PRAISE FOR
ZEUS IS DEAD
“Zeus Is Dead is full of laugh-out-loud moments, lashings of sly wit, moan-worthy puns, and a complex, fast-paced storyline. There aren’t very many humorous fantasy murder mysteries out there, especially not as intricately constructed as this one. Michael G. Munz takes a ’What if,’ and runs with it like a toddler with Mom’s smart phone. He evokes a pantheon of characters including, well, the actual Pantheon, plus modern characters who will ring the bell of familiarity without being trite or clichéd. Munz knows his craft as well as his Greek mythology, pop culture, and dysfunctional family dynamics. The guffaw-worthy throwaway bits (stay tuned for the battle sundae) will remind you of Douglas Adams. A very enjoyable read.”
—Jody Lynn Nye, author of View from the Imperium and co-author of the Myth Adventures of Aahz and Skeeve
“Not since the people of Atlantis predicted 'low humidity' has there been such an original twist in Greek Mythology. This book is also far more amusing.”
—Brian Rathbone, creator of the bestselling Godsland Fantasy Series
“Zeus Is Dead is a book about the return of old gods, but Cthulhu is not in evidence, and it did not drive me to the very edge of madness. Instead it is a hilarious, satirical, page-turning romp through a world beset by plagues of monsters, egotistical gods, and reality television shows. I highly recommend this book to those who value both their sanity and a hearty guffaw. ”
—Seamus Cooper, author of The Mall of Cthulhu
“A hilarious mythological tale of god-like proportions. Munz has crafted a tale of bizarro comic fantasy that sits comfortably among the ilk of Gaiman and Pratchett.”
—Andrew Buckley, author of Death, the Devil, and the Goldfish
“Delivering us from a sea of endlessly morose and self-important supernatural fiction, Zeus Is Dead understands that Greek mythology is more than a little bit insane and—rather than ignore the unseemly aspects—embraces them with the appropriate level of snark and style. Munz’s tale echoes the bureaucratic insanity of Douglas Adam’s creations, the banter of Grant and Naylor’s Red Dwarf, and the cynicism of Ben Croshaw in order to bring us a clever, hilarious tale of adventure and grudging heroism.
I guess what I’m saying is that unless you really like your supernatural fiction all mopey and dull, you’ll find something to love here.”
—Jonathan Charles Bruce, author of Project Northwoods
ZEUS IS DEAD:
A MONSTROUSLY INCONVENIENT ADVENTURE
BY
MICHAEL G. MUNZ
Booktrope Editions
Seattle WA 2014
Copyright 2014 Michael G. Munz
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
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No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: [email protected]
Cover Design by Greg Simanson
Edited by Bethany Root
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Print ISBN 978-1-62015-426-7
EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-416-8
DISCOUNTS OR CUSTOMIZED EDITIONS MAY BE AVAILABLE FOR EDUCATIONAL AND OTHER GROUPS BASED ON BULK PURCHASE.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2014909747
Table of Contents
COVER
PRAISE FOR ZEUS IS DEAD
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATION
OTHER FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION NOVELS BY MICHAEL G. MUNZ
PART ONE: ZEUS IS DEAD, AND THOSE WHO PROPHET
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
PART TWO: MUSES AND ERINYES AND FATES, OH MY!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
PART THREE: (INSERT QUEST HERE)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
PART FOUR: THE STYX HITS THE FAN
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
"MYTHOLOGICAL" WHO'S WHO
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MORE GREAT READS FROM BOOKTROPE
I dedicate this book to my parents, who gave me my first book on mythology.
Unless that was from someone else. Like Uncle Frank or something. It was a long time ago, so it's hard to remember. But my parents are pretty cool and supportive people, so let's go with them.
(No offense, Uncle Frank.)
OTHER FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION
NOVELS BY MICHAEL G. MUNZ
The New Aeneid Cycle
A Shadow in the Flames
A Memory in the Black
A Dragon at the Gate (coming in 2015)
Mythed Connections: A Short Story Collection of Classical Myth in the Modern World
PART ONE:
ZEUS IS DEAD, AND THOSE WHO PROPHET
CHAPTER ONE
“The question of who killed Zeus is unimportant. Trouble neither us nor yourselves further with this. It is only for you to know that the gods of Olympus have returned.”
“’Cept I’d also add that it was me. Next question?”
—Hera and Ares (live press conference, June 18, 2009)
“Though none of them ever went into details publicly, it seems clear that the Olympian gods’ return was sparked by whatever happened to Zeus.”
—excerpt from The Gods Are Back and How It Affects Your 401(k)
ZEUS WATCHED HIS CHILD stumble through a rain-drenched wilderness, the victim of a mudslide that had lamed an ankle and snatched a pack containing food, water, and a spectacularly nifty smartphone. The child winced with every step back to the trail, but did not stop. The king of the gods swelled with pride at his offspring’s courage even as his immortal heart broke: no aid could he ever give.
Long ago, it would have been simple for him to help. He could have stopped the rain, ordered Artemis to lead the child to safety, or even dispatched a full squadron of rescue helicopters. (Okay, so helicopters weren't an option 3,000 years ago—save once, and that was a very special case—but he had used the other options a dozen ti
mes over.) Now, he could not risk even dropping a granola bar into the child's pocket as encouragement.
That Zeus could blame no one but himself for his inability to act only deepened his heartbreak. His own decree had forced the gods to withdraw from mortal affairs many centuries ago. He’d never told the others why, never shared the prophetic vision that led him to believe the Withdrawal necessary. There was no need; he was their king, and the vision contained knowledge he preferred to keep secret. They would obey his commands or suffer the consequences.
Yet standing idle while his mortal progeny suffered was one of the things Zeus hated most about the Withdrawal. There was also the greater discretion now required in siring those progeny, but that was more easily managed. The lack of mortal worship via temples and sacrificed bulls wasn’t terribly wonderful either. His mouth still watered at the thought of a burger made from sacrifice-beef.
In truth, the danger that his child would fail to make it to safety was not a major concern for the king of the gods. His mortal children were always exceptionally capable. Perseus slew Medusa when he was younger than this one, albeit with a few gifts from Zeus to help him along. On the plus side, the forests were long cleansed of hideous, snake-haired women of Medusa’s ilk, and his Withdrawal decree prohibited any Olympian from loosing any more of them upon the world. Even so, he longed to reach down and lift his child to safety.
And replace the smartphone, of course. Really, who liked losing their smartphone?
With a grumble, Zeus turned off the 200-inch plasma screen Hephaestus had built him for such viewings. As long as the danger to Zeus’s own immortal life was mounting, voyeurism was an indulgence. It was ironic: the child was a result of indulgence (and his love of redheads), and yet that same child was his ace in the hole.
If he needed it.
If he had time to prepare.
If he was even right that a threat existed, really.
Lacking omniscience, Zeus couldn’t be sure. If there was still a threat, then his attempt to prevent it with the Withdrawal had failed—which meant he’d misunderstood the original prophecy and could reach down right now, save the child, and deal with things in proper fashion. Yet if there was no threat, to lift the veil of discretion that hid the gods would surely bring doom of a different nature upon him.
Thrice-damned prophecies! They were twisty buggers. More often than not, a prophecy didn’t help you escape trouble, it just stressed you out while you failed to do so. Then before you knew what happened, you’d killed your father, married your mother, or been deposed by a son you thought you’d properly eaten already.
Zeus grinned despite himself, thankful he’d been on the winning side of that last one.
For the hundredth time he considered consulting Apollo. Though Zeus would never admit it to the other gods, Apollo was far better at the prophecy thing than he. Perhaps it was no true shame. Apollo was his own divine son; would his glories not reflect upon Zeus as well? Yet consultation required trust, especially with enemies likely lurking. Zeus was unwilling to share his suspicions with anyone until he was certain about his foes.
The door chime sounded, followed by Aphrodite’s tentative, “Daddy?”
“Enter, child,” he called. He turned toward the door and masked his worry to appear, he hoped, stronger than he truly was of late.
The door swept aside at Zeus’s will, and Aphrodite stepped in. He was unable to keep from smiling at the sight of her. In her hands she held a small, wrapped box. “A gift, Daughter?”
“Of course, Daddy.”
He smirked at the lurking falsehood in her tone, eyes narrowing in amusement. “From you, Aphrodite?”
Her answer came only after she set the gift upon a little table. “Not . . . exactly. It was outside your door, and as it had no tag . . .”
“You sought to take the credit as your own?”
She blushed. “Oh, come now, Daddy. Is it not wonderful to see me as always? What better bow on a gift than for your favorite child to deliver it?” She flashed a dazzling smile that weakened under Zeus’s scrutiny. She pitched the detached tag onto the table. “All right, so Athena left it.”
Zeus’s smirk turned to laughter despite his troubles. “Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, though it’s true I love you highest of all, you must work on your honesty.”
“All’s fair in love, Daddy.”
“Not war? That is how the saying goes, I believe.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not today. Ares and I are fighting.”
Zeus frowned. That she was embroiled in a millennia-long extra- marital affair with the god of war didn’t mean she had to mention it so boldly to the father who’d betrothed her to another. “Ares is always fighting. And you should be faithful to your husband, Daughter.”
“As you are to your wife?”
“That’s different.”
“Not to hear Hera tell it.”
Zeus groaned. He had enough troubles without thinking of Hera. Aphrodite changed the subject.
“Besides, somebody has to pay attention to Ares. All the other gods are cranky with him for all the glory he gets from the mortals’ wars.”
“This again? Have you come to visit only to press your king again on an old decision?”
“At least allow the monsters back, Daddy. There are so few opportunities for mortal glory that don’t involve fighting wars. Grant them a few creatures? Where's the harm in that?”
“Few opportunities? Are you not still goddess of love?”
“Yes, yes, sexual conquest, romance’s triumphs and all that. But oh, it’s so much hotter when the man has just driven his sword through some fearsome beast!”
“Such subtle imagery. And isn’t that why you invented porn?”
“Daddy, that was Dionysus.” She pouted. “Can’t you keep that straight?”
“I only tease, Daughter.”
Aphrodite flashed one of her haughtiest looks and turned with a huff toward the door. “Fine! Open your gift by yourself, then! It’s probably just another stupid lightning bolt cozy anyway!”
And with that, she was gone.
One nice thing about not being able to contact your mortal children, Zeus supposed, was that they couldn’t act like brats to your face.
He glanced at Athena’s gift and decided to let it be until he had finished his preparations. He was nearly done making that loathsome amulet, yet there were still instructions to impart, lawyers to call, contingencies to set up. All of that was preamble before he tackled the real problem of finding out just who had stolen the god-killer.
Zeus picked up the amulet. Its central purple sapphire glinted amid its gold setting. Not for the first time, he questioned his decision to create it, this talisman that sapped his strength and wits, before taking care of the other details. Yes, it was necessary, but should he have waited? Yet what good were instructions without the amulet?
Gah! Had creating it drained him of his confidence as well? By the Styx, someone would get a lightning bolt where the sun didn’t shine if crafting the amulet had actually rendered him impotent.
It occurred to him that Athena, though charged to protect him, might be duped into sending a gift that would attract his attention. Perhaps someone planned to attack from outside when he was distracted with opening it! Still holding the amulet, Zeus rushed to the window and looked out. Even searching for the telltale signs of an invisible assailant, he saw only sky.
The peculiar thing about gods—or one of many peculiar things, really—is that they’re just as prone to stupidity as mortals, if not more so. Ego gets in the way of clear thought at times. In fact, only after Zeus felt the immortal-killing sting on his suddenly no-longer-immortal backside and tumbled out the window down the slopes of mighty Olympus did it occur to him that perhaps Athena hadn’t sent the gift at all.
It also occurred to him that he had very little time to make an impossibly accurate throw. Three seconds later, things stopped occurring to him entirely.
Fortunatel
y for the rest of this story, plenty of other things occurred afterward to lots of other people. Some of them involved cellular phones. Gold ones, even.
And savage man-eating kittens, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Like Marley, Zeus was dead: to begin with.
~~~
For a reference index of the so-called “mythological” characters in this tale, please refer to the Who’s Who at the back of the book. You likely won’t need it, but you may find it a fun read—or an obligatory one, if you’re one of those completionist types.
CHAPTER TWO
“Poseidon: New king of the gods, also god of the sea. Moody, wrathful, big on earthquakes. Creator of the horse and (later) the motorcycle.”
“Hera: Queen of the gods, as well as the goddess of marriage and childbirth. Widow of Zeus, has recently married Poseidon.”
“Ares: God of war, conflict, and aggression. Son of Zeus and Hera. Note: Ares should not be confused with Athena, the wise battle goddess who values tactics and defense, and doesn’t spit.”
—excerpts from the official Olympian press kit
“It is ironic that Apollo, with his skill at prophecy, seemed at the press conference so blissfully unaware of events to come. Foresight-hindsight is twenty-twenty, I suppose.”
—personal journal of Clio, Muse of history
ZEUS’S EDICT OF WITHDRAWAL died with him, and not long after, the Olympian gods burst from hiding like the proverbial genie from the bottle. (Note that this is merely a simile; the actual existence of genies would be downright silly.) Moments later they realized it had been centuries since they last demonstrated themselves to the mortal world. They returned to Olympus to plan, each god and goddess proffering that the pantheon must reveal themselves in a truly fantastic fashion. It was a rare moment of agreement for them, which they took as a clear sign of the rightness of their decision.
It should be noted that the Olympian gods will often take anything as a sign of the rightness of their decisions. Sometimes a god takes the mere instance of losing an argument to another god as a sign of their own rightness due to the sheer “rarity” of the occurrence—akin to the birth of an albino elephant. But in this case, all (Olympians, not albino elephants) were agreeable about their being in agreement, so they could all agree to agree about the agreement being, well, agreeable.
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