Anthos and The Fall
A Reimagined Myth
Anthos stands in the doorway of their mud and brick house, gazing at the storm on top of Mt. Olympus, and wonders what mischief the gods are up to. He brushes dust from his eyes as his frail body is blown back by the winds rolling towards his Greek village, Dion, a two-day hike from the summit. He never questions the gods but wonders why they haven’t answered his mother’s prayers.
“Aren’t they happy?” he asks his father, Ver, who’s walking up behind him.
“They are, but they’re in a playful mood. I’m sure you’ve pleased them. Come inside, your mother’s worried.”
Sitting on worn benches at a frail wooden table, their food is illuminated by a small oil lamp casting a warm glow. Anthos feels the smooth, cool dirt floor under his bare feet and is reminded of the generations that walked before him in this room.
“Autumnus, come eat,” Ver says to his wife across the room.
She’s sitting on a thin, straw mattress exhausted from her work as a sewist. Autumnus is known in the village for her fine embroidery using only threads of red, yellow, and orange, the colors of a brilliant sunset. And while more dyes for her work would be welcome, nearby buckthorn berries and madder roots are all that’s available.
Anthos slides over, makes room for his mother, and welcomes a soft kiss on his cheek from her. They eat cheese, figs, and warm porridge, scooping it up with freshly baked bread she just took out of their brick oven. He’s the third child, after previous miscarriages, and can’t blame her for the extra comforting. But the gods have grown weary about making him his father’s successor as priest in Dion once Ver passes. The boy’s been unable to gain the strength and confidence he needs for this important responsibility and doesn’t seem to take his successor role seriously. He’d rather spend his time doing other things young men in the village are preoccupied with like hunting and working in the blacksmith shop honing his skills. And while he sits patiently and listens to his father explain the importance of spiritual leadership and devotion to the gods, he doesn’t take him seriously.
“Anthos, I made more. Please eat,” Autumnus says, sliding the clay bowls toward him.
No matter what he consumes, he’s thin as a sapling, casting barely a shadow on the wall behind them. Anthos understands his mother’s concerns. The gods won’t grant him strength as if they’d rather have someone else in the role to look after the townspeople. With arms as thick as trees, Ver leaves after the meal to gather wood for his blacksmith furnace. Anthos envies his father’s strength and vigor.
The family’s land is fertile, and the harvest is always plentiful. Strangely, unlike other parts of the world, the trees are always green with emerald leaves throughout the year. The gods provide everything so long as the people offer their continued thanks, but Anthos wishes he could do more to instill their confidence, much like his father does. Retiring for the evening, he overhears his parents speaking about unanswered prayers.
“I’m not sure I can give anymore of myself, Ver. I don’t see Anthos being able to follow in your footsteps,” his mother whispers nearby. “I don’t think anyone trusts him to lead them towards the gods. He’s always busy doing something else other than working on this with you.”
“Patience, Autumnus, it’ll come. It wasn’t easy for me when my father passed. I had lots to prove,” he replies. Anthos watches as they blow out the lamp beside them and fall asleep, his father’s arm draped over his mother’s soft shoulders.
Fearing the gods might not answer, Anthos senses his mother will take matters into her own hands and seek them out on Olympus by herself. The next day, he sees her prepare a pack for the journey and watches as she ties it shut with a colorful sash. It’s beautiful embroidery: bright yellow, for Apollo’s sun; deep orange, for Hephaestus and his forges; and blood red, for Ares, God of War.
Anthos knows she’ll wait to depart until Ver is off on his hunting trip, he’s not letting his mother out of his site. He follows her to the rocky summit of Olympus, a journey of two days, stays in the shadows cast by the full moon, and hears his mother’s pleas to the gods.
“Apollo, Hephaestus, and Ares make yourselves known! Gods, whom I praise daily for your healing powers, please come to me.”
And with a gust of wind kicking up dirt around her, they appear. Anthos watches her duck behind a raised arm to shield her eyes from flying debris. Human in form but divine in spirit, they approach his mother and inquire about her quest.
“What brings you to our sacred ground?” Apollo bellows. Ares and Hephaestus acknowledge in agreement, though disturbed.
His mother responds, “I pray to you for my son’s health, for strength and patience to replace his father in the temple as your charge. He’s my third child; the others died inside me; I can’t bear to lose another.” Anthos feels her sorrow.
“We’ve heard you, Autumnus of Dion,” Apollo says, “and have done all we can. It’s up to him now to work through his own doubts.”
“But you haven’t done enough,” his mother yells back, catching them off guard. “I sacrifice and pray to you daily, yet he still lacks confidence!”
“We understand your pain. But we do not interfere in the lives of mortals. We have planted in him a will to lead; his time will come when he recognizes the growth inside him. Our work is done, and his must begin. All he needs to improve is within his grasp,” Anthos hears Ares proclaim.
“It can’t be that simple,” his mother replies. “I came all this way for advice I’ve already been giving him?”
“Unfortunately, yes. You know his path forward, but he must see it as well,” Anthos hears Apollo say as they retreat further away Autumnus into the cover of darkness.
And with that, the gods are gone. Anthos follows Autumnus down the mountain but stays well behind her as she slowly makes her way home.
Back in Dion, Anthos knows his mother is exhausted and inconsolable after her failed effort. She confesses to Ver what she’s done and now stays in her bed for days.
“Why did she do this?” Anthos asks his father.
“She did this for you,” he replies quietly, cutting short an explanation that might have made more sense.
A wave of guilt washes over Anthos as his father questions his wife’s motives. Anthos stays quiet in the dark corner, watching them comfort each other before they fall asleep. Come morning, she didn’t wake, passing into the underworld. Anger rises within Anthos, filling him with rage as he gathers the confidence to speak to the gods himself. And while Autumnus questioned their wisdom, he seeks revenge.
That night, while his father sleeps, he sets out for Olympus. Rage drives him, a strange, new unbridled emotion. The gods sense him coming and gather at the summit. Ares, Apollo, and Hephaestus tower over him, their colors glowing brightly.
“What brings you here again, Anthos?” Apollo asks. He realizes the gods knew he was present when his mother traveled to meet with them just days ago.
“To seek revenge for my mother’s death! She prayed every day for me!” Anthos says, his voice trailing off. “You’ve killed her. For what? Wanting to help me?”
Surprised at his own reply, he cowers. He knows they didn’t kill Autumnus, but has no one else to blame. The gods look at him with anger and pity, eyeing a knife sheathed at his side. And while incensed, they respect his confidence and loyalty to his family.
“Can you bring her back?” he cries out.
“Hades has her now and decides her fate,” Ares says.
Apollos adds, “Anthos, while we can’t bring Autumnus back, we can change your world to remind you of her. Give me your mother’s sash of color.”
Anthos unties it from his waist and leaves it at their feet.
“From now on, at this time of year, we will make the days cooler and change each leaf from green to blood red, deep orange, and sunset yellow. These colors will be symbols of your dedication to Autumnus, your mother. But since you dared challenge us, these days will not last. After a few months, the leaves will die, fall to the ground, and be swept away by the wind. After all is complete, we will blanket the earth with a cold, white cover to hide what’s left. We will supply a plentiful bounty to see you through, so harvest what you can during the time of color. As the leaves fall each year, we promise you will be reminded of your mother and her tri-color sash,” says Apollo.
Anthos bows his head in fear, murmurs a weak “Thank you,” and returns to the village feeling strength and determination from his confrontation with the gods.
It’s been months since his visit to Olympus, his father weak and distraught from his wife’s passing and his son’s strange disappearance. Ver notices the short days have become colder. While walking with Anthos through nearby forests in search of firewood, they observe changes in the color of the leaves.
They’re turning from green to orange, yellow and red. Under the canopy, they admire the beauty and watch the leaves fall to the ground as the winds blow. Ver bends down, picks several up, and shapes them into a loose bouquet while Anthos clears the path of heavy downed branches with his newfound strength, his father no longer strong enough to help.
“Anthos, look at this, it’s wonderful! These leaves remind me of your mother — the oranges, reds, and yellows! They’re identical to the dyes and threads she used throughout her work!” says Ver with tears in his eyes.
Anthos nods, looks down, and shuffles his feet across the carpet of colors. He knows this moment in time will only last for a while if what the gods say is true. His father notices a strange look on his son’s face.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this?” Ver asks his son.
All Anthos could do was smile. The world around them, at least for this mysterious time of the fall, is colorful and content. Autumnus knows the gods have done well and is comforted by their confidence in what Anthos will now be able to bring to them. Autumnus gives Anthos the priestly blessing at the request of the gods who sense his desire to provide leadership and spiritual guidance to the people of Dion.
Anthos tightens the sash around his waist as he and his father make their way back to the village at sunset. The sky glows red, orange, and yellow as do all the trees around them, a memory and blessing to honor his mother, and this time of year.