I will take her to the Fates
for the knowledge she craves.’
Nyx tapped the arm of her throne,
her expression adrift now
in a thousand thoughts.
I thought I knew how slowly
time, that old trickster, could move
when I was alone on Styx’s riverbanks.
But nothing seemed longer
than waiting for Nyx
to make up her mind.
I saw her face harden,
and steeled myself for a refusal.
But then she looked at Thanatos
and grudgingly,
to my surprise,
she nodded in agreement.
Thanatos
If I had not met him here, I wonder if I would know him to be the God of Peaceful Death. His face was warm as a tree bark in summer, even if his eyes were as ancient as the earth bed itself. He was quick to grasp his scythe and lead me out the halls. His gait was slower than Hermes’, who held a spring in his step wherever he went. Thanatos was a much older God than Hermes or even Hades – even though his features spoke of a strange, ageless youth. It had been his scythe that had given so many a quiet dreamless sleep even when they were gasping in pain. In the fields of Asphodel everyone spoke of him as the Kind One, how he had visited battlefields to end soldiers’ pain. How it was such a relief to give themselves over to his tender voice, sometimes after a lifetime of agony. Perhaps then it was in his nature to care for lost souls seeking relief from pain. Whether those lost souls were mortals… or Gods. We crossed through the Realm of Night, the birthplace of every single night that blessed the mortal world. Here midnight came to life, a cloak of royal blue soil and a wealth of deep purple and grey skies that looked like a bruise. It was beautiful in its own way, rich with dusky rivers and silver flowers. In the bruised sky, a shimmer of stars and two separate moons lit our way, one bougainvillea pink and one ocean blue. Finally, Thanatos stopped and I peeked around him to see why but had to shut my eyes to the brightness before me. A river flowed but it was a strange river, bright with gemstones every colour you could possibly imagine and more. This was the river of memory.
Mnemosyne
Before she was a river,
Mnemosyne was a Goddess
seeking her own voice
in an ever-changing world.
One of Gaia’s golden children,
she knew she held command
over the domain of memory,
the gift of remembrance.
But what good is a power
if no one teaches you how to use it?
