by Paul Neuhaus
Amanda voiced her irritation at me. “What’re you trying to do?! Kill us all?!”
I couldn’t help pointing out the obvious. “You’re already dead!”
Connie grinned. “Sure. Get us on a technicality.”
Once everyone was stopped and settled, I took a couple of hesitant steps forward. Toward the last of the statues. Turns out the last of the statues wasn’t a pleasingly plump zombie, it was Medusa herself, immortalized forever in granite. “Oy,” I said. “Who or what could’ve done this?”
“A cockatrice?” Elijah ventured.
“Put your Monster Manual away, Dungeon Master. That’s British mythology.”
Sebastian Squire stepped up to stand next to El and I. “There’re three gorgons,” he said. “Medusa has two sisters. And one of them was born and bred in the caverns beneath Olympus.”
My shoulders dropped. “Stheno,” I said, for that was the sister’s name.
“Right,” Squire agreed. “Not as famous as Medusa, but generally thought to be the most murderous member of the family.”
I got a cold chill. Somewhere in our immediate vicinity was a creature that could kill any one of us with a look—mortal and elder god alike. The shades were probably safe, but I didn’t know for sure. I didn’t know for sure, so I was persuaded to ask. “Yo! Hermes! Front and center!”
The messenger came to me with a smirk on his face. “I am still a god, you know. Would it kill you to show a little respect?”
“You’re a dead god. Which is the point of me calling you up here. Can you, the Heroes of Elysium or, for that matter, Connie and Amanda, be turned to stone? Since, you know, you’re a) not alive and b) made of ectoplasm?”
Hermes grinned. “That’s why you get the big dollars,” he said. “I’m on it.”
I retreated back to the group I’d left behind. I shouted so that everyone could hear me. Turns out the acoustics near life emerging from the primordial seas were excellent. “Everybody! Squat down like you have to take a shit! Squat down, cover your heads and close your eyes as tight as you can!” I remained standing to check my orders were being followed. Cronus squatting down like he had to take a shit, covering his head, and closing his eyes as tight as he could struck me funny. Once I saw my whole entourage had done what I asked, I squatted down like I had to take a shit, covered my head, and closed my eyes as tight as I could.
I was in that position so long it seemed like an eternity. I was in that position so long I thought my nice-looking calves would scream in protest. Finally, I heard a scuffle above me, punctuated by reptilian screams. After a moment, the screams stopped and then there was silence again. For too long. After an interminable wait, I heard someone say, “Psst.” I looked up and a shade in shining hoplite armor and a Corinthian helmet was standing over me, grinning through the slit in his face mask. When he saw I was looking, he dropped something at my feet. It was Stheno’s severed head. My reaction was involuntary. I said “Gah!” and shuffled backwards. The gorgon’s killer laughed, and his eyes shone. I realized I was looking at Achilles himself—and he didn’t look that different from Brad Pitt, the man who’d portrayed him in the movie Troy. I scolded myself for the sudden flush I felt in my lady bits (although he was sexy, the man was dead after all). “I’d’ve been satisfied with a corsage,” I said, standing and kicking my gruesome present over the edge.
Achilles saluted me and went back to join the other Heroes of Elysium. “How about a round of applause for Achilles, folks?”
My friends, who were all standing up, smiled and clapped.
“There he goes. Mind the heels, people.”
Achilles waved over his head as if to say, “Thank you, thank you. You’re welcome, you’re welcome.”
I looked around at my core group. “Okay,” I said. “Unless this mural goes all the way back to the birth of the universe, we should be getting close. I wish I could tell you what to expect, but I can’t.” Without further comment, I pressed on, and my giant train of ghosts, men and monsters followed.
When we got to the top of the last ramp, I was crestfallen. Above us was the equivalent of a giant manhole with its cover removed. If we climbed through it, we’d be picked off en masse. “We can’t go through that hole,” I said. “It’d be certain death.”
“Certain death for us,” Cal said. “What about the Titans?”
I grinned at the kid. “You’re saying lead with our strengths?”
“I guess I am,” he said, returning the smile.
I pushed over to the edge of the landing we were standing on. I knew it would be a tight squeeze as the Titans went by us, but it was the only way to go. “Okay,” I said. “Everyone who isn’t an elder god, or a shade come over here with me. We’re all going to join arms to make sure no one falls off. Cronus and his people more are gonna take the lead and, hopefully, kick some ass before we even emerge.”
Cal, Squire, Elijah, Chad, Jack, and Ty came over by me. Petey hovered just above us. “I’ll catch anybody who falls,” the M.C. said. “But try and make it so no more than one of you falls. My reflexes aren’t what they used to be.”
I locked arms with the six men. Tiresias was too my right and his cloud of little blue birds were cheeping incessantly. “Isn’t there some way you can quiet them down, Ty?”
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “They’re nervous.”
“Go figure,” I replied.
Those of us on the edge planted out feet and did our best impersonation of immovable objects as the Titans and the Heroes of Elysium went by us. We had a couple of near misses, but we were able to keep from being knocked over the edge.
Cronus was in front and, to his credit, he didn’t just squeeze through the faux manhole. He pulled an Incredible Hulk and widened it, making it much, much larger.
The sound of our allies going through the gap masked the sound of what happened to those allies on the other side. Or so I thought. Actually, there was no sound from the other side. It took a moment for that to register and, when it did, it was unsettling. What happened to the clash of armies? What happened to the din of falling architecture? My friends felt it too, and we looked at one another nervously as we unlocked our arms and moved away from the edge.
Jack was the first one to vocalize it. “What’s happening?” he said.
“Or what’s not happening?” Petey added.
I shook my head. I knew just as little as the rest of them. Seeing no alternative, I made for the hole in the ceiling. Elijah grabbed my arm. “It’s a trap,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied, and I climbed over the rubble that Cronus had made on his way through. What I saw when I broke through into the cold night air was Prometheus. He was smiling. Dressed in a full armor. Carrying a staff with its top constantly burning. His hair flowing in the breeze. Behind him were the two metal cylinders he’d had with him at the Conclave of Universal Consciousness. They were open and, inside, were the desiccated bodies of Hephaestus and Hecate. Even as they glowed a vibrant yellow, they two gods writhed in pain. Tortured. Held in thrall to a madman. Behind the two cylinders were the Olympians, all of them dressed for battle. All of them looking stoically forward at myself and my little entourage. Among them were Hades and Persephone. All of them were waiting for a command from Prometheus—although I could see reluctance on many of their faces. They too were Prometheus’ unwilling accomplices. Arrayed around the edges of the courtyard were space hippies galore. All of them in rapt attention, staring at us with the glassy eyes of the unquestioningly devout. Not too far from the Olympians, I saw Keri Wiener, just as focused—and just as devoid of identity—as the rest of the congregation. El started to go toward her, but I grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back.
Surrounding the courtyard were buildings in the ancient Greek style. Made of white marble. More perfect than anything the hands of man could create. Within this ring of architecture floated two enormous balls of light. Not quite light. More like spherical lenses looking into other dimensions.
In one, Olympus was a ruin and the Titans were running riot. A triumphant Cronus sat upon Zeus’ throne. In the other, the Heroes of Elysium fought the Persians who were invading a long-ago Greece. But it wasn’t a real battle, characterized by grit and blood. It was a movie battle with outlandish acts of daring do. There was even a sweeping orchestral score. The two spheres were artificial prisons specifically designed to hold the different parts of my army. Just as my own artificial reality had held me until very recently.
I looked at our smiling host and said, “The creatures we fought on the way up… They were diversions. So, we wouldn’t think our ascent was too easy. These prisons were always your endgame.”
Prometheus pointed at his nose then pointed at me.
“We never stood a chance.”
The new king of Olympus shrugged. “You always had a choice. Particularly you, Dora. You’ve as agile a mind as any I’ve seen, but you weighted your thinking in the wrong direction. You came expecting me to rely on military might. A miscalculation on your part, given I’ve already shown you where my head is at. Illusion… Wish fulfillment… These things are ever-so-much more powerful than swords and spears. If you give a man—or a woman—exactly what he wants, he’ll love you for it. Even if it’s a lie.”
I looked over his shoulder at the Olympians, then back at their new leader. “Is that what I see on the faces behind you? Love? It looks more like grudging acceptance. You keep them in line by threatening to take their reality away from them.”
Our host cocked his head and his smile grew. The flame from his staff lit his face eerily. “Yes. Isn’t that ironic? I pulled them all out of a false reality. Brought them back to the real world. Now they fear me because I can send them to… another false reality.”
“A false reality of your making, not theirs. That’s the difference.”
Prometheus made a pffting noise. “Semantics,” he said. “Let’s have done with this. I think you’ll like the new world I’ve crafted for you. It’s a world where you can cavort with pastel ponies and engage in empty heroics and make babies to your heart’s content.”
Whatever. It didn’t matter. He held all the cards so there was little any of us could do but accept his imprisonment. I didn’t bother looking at the others I’d led on this fool’s errand. I felt no guilt. We’d gotten as far as we could go.
The Lord of Olympus turned toward Hephaestus and Hecate and opened his mouth to speak. His words were drowned out by a terrifying and unexpected cry. I searched the courtyard for the source of the noise. Finally, my eyes settled upon the sphere containing the Titans. Upon his throne, Cronus winced in pain and gripped his side. He stood, and I could see there was blood pouring from between his fingers. He arched his back and let his hands drop to his side. On his abdomen, a gash had appeared, and it was widening, leaking not only bodily fluids but entrails. A force pushed from inside. Through Cronus’ vitals, a manlike shape. It was as though the elder god was giving birth to a full-grown adult. Finally, the bloody shape dropped out. It fell not only to the floor of Olympus’ throne room but through the bottom of the sphere itself. As it did, it shattered the sphere and the reality the sphere contained came apart. On the grass, a creature plastered with gore stood and opened its eyes. Its eyes were deep blue and filled with rage.
They were the eyes of a god.
They were Zeus’ eyes.
The allfather leaned forward and gave a primal scream. A birth cry. He raised his left hand and a lightning bolt appeared there. He hurled the bolt at the other sphere and it too shattered. Then two more bolts. One in each hand. One for Hephaestus’ cylinder and the other for Hecate’s. The bolts struck, and the two withered gods fell from their prisons onto the flagstones.
Behind Zeus, the Titans appeared. Cronus still gripped his bloody flank. A length of intestine hung down. The rest of the elder gods looked none too happy with the trick Prometheus had played on them.
My head swiveled. Where the other sphere had been, the Heroes of Elysium now stood. All their weapons were pointed at Prometheus.
Prometheus spun to look at the Olympians. They were no longer trepidatious. In one fluid motion, they lowered their spears and pointed them at the usurper.
Prometheus did the only thing a right-thinking former despot could do.
He ran.
Without thinking, I ran after him. “Mine!” I shouted, not caring if the people and gods and ghosts understood me. Prometheus had taken a grand white walkway out of the courtyard. It was lined with sculpted topiary and pennants and led directly to the palace. Ahead of me, I could see my quarry mounting the steps into the structure. The high, high steps. The door was far above the level of the mountaintop and it was guarded on either side. “Protect me!” the Bringer of Fire said. The guards looked down into the courtyard behind me, dropped their polearms, and stood by as I passed. They knew they no longer needed to protect Prometheus.
The doorway opened into the throne room with the rest of the palace’s rooms behind it. Up a short staircase was Zeus’ seat of power. An enormous gold chair resting on stylized clouds. My enemy hadn’t made it as far as the throne itself. He was sitting on the steps with his head between his knees. He was breathing heavily. His fatigue reminded me of how tired I was myself. My calves still burned, and my lungs felt like they were to the point of a complete shutdown.
But I didn’t care. I raised my gladius and stalked forward.
But Prometheus wasn’t quite ready to cash out. He looked up at me with eyes like hot coals and said, “I didn’t do this because I wanted power,” he said, still struggling to catch his breath. “I did this because I was angry; disappointed.”
I didn’t realize I’d stopped my advance, but I had. As I waited for him to continue, I noticed he had two trophies on either side of the dais. On the left was my Gene Simmons bass guitar on a stand. On the other, was the pithos, completely intact.
“I risked my entire life to boost Mankind out of the muck,” Prometheus said. “I risked my life by giving you fire, and I lost. But, for centuries, I was content. Even as the bird tore me open day after day. I knew that I had given you your start and you would rise up. You would build. You would someday create a world with no need for gods. But then… My chains were broken, and I was free to see the world. But it wasn’t the world I thought I’d made. Yes, it was free of gods—at least the old gods—but it was a desperate place full of a pettiness that made me weep. For every one of your great achievements, you’d committed a thousand atrocities, mocking the spark I’d given you. I realized that I’d been a fool. I had, as they say in modern times, backed the wrong horse. Have you any idea how terrible a thing that is? To know that all your hopes—and all your suffering—were not only for naught but foolish from the start?” His eyes were brimming with tears. Either he was being sincere, or he was the Peloponnesian Daniel Day Lewis.
I was unmoved.
I resumed walking forward, intent on having his head. “Come down off the cross,” I said. “We need the wood.”
Without rising or even becoming more angry, he pointed his staff at me and the blade of my gladius melted. I dropped the weapon, so my hand wouldn’t be coated with molten metal.
Our eyes were locked. I could go either right or left. From his expression, he expected me to go right. I went left.
I rushed forward and picked up the axe-shaped guitar. Before the little god could react, I brought it down again and again on his skull. He was surprisingly compliant. He didn’t raise a hand to defend himself. He was tired, and he was ready to go.
Prometheus and I were spattered with blood. His blood. He still lived even though I could see flecks of his own skull hanging in his sticky hair. I dropped the bass and went right. I picked up the pithos, pulled off the top and sucked him in.
As I approached the exit from the throne room, I said to Hope, “You good?”
“I’m good,” she replied. Then we went back outside, and everyone was standing at the base of the steps looking up at us. Zeus,
still soaked in his father’s gore, stood at the front. Hera, his wife stood at his right hand. Behind him, in a half-circle, were the Olympians with Hermes standing among them. Behind the Olympians were an odd assortment of space hippies, bronies and Titans. Pan held Taylor Chriss by the scruff of his neck. Petey was supporting Samoa Joe in similar fashion. Samoa Joe had one black eye.
Pegasus hovered over the gathered throng. Hades and Apollo supported the badly-drained Hephaestus and Hecate. “It’s done?” Zeus said to me.
“It’s done,” I answered.
Zeus nodded. “My esteemed brother and sister have the strength for one final act before they move on to Elysium—escorted, no doubt, by my loyal messenger.” He turned to Hades and Hades nodded. Then the allfather looked back at me. “Will you do them the honor?” he said.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied.
But then, Hephaestus and Hecate threw off their support and each took a step forward. They both glowed yellow and a bubble appeared in the air over their heads. When that happened, I knew what to do.
I shattered the pithos on the stairs.
All the Evils were sucked into an alternate reality designed to hold them. They did not go screaming, but with joy. The pocket universe was designed for their pleasure (which meant they’d be unlikely to leave).
The glow ceased, the two spent gods dropped to the stone walkway and were replaced by shades. Hermes came forward to embrace them.
I looked to my right and, standing on the landing beside me, was Hope. Again, she was the prettiest little girl I’d ever seen.
Then something unexpected happened.
All of the Olympians except Hades and Persephone turned on the Titans and attacked them. Their assault was so sudden, the elder gods were taken unawares and driven not only back through the courtyard but over the edge of the mountain. The Olympians followed after.
