Chapter 11 - Acting Classes
Weaver
I woke up in my massive bed in my cavernous room. My bed was so soft with several feathery pillows and layers of heavy comforters-everything in black and dark grey. It was rather cold and I huddled deeper under the bedding and cushions. For the first time in sixteen years, I wanted to stay in bed to sleep and not attempt to dream.
But a glacial waft hit my face and an icy draft coiled around my limbs, reminding me where I was. I was in my chamber in the dream realm and my bedroom was the junction of a multitude of tunnels, each leading to an ongoing nightmare. A chilly breeze often traveled from the shafts-the distinctness of every mortal's fear when faced with his worst nightmare.
I got out of bed and was gratified when I felt my heavy, leathery wings brush the sheets. A claw at the pointed end of each forelimb scraped the floor. I stood straight and stretched my wings-how I'd missed them-and their girth almost reached both sides of the room.
I folded my wings around me, shielding myself against the frost that was starting to fill the space. I stood taller and I sensed the dread of every mortal. I could hear their screams and taste their trepidation. It felt good.
I felt invincible.
And just like that, I was stripped of my wings.
And I stood in the middle of the room not a terrifying ageless god, but a vulnerable young man.
An idiot.
I got here propelled by my own nightmare. For millennia, I had wallowed in every creature's fright. There was only fear and nothing else. And I had grown accustomed to the solitary feeling. I had savored each sickening anxiety that drove most beings to wake in cold sweat, their hearts pounding, some screaming.
For thousands of years, I had been content to soak up others' horrors. It had been enough. Fear yesterday, fear today, fear tomorrow. It had made my existence predictable.
But over a short period, one girl made me feel so many other emotions. I felt curiosity, apprehension, admiration, shame, anger, jealousy and yet another sensation that made me nauseous.
And this terrified me.
"Such limited sentiments had turned you into a boring boogeyman, child." The voice was so close to my ear, but I saw no one.
"Mother?" I asked the gloom.
"But I gather things are about to change," a cold whisper that came from a distance.
"Mother?" I called out once more.
Silence.
I stood still in the middle of my room. I could've been standing for seconds, maybe hours.
A cough.
I turned to where the sound came from. My father stood at the entrance of one tunnel, looking more exhausted than I had ever seen him. The dark shadows beneath Erebus' eyes had reached his jaw. His eyes though empty of irises and pupils and were just full black sclera looked cloudy. His cheeks were so hollow that his face appeared skeletal. Even the dark cloud that usually swelled from his feet was missing. He looked more like the demon personification of death than the primeval god of darkness.
Another fit of coughing. It seemed that Erebus hadn't slept for decades. This was most probably the case since he took on the responsibilities of all his sons.
"Your mother sent me."
Erebus waved his hand and a huge chair made of twisted vines appeared. The old god gratefully settled his gaunt yet still massive body into the seat.
"Talk, son. As much as I welcome this short respite, I am not fond of the tasks that would pile up in my absence," Erebus said gravely.
I fidgeted. I had wanted to talk with my father, but now that he was here, I didn't know how to begin. Now, I wondered why I didn't just talk with Francis-Phantasos-who was more in touch with his human side than any of the other deities.
I cleared my throat and decided a more strategic method of questioning. "Father, how did you woo Mother?"
Erebus looked at my eyes and he had a strange expression on his face-as if he were stifling his laughter. I found this odd because my father had a most somber image.
"It was not much of wooing as it was the Fates' intervening," was my father's gravely response.
"I see." I crossed my arms across my chest and sighed. I shook my head, not exactly sure what to ask next.
"It's difficult. I've never been... fascinated before. I had always thought mortals were simple," I confessed. "I mean how could they become so complex knowing their lives are so short?"
Erebus clucked his tongue at my-fine, I would concede-crudeness. I was beginning to accept there was still much for me to learn.
"Perhaps we should not measure value against eternity," was Father's most patronizing answer.
I frowned and gritted my teeth. "There's this girl," I struggled to admit.
Silence.
Yes, Father, it seemed puberty had just hit your three thousand year old son.
"Why don't you ask Morpheus?" Erebus suggested. "He's good at these things."
I scowled and even though they were gone, I felt them and Erebus saw the shadow of my mammoth wings cloak the already dim room. My father should've figured by now there was more than a little competition going on between his sons.
"She is a writer-an inspired one," I said, pride hinted in my voice. "But I've done something foolish. I am not as good as my brothers are in wakefulness. I am gauche in the human realm."
My father's lips slightly quirked. I wagered he was astonished with his proud son's divulgence. I would never admit such weaknesses-before. I knew my father had thought this punishment futile, but once again, his wise albeit cruel wife (that was how I'd describe Mother lately) had seen the bigger picture.
I hung my head. I was also surprised with what I said. It was one thing to mentally kick myself, but it was a completely different experience to openly acknowledge my limitations. Of course, I'd never admit such flaws to any other being-god or otherwise. I didn't want anyone else laughing at me. My own father was obviously straining to keep a straight face.
I hated being treated like a juvenile, but I had no choice. I needed help.
"What is your request?" Erebus inquired.
"I would like to redeem myself in an environment where I am not inept," I quietly answered then perhaps too eagerly, I raised my head and said, "In dreams."
Erebus frowned, lines etching his emaciated face, and replied, "That is too great a favor to bestow."
I hung my head again in failure. No counsel. No wish granted. I could not even appreciate the fact that I'd finally breached the endless obscurity and tunnels that had filled my sleep the past years. I was faced with a wall. At the rate I was going, I'd lose another human decade before I could bring myself to approach Selene.
Erebus placed his fingers together forming a steeple and he watched me bent in defeat. My shoulders were slumped and I clasped my wrist with my other hand.
"But," Erebus slowly said and I immediately raised my eyes to look at my father. "I will allow you to start entering dreams... with certain constraints."
I nodded my head readily. I was willing to accept anything.
"You will not be seen. You will not interfere. You will just watch."
And I will get to know Selene better.
"Thank you, Dad!" I exclaimed, my face breaking into a huge smile, shocking Erebus even more.
Upon seeing the stunned look on my father's face, I took a split second to compose myself and said, making my voice several octaves lower than usual, "I mean, thank you, Father. I guess it's time for me to wake up."
And before I could succumb to any more human reaction, I headed for my bed and returned to sleep.
**
Erebus watched as his son's sleeping form slowly faded and Ice returned to the mortal world. Erebus stood up and he reverted to his usual appearance. Even though there were perpetual dark shadows beneath his gleaming, black eyes, his face and body once again filled out and he looked not gaunt, but strong, solid and powerful.
He finally got to apply what he had learned in the acting classes with Dionysus.
He felt his wife standing behind him and turned to see her shaking her head at her husband's antics.
"What?" Erebus said, rather defensively. "I honestly don't understand what the fuss is all about. Those children of ours made it sound like their responsibilities in the dream world are the most demanding duties in Olympus. They're not. I love the dreams!"
"Tell that to the critics," Nyx uttered.
Erebus knew better than to argue with his wife. He agreed, but at the same time bemoaned, "We do need a little more creativity with the dreams. And you're not really helping me. I'm still weaving darkness while I'm juggling all sorts of dreams and nightmares."
"Yet you still manage to go on those wine-tasting trips with Dionysus," the divinity of the night remarked.
"Acting classes! Very useful as you've witnessed earlier," Erebus retorted.
"Foolish, if you ask me," Nyx responded.
"Says the goddess who's been giving her middle child such a hard time," Erebus scoffed.
Nyx gave her husband a level look-something similar to the gaze she gave her sons whenever she's about to discipline them.
"Oh, do you really want to get into that?" Nyx asked in her quiet, unnerving manner.
Erebus again appeared in his gaunt, sickly form.