kronos' attempt to unseat his father, Uranous, from his throne. It was not clear where the land was, except that it was landlocked and surrounded by mountains that made those in Greece look like molehills. Ariadne read the descriptions of the land carefully, but it was clearly not a place to which any Cretan trader had ventured.

Kronos' rebellion was not without cause. Uranous, mistrusting those who might have a right to rule in his stead—for he was not loved by his subjects, who would be glad to replace him—had already buried one male child in the bowels of the earth and planned to be rid of all his children in the same horrible fashion

Despite his people's hatred of their ruler, the rebellion did not succeed. Although some of the younger men and women with power supported Kronos, many others said he was too much like his father, only a devil they didn't yet know well. Those felt they preferred the devil with whom they already knew how to deal. Still others would support neither and the realm erupted into chaos. Kronos couldn't overcome his father, but Uranous was weakened sufficiently to allow Kronos and those who supported him to flee before Uranous could catch them and cause the earth to open up and swallow them.

Had he followed, the writer of the history remarked, Uranous could have had an easy vengeance while Kronos and his people struggled through the mountains. There were enormous chasms that Uranous could have pulled shut over the refuges and cliffs he could have tumbled down atop them. Fortunately, the writer noted, Uranous must have been too busy trying to reestablish his authority over those who remained to pursue or too uncertain that he could defeat Kronos.

Even without Uranous' interference, the passage through the mountains was far more exciting and marvelous a story than any tale Ariadne had heard chanted for the pleasure of the court. It could never have been accomplished by mortals. When Dionysus returned in the evening, Ariadne questioned him eagerly about the Gifts of the Olympians, which the writer took so much for granted that he never described in detail.

"What does he mean when he says the rock was made brittle so that the strokes of the giants shattered them?"

Dionysus wrinkled his brow while he sought through a platter of sliced lamb for a piece done just to his taste. "I was not alive then, but it seems to me that I have heard Eros say it was Kronos' Gift to suck heat from any source. If you draw all warmth from anything, it grows brittle. Then Koios, who was a Titan and tremendously strong, could strike it with his hammer. I suppose the rock then fell to dust and gravel and opened a passage."

"But a whole mountain?" Ariadne cried. "And then another and another? I know how many hills pile about each other in the spine of Crete. How long would it have taken them?"

Having found the perfect slice, Dionysus folded it and stuffed it in his mouth. "If you do not eat, you will never grow," he said to her. "And you once promised me you would grow up as fast as you could."

"And you promised me you'd explain what I didn't understand in this book," she said, but she scooped up a stewed grape-leaf stuffed with savory chopped meat and vegetables.

"But you ask what I can't answer," Dionysus protested, laughing. "I wasn't born until Zeus had long been King-Mage in Kronos' stead. And Zeus was born in Olympus. Even he did not cross those mountains with Kronos. Koios would know." He grinned at her wolfishly. "Gather up your courage and come with me to the Underworld. Koios is there. He's Hades' steward. He's horrible to look at because he was badly mutilated in the war between Kronos' people and the Titans, but he's a kind and gentle person and I'm sure he will gladly answer any questions you have."

Ariadne stared at him reproachfully. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter how long it took. Several native lifetimes, I'm sure."

Dionysus nodded and popped another stewed grape leaf in her mouth before she could go on. "Perhaps telling you to read that book wasn't such a good idea," he said.

Mention of Koios' mutilations had reminded him that what Ariadne would read in the later parts of the History was not at all flattering to the Olympians. What might have seemed at first a heroic effort on Kronos' part to protect his siblings and a truly epic struggle through terrible hardships degenerated as the challenges were overcome. Dionysus had intended that Ariadne see the Olympians as they were, rather than wrapped in an aureate cloud of godship, but what they were was sometimes very ugly and he was not at all certain she would not be so disgusted she would want nothing more to do with him or Olympus.

She made no protest but put the scroll away and began to tell him about an odd problem that was troubling the vines of a shrine near Mallia. He agreed to go with her to look at the vines and they finished their meal and leapt to the area. It was an insect—Dionysus showed her the small grubs that were pulling the leave all awry by wrapping themselves in silk. He knew no answer but for the farmers to pick them off.

"I can make the vines strong and the grapes sweet," he said with a shrug. "Bugs are no part of my Gift."

He was distracted enough, however, to forget that he'd intended to tell Ariadne to abandon The History of the Olympians, which had been her intention, so she was satisfied. She was far too fascinated by what she had read so far to abandon the tale, but at least Dionysus' discomfort had given her some warning. She was thus somewhat prepared for the descent from the heroic which the succeeding chapters disclosed.

The first sour notes were played when Kronos and his tribe came out of the mountains that ringed their homeland into more inviting country. Although the land was clearly fit for taming, a good mixture of forested and well-watered meadows, Kronos insisted they continue. The lands were empty of inhabitants, and Kronos had no intention of becoming a farmer or herder to keep food on his table.

Koios and the Titans felt differently. When they saw the specially fertile and well-protected valley of Olympus, they decided to go no farther. They were not afraid to swing their axes and hammers in a peaceful purpose, Koios said, and they would be content to found a city in that place. Kronos sneered a little at the notion of the noble Titans cutting trees and plowing the soil, but he made no real effort to force them to continue with him.

He and his remaining supporters continued south until they found primitive folk along the shores of the sea. Having seen that those people could raise no defense against his tribe, Kronos turned north again and attacked Koios and his folk, who had welcomed them back.

Ariadne shook her head over the treachery, but she was not nearly as horrified as Dionysus seemed to fear. Such acts were all too common among the nations with which her father had to deal. So, in a way Dionysus had gained his purpose. The History showed Kronos and his tribe to be not so different in their actions and desires from people Ariadne knew and understood. In another way their "humanness" made them more terrifying because their powers were so much greater.

A combination of surprise and lavish use of his and his supporters' Gifts defeated the Titans. Most of the men were killed outright without mercy; a few, like Koios himself, were held hostage for the passivity and good behavior of the womenfolk—tortured if the women resisted the demands of their conquerors. When Koios and the others had been reduced to helpless hulks and looked unlikely to survive more mistreatment, they were cast out of Olympus. The women and children, now habituated to obedience, Kronos kept to prevent the pitiful remnants of the Titans from seeking a suicidal revenge.

Kronos had married Rhea, Koios' sister, before they left their native land to bind the agreement between Mage-Lords and Titans. Leto, Koios' daughter, Kronos kept in his own household and put in the charge of his middle daughter, Hera.

When Olympus was secure Kronos took with him Thaumos, who could inspire terror, Phorkys, who could induce crippling cramps, and Phorkys' ferocious sons the Graiai. With them and a small troop of the unGifted, he winnowed through the helpless native people. He captured first hundreds, whom the Graiai drove over the mountains, and in raid after raid over the years, thousands. These, kept as slaves, tilled the soil in Olympus, which Demeter's Gift made bear triple and quadruple what normal fields produced, and built a city of surpassing beauty.

Ariadne read dispassionately. It was common enough for a conquering people to use the conquered as slaves. Kronos did seem harsher and more wasteful of lives than most, and he was even cruel and treacherous within his own tribe, which Ariadne was sure would lead to trouble, but she found nothing truly shocking except Kronos' behavior toward his children.

He ignored the females: Hestia, meek and seemingly only interested in the duties of householding, shielded the younger ones, and Kronos never heard of Hera's power as seer and manipulator of events. The eldest boy, Hades, was virtually imprisoned and totally isolated. Often, when other powerful mages came to deal with Kronos, Hades was actually kept in a dark cellar, apparently in an attempt to prevent any possibly dangerous dweller in Olympus from knowing that Kronos had an heir. Later, the history commented, it was said that Kronos had swallowed the boys. Ariadne shuddered. In a sense, that was true.

Rhea did what she could for her son but it was little enough. She tried to comfort him and warn him, explaining Kronos' fear of a powerful son by telling Hades of Kronos' revolt against Uranous. She brought Hades light, made sure he was fed, taught him to read and write, brought him books to occupy his lonely hours. It was the books that exposed to Kronos the fact that Hades was Gifted. Having few other toys, Hades had always played with the rocks and stones of his cells. He found that he could heat them to warm himself and, even more fascinating, push his hands right through them. Thus, when Rhea warned Hades that Kronos intended a visit to the barren cells in which Hades lived, the boy became desperate to hide his books, his one pleasure, and having no other place, he willed the rock walls to open so he could hide the books within.

Kronos sensed the magic. He demanded to know what Hades had done; Hades had only the choice of silence or losing his books. He chose silence and was beaten, not for the first time; fortunately, the feel of Hades' magic was mostly within the rock and Kronos thought his son's Gift was a minor thing. Kronos wasn't yet ready to risk killing the boy. So far fear had kept Rhea silent, but Kronos suspected the death of her son would drive her to cry aloud of his unnatural act, and she was fractious now, big with her fifth child.

After Poseidon was born, matters grew worse, and when Rhea conceived a sixth time, she became desperate. She told Hades he must flee Olympus, that his father would kill him if he didn't. When he said he couldn't leave her to bear the brunt of Kronos' anger alone, she admitted that she too intended to escape. She offered to leave Hades' cell open, but he bade her lock the door so she wouldn't be blamed and he showed her his Gift, his power to walk right through the stone wall.

When Hades was gone, Rhea waited for Kronos to discover he was missing and set out to search for him. Then she took Poseidon and fled herself, driving herself unmercifully so she could be out of the valley of Olympus before Kronos returned. Beyond Olympus she found succor from Themis, one of the few Titan women who had escaped.

She was passed from one to another household, hidden, protected, but Kronos still searched and heavy with child as she now was, carrying with her a two-year-old boy, she was too easy a mark to find. On the island of Aegina, the childless king begged her to leave Poseidon, who already showed some mastery of water and its denizens. The island king promised to raise the boy as his own, to make Poseidon his heir. They would both be safer when they were separated, he pointed out to Rhea. Half mad with fear and only days from her delivery, Rhea left one son to go to Crete to deliver another.

Since Ariadne knew that Zeus was now the King-Mage of Olympus, she could easily guess that he'd grown to maturity and overthrown Kronos. She put down the scroll and stared out of the deep-set window toward the palace of Knossos.

In her society that a son should strike out against his father was almost unbelievable. How could such a son expect his sons to support him? Of course, Zeus had a bad example to start with. Even though Uranous was not blameless—hadn't he tried to imprison all his children in deep caves in the earth?—a family must hold its blood bond or be terribly vulnerable. Olympians seemed indifferent as if their own powers could protect them!

Ariadne suddenly sat up straighter. No wonder Dionysus had been able to suggest that she stop Asterion's heart when he was newborn. He meant no insult to her. He simply didn't understand that once her father and mother decided not to be rid of him, her half brother, no matter how useless and horrible, would have the protection of his family. Still the tale was fascinating. She propped up the scroll holder so she could read right through the midday meal and discover whether her assumptions had been right.

She discovered that the women were as bad as the men. Against their oaths and honor as wives, mothers encouraged and aided their children's rebellion. Not content with her escape—of which Ariadne heartily approved—Rhea implanted in her youngest son a hatred of his father, a need to be revenged against him, to bring him down to a powerless nothing. The lesson was indelibly imprinted when Kronos' tireless hounds began to close in and Rhea had to leave Zeus, who was nearly ten. The child was old enough to remember his mother well, old enough to resent violently the fear of Kronos that made her flee, and old enough to recognize in her passing him secretly to other guardians that Kronos was as great a threat to him as he was to her.

Ariadne shook her head and rerolled the scroll. What a tangled skein. Rhea, of course, had a terrible conflict. Her father's terrible mistreatment at Kronos' hands naturally warred against loyalty to a husband who also seemed to intend to murder her children. In addition, Kronos did seem unwilling to leave his sons in peace even when they didn't threaten him. But Ariadne couldn't see any end to the cycle. No one seemed to understand the concept of duty and blood bond.

In the afternoon she paid a brief visit to Asterion. He was, as usual, delighted to see her and she allowed him to show her how some toys worked. To her pleasure there were several new ones, given Asterion by two of the attendants and he called them to join him in his play, which they did. She praised them and Asterion and returned to the shrine thinking hard. Perhaps in the not-too-distant future, Asterion would no longer need her.

The thought was cheering and stimulated her interest in the Olympians. In the back of her mind was the knowledge that she'd either need to give up Dionysus or be deeply involved with them. If a new disaster was brewing . . . She returned with alacrity to The History of the Olympians, which, having described Zeus' new guardians and the devices they used to protect him, had now gone back to the doings of Kronos.

Here she found the first mention of Eros in the description of Kronos' hunt for Rhea, Poseidon, and her unborn child. Eros had played a despicable role of seducer and spy. He betrayed many, all of whom suffered and some of whom died at Kronos' hands, but Rhea had feared Kronos' use of such tools. She had confided in no one in Olympus, asked no one for help. No person, no matter how sympathetic to her and her children held any information; Poseidon and Zeus escaped their father's hunt and grew to manhood.

The revolt of the next generation seemed foreordained. The only surprise Ariadne felt was that it was the women who initiated it. Deprived of Rhea and suspicious of even his closest confederates, female as well as male, Kronos turned his eyes on the women of his household whom he believed to be helpless. Hestia was too meek and dull—Kronos liked a spirit to break—but there was Leto, his old enemy's daughter.

Kronos had underestimated the women. Hestia, from years of watching him, could often read his intentions before he had made them clear to himself, and Hera had some forevision and an ability to manipulate events. Between them, they convinced Demeter that she must arrange a need for the three daughters to travel the valley to ensure its fertility. They took Leto with them, and none returned. Demeter gladly moved into the shrine that had been prepared for her, and Hera and Leto fled to Themis.

That Leto and Hera sought out Zeus rather than Poseidon, who was the older and more bitter, puzzled Ariadne. To Cretans, Poseidon seemed the more dominant god because it was he who shook the earth and raised up mountainous seas to drown them. Lightnings that leapt from sky to mountain top or even to house or tree seemed much less awesome.

Also Zeus was younger and rather frivolous; he intended some day to have his revenge, but he was in no hurry—until Leto seduced him and wakened both the hate and fear that Rhea had implanted in him. And once Leto was pregnant, Zeus knew there was no going back because Hera confessed that she had foreseen that Kronos wanted Leto in his bed. When Kronos heard that she had been taken by his son, the hunt for Zeus would start anew with greater ferocity.

Ariadne enjoyed the adventures of Zeus as he sought out his brothers and bargained for their help in destroying his father. She'd just reached the point in the story where Zeus had enlisted the aid of Hades, who agreed to open the earth so that those who supported Zeus could enter Olympus undetected, when Dionysus reappeared. His body blocked the light from the window well near which Ariadne had set a chair. She looked up and jumped up with a cry of mingled guilt and gladness, spilling the scroll from her lap as she stretched her hands to him.

Smiling, he took her hands in his, and when she babbled excuses for having continued to read the History, he kissed them, and let them go. For once he was not exhausted, physically or emotionally. His hair was combed, his tunic spotless, his eyes less overbright than usual. The mist of tendrils lifted toward him slowly, like an intimate caress rather than a protective barrier.

"You have been very diligent, I see," he remarked, bending to pick up the scroll and noting the thickness of rerolled parchment and the small amount still on its original spindle. "I should've known from the beginning that if I wanted you to read this, forbidding you would be more effective than urging you." He grinned at her. "If I forbid you to come to Olympus, will you begin to importune me to take you there?"

Ariadne took the scroll from him with a small sound of protest. Ignoring his final question, she said, "That's unfair. Usually I'm very obedient to you. But you made me interested . . . and you didn't forbid me, only said that maybe reading the book wasn't such a good idea. And you shouldn't be picking things up for me."

He touched her cheek. "Well, it's true that I didn't forbid you to read more." Then he laughed. "But haven't you learned anything from all that reading? Do you still believe we're such exalted beings that we can't pick up articles that fall to the floor?"

"I haven't got that far, if such matters are ever mentioned. All I've learned so far is that the Olympians don't understand what a family is. Father attacks son and son makes war on father. It's horrible! Even if they hate each other, my people know better than that. The family stands together against outsiders."

He looked at her soberly. "When you forswore your father and mother to become my priestess, that was a far greater sacrifice than I understood." He went and sat down; Ariadne followed him, sinking onto the pillow beside his chair. "I came and offered to take the place of your family, and you accepted that—" he grinned "—such innocence. But what if I hadn't come?"

She looked away. "My parents would still have considered me part of the family. In fact, they did even after you came. They expected me to continue to put the family first. My father was very shocked when I made plain that I would do your bidding rather than his . . . and I was very much alone when I angered you and you abandoned me." She shuddered and then, remembering what reunited them, asked, "How is Eros?"

"Safe but in considerable pain and will be for some time to come. Poor thing. He's in considerable agony of mind too, because he has no idea why Psyche hurt him."

"I wish I could tell you more," Ariadne said, frowning slightly. "All I know is that Psyche wanted to remove the blackness, and she wanted to remove it because she loved what was within it, but your Vision didn't tell me more than that." She cocked her head questioningly. "Is that Eros' Gift, to conceal himself?"

"No, Eros' Gift, in the beginning, was that all who saw him loved him."

"And he used it to spy and pry information, knowing that Kronos would kill or maim those he betrayed?" Ariadne sighed. "And this is the being for whom you are so concerned that you exhausted yourself to illness?"

"He's not like that now," Dionysus said. "What you read happened eons ago. Poor Eros was horribly punished. Aphrodite was forced to bespell him so that the full power of love that he had exerted was changed to revulsion."

"Aphrodite?" Ariadne echoed. "Is that the same Aphrodite who would have killed Psyche for hurting Eros? Why did she do it?"

"Because all the others demanded that she work the spell. She had no power to resist. And he had done ill. He deserved punishment."

"Yes, but why make Aphrodite, who was fond of him, pun ish him. Why didn't Zeus, or Hades, whom his actions might have destroyed, punish him?"

Dionysus looked very puzzled. "Well, I suppose because Eros's Gift was still functioning and Zeus and Hades couldn't bear to kill him. After all, all Zeus could do was fry him with a lightning bolt and Hades could have sunk him into the earth and closed that over him, but then he would have died, and they didn't really wish to lose him entirely by death or by draining him and casting him out of Olympus."

Now Ariadne looked even more puzzled than Dionysus. "But if Aphrodite could cover his Gift so that it repelled instead of seducing, why couldn't Zeus or Hades do it?"

"It's not their Gift to make or befoul love," Dionysus said, cocking his head to the side. "Oh, either one could have got the spell from Aphrodite and used his power to set it on Eros, but for one thing that wouldn't have been as strong as having Aphrodite do it herself and—" Dionysus chuckled "—for another, I'm sure neither trusted himself to cast the spell at all with Eros' Gift in his control. Aphrodite, whose Gift is also Love, is quite immune to Eros."

"But she seems utterly devoted to him."

"Yes, but as a friend. They've been together for thousands of years. As his Gift didn't touch her, so did her turning of that Gift touch her less than any other. She gave him a home when no one could endure to be near him and he gave her service and devotion. She doesn't couple with him nor he with her nor does either desire that. They are a safe haven for each other."

Ariadne glanced quickly at Dionysus. That might satisfy Eros and Aphrodite, but being a safe haven for Dionysus wasn't what she wanted. She spoke hastily to divert him from an idea that she felt was dangerous to her.

"I still don't understand," she said. "If Zeus had power enough to protect himself against Kronos—"

"But that was part of his Gift. Zeus can call lightning. Usually he uses that in the form of a thunderbolt, a strike to amaze, terrify, or destroy, but against Kronos he raised sheets of lightning and in trying to drain Zeus of heat, Kronos absorbed too much and was burnt. While he was weakened, Zeus drained him of power."

"Is that also Zeus' Gift?"

"Draining is not Zeus' Gift. I don't think anyone has so terrible a Gift, except the Mother, perhaps. That was a special spell, and it's rumored Zeus got it from a native—not easily. It was a one-time spell . . ."

"You mean the native is dead."

Dionysus shrugged. "I don't know. Zeus isn't often murderous and one would think he would wish to preserve so valuable a source. And Zeus didn't kill Kronos. I wasn't in Olympus then, but I was told that Kronos killed himself."

Considering what she knew of rulers in Crete and other places, Ariadne wasn't much surprised or horrified. She was more interested in discovering how the powers of the Olympians worked. "Are you telling me that Zeus' power is limited to one Gift?"

"Oh no. His great Gift is lightning and he has such enormous strength that he can use any spell bought, borrowed, or stolen. As a second Gift, he can create illusions." He smiled. "He made me look like a Cretan so I could come and watch you dance for the Mother."

"You stood just below the dancers on the step when I came for the turn of the year ritual!"

Dionysus smiled more broadly. "You knew me. I knew you did, but I was still being stupid so I closed myself away." He touched her shoulder.

Ariadne put her hand over his and held it against her flesh. It moved a little, as if Dionysus was uneasy, and she said quickly, "But I've heard that Zeus appears here and there, as you appear. Can all Olympians leap from place to place as you do?"

"No. That's Hermes' Gift." Dionysus squeezed her shoulder, slipped his hand free, and laughed aloud. "And if it weren't so precious, that mischievous meddler would've been skinned and hung by his toes again and again. Hermes can make a spell of that Gift and give that spell to anyone else, as I gave the spell for stasis to you and the spell for lighting fire."

She sat blinking at him for a moment, then said in a very small voice, "Do you mean to tell me that if the Mother granted me enough power, I could leap from place to place, call lightning, move water . . ."

He laughed again. "Yes and no. No one, no matter what his power—or hers—will call lightning because Zeus doesn't release that spell. Of course, if he was overthrown as Kronos was and forced to disgorge the spell . . . But that's very unlikely. Although he has his faults, Zeus isn't a bad person and the other Olympians are satisfied with his management. He, in general, has treated his children well and they would support him. I would and Athena and Apollo and Artemis, even Hephaestus would."

Ariadne barely restrained a huge sigh of relief. It seemed as if the terrible cycle of son overthrowing father had somehow been broken. She looked forward now with considerable delight to reading the remainder of The History of the Olympians, but she didn't say anything and tried to catch up with what Dionysus was telling her.

"Illusions," he said, naming Zeus' second Gift, "he grants freely to whoever desires them—after proper payment, of course. Hermes will sell a spell to go from one particular place to another, but he has never—and I don't even know if it would be possible for him—transferred his whole Gift to another."

When the sense of what Dionysus had said penetrated past her original relief that no war among the gods was imminent, Ariadne shuddered and hid her face in her hands. "I couldn't bear it," she whispered. "Oh, I see what you're trying to teach me. I understand that if I came to Olympus and the Mother granted me power, I could have a little piece of all the Gifts that we common folk worship in the beings we call gods. Don't ask it of me, Dionysus."

"Why, Chosen?" He lifted her face.

Her eyes filled with tears and they hung in the lower lids for a moment before spilling over and running down her cheeks. "I know what I feel, but I don't know how to tell you so that you'll understand. In my own mind, I'm a small thing, my lord, my god—no matter what you say of yourself you are still my god. If I were suddenly made what to me is still godlike, I don't know how I could fit that into what I know I am. I think I would break apart inside myself and that my thoughts would become confused. I would be unable to recognize myself . . ."

Dionysus pulled her up and onto his lap, stroking her hair and holding her close. "It doesn't need to be today, Chosen. You're still very young. But you must promise me to think about this, to try to accustom yourself to the fact that you aren't a small thing. You're not only my Chosen but also Chosen of the Mother—and that's a very great thing." His eyes grew distant, but not fixed or fearful; they still saw her, and he added slowly, "As you grow into your power, you won't fit here in Knossos any more. Think about that."

"I will, but . . . but won't you help me, my lord? Won't you come often and stay long and talk to me of the people and doings of Olympus so that they become familiar to me and not a distant image one wishes for but can't really believe in, like the blessed lands?"

After a little silence, Dionysus lifted her chin so that she had to look at him. His lips were pursed with the effort not to smile. "You aren't a little thing but a great and terrible wheedler. Perhaps I'm a god in your mind, but that doesn't stop you from setting your will over mine, does it? You intend to have your way in all things. Ariadne wants Dionysus, but Ariadne won't come to Olympus so Dionysus must come to Knossos. Very well, minx. I'll come, but in the end a god must have his way."

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