Heph's Revenge
by
Ursula Grey
Heph's Revenge
by Ursula Grey
Copyright 2011 Ursula Grey
Published by Ursula Grey
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Heph's Revenge is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Previously published by eXcessica in the Divine Matches anthology
Visit Ursula Grey at: http://ursulagrey.wordpress.com
Or follow her on Twitter: @ursulagrey
Hephaestus, the god of fire turns voyeur in an attempt to catch his lovely bride Aphrodite in the act with Ares, the god of war. Will Heph get his revenge, or something more than he bargained for?
I would be the first to admit that I am not the most attractive god on Olympus. However, to my credit, I am the god of fire and a master craftsman. I ask you, who crafted Europa’s basket, the scepter of Zeus, (not to mention his thunderbolts), the chariot of Helios, Athena’s shield, the arrows of Eros? It was I, Hephaestus. Have I not aided humankind as well? I gave to man the art of metallurgy, created Pandora— Perhaps I should not mention that one…
Was it not I, who did the Great One (Zeus, if you know not of whom I speak—he has a lofty opinion of himself) a favor? Did I not split open his head with an axe, (I listened to him complain of a migraine for days), but only after he begged it of me. I think he and Athena should thank me for the favor.
My physical attributes, you ask? I possess a neck thick as any of the fire-breathing steeds belonging to that jackass Ares. I sport a powerful chest with arms to match, am burly, black bearded and hairy as a beast. I am also somewhat lame, but not so much as to be unsightly. (I get around just fine.) I do not possess the classic good looks nor chiseled features of that rascal Dionysus, nor of the golden boy Apollo. I like to think of myself as ruggedly handsome, although some would disagree.
Unfortunately, despite my talents and good deeds, I’ve never been popular with the opposite sex. Why not begin with Hera, my mother? To this day I have neither been able to determine the truth regarding my parentage, nor which of the two, Zeus or Hera, tossed me from Mount Olympus when I was just a babe. Can you imagine any parent doing such a thing? Well neither could I. (If it were not for the kind inhabitants of Lemnos, who knows what might have become of me.)
In a search for the answers to these questions I set to work crafting an exquisite work of beauty. A golden throne, designed specifically with my dear mother in mind. I laugh now just to think of the uproar it caused. I would be remiss if I did not share with you the story. What has this to do with the tale that follows? I firmly believe that if I had received a proper welcome into the Olympian family things might have worked out differently between Aphrodite and I—but I’ll get to that later, bear with me please.
It had begun to eat away at me—the thought that my own mother could have forsaken me in such a manner. Was I to blame for not being as beautiful as the brood of studs that inhabited the Mount? If indeed Hera was my mother, what did that say of her looks? Or perhaps it was Zeus that hurled me from Olympus? That is what I meant to discover. (I fell for a total of nine days, end over end, carried along by currents until I unceremoniously hit the water.) I have neither forgotten my tumble from grace, nor how much that belly flop stung—not to mention the fact that I am still visited by reoccurring nightmares.
I must preface this story with a little history lesson on Hera. She is prone to dissemblance and prevarication when it comes to matters that she does not wish to discuss. She can also be quite stubborn. Therefore, I had to craft a seat to hold her, for eternity if necessary, until she revealed to me whether it was she or Zeus who had ousted me. It could be no ordinary throne. This seat of honor had to hold the most crafty and feisty of the goddesses—I knew she’d be incapable of resisting my ostentatious gift. It was perfect. I had it delivered to Olympus with her name on it.
She promptly deposited her posterior into the seat and fell into the trap I’d set. I watched with amusement, but safely from afar. The golden ropes I’d painstakingly woven materialized and fastened round Hera’s now struggling form.
“Aei!” she screamed. “Zeus, where are you? You fool! Free me from this trap!” She clawed at her clothing like the mad woman she is. In another instant she was totally nude. A bloody line of nail marks snaked across her chest. I saw then what had attracted Zeus to her in the first place. My mother is a voluptuous goddess, her ample breasts bounced with each attempt to free herself. While she worked feverishly at her bonds, Zeus stumbled through the antechamber. I chuckled softly and attempted to muffle my laughter with the sleeve of my robe.
“Is this the work of one of your whores?” she asked.
Zeus silently attempted to free her. He struggled unsuccessfully with the ropes that cut into her flesh. It was a proud moment for me. I had worked long and hard at strengthening the bonds so that not even a god of his stature could break them.