"Hard to fight the Olympian strength for strength."
Hephaestus, The Rage of Achilles, p.IXV II
And so it was that the journey continued onward, heading first north through the valley of forges. Many of which have long since been abandoned and left to ruin. A rocky, reeking, poisoned, narrow stretch of land, stained in the blood of iron itself, going on for miles. Hard to travel, harder still to capture.
It was in this vile valley where there lay an island of ivy beneath a high bridge, just to the east of the river. Into the ivy a concrete stairway with crescent moon landings and there at the top, silver and shining with a gleaming black handle lay the Hammer of Hephaestus which in its hard kindness brought brilliant color to the landscape.
Why north when the ultimate goal lay far to the south? Far down the river valley, beyond that great waterfalls where the Sisters of Fate dwell, far beyond the climb and deep into the forested ancient sea bed where the earth itself was ripped apart in some ancient battle with the elements and never ending pull from the heart of the earth. Why north? Why this wretched valley of iron and waste to claim a forgotten hammer of the lame God?
"Hard to match the Olympian strength for strength." Hephaestus said. It would take more, much more and as the journey continued Zeus himself made it a point to have his attentions felt. Conjuring up day after day of thunderstorms and hard rains. But he had manifested the tempests too late, his move was seen before he had made it.
North, beyond the iron valley of the forges, lay a long stretch of blessed green where garden after garden, full of fountains, flowers of every kind, and ancient trees represent the great nations of the world and the many cultures that came to tame this land. It is in the stretch of life where rests a garden crafted by Greece itself.
Two Doric columns frame the garden's entrance, opening into a plaza
containing a reflecting pool, offering a perspective on a wall and
pylons, which symbolize the wall of the Parthenon. Stone tablets on that
wall and pylons are inscribed with the names of prominent Greek
artists, philosophers, writers, and scientists: Solon, Ictinus,
Callicrates, Phidias, Aristophanes, Pericles, Euripides, Sophocles,
Aeschylus, Homer, Praxiteles, Zeuxis, Apelles, Myron, Lysippus, Scopas,
Sappho, Socrates, Anaxagoras, Aristotle, Plato, Aristarchus,
Demosthenes, Pindar, Archimedes, Herodotus, Xenophon, Thucydides,
Euclid, Hippocrates, Ptolemy, Pythagoras, Polycletus, and El Greco.
Framing the symbolic wall are two paths that encircle it, leading to sandstone terraces, lavishly planted with ilex, coloneastus, myrtle, and sweetbay, with cedars and Lombardy poplars giving the impression of cypresses.
Framing the symbolic wall are two paths that encircle it, leading to sandstone terraces, lavishly planted with ilex, coloneastus, myrtle, and sweetbay, with cedars and Lombardy poplars giving the impression of cypresses.
The Hammer of Hephaestus is to be taken there. It's strength combined with the sacred waters of the fountain and a three measures of the blessed waters taken. The first measure it to be brought back to the Altar of Hera as a votive offering. The second measure is to be used in an ritual anointing - to make the flesh strong, the will - hard as iron, and award strength as fierce as the Hammer of Hephaestus itself. The final measure is to be placed in the altar room until the final journey is to be undertaken. Cool, healing waters imbued with immeasurable blessings to aid in the quest.
The journey is taking us counterclockwise around the 60 mile radius of the stone votives circle cast last year. Symbolic of traveling back in time, relearning, gathering strength, increasing endurance, making amends for the past defeat. A test of the will, a test of the heart. Long, hard, exhausting. But not so much as the long path that lay behind - the year after year of this singular theme that began with something as delicate as a feather.
A long way left to travel with every step in defiance of Zeus, weakening his ancient bond on Hera. Zeus takes note, sends forth his storms, thunder, and lightning. And with the coming of the torrents a crystal bowl, taken from the Altar of Hera is placed in the rain. A single measure for each storm cast - taken and placed bowl by bowl, storm by storm, into a sacred vase. Once full the waters taken from Zeus's storms will be combine with the waters taken from the garden fountain, transformed, turned into golden honey wine - lightning and thunder in a bottle. Seal with blood red hard wax and presented to Hera.
The journey, the sacrifices, the votives, the recounting of the tale for the eyes of the world to witness old Gods on new streets - Hera grows stronger with each tribute and Zeus weaker with each step of defiance. His conjurings and manifestations shrugged off, claimed, bent and twisted to advantage. Cunning, peerless, unheard of in the modern age.
A fitting end.
