The Book of Myths

The King

Step one: hide

Replace the prince with a stone: swallow. Hide the stolen boy on an island, and watch him grow. What a fine thing he was, arms of delicate muscle and sinew, eyes big and blue and open. Golden-skinned and golden-haired, he was every inch the blue blood heir. A prince with thunder ringing in his ears and siblings as lost as his tongue.

Step two: start a revolution

They say that history always repeats itself. So, the heir follows fate's footsteps and hunts his father down, testing his immortal strength. There is release in the movement, in the energy and the chase, and Zeus's grin is heavenly.

Chop goes the hatchet, again and again, painting the prince in gold. Gods and goddesses, brothers and sisters, are newly born and fully grown. They watch with knife-eyes and needle grins as their youngest brother cuts dear old dad into smaller and smaller pieces.

Like father, like son, as the old saying goes.

Step three: claw your way to the top

This is where a deal is made: three brothers, three straws drawn. For one, the skies and the crown, golden and glorious. For another, the seas and ships, the creatures that are hidden under crashing waves. For the third, the underworld and the dead, a bitter kingdom of the lost and the damned. Sky and Sea watch as their eldest brother is swallowed, consumed. Eyes dry as he is pulled deeper and deeper down into the black by countless gnarled hands, clawed and desperate for a taste of life. He screams the whole way down.

But, a deal was a deal. Zeus feels no shame as he takes his throne, gilt upon gold, and holds court in Olympus. A grin, teeth straight and white, stains the king's lips like tar. Lightning burns like lighter fluid when he cups it in his palms.

Step four: rule

His suits are the colour of storm clouds, tie knotted and black. Business is conducted with a contract in one hand and a lightning bolt in the other –to insure agreeable terms, of course. Black and white against grey: the colour of a tempest, the colour of order.

Zeus is not the type to take no for an answer; not in contracts -white-blue bolt casting shadows on the dealer's pale face- and not in the more carnal matters. Electric eyes watch women like a bird of prey –perhaps a lesson learned from the eagle that sits by the god's side. His stare is as sharp as steel and eager to bite.

After all, are they not his subjects? Are they not to serve? It's not rape if they belong to him, the god tells himself. So, Zeus takes. Takes their bodies, takes their minds, and takes their husband's lives if they object. Who are they to argue with him –is he not their king?

Step five: don't mind the bodies left in your wake