Zeus is Dead

by Michael G. Munz

  “So your advice is either to gather allies and go in force, or to not gather allies and go it alone.”

  “And wait for a dramatic moment.”

  Zeus frowned. “You could have simply said you have no idea.”

  “I have an idea! I have lots of ideas!” The mortal shifted uncomfortably under Zeus’s expectant watch. “I just don’t know which one’s right. I’ll tell you this for sure, though: there’s got to be some sort of twist coming. Or some final last-minute betrayal.”

  “Really.”

  “Definitely. Like, I don’t know, someone’s actually someone’s father, or Hades is really Apollo, or maybe Ares is actually on your side. Stuff like that always happens. Just watch for it, even if it’s some minor point from earlier that turns out to play a major part in everything. Or maybe Buddha shows up in a super-powered divine attack helicopter with a clone army in tow. That would kick ass.”

  There were so many things wrong with that last statement that Zeus chose to ignore it completely. As for the rest . . .

  “Vague warnings and lists of things that may or may not happen are what put me here in the first place,” Zeus grumbled. Perhaps it was too much to hope that this mortal could be so grand an asset. Though he was right about needing allies, even a blinded man could see that.

  The problem was that all the major Olympians deserved his wrath, even those not actively involved in his death. Every single one swore an oath of loyalty to Zeus, an oath broken when they ignored the crime of his murder and raced over his still-cooling corpse to throw down his decree of withdrawal. If there was one thing Zeus could not abide, it was an oath-breaker. (As it happens, there were many things Zeus could not abide, those things numbering among them chastity belts, nosy wives, and those weird hairless cats. Yet oath-breakers topped the list, so the statement stood.) Every single Olympian knew this. Who, then, would join him, knowing their eventual reward would be punishment?

  Apollo would; through his previous efforts, Apollo already numbered among Zeus’s allies and would, therefore, be spared for his loyalty. Yet Apollo alone was not enough, especially diminished. Furthermore, the other Olympians had betrayed him once. What guaranteed that they would not betray him again, perhaps—just as Leif theorized—even before this business was finished? Though Zeus loathed admitting it, he was fallible. He might inadvertently recruit one of those who’d killed him, only to be betrayed anew at a key moment and cast into Tartarus while he was weak, so the usurper could raise themselves up as the new ruler. In the time since his resurrection, Zeus had considered the possibility that only one option may remain, given the stakes.

  He might have to flush the whole blasted pantheon.

  Apollo could stay, of course. And perhaps Aphrodite, about whom Zeus was still uncertain. The others would have to go.

  Zeus returned his attention to Leif. “While your advice lacks a kernel of usefulness, mortal, you may continue to earn my gratitude— and a good word with my daughter—via other means.”

  “What other means?”

  “I require a loyal liaison between myself and another group of mortals who are working on something that may help me. We were in contact prior to my death—something of a long-shot contingency, you might say. As the grant funding ought to still be valid, I can only assume they continue their efforts. Swear an oath to serve me, and I shall make you my priest so that you may contact me telepathically.”

  “I’m not arm-wrestling immortals or slaying dragons or anything like that, am I?”

  “For the time being, I simply require someone who won’t attract attention, unlike myself.” Zeus also figured that Poseidon may have remembered Zeus’s passing mention of this particular project and could be keeping an eye on it. Were that the case, Poseidon would either not notice Leif at all or spring a trap on Leif in Zeus’s stead. Zeus obviously preferred the former, but the latter would at least give him valuable information.

  The mortal considered Zeus’s offer. “Meals are covered in this deal, right? I’m a little low on funds and that climb took a lot out of me.”

  Zeus nodded and fabricated a steak gyro.

  “All right, fine, I’ll do it.” Leif took a bite and asked before he’d even swallowed, “Where am I going?”

  “Switzerland. Have you heard of the Large Hadron Collider at CERN, mortal?”

  “You know, I’m getting a little tired of all you guys calling me ‘mortal.’”

  “Yes, mortal, I can see how that could get annoying.” Zeus smirked. “Should you succeed, I shall call you that no more.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Wheat is one of my favorites—so versatile, so abundant! How rewarding it is to toil in the fields; reap the benefits of a good, honest harvest; and then use a modest portion to make flour for cake! Everybody enjoys cake!”

  —Demeter, 2010 Farming Almanac

  AS ZEUS EXPECTED, the other Olympians indeed sensed his resurrection, and on Olympus the effect was akin to kicking over a hill of egotistical, self-serving ants. Some argued over strategy; others hunkered down and tried to look busy. Many did both at the same time or switched between the two courses depending on the moment and the look of the sky. Poseidon’s initial attempts at organizing everyone—or anyone— against Zeus failed like a man trying to build a house of cards in a stampede of burning cattle. The question of what to do with Apollo, now captured, was lost amid the chaos. He was chained in the Olympian cellars next to some abandoned exercise machines and forgotten.

  Or at least mostly forgotten. When Zeus failed to return to Olympus immediately, the chaos gradually turned to hushed waiting. Some of the gods moved among the rest and sowed further plots, alliances, and contingencies. Others hunkered down to scan the horizons for lightning storms. Yet someone did, finally, think to pay Apollo a visit.

  Apollo lifted his head at the scrape of the opening door.

  “Wakey-wakey!” rejoiced Demeter, entering. “And how are we feeling today?”

  Apollo tugged demonstratively at the god-forged chains that held him fast to the wall. “I’ve had better days. And you?”

  “Just peachy, and thank you for asking, dear. Oh, but I’m sorry you have to stand. Your tootsies must be tired! Soon I’ll knit you some nice, warm slippers!”

  “I’d like that,” Apollo said. Humoring Demeter was usually the best option. He nevertheless added, “Though letting me out would be even more helpful.”

  She clucked her tongue. “Oh, now that’s not really my decision, is it? But you’re a good nephew; I’ll have another chat with that Poseidon and see what he says. I just don’t understand why he’s all up in a snit about everything, striding about Olympus with a big puss on his face like everyone else now that Zeus is back. You’d think he’d be excited to see his brother again, but everyone’s just got bees in their bonnets about how he’s going to come back angry and start fighting, the poor darlings.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Oh, Zeus does have a temper, now doesn’t he? But worry is wasted energy, I always say. So I got to thinking, what makes anything better? A big, scrumptious apology cake made from fresh soft wheat! Which reminds me! Artemis, bring it in, dear!”

  At that, Apollo’s sister came through the door, smiling sadly in greeting. She pushed a gold and ivory dessert tray topped with a wide doily, atop which sat a sheet cake decorated with broad cursive strokes of white icing on chocolate that read: “Sorry we had to lock you up, Apollo!” Traces of smeared white along the cake’s outer edges seemed to indicate previous lettering that had been scraped off.

  Apollo beamed at his sister. “I didn’t think they’d let you see me. I heard about the oath.”

  “I’m forbidden from coming here in order to speak with you,” Artemis explained with a wan smile. “So officially I’m only helping Demeter with the cake. Any talking to you now is purely incidental, then, is it not?”

  “Thank the Fates for loopholes,” Apollo said.

  Demeter clapped her agreement,
adding, “Over and under, around and about, that’s what shoe-tying’s all about!”

  Neither twin corrected her.

  “Would you care for some cake?” Demeter asked. “It used to say, Welcome back, Zeus, and sorry you got murdered! But now, of course, it says this. Zeus still hasn’t shown up yet, so I redecorated before it got stale. I thought it might cheer you up a bit.”

  “I expect he’d love some,” Artemis answered for him, “but he’ll need to be freed if he’s to eat it.”

  “Don’t worry, dear. We’ll feed it to him. You’re not too grown up for that, are you, Apollo? Let me take that knife; I don’t want you kids hurting yourselves!” She snatched the cake knife from Artemis and went to cut.

  Artemis moved closer to whisper. “Did any of your visions include this, Brother?”

  He ignored the rebuke. “No sign of Zeus at all yet?”

  “No, and the longer he takes to show up, the weaker he looks in everyone’s eyes and the less they fear him. I’ve heard some gods wonder if he’ll try any wrath at all.”

  “Trust me. He will.”

  “I can tell when you’re lying, Apollo.”

  “It’s not a lie!” He gritted his teeth and had to make an effort to keep his voice down. “Fine, so I’m uncertain. But about some things I was right: Ares killed Zeus and now I know he had help. Dionysus, Hermes, possibly Hades, and one of the goddesses I’m not sure about.”

  “I know. I’d not heard anything about Hades and a goddess, but the others admitted their involvement. That’s secondhand, though.”

  Demeter remained busy with the cake, dividing the entire thing into far more pieces than necessary.

  “Now they admit it?” Apollo whispered. “Why?”

  Artemis shook her head. “I can’t. Some things I’ve been specifically ordered not to tell you.”

  “Then let me tell you what I know, and maybe you can—”

  She put her fingers to his lips. “No. If you tell me anything new, I’ll have to report it. I’m bound from helping.”

  “So you’re just making a social call?”

  “Don’t sound so annoyed!” she whispered. “If you’d trusted me enough to involve me fully, things might’ve worked out different!”

  “I was trying to protect you!”

  “Well done! I’ve only had to swear myself to Poseidon to save my own skin! Things could hardly be worse!”

  Demeter broke in before Apollo could answer. “Artemis dear, where are the forks?”

  “Lower shelf under the tray,” she answered without looking.

  “Oh, yes!”

  “How are we going to get out of this?” Artemis whispered.

  “I don’t know, but I’m not entirely without hope. Help me with Demeter.”

  “I don’t know that I can.”

  “Do your best?”

  “Here we are!” Demeter hurried over with two pieces and presented them proudly. “Cocoa-fudge with raspberry filling! It’s not quite as fresh as it could be, I fear, but I’m sure you don’t mind, do you?”

  “I’m just grateful you thought of me,” Apollo answered, at least thankful for the first visit he’d had in a few days. Now he simply needed to figure out how to use it to his advantage. “What about Zeus, Demeter?” he tried.

  Demeter offered him a forkful. “Don’t worry. I’ll bake him another after this.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  Demeter pushed the cake into his mouth. He’d have said more, but talking with one’s mouth full in front of Demeter tended to aggravate the goddess.

  “I just love cakes,” she went on. “They’re really one of the best uses for wheat and sugar. Aren’t crops marvelous?” She got another forkful of cake for him just as he swallowed the first, asking, “So, Apollo, you do intend to apologize to poor Ares, don’t you? Apologies make everyone feel better.”

  “I really think there’s more to it than that. Do you realize—?”

  Demeter shoved another bite into his mouth. “Oh, tish-tosh! Don’t be so stubborn. It’s just a little apology. You should play nice.”

  “Let him talk a little, Demeter,” Artemis tried.

  “He needs cheering!”

  Apollo swallowed and decided to switch tactics. “Speaking of playing nice, Demeter, do you know what’s become of Thalia?”

  “Oh, she’s fine, the poor darling. Back in with her sisters, though Poseidon still has them under house arrest. No chains, though.”

  “And Tracy?” he managed before the next bite invaded his mouth.

  “I’m sorry, dear, who?”

  Artemis only shook her head, perplexed.

  “Tracy Wallace? The mortal who was with me at the temple. You didn’t hear about that?”

  “No, I didn’t hear about any mortals. One of your little crushes?”

  Apollo frowned and tried to decide what it signified that Demeter knew nothing of Tracy. Either Hades, Hermes, and Ares had kept her a secret after she and Apollo were captured, or they’d killed her. There was also the possibility that she had escaped somehow, but that was about as likely as Ares writing decent poetry. If she was truly dead, would Zeus hold that against him? In any case, Apollo would be sorry to learn she’d come to such an end after displaying so much heroism.

  Artemis cleared her throat. “I expect I should go before you say anything further, Brother.” The unspoken words “that I’d have to report” hung plainly in the silence. Artemis said good-bye and, after a frustrated hug that the chains kept him from returning, turned to go.

  “Watch yourself,” he told her.

  “Likewise,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

  Apollo watched her go and wondered if Zeus would regard her oath to Poseidon as betrayal.

  “Demeter, about this mortal,” he began once she’d left, “I don’t suppose you could find out for me? Ask around? I’d like to know.”

  “Oh, so she is a crush!” Demeter beamed. “It’s so nice to see you’re dating again, a handsome, young god like you. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “I’d be glad for that. Might I also trouble you to carry a message to the Muses for me?”

  “Poseidon said not to, dear. I’m sorry. But I can ask him if he’d change his mind for you if you like. Oh, you’ve got a bit of frosting on your chin. Hold still!” She licked her thumb and wiped it off.

  He grimaced. “I doubt he’ll change his mind.”

  “Oh, he may, dear. You know what he’s like, ‘as swiftly changing as the sea,’ as they say. Though there was that whole Odysseus thing, I suppose, wasn’t there? But that only lasted, what, two decades? Two decades goes by like that!”

  “I fear Zeus will be back before then, Demeter. Why not just let me out now? Join me? Like you said, Zeus is going to be angry, and—with no dishonor to your baking—I don’t think a simple cake is going to appease him.”

  “Of course not! I’ve knitted a nice, thick sweater to go with it.”

  Apollo forced a smile. “Nevertheless. Some of the other gods murdered him, and I doubt he’ll be thrilled with how we all violated the Withdrawal the moment he was gone. I helped to bring him back; the only wise course is to side with me. Free me, and you help Zeus. You’ll be spared his wrath!”

  Demeter tugged away the next bite of cake she was about to offer. “It’s poor manners to threaten your Aunt Demeter, Apollo. Now say you’re sorry, or no more cake.”

  “Demeter, please. I’m warning, not threatening. For your own sake. And mine.” He shouldn’t have added that last part, but he couldn’t help himself.

  She sighed. “Oh, you boys and your silly theories! You’re all just being mean.”

  “Aunt, please! Some of the others are directly responsible for killing Zeus! For killing him! Are you comfortable knowing some of us can actually kill the others?”

  “Oh, I know. Ares, Dionysus and Hermes,” Demeter answered. “They told everyone yesterday.”

  “Not Hades or . . . anyone else?�
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  “No, no. Hermes simply came to me with Ares and Dionysus to ask if I’d side with them and the rest of the gods when Zeus gets here. He said some foolishness about how we all need to stand united under Poseidon because Zeus will be angry and want to toss us all in Tartarus.”

  It was a good strategy, Apollo considered. Though dethroned, Zeus would still be a force to be reckoned with. The remaining Olympians stood their best chance if they united, but fear and political maneuvering might very well keep them from doing so unless they were assured of victory. A god-killing weapon on their side might be just enough to provide that assurance. The timing of the conspirators’ confession gave them a way to turn their culpability into an asset and gain power without the others wishing to lynch them on principle.

  “But you told them no, right?” Apollo asked.

  “What I told him was that Poseidon is king now and I’d of course do whatever he says we ought to do.”

  “I suspect Poseidon will tell you to do whatever lets him keep his throne.”

  “Hush! All you worry-warts! Everything will work out; you’ll see. It’s just like that thing with the Titans. It worked out for the best for everyone.”

  “I daresay the Titans would disagree.”

  “Nonsense! The Titans went to live on a farm where they can run through the fields and chase rabbits all day!”

  Apollo sighed against the urge to correct her, choosing his battles. “And the fact that Ares, and the others, committed deicide doesn’t bother you at all?”

  “Oh, tsk, Apollo, of course it bothers me. It’s terrible manners, but Zeus got better, so there’s no harm done. If worst comes to worst, we might have to put Zeus down here with you just to give him a ‘time-out’ until he calms down, I suppose, but after that we’ll all be one happy family again.”

  “Or the others may try to kill him again! And after that, what’s to stop them from killing anyone else who stands in their way?”