Curse of Eris

Oh Muses, hear our lament for the vengeance of Strife. Nine months after we saw a swan leaving her mountain abode, a thunderous storm circled Mount Ida, Crete. The goddess of Discord released wrathful cries that tore through the gloom. Through many profanities, she swore that this night was the beginning of the end of the King’s reign. For this night, Eris bore two identical babes and inflicted upon them a terrible cursed life. Her labor was long and arduous. None tended the woman, other than the goddess of the Moon, the patroness of midwives. It was clear she was here out of duty, rather than love. Hoping the delivery would soon be over, she spoke in a monotone while offering superficially soothing words. She remained steadfast while Mount Ida quaked beneath their feet. The hoot of an owl pierced the cacophonous storm, the eery call representing a warning.

“He’s coming,” Artemis hissed, eyes darting around anxiously.

“He’s already done his worst, let him come!” Eris screeched, clutching at her swollen stomach.

Artemis bowed her head and continued her duty in silence. She emptied the bloodied bowl of water and went to the hearth to fetch the freshly boiled cauldron.

Lightning illuminated the temple and hit the golden statue of the Goddess, cracking it in two. A bearded man strode from the smoking idol, a smug look on his weathered face.

“Is there something causing you some strife?” He sneered down at Eris.

She rolled her eyes.

“Real original joke, Zeus - you honour us with your intelligence. What do you want?” She panted through gritted teeth.

“To see you suffer.”

Zeus perched on the statue platform with a smile. His keen attention to her plight was unsettling, but she wouldn’t let it show. Instead, she screamed as another contraction ripped through her. A crack of thunder rolled through the landscape, and rain pelted the temple façade.

Artemis walked over to her father and whispered in his ear.

“I’m sure Athena could tell you that tormenting the goddess of Strife is not wise.”

Zeus snorted, rolling his azure eyes, and tapped the imposing golden crown resting lazily on his well-kept mane of white hair. Its lapis lazuli jewels twinkled in the light of the moon, while Artemis knew that the shimmer of the gold during the day was almost blinding. Nonetheless, she winced and wished, not for the first time, that her father had less arrogance and more foresight. The crown was certainly magnificent and powerful, but it did not ensure immortality. Nor did she think Eris would find a piece of sparkly metal particularly intimidating. Zeus’ face turned sour as he gestured to their surroundings.

“This used to be my temple. Plus, I’m invested.” His timbre matched the raging storm hammering at the marble, resonating through the temple.

The king of the gods watched the agonizing labor of Eris for hours, occasionally inputting an unhelpful, ignorant, or rude comment. His matronly daughter fulfilled her duty in sullen silence. The goddess of childbirth hoped the Fates were not listening to the vengeful cries of a woman wronged. She hoped - no, prayed - this event would be minor in their tapestry of time.

For two sunsets and two sunrises, the storm continued to shake Mount Idea. On the fifth day, an exhausted Artemis swaddled the happy, healthy twins and passed them to their mother. Despite the bone-deep tiredness that threatened to steal her consciousness, Eris admired the life she had created.

They had full heads of curly black hair and supple olive skin, resembling Strife. The only evidence of who their father was could be found in their heterochromia; each had a single piercing azure eye. The other was all mother; onyx with embers that would flourish into furious flames.

To Eris, they were perfect. If their fury would match their beauty, everything would come to fruition just as she hoped. Their gurgling giggles elicited an uncharacteristic laugh from the goddess of Discord.

The smile was stolen, replaced by a scowl, when she spotted Zeus stomping around the temple, smashing the gifts of her pious worshippers. Eris spied his blatant theft of particularly prominent material goods that the mortals of this land had gifted to her.

Not that they had known they were fawning over the goddess of Discord. No, Eris had disguised herself and bided her time. Crackling thunder snapped her attention back to the present in time to catch a side-glance thrown at Zeus’s back from Artemis. Nor had she missed the many whisperings between the King of the Gods and his daughter.

She kissed both children on the forehead. Love swelled inside her, but gritting her teeth, she swiftly repressed it. These children would need to be raised far away from Mount Olympus, far away from the bitter wife of Zeus, Hera. That spiteful woman was not afraid to hurt a babe, especially one born from her husband’s adulterous acts.

The storm clouds dispersed, and the Moon beamed light onto the family from its watchful position above Mount Ida. The stars seemed to dance in ecstatic celebration of the birth of the two new deities. Only the soft fluttering of flames and flap-flap of leather sandals on cobbled floors broke the temple’s silence. Strife’s heart lurched at the unexpected attachment and desire to protect the children. She forcibly hardened her heart, resolving to complete the plan and see the fall of their father, Zeus.

Careful to ensure that she was alone and hidden among the shadows, Strife shuffled to the main hall of the temple. Miniature statues of her likeness adorned the walls, lit up by small candles, and bathed in the smoke of lavender incense. The goddess placed her babies on the marble altar. The bundle on the right gave a soft cry in protest, unhappy with the cold surface, and reached a small hand towards its mother. Tears from the goddess splashed the altar, creating puddles beside the small, wiggling bundles.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, as her obsidian blade snuffed out the bright light of fresh life.

All rights reserved. © 2023 Melody Casling (melody.casling)