Zeus is Dead

by Michael G. Munz

  “Jason Powers is dead?” Athena jumped to her feet in shock. “You killed him for that? I watched the fight; he fought well and nobly!”

  Ah, hell. Leave it to the goddess of defense to get squeamish. “He killed our creature! I had the right!”

  “Oh, for our sake, Ares, it was just a stupid turtle-frog! That you consulted on!”

  “Athena!” Hera warned, wresting them back on track.

  Athena threw herself back to her seat. “Rage-tripping jackass. I liked that show.”

  “And for this,” Hera continued, “Apollo attacked you?”

  “I dunno why he did it! But yeah, that was when. Maybe he liked the show too, I dunno!”

  “If Thalia was there, perhaps he thought you were threatening her?” Artemis asked.

  Ares whirled on her. “I didn’t threaten her!”

  “Ares, you’re violent, loud, and destructive,” she said with a smirk. “You threaten the air with your very presence.”

  “Flatterin’ me ain’t gonna shut me up.”

  “I meant that it would be very easy to misconstrue your usual demeanor for a heightened threat.”

  Hermes cleared his throat. “That would make sense, were Apollo not as used to Ares’s temperament as the rest of us. And . . .” The god scowled and shook his head into silence.

  “Speak your mind, Hermes.”

  He glanced at Poseidon. “I can’t help but wonder if Thalia—or all of the Muses, for that matter—are in on whatever Apollo must be up to.”

  Artemis scoffed. “What he ‘must be up to’?”

  “Might be, then,” Hermes amended. “But we all know how close the Muses are to—”

  “Oh, yes!” Artemis cried. “They work with him, so they’re all in on some conspiracy! Why not round up anyone who’s ever had anything to do with Apollo? We’re most all of us related to him in some way! I’m his twin sister! Lock me up!”

  Demeter leaned over. “Quiet, dearie. No one’s locking anyone up, are we, Poseidon?”

  Poseidon considered this for a moment. “I—”

  “Now you be nice!”

  The problem the Olympians faced in dealing with Demeter was her sheer sunny disposition. She’d been more like the rest of them in the early days, but centuries of playing the nurturing harvest goddess had softened her. Some viewed her as downright senile. Thinking she would be easily influenced, the others gave her Zeus’s open spot on the Dodekatheon, yet she cared not a whit for political machinations, instead lending what could only be described as grandmotherly support to whichever party she perceived as playing the nicest. To appear too abrasive was to lose her vote.

  Poseidon gave only a resigned glance in Demeter’s direction before addressing the rest of them. “The Muses shall not be under suspicion yet but will be called before the Dodekatheon and questioned regarding Apollo’s whereabouts. Apollo himself shall be placed on probation pending investigation. Hera will summon him personally. If he does not appear in three days’ time—”

  “Three days? Who knows what he could—”

  “Be silent!” Poseidon was on his feet, trident slammed into the ground. It was enough to shut up Ares. Poseidon calmed, slightly, after that. “If Apollo does not appear in three days, then he shall know his uncle’s wrath.”

  Ares stifled the impulse to ask what Poseidon’s punishment might consist of, as he was pretty sure Poseidon himself didn’t quite know. With Zeus—as much of a pain in the ass that he’d been for the past two millennia—you could at least count on the fact that he had a penalty in mind when he threatened you with one. Poseidon wasn’t nearly so organized. There was something to be said for fear of the unknown, but it was a heck of a lot less satisfying when you were rooting for the retribution.

  On the other hand, Poseidon, god of the sea, monsoons, and hurricanes—who once had spent two decades kicking Odysseus in the metaphorical crotch—had a fine track record for wrath. Even so, the three-day delay was outrageous and blunted what should have been a clear victory against Apollo. Artemis and her bloody arguments! Maybe if the virgin goddess got laid once in a while, she wouldn’t be such a bitch! He and Hermes could’ve gotten Apollo tossed in Tartarus immediately if not for her, and now the rest of the conspiracy would give him crap for going against their damn “plan,” perhaps Hades most of all.

  Yeah, well, bring it on. At least he was doing something.

  But why couldn’t Poseidon find Apollo?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Thank the Fates for loopholes.”

  —Apollo (Zeus Is Dead: A Monstrously Inconvenient Adventure, Chapter Thirty-five)

  THE FIRELIGHT GAVE THALIA’S red hair a glow that seemed to brighten further as she ranted. “I mean, you can’t just yank three iconic sci-fi characters off a starship like that, plunk them around a campfire singing ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat,’ and just expect it’s going to work! The fourth movie with the whales was funny, but then they got cocky. I mean, come on. ‘Marshmelons?’ Ugh! I take absolutely zero responsibility for that whole thing!”

  “But you said you mused it,” Leif pointed out.

  Thalia heaved a put-upon sigh across their own campfire. “Yes, fine, but I didn’t write the thing, I only inspired! There’s a centuries-old Muse saying: ‘You can gas up the car, but you can’t make ’em drive it well.’”

  “Centuries old?”

  “Mm, we were all a little puzzled about that before the invention of the internal combustion engine, I can tell you. But that’s why I usually try to keep comedy and sci-fi separate, even if I do them both. It’s like chocolate cake and lasagna. A chef can know how to make both; he can even make them in the same meal, but if he tries to mix them up in the same bowl it’s an atrocity against the palate. Same thing with handling both genres, except not really because sometimes it turns out really well. Like Douglas Adams? Oh, now there’s a man that got it! But the genres don’t combine nearly so well all the time, not always, which is the point I’m trying to make, and how did we get on this, anyway?”

  Leif started to answer.

  “Oh, yes, you asked your silly question,” she finished. “You see, this is what happens when I’m stressed and people take exception to my job description, I—I—I come up with inelegant analogies!” She clenched her eyes shut as if holding back tears. “Life is so unfair!”

  Tracy shot her an icy glare that Thalia missed. Apollo, lost as he was in thought beside her, didn’t appear to spot it either. Only Leif noticed, but the whole-heartedly sympathetic smile he’d let fly in Tracy’s direction merely drifted on past her. Tracy instead turned her attention back to her plate of beans that Apollo had somehow whipped up from thin air along with new robes for Thalia and the rest of their current camping gear. Leif had wondered at the choice of cuisine but figured it was at least setting-appropriate. Thalia wiped her eyes.

  It was suddenly too quiet for Leif’s liking. “So along the lines of comedy and sci-fi not mixing well,” he tried, “did you have anything to do with Jar Jar B—”

  “Oh!” Thalia shrieked. “Oh, don’t you dare! I am so frelling tired of taking abuse for that! That was not my fault! How many times do I have to say it?”

  “Would you two shut up already?” Tracy snapped.

  Thalia nodded, going on. “Yes, yes, exactly, shut up about it! One little annoying comic character and people just—Look, for every word that combined comedy and sci-fi well, there’s another entire work that just fails to do the same thing—”

  “Hyperbole,” Apollo muttered before returning to his thoughts.

  “Yes, of course it’s hyperbole, Apollo. Hello? Muse? But I am not going to sit here and be called to task for every single thing that exists—”

  Tracy dropped her plate to the dust. “For crying out loud, do we have to listen to—”

  “—for every single thing that failed to live up to some geek’s expectations, the majority of which I didn’t have anything to do with anyway, because— my gods!” A tiny sob burst from Thalia
’s throat. “I mean, you don’t know what it’s like! Have you been on the Internet? And all I can do is work with what talent the writer—” She gasped for a breath, tears glazing her eyes. She wiped them, staring at the moisture on her fingers. “Now look what you’ve done! I’m crying! I can’t do this, I can’t have this conversation when I’m stressed!”

  “You’re stressed?” Tracy yelled. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a hell of a day! I find out that not only is my father a god, but that he’s a murdered god and I’m part of some inter-Olympian strife that I wasn’t even aware of yesterday, plus I’ve got this raging urge for justice that I can’t explain—though it’s possibly because of this amulet that I can’t seem to throw away—and on top of that, a good friend—or colleague, anyway, even if he was a bit of a jackass—is dead because of it all!” She was on her feet now, pointing at Apollo. “And on top of that, he won’t give us any answers about anything because he says he has to think!”

  “Well, thank you for the recap!” Thalia yelled back. “You’re not also going to mention how Apollo used his power to help us travel faster on foot so that we’re closer to Vegas than the spot you camped at last night? What about how the doctor had enough of this whole business and decided to wait back with Jason’s body for your cameraman? Or that maybe we’re all a little on edge and you need to lighten up, especially because Jason died a hero and is at this moment very likely to be happily cavorting in the Elysian Fields of the afterlife, and how isn’t that bloody fantastic?!”

  “Thalia,” Apollo muttered. It didn’t stop her.

  “There now! Everyone’s all caught up! You’d think this was the second half of a two-part TV episode or something! Why not just trot out the ol’ standby ‘As you know’ phrase just to round it out?” She thrust her hands onto her hips. “As you know, Tracy Wallace, I’m Thalia the Muse, and we’re arguing over the campfire because we’re both a little consternated!”

  Everybody got that?

  “Thalia,” Apollo repeated. It still didn’t register.

  “And I don’t like being consternated! I’m the Muse of comedy! I’m supposed to be laughing and happy and light-hearted!” She flung her fingers through her hair with a scream. “Does this look light-hearted to you?!”

  “Thalia!”

  The Muse turned a radiant smile on Apollo. “What? I’m fine, I’m just fine. Done thinking yet? Who wants more beans? Isn’t legumes a funny word?” She sat back down, fixed her hair in a single motion, and batted her eyelashes.

  Leif just blinked. Tracy clutched at the amulet, as if ready to snipe back. Apollo cut her off with a raised hand and a single, “Please.” Tracy turned her glare on him a moment before forcing it back.

  “It would be so helpful to me,” she managed, “if we could talk about this. I’ve had all the running and confusion I can take. I know you’re a god, and that’s all really great, but . . .”

  Apollo nodded. “I’ve not yet said much because I’m not sure I know much more than you do.”

  “And he’s been thinking,” added Thalia.

  “And I’ve been thinking. But to correct you on a minor point, I am not a god.”

  Tracy scowled. “What’s that, some sort of semantics thing?”

  “I knew it!” Leif said. “What is it? You guys are some sort of super-advanced other-dimensional beings or something?”

  “. . . Apollo?” Thalia whispered.

  The not-god put a hand on the muse's shoulder. Probably he meant it to be reassuring but it didn’t seem to succeed. “I was a god. I’m not anymore. I . . . diminished.”

  Thalia gaped wider. “You what? Apollo, are you insane? I mean, I thought I sensed something, but I figured it was just some kind of power shift or some nonsense to do with Ares or a sort of gastrointestinal thing or—”

  “It was necessary.”

  Tracy’s frown deepened. “Someone’s going to explain to me what that means.”

  “I voluntarily renounced my godhood,” Apollo told her. “My power, my standing, all are now less than they were.”

  “So, like, you were a general and now you're a private?” Leif asked.

  “More like a major. I still retain some of my former power. But yes, your analogy is fairly apt.”

  Tracy's frown remained entrenched. “Voluntarily?”

  “As I said, it was necessary.”

  “Yes, listen up,” Thalia whispered, still in stunned awe. “And, um . . . well let’s just start with question number one here, which I think would be something like, oh golly, let’s just see . . . Why?”

  “It is forbidden for one god to attack another.”

  “Well, I never heard of that.”

  “Neither are you a god, Leif Karlson.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  Tracy whacked him in the arm. “Don’t interrupt.”

  Leif rubbed the spot. That was going to bruise. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t resist a good dig.

  Apollo went on. “After Zeus’s murder, Poseidon made it law to comfort the pantheon. And likely himself. Breaking that law made me a fugitive or at the very least wanted back on Olympus to explain. Then, the moment I explain why I did it—to protect you—our secret would be out, and those who killed Zeus or simply don’t want him back would have me in their grasp.”

  “Couldn’t you just make up some story?” Tracy asked.

  Thalia laughed.

  “He’s a bad liar,” Leif explained.

  Apollo nodded. “And no matter what Poseidon’s ruling, Ares— whom I now believe to be one of those responsible for the murder— knows at least some of what we’re up to. He and any coconspirators could try to corner me on Olympus and keep me away from you.”

  “What’s any of this got to do with diminishing?”

  “Be patient,” Thalia scolded. “Exposition. This sort of thing has to unfold with gravitas!”

  “No patience,” Tracy said. “Answers.”

  Leif whacked her, but gently, and grinned. “Then stop interrupting.”

  “That glare she’s giving you, Leif?” Thalia said. “That’s how you know she doesn’t think it’s funny.”

  Apollo cleared his throat, snapping their attention back. “With a little concentration, a god can locate any god of a younger generation. Poseidon, Hera, Hades, any of them could find me no matter my location. Even if I hadn’t broken a law, odds are at least one of them is in league with Ares. In fact, I’m certain that’s the case.”

  “So . . .”

  “So the rules are very explicit,” Apollo said. “They can locate any god of a younger generation. If I am no longer a god, then I can no longer be located.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No, Ms. Wallace, I am not.”

  “I told you,” Leif whispered. “It’s easy to tell.”

  “The rules really are that screwy sometimes,” Thalia said.

  “They can no longer automatically locate me, and what power I have left helps me to cloak myself from the ways they might find a lesser being. Assuming they’re looking for me, I’m hopeful it will take them a while to figure out what I’ve done. We Olympians are often ruled by a fear of losing power, some more than others. It may not even occur to them that I’ve diminished voluntarily. Such a thing would be exceedingly unpalatable to them. Not that I’m exactly thrilled about it myself.”

  “Oh, Apollo.” Thalia sighed with a hug at his arm. “What if they strip your portfolio from you entirely? What will you do then? For that matter, what will I do then? I mean, they’ll have to get someone to replace you, and on top of everything else, I do not want to be breaking in a new boss! What if it’s Ares? Or, gods, what if it’s Hades? He’s got no imagination at all and I am not going down to the underworld every single time I have to—” She squeaked and clapped a hand over her mouth in alarm.

  “I don’t know,” Apollo told her. “That’s somewhere toward the bottom of our current list of problems. I still have power beyond any mortal, and I’ve ga
ined us some breathing room.”

  Leif wondered just what that remaining power entailed and how easily Ares might beat him—or even kill him—if he showed up again. Was Apollo even immortal anymore? Though Zeus had been immortal, and that hadn’t helped him much, had it? Or so went the story. It occurred to Leif that all he had to go on at this point was anyone’s word. Tracy he trusted, but the others? Well, how could he be sure?

  Then again, if Apollo and Thalia were lying to him, all of this would have to be one heck of an elaborate snow job, all for Leif’s benefit. Leif couldn’t think of why he would warrant the trouble. Then again (again), didn’t things like this always have a twist at the end, even if the twist made no sense?

  Hey, he’d gone a while without saying anything, hadn’t he?

  Tracy beat him to it. “So you’ve bought us some time—and I suppose I should thank you for that, as dubious as this loophole sounds—but what now?”

  “Tell me again about the vision,” Apollo said.

  She sighed. “Fine. For the third time . . .” Tracy related it once more, as she’d done when she first woke up, and as she’d done as they’d fled from Ares’s unconscious body. Leif hadn’t noticed it being so clipped and snarky the first two times.

  “A living weapon,” Apollo said.

  “I figured that was obvious the first time,” said Leif.

  “I may be without godhood, but I am not without pride. Show some respect.” Apollo went silent, presumably thinking. Again. Leif wondered if the not-god would be doing that for the rest of the night, but he didn’t make them wait nearly so long this time. “At the very least, it’s useful to know that Zeus’s death was not attributable to an ability that one of the pantheon has gained, nor a martial weapon easily wielded.”

  “Not useful enough for my father,” Tracy said. “You haven’t heard of anything like it before?”

  “Our father,” Apollo said. “And no. If any of the Olympians knew of such a thing, the fear it would cause with its very existence . . .”