From the Annals of Bastet

For the Anniversary of the birth of Kendaa, 2002

"What is death?" Leonides asked looking over at his father, the God of War.

Ares stood in the stall of his newest steed, a huge mare with a black coat and blue eyes. He had decided to name her Xena. The warrior princess found this amusing. Ares was brushing the dark fur, wet now from a hard ride. He looked over at his young son for a moment and then went back to brushing.

"Death is another step on the journey of life," he said, "a new tour of duty." He used a military analogy. It was too simple but it would do for the small boy.

"Does it hurt?" Leonides asked, looking intensely at his father. He was an intense child.

"Sometimes," his father replied. "But mostly it is scary."

"Why?"

"Because we don't know where we are going," Ares replied, moving from the shoulders of the large horse down to the back and rump. "The unknown is scary for us."

"What's this?" Leonides had come over beside his father. He looked up the long expanse of leg and torso, reaching up with something in his hand.

Ares put down the brush on the horse's back and picked up his son. He placed him on the back of the horse and then looked in the child's hand. A small fuzzy thing squirmed around. "That's a caterpillar," he said, amused at the way a child could go from one subject to another with renewed interest. Everything held his young curiosity.

"It's funny that you should ask that," Ares continued. "This little one will soon wrap himself up like a mummy, remember the ones I showed you in the land of the Pharaohs?"

Leonides nodded. "They were dead."

"That's right and as part of the belief of the Egyptians, they are wrapped up to preserve themselves for the afterlife, just like this caterpillar." Ares took the brush and began to brush the horse's tail as his son watched him intently. "After the caterpillar is in the wrapping for a while, it will break out as a butterfly."

"Like the ones in the garden?" his son added.

"Like the ones in the garden."

"What if a big horse comes and steps on it before it can turn into a butterfly?" Leonides asked.

Ares smiled, amused at the workings of his son's mind. 'Always planning for the unexpected,' he thought to himself. "Well, then the caterpillar will be squished and will go into oblivion."

Leonides frowned. "Is that bad?" he whispered, now looking very concerned.

"It's not good," his father said. "It is the job of caterpillars to become butterflies." He continued to brush, hoping that some inspiration would help him out of this unfortunate tale of dead caterpillars.

"So avoid big horses if you are a caterpillar," Leonides said.

Ares laughed. He looked over at his son. "And birds that might eat you."

"And birds that might eat you," Leonides repeated. "Does the caterpillar have a choice? Can he avoid the horse and the bird?"

"The caterpillar has some choice, but not as much as we do," Ares said, putting down the brush again. He reached up and took the boy in his arms as both of them now looked at the caterpillar in Leonides hand. "We can make choices to do good, or to do evil. If we are good, then we will someday fly like the butterfly."

"And if we are evil?" Leonides said putting the caterpillar up on the horse's back carefully then looking into his father's eyes with concern.

"Then someday we get squished," Ares said, tightening his lips and frowning. "And we go into oblivion."

Leonides looked upset. Tears began to form in his dark eyes. He looked down at the pattern on his father's vest and began to play with the silver strands. Ares could tell that he was struggling with some inner turmoil. The boy began to speak then stopped and wiped away the wet around his eyes with the back of his hands. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Ares put his face close to his son's ear. "What are you sorry for?"

"For crying," Leonides answered so quietly Ares also most didn't hear it. He continued to pick at the silver strands.

Ares continued to hold the boy close. "I'll tell you a secret but you must never ever tell anyone in the whole world," he whispered to his son. "Do you promise?"

Leonides looked up at him in surprise and nodded. "I promise," he said seriously.

"Pinky promise?" Ares asked holding out the pinky finger of his other hand.

"Pinky promise," Leonides said, hooking his pinky in his father's.

Ares took at deep breath, looking as serious as he could. "I've cried too," he stated.

Leonides gasped in surprise as only a child could. "No way," he said.

Ares smiled. "You tell me what made you cry and I'll tell you what made me cry."

Leonides went back to his detailed examination of his father's vest. Ares could feel him struggling again with something. He let the child think.

Finally the boy looked up at him. "Remember when we went to meet mommy in the camps of the Amazons?" he asked.

"You mean recently?" Ares countered. Leonides nodded.

"Well, the Amazons told me you were the God of War which means that you are evil," he whispered. "They said that mommy was a fool for being with you and that I was the pro… product of lust. What's lust?"

Ares arched an eyebrow. "Death, evil, and lust, all in one sitting," his father replied smiling. "I think we should take these one at a time."

"All right," the small boy said. Ares was always amazed at how the little mind could wander and yet be satisfied with a boundary if it was clear. Leonides looked up at him. "Are you evil?" he whispered. "Will you go into oblivion?"

"Well, first of all, I find it amazing that the Amazons should be so condescending of war when they are perhaps one of the most warlike groups I know," he said. He switched his son to his other arm and looked pensively at him. "And yes, at one time, I would say I was evil."

"What happened?"

"A man, or a god for that matter, does not change easily," he explained. "I was born to be the God of War. Now of course, there were no guidelines as to what that meant so I had to be guided by the expectations of my parents."

"Zeus and Hera," Leonides said.

"Zeus and Hera," Ares agreed. "And for some reason that I use to understand but has escaped me since, the two wished me to be the embodiment of war at its worst. Rage, greed, violence, blood lust," he said.

"Lust, like what made me?" Leonides asked.

Ares smiled. "That was a different kind of lust. Don't interrupt."

"Yes, sir," the boy said smiling back.

"Where was I?" Ares said walking now toward the door. He looked out of the stable door at the rolling green of the courtyard of his fortress. "Oh yes, blood lust. Well, a series of events occurred in my life that led me onto a different path."

"Like?"

"Like meeting your mother," Ares said, letting the interruption go. "And like being chosen by the Ancient One Bastet as her warrior student."

"But you're still the God of War?" Leonides asked, frowning.

"Yes, because war is evil but it is also inescapable," his father explained. "So when you have to go to war, you can go to be the best that you can or you can let yourself be mean, angry, merciless, and vengeful. It's a choice. It is my job to help men see that they have that choice. I am their example. I was angry and vengeful but I changed." He smiled. "The job is the same but the purpose changes."

"And mommy," Leonides asked. "She goes to war. Which is she?"

"Your mother is the best example of that change," Ares replied. "She knows the blood rage of war but she is able to control it."

Leonides looked out at the field. "Can I go out and play now?" he said.

Ares laughed and let him down. "You may," he replied, watching the boy run off. The War God sighed deeply and went back to the task of caring for his horse. He took up the brush and began brushing the mare again and then saw the little caterpillar still inching across the back of the mare.

Ares smiled and picked up the fuzzy creature, closing his hand gently over it. When his hand opened again, a flurry of orange and black took flight as a butterfly was magically called forth.

The God of War watched the insect fly away then began to brush his mare again. He stroked the blackness hoping to bring out a shine. "And that," he whispered to himself, "is what makes me cry."

March 2002