CENTURIES AGO
CENTURIES AGO
Chapter 1: Dike
A warm breeze lifted the leaves from their branches and dappled the sunlight shining down on Olympus. Lilacs in full bloom scented the air and a calming orchestra of birds and insects lent background music to Dike’s thoughts. Her perch, a marble bench hidden within the branches of an ancient willow tree, caught the sunlight on its golden veins. Dike sighed in contentment and thought of everything she adored about Olympus, from the grand temples and gardens, to the vastness of the sky and Earth below. She even loved humankind. Yes, she was tasked with seeing the worst they could be. But you can’t appreciate the brilliance of the light without understanding the depths of the dark.
The dark had seemed to be deeper than ever these last decades.
A thin white strip of cloth sat waiting in her lap. Once a source of familiar comfort, the threadbare linen now seemed foreboding. Reluctantly picking up the cloth, she placed it across her eyes and tied it behind her head. Abruptly, Dike’s vision changed. Instead of seeing the lush garden and gently swaying willow branches, she was bombarded with horrific scene after scene. A battle raging and a greedy prince ordering his men into slaughter, a maid being violently raped in a tower staircase, a mother beating her child. The torrent of instances in which evil had overtaken the good in humans took Dike a long time to view and judge. Finally, she unwrapped her eyes and placed the cloth, now soiled with the evil of humankind, on the bench to her side. Once, the horrors men could inflict on one another would not remain swarming around her head after she’d removed the cloth. But feelings of sadness and frustration had been lingering throughout her days of late.
For centuries now, the human population had been growing exponentially, and Dike was finding her daily task of managing the balance of justice somewhat…unmanageable. Of course, never since the dawn of humankind was she intended to render justice on every single grave offense, on every human whose individual life shifted too far from good to bad. But, rather, her role was to maintain a balance so humankind as a whole didn’t tilt too far toward evil. These days she was having to work harder and harder and was barely keeping up.
Dike breathed in the fragrant air and felt sorry for all those lost souls.
If only humans wouldn’t forget their nature. They are born with the desire to be free and loved, happy and purposeful, yet they are raised by people who have become fearful, angry, and defeated. It was a terrible cycle she felt hopeless to break. She was the goddess of justice, not of love or health or wisdom. She had a role to play and was proud to help in her own way.
It wasn’t just the humans’ fault, of course. If only troublesome gods weren’t constantly tempting them toward evil: like Eris, always sowing strife, and deceitful Apate spreading distrust. They never tired of their pursuits, toying with mortals as though their lives were meaningless simply because they were so short. An infinite supply of pawns to unwittingly play the games of the gods.
To add to her worries, the human world was now humming with anticipation for another man they labeled prophet. One who walked among them as a healer of the sick and champion of the poor. In truth, it was simply this man’s ability to remember his inherent goodness that granted him the gift of healing. That filled him with light. It was their souls’ recognition of the light that drew masses to him, this prophet who so many would follow and so many others would attempt to destroy. Dike knew his existence would inflame scores toward the emotions of evil – greed, envy, hubris. This peaceful leader would not only heal, but would ignite wars, and that would only lead to more work for her. Anytime a new belief system found its way into the minds of humans, battles would wage in its abolition or defense. It meant division and chaos for a few hundred, or even a few thousand, years.
Stretching her back and sliding on her sandals, she sighed again. The problem with humankind was that their weaknesses were preyed upon early in life, and those who had already succumbed to evil felt the need to share their misery with the next generation – a self-perpetuating cycle of hopelessness that fewer and fewer seemed able to escape. Dike knew her approach needed to change. And she had a plan. She picked up the cloth, left the sanctuary of the willow tree, and walked toward Zeus’s temple.
Entering the great marbled hall, Dike made her way softly to her seat at the base of Zeus’s throne, which was so large even he seemed dwarfed by its majesty. Gold carvings of all the gods and goddesses, each with a symbol of their power and sacred duty, adorned the base. Zeus was engrossed in conversation with a page, and Dike was content to sit and wait. Her seat was close enough to his throne to reach out and touch her own likeness, shrouded in the linen and holding the scales of justice. She secretly felt the artist was most skillful with her replica compared to those of the rest of her family. The fabric of her gown seemed alive with movement. The discussion wound down and Dike knew it would soon be her time to speak. She wasn’t sure how Zeus would react to her proposal, and maintaining calm was the best way to keep the conversation rational.
“Dike, proceed,” Zeus commanded.
She held the soiled linen up in her palms and methodically replayed her judgments before Zeus’s eyes. Finally finished, he gave a curt nod and moved to focus on a papyrus to his side. Dike knew she must be swift in her speech.
“The humans are becoming too populous. I have watched, as have you, Zeus, as day after day, the number of judgments increases. I am troubled by this trend and find my duties to be overwhelming. The evil brought about by my fellow gods is too devious in its quest to overtake their hearts. It is my belief that justice will be better served with the aid of humans on the ground.” Zeus shifted in his throne and gazed down at her with intensity. She knew he hated laziness in all forms, so she must make this about efficiency rather than overwork. “I want an army of fighters. Enhanced humans to become warriors or guides of justice on the earth. There is no reason for me to be the sole arbiter of good and evil. There are simple cases where a human could be swifter in execution.”
“You wish to endow humans with the abilities of the gods?” his voice boomed.
“Not at all,” she responded. “Their physical and mental capabilities would simply be enhanced. Those less suited for physical fighting could learn to influence through charisma.” Dike maintained an even tone. “I would also bestow upon them the scales of justice, so that they would know immediately what the judgment should be. They will simply carry out the will of the scales, not decide each case for themselves. They would be guided and cared for. Imagine how much more efficient this could be for us both?” Dike returned Zeus’s gaze as steadily as she could. She knew he had been tired of their meetings for at least a century.
“I admit I have grown weary of our consultations. But the humans are weak of heart. Their own emotions will get in the way of their duties. And they are so easily harmed or killed, you will constantly be losing them,” Zeus replied.
Dike was nonplussed. “Yes, humans are fragile creatures, but there are many who possess a strong sense of justice. And I will choose among those whose lives have been stripped of loved ones and hope, so that their willingness to serve will be robust.” Dike took a deep breath. “And I will give each an amulet. While wearing it, no physical harm will come to them.”
“You are considering granting immortality to humans?” Zeus furrowed his brow. “The power will be too great—they will succumb to evil no matter how strong you believe their sense of justice to be.”
“The scales will compel them,” Dike argued.
“You have forgotten about free will. Humans must always have free will, which is why they are so easily tempted by the evil around them,” he sighed.
“They may exercise their free will, of course. But the scales will be so compelling that as they carry out justice, there will be no doubt they are acting of their own choosing. They will feel as much desire as I do to bring judgment or to steer the course of history.” Dike knew she was skirting the line of what Zeus felt appropriate when dealing with humans. “And I will be a little moth of encouragement flitting about their ears.”
“And what about when one betrays you, as I suspect they will?” Zeus challenged.
“I am confident they will not, but if one does, I will strip them of their protection, and they will return to lead normal human lives. I will not offer any further interference.” Dike would make it very difficult for her fighters to remember they had a choice at all. Anticipating his next question, she added, “They will still age as other humans. Still live governed by human laws, requiring food and sleep. Once I have chosen a fighter, they will train in combative and investigative arts and learn the powers of charisma and mental persuasion. No longer vulnerable and witless, I am certain they will become effective allies in my work. I simply need permission and power to put this plan into motion.”
“And what of human guilt?” Zeus leaned further.
“I’m not sure I understand the question,” Dike’s mind raced. Where was he going with this?
“When your fighters betray you or grow older and can no longer serve, and you are ready to set them free, do you naively believe the actions they’ve done while ridding the world from evil won’t impact them? That they won’t feel too vulnerable without the amulets that have protected them? Humans are uniquely gifted among creatures to feel guilt over even the smallest perceived injuries. What do you imagine they’ll experience after a lifetime of exacting mortal justice? Of being vulnerable to the world again? I do not believe you can simply take away their powers and protection and reinsert them into ‘normal human life’ as you call it. They will suffer tremendously.” Zeus sat back in his throne and considered Dike. When she didn’t immediately answer, he added, “It is as I assumed. You do not understand the humans as thoroughly as you might, Dike.”
Dike would not be denied, and thought quickly. “You have brought up a valid argument, Zeus. But you are mistaken in your judgment of me. I would not want any humans, especially those assisting me in my sacred work, to suffer any affliction of the mind or heart. It is my intention to imbue them with an alternate history from which to source their memories. Nothing too grand or poor, a happy existence to recall and live the rest of their days within. They will ease out of service as they ease in. Their amulet will pass to another, and they will not remember its pull. This, of course, is only possible with the gift of power from you.”
Zeus pulled at his long beard in thought and finally exhaled. “So be it. You have one hundred years to try this little experiment. If it fails, which I predict, you are to deal with the consequences.” Zeus pulled a small shimmering length of gold, pulsing energy from his staff. “You may use a portion of my powers to endow your humans and create the amulets. But be warned, this will create an intimate link between you. You can affect them, and you are also open to being affected. Take care you do not forget what you are.”
Dike fought to contain her excitement as she took the quivering energy. “I will not be swayed in my purpose. Thank you, Zeus.” As she walked from the throne room, a slow smile formed on her face. Zeus had agreed. She was confident her plan would be successful. Why should she alone be required to oversee every case where a human tips the scales completely from good to evil? This would be much more impactful. She felt Zeus’s power in her hand and laughed. As if a goddess could be affected by the weak spirits of humans.
