The Wrath of The Virgin Goddess

Man eternally has been the bane of the gods, even as the gods and goddesses look down on man as a father and mother might do.  And, like parents, the deities sometimes discount the wayward behaviours that their charges might instigate.  Like strict, authoritarian custodians, though, they, most often impose their wills on man.  But man has always had his own will, determination, and an independent nature, to the chagrin of the goddesses and gods above.

And man has always had the urge to surpass the gods themselves, taking dominion over the beasts of the wild with whom he finds pleasure and favour.

Gods, like their human wards, hold biases and play favourites, and Artemis was no exception.  She loved all her dependants equally, but she loved man and her hunting beasts most of all.  They were, truth be told, her favourites because they were so similar, with their love of the wilds, of pursuit, of the conquest and kill.  Man may have two legs, but he was the equal – no more and no less – of the dog-like beasts who were Artemis’s constant companions.

There were four of these canines, and one man.  They were the family that Artemis, the virgin goddess, called her own.

Artemis, pure and chaste, nonetheless felt the weakness of possessiveness and jealousy, whenever she was challenged, confronted or disobeyed.  And it was one of her two loves that most often aroused that green ogre in her.  It was man.

Man, who yet had not been granted a name other than “Man,” displayed the youthful insolence that today remains the hallmark of his nature.  He embarked on his own path, frequently, and chose to flaunt the rules or ignore the boundaries that the gods had set for this child of the world.  Routinely, one or another god would pose and posture, threatening to bring his wrath down on this puny animal.  Routinely, Artemis would intercede, casting her own curses on any who offered to harm her ward.  And man continued to toy with the limits and restrictions that Artemis placed on him.

Man was, while not wild, wild at heart. He loved to explore, and strove to understand why he was restrained by the gods, time and again, whenever he ventured on his own.  Artemis was not accustomed to having to explain her preferences or repeat her admonishments.  She was not used, also, to hearing the word “no.”  She heard it often, when she chastised and reprimanded her man-child.

Artemis demanded respect and obedience from all the creatures of the wild, over whom she had dominion.  With only one exception, all of the beasts of the forests and fields obeyed.  All, except man.

One of her sacred dictums was that she, alone, would rule the fauna of the earth.  It was her father, Zeus’ wishes.  Few other gods or goddesses dared exercise any liberties with her animals, for fear of her powerful retribution.  On occasion, some, though, did venture across the bounds she had established, and they perched high in the skies as punishment, forever condemned to roam the night world, as constellations, or, worse yet, solitary stars.  Artemis understood the impact of solitude, and used her abilities to isolate her challengers for eternity.  She knew that loneliness was, among the gregarious gods, worse than destruction.  It destroyed the soul.

With her powers, Artemis could mete out any imaginable penalty, and her creativity knew few limits.  The camel, castigated for its vanity, bore its hump and disfigured face as a badge of reprove. The snake, formerly a fanciful creature who bragged of his great speed, was denied of legs.  The great gorilla, fond of proclaiming, not only his superiority to man but his equivalence to the gods, passed his remaining days without true voice, and a posture that humbly forced him to drag his mighty arms along side him as he lumbered through the jungles.  Orion, once Artemis’ hunting companion, dared to imply that he was her superior, and found himself to hunt only the other stars in the heavens until time would end.  She was, indeed, a fearsome foe, but a loving matriarch.

Man needed stimulation.  Man loved company, too.  While young, he was content to rest in the protective arms of Artemis.  As an adolescent, he savoured the moments when he ran, alongside her canine creatures, pursuing a hunted beast of the forest.  As a teenager, he strained at the bonds that isolated him from freedom to explore the world around him.  Now, as a young adult, he longed for the power to choose, to be what he wanted, to select his own companions.

Artemis was not yet ready to permit his release from her enslavement.  She considered that he, like all wild beasts, was not capable of independence and wise decision-making.  She restrained man.  In truth, she wanted man to herself.

A fence, for man, was nothing more than an invitation to clamour over to the other side of the barricade.  Man was destined to explore, and the goddess was destined forever to find herself pursuing and rerouting this agile animal.  That, in turn, enhanced the thrill of escape for this two-legged beast.

But man also had been afflicted with intelligence.  As today’s man knows, intelligence is not always a sign of wise.  Man often fell short in the “wise” category. 

Man, like Artemis, longed for company, yet knew nothing of the company of woman.  In Artemis’ care, man knew his first bond with what would become man’s best friend, and he would spend hour after hour hunting or frolicking in the deep forests with Artemis’ other four favourites.  Clandestinely, though, since both man and hunting beast had been barred from their pursuits, unless the goddess oversaw their activities.  The gods intuitively understood that, to permit association and collaboration between the beasts could only lead to alliances that may threaten, however weakly, the jurisdiction of the gods.  It was more than a guideline: it was a decree.  In spite of, or because of it, Man found great pleasure in flaunting this special rule.

Artemis had her suspicions that something was amiss.  Often, when man vanished, several of her canine children did so, as well.  The joyous baying, laughing and howling deep in the dark recesses of the woods attested to the sinful pleasures that the collage of creatures enjoyed.  They enjoyed those thrills of the chase without her, and without her permission.  Both roused her anger, fed her jealousy.

One day, after a too-frequent scolding of man and a sharp rebuke by Artemis toward her canine beasts, the possessiveness and envy overwhelmed her, and she determined to uncover the treachery.  There would, she vowed, by very explicit and unambiguous punishments for all of her wards.

The sedition exposed easily, Artemis’ full rage was muted only slightly, accompanied by mild amusement, when man rose to defend his wild friends stoutly from her wrath.  To think that he would dare to be so thoroughly insolent, in the face of certain overpowering force, brought a hidden smile to her. It was like the immature growl of the lion cub as he tussled with his mother lioness’ ears.  It was puny, yet so completely brave that Artemis’ jealous heart softened slightly.  It was sufficient to avert her intended mortal punishment for both man and her four-legged beasts.  It was, in fact, their salvation.

Neither man or beast expressed remorse for their actions.  Indeed, man demanded that Artemis refrain from intervention in his life, insisting that he, and he alone, was responsible for his actions, and the actions of his companion beasts.  He, after all, had encouraged their rebellion, and had led them into the forest.  He could, he insisted, not only care for himself but care for his four-legged friends.

One by one, Artemis interrogated her wild subjects, demanding their individual responses.  She was not seeking separate, independent responses.  They would, she knew, all acquiesce to her authority, with, perhaps, one exception: man. Or maybe two.

The first approached the goddess meekly, its belly hung low, its ears flat, its yellowish eyes failing to meet hers, a gaping, toothy, sly smile playing at his lipless jaws.

“And you.  You disobeyed me.  You were ordered only to hunt in my company.  Explain yourself.”

The cur slunk even lower to the ground, a shrill whine emitting from his throat.

“I had no choice.  They forced me to go.  I was afraid of being left alone, and I had no one to protect me.  It is so lonely when you are not with me. And when the others are with me, and you are not here, they treat me so poorly.”

This deflection of blame irritated Artemis. 

“No choice?  No protection?  Lonely?  What do you know of lonely? And what of your goddess?  Am I no one?”

Second to approach was the smallest of the four, a joyously crimson coloured coat sparkling in the light, a bounce to his step.  His eyes reflected the life around him, and he appeared, at best, distracted by the impending punishments he was about to receive.  A butterfly bounced past on the breeze, and he snatched at it momentarily.

“You.  Come here.”

He was not only the smallest, but also the youngest.  His attention was not easily garnered.

“Explain yourself.  Justify your disobedience, if you can.”  She expected little of this canine creature. He always was lost in the moment, and the consequences of his actions never clouded his choices.

“I can not.  It just seemed that it was going to be so much fun.  We were all going to have a grand time, and, if you never found out, so much the better.”

“You thought that you could deceive me?” Artemis was almost screaming her question.  “Me?  Your supreme one?”

“It was a beautiful day.  I could hear the voices in the woods calling out.  All of us heard them.  I didn’t mind that they came with me.  The more the merrier, you know.” 

Artemis understood his nature.  He loved to be with his friends.  He loved to be with Artemis.  But he also loved to be with all the other creatures around him.  He was a beast of nature, a part of it, and he loved all around him.  The little fellow had not so much chosen to disobey her as he had chosen to obey the beckoning of the forest. He could spend hours alone, or in the company of any others.  It hardly mattered to him.

“And you didn’t think that I might be in need of your services?  That I might want you to be here, when I called?”  They were rhetorical questions.  Normally, she enjoyed his free spirit and playfulness, but not when it was inconvenient for her.

The third lumbered forward.  He was a sizeable, heavy-set animal, with a massive head and soft, brown eyes.  Never one to disobey, he merely went along with whatever others chose.  Although loyal to Artemis, he could transfer his devotion to whomever chose to want his company. 

“You I can understand.   You are no more than a follower, but you also are a good friend.  But, when you choose to disobey me, you know that there will be consequences.  Are you ready to face those penalties?”

The beast merely lowered his head slightly, in acquiescence.  He had nothing to say for himself. 

Last to be castigated was the largest of the four, and the most intelligent.  He had deep set eyes that, at times appeared steely grey, or penetratingly dark, depending on the light and on his mood.  He did not move toward Artemis, opting to let her move to him.  He sat, erect, on his hindquarters, looking slightly skyward and not at the goddess.

Artemis knew that, whatever her punishment, he would disdainfully endure it, and would neither resent it or react.  More than man, he was independent.  Artemis raised her staff high above her head, as if to strike this rebellious beast.  The canine turned ever so slightly to impose his glare, not on the rod, but on the holder of the rod, almost sneering disregard.  Artemis lowered her long cane, realizing that this form of punishment would only alienate the animal.

Lastly, she moved back to confront man.

“You, more than these four, have most to be accountable for.  You, whom the gods have endowed with reason, you whom the gods have granted a measure of respect from other beasts, you whom I have encouraged to use your innate intelligence.  It is you, with the greatest gifts, who has chosen to abuse those assets.”

“You have forgotten, Artemis.  I have also been granted choice, and the ability to bond, with affection.  You, who demand obedience, should also know that you cannot demand love.  Fear, yes.  But not emotions of the heart.  And, I am now more than the child that you have held, have helped, and now seek to keep in bondage.  I need to choose my own way, my own friends.”

His willingness to challenge the authority of this goddess had grown exponentially as he matured.

“I do love you, as a mother.  I do appreciate you, for all you have given me.  But I now need to be free.  It is in the heart of man.”

Artemis knew he was right, but she was not yet willing to acknowledge the reality.

“I am a god.  I make choices.  You do not.”

“Yes, I do.  You chose to give me the qualities that the gods have always reserved for themselves.  You can no more take those traits away than you can cause the world to end.  I have chosen to befriend these beasts.  I have chosen to be free.  And I intend to guide them toward their freedoms, as well.”

Artemis felt the rage rising at this act of insurgence. 

“You puny animal.  You think you can usurp my power.  You think you can act in my stead.  And you drag these, my favourites, into your revolution.  I will allow your freedom.  And with it, you will face the consequences of choice.  On your head will be the responsibility for the futures of each of these four.  On your head alone, will be the future of these curs, who have placed you above me.”

With that invective, Artemis again raised her staff. 

“Step forward, each of you,” she directed at the four-legged entourage.

First to step forward was the obedient, slow and heavy-set one.

“You, who always follows, who never thinks for himself, who cannot bear to be without company.  Forever forward, you will be bound to man, never to be capable of independent thought or will.  On man you will depend, for eternity, for food, for shelter, for attention and affection.  You will never be able to enjoy the freedom of solitude, of unique experience.  I give you the name, dog.  Go, and be with man.”

Next she turned to the grovelling gap-toothed cur with the mangy coat and whiny voice.

“You, the least of all.  You, who sneaks into the company of others, but steals anything you can whenever you think no one is looking.  You who whines and begs, and only seeks company for your own pleasure, not to satisfy the wants of others. You who is selfish, I condemn you to live a lonely life, even though, on moonlit nights you may bay and cry for the company of others.  You may run with others, but they will never share of themselves with you.  You will often not be alone, but you will always be lonely.  From today forward, no beast will trust you, no animal will welcome you.  You will be coyote.”

With that, the lowly cur slunk into the dark shadows of the bushes, to forever howl his anguish to the skies, and cry for the company of colleagues.

Artemis turned her attention toward the third canine, the youngest, but he was already distracted. Although she spoke her verdict, he paid little attention.

“You will play, all day, never finding rest.  But I cannot condemn you to the humble sentence of the other two.  You know no better.  You will forever be childlike, and never know the calm comfort that adulthood brings.  You will forage for your food, but it will not come easy.  You will play too often, and, too frequently, your prey will escape.  You will enjoy the company of others, but only briefly, since you cannot summon the will to focus yourself to the responsibility of friendship.  You will befriend man on occasion, but he will never fully take you into his confidence.  You will spend your days, often alone, sometimes lonely.  You will seek friendship, but it will be only fleeting, and irresponsible.  You will, from now on, be known as fox.”

With that, the fox, unaware of his future, frolicked after a bird that had risen quickly from the tall grasses.

The last of the four canines took little interest in the proceedings.  What would be, would be, and he would withstand whatever could be imposed on him.  He raised his chin to the sky with disdain as Artemis spoke to him.  He accepted her power, but he never accepted her authority.  He, like man, considered himself to be free.

Artemis admired this beast, almost as much as she admired man.  She knew he lacked the level of intellect that man possessed, but he had superior instinct.  While he seldom disobeyed her, he never obeyed her either. He, because his interests were the same as hers during the hunt, merely went along with the group during forays into the woods.  But, he, like man, craved complete freedom.  He had no desire to be rid of Artemis, or of man, but neither held the power to keep him in their company.  In the deep forest, he hunted on his own, bringing down game larger than any of man or the other three could do.  He had a voice, but he chose to use it only at select times, when he was alone and could express his thoughts to the skies above.

“You, I am certain, will take whatever punishment that I decide, but it will have no impact on you, for good or otherwise.  But you have disobeyed me, and have chosen to side with man.  If I do not punish you, I know that, in the company of man, the two of you may someday attempt to rise up against me, and steal my power.  I admit that I fear the potential that you and man, together, may achieve.  For that reason, I condemn you to the forest forever, always on the margins of civilization. 

“Yes, you may accept a temporary peace with man, but the price that you will pay for your association with man is that neither man or you will ever trust each other again.  At best, you will infrequently endure each other.  I cannot risk the potential for you and man to join forces.”

With that, she branded him wolf, and directed him into the wilderness.

Today, you will find the four favourites of Artemis throughout the wilds, sometimes gnawing at the limits of man’s world.  You will find, too, man, his tenuous relationship with these beasts true to the judgements handed down by Artemis.  Dog, never capable of being alone, glues himself to man’s side.  Fox, still immature, plays with his food and his friends, and often pays the price of hunger for his childlike behaviour.  Sometimes lonely, he knows both solitude and companionship. Coyote cries for love, never finding it in the occasional company of other snivelling carrion eaters.  Wolf, alone, remains solitary, enjoying his independence without feeling loneliness.  And man endures the emotions of each of his erstwhile friends, caving to loneliness at times, and at others, seeking solitude.  It is the will of Artemis.