Zeus Thunderheart's Arc

Chapter 2 of 9

Zeus reached the valley floor by midday. Villages dotted the fields, and women worked the rows. He watched them from the tree line. None had the strength he needed. A hero must survive twelve trials. His mother must be more than ordinary. But Hera would not stay gone forever. Every hour in the valley risked her return, and her return meant a dead child. He needed a way to find the right woman fast, and a way to test her without showing his face. He followed a stream uphill to a temple half swallowed by water. Cracked stone walls leaned into a still pool. Carvings covered the doorway. A dome sagged overhead, open to the sky. Zeus waded to the steps and climbed inside. Inside sat an old woman on a mossy bench. Squirrels perched on her shoulders. A rabbit dozed against her hip, and a bird rode her white hair. She did not rise. She frowned at him as if he had tracked mud through her home. "You smell like the mountain," said Chiyo Weathervane. "Gods bring me nothing but trouble and wet floors." "I need to find one woman," Zeus said. "The strongest mother in this valley. My son must be born from her." Chiyo scratched a squirrel's ear. "There is a widow past the far ridge. She lifts her own plow when the ox falls sick. Strong arms. Stronger will." She squinted. "But strength is easy to claim and hard to prove." "Then help me prove it." The priestess reached into a cloth bag. She drew out a golden apple. Dark cracks ran through the gold. Strange marks scarred its skin, and the air around it felt cold. "Leave this where she walks," Chiyo said. "A weak heart takes it and is ruined. A strong one carries the curse and does not break. It will test her without your face." Zeus took the apple. It weighed heavy in his palm. "And if she passes?" "Then she is the one you want." Chiyo shooed him with one hand. A rabbit thumped in protest. "Now go. Leave before your wife smells you here too." Zeus crossed the ridge before dusk. He found the widow's field and the worn path between her hut and the well. He set the golden apple in the dirt where morning light would strike it. Then he hid in the brush to wait. At dawn she came for water. She saw the apple and stopped. She turned it in her hands. The dark marks pulsed. Her jaw tightened, but she did not drop it. She slipped the apple into her apron and walked on, steady. Zeus had found her. The strongest woman in the valley, and she had passed the test. But as he rose from the brush, a peacock's cry cut across the fields. High and sharp. A bird that did not belong in any mortal valley. Hera was already looking for him.