“The One and Only” Ch. 6

Morning arrived, the light filtering through the trees as the smoke from the previous nights fire drifted upward. Patricia awoke, looking around her, expecting to have no recollection from the night before. But she did remember, and as she turned and looked across the still fire she saw Dionysus working on the coals, long draws of breath escaping him.

”You...seem to have healed well.,” she said.

”Still a little sore," he said earnestly. ”Do you want some coffee?"

She nodded lightly.

When at last the flames erupted, he worked the fire until it was satisfactory, then retrieved a kettle next to him and set it up. Then he waited, birds calling out lightly. Patricia was silent for only a little while. Though her memory was intact, and she wasn't sure why, she wanted to know why, even at the risk of angering her host.

“I don't understand. Why am I here?"

“You fell asleep," he responded.

She looked around, leaf cover gently tussling in the wind. ”You didn't change my memory."

“I did not."

“Why?"

He thought for a moment, then crossed his arms and leaned against a tree.

“I don't know. Honestly, I could change my mind in the next minute or so."

Patricia nodded. She wasn't sure why she nodded. She just imagined that was something she should do. After a few more minutes the water began to boil, which he promptly removed. Then he retrieved two mugs, two lumps of powder, and poured the water over them both. Then he handed one of the mugs to her, instructing her to let it sit a little bit.

When at last it was ready, the two of them began to sip on the bitter liquid, as she began to think.

“That thing wants to kill you more than anything. Have you thought about ways to kill it?"

Dionysus looked over, squinting as he thought. ”I really haven't given it much thought for the last thousand years. Just doesn't seem worth the energy. The only god who could defeat Typhon was Zeus. If he couldn't do it, then I really can't conceptualize me having a chance no matter what the circumstances."

She sat for a moment, saying nothing. Just staring at the ground.

“I have to be going insane. This entire thing is unreal. I mean, I am talking to a god. It isn't whether or not there is a god. There is. There are. There have been. And...it's just a lot."

She looked up to see Dionysus staring at her.

“Not that I want to have my memory screwed with or anything," she said quickly. “...How do most people deal with...this?"

“They don't. I don't give them a chance. This is the longest conversation I have had in over five hundred years. And the last one was worth the investment."

“Who was it?"

“Doesn't matter."

Patricia looked at him, biting her lip. He noticed, rolling his eyes as a permission to say whatever she wanted to say.

”Why haven't you helped? All the wars and the suffering. If you are a god..."

“I'm going to stop you right there," he said firmly. “I am a god. I have meddled. And I have never seen anything good come from it. Not when I did it, or when any of other brethren did it. Gods are just as spiteful and greedy as any human. But when we throw a tantrum we leave a much bigger footprint. You have seen wars that involved the world. But that pales in comparison as to what I have watched my fellow gods do."

She was quiet now, not wanting to anger him. It was hard to see him as a god. One second he was just like anyone else. A little despondent, but normal. But then he spoke about the gods and she remembered what she saw the night before. It would be easy enough for her to assume she imagined it. But she hadn't. She new that. And it terrified her. He may not have shown her harm before, but she believed he was capable of it.

Dionysus simply looked on, towards the sun. It was hard for him to see the sun rise and not think of his half brother. He knew he was up there. Burning. A mere star could not consume a god of his ilk. Not easily. It took time, and even a dead god took millenia to burn. For a long time he avoided looking at the sun. Now he imagined it as many did; it was a source of heat. The fact the god Apollo rested within it held no consequence.

Dionysus stood up, kicking some dirt on the fire and tossing the remaining water into the wood. Then he packed up what things he had and made his way in whatever direction felt farthest from the road. Patricia followed suit, not because it was a good idea, but because it seemed like every other idea she had was a bad one. For better or worse, he was all there was between her and a certain death.

They walked for hours, him uttering not a word and her afraid that any further prodding might set him off. It was around noon when at last one of them spoke. To her surprise it was him.

“It's been a long time since I had anyone follow me."

Patricia was silent, unable to really think of how to respond.

Dionysus continued.

“Thousands of years ago I used to have an entire cable of people following me. Women and Satyrs dancing and singing...intoxicated by revelry. They didn't need the wine, though they certainly drank it. They were simply...enjoying themselves. They would drink and dance and sing until the early morning hours, their endurance literally inhuman."

Patricia nodded, becoming convinced that he was losing his mind.

”There was one centaur who was sometimes among them. He was perhaps my oldest teacher and friend. His name was Chiron...He taught me everything I could want to know about dancing and singing. He was a true friend. A wise teacher."

”What happened to him?" Patricia asked at last.

Dionysus got quiet, and she feared he would react badly.

“They were all crucified."

She felt her heart sink. ”But...why?"

He sighed. ”Around the time of his attack on the gods, my faith was slowly being replaced by Christianity. The parallels were obvious. Son of god, rose from the dead, who's worshipers regularly committed acts of communion in his name. So Typhon turned his attention to my followers and crucified them all. I think he meant to mock me."

Patricia was beginning to regret asking questions of him, as she watched him pull out his flask and empty it completely. Then he stashed it away and, after rummaging through his bag, began to work his way through another bottle.

”Is that why you drink. Because of what he did?"

Dionysus turned to her. ”No...I drink because I am the god of wine. What else should I be doing?"

She immediately thought of several responses, but kept them to herself as she watched him continue to drink as he walked, the red of the wine running down his neck. His stomach seemed to have no limit, as every time she figured he was done drinking he would raise the bottle up to his lips again and take another sip. At last she watched as his arm fell limply against his side, still gripping the bottle. Dionysus had stopped, his eyes staring out into the distant wood.

She couldn't see what he saw. He didn't see what he saw. But he thought he did. He had told her about his followers, but he didn't mention him. The one he never spoke about out loud.

Just remembered.

He slumped down against a nearby tree, taking another draw from a bottle. And he saw what he remembered. He remembered a drunk satyr on a donkey. He remembered his friend.