by Kevin Hearne
“Go on,” Jupiter said. Hermes, who had been hovering safely above, floated down to Mercury’s chopped limbs and began squidging them onto the torso until they held and began to graft together.
“I’ll release the goddesses and Bacchus as well for nothing more than a sworn oath that they will not pursue vengeance against me or my associates. I want the same oath from all the Olympians, and you can have mine in return. I have demonstrated for millennia that I can control myself and not seek revenge for wrongs done against me, so I’d like to see you do the same.”
“That would give you permission to behave as you wished in the future if we promise not to pursue vengeance.”
“No. I’m asking for amnesty for my trespasses to date, not diplomatic immunity for the future. If I break my oath and mess with you, then I should be punished—though I hope we would talk before we let it get this bad again. By the same token, should any Olympians break their oaths, they can expect to disappear. But let’s not focus on what could go wrong. Things are wrong enough as it is. Let’s focus on what could go right. Your pantheon will be whole again and have an exciting new challenge coming in the form of Loki’s traveling horror show. You will win much good karma for helping the Norse. Also, if we win the fight up here in this part of the world, then your people in Greece and Italy are saved and so are you. If we lose, then it’s the kind of loss we won’t live to regret.”
I paused to let them respond. Jupiter didn’t speak to me, however. He stroked his beard contemplatively and spoke instead to Mercury. “You have heard his words. You know what is at stake. Will you, in exchange for your freedom and a similar pledge from the Druid, swear to hold the Druid and his associates blameless and seek no vengeance on them?”
Now that he was whole again—and perhaps because he’d had a small taste of what awaited him if he refused—Mercury had little problem agreeing to such an oath. At Mercury’s words, Zeus cast his eyes to Hermes and chucked his chin by way of a question. The oiled beard lifted up exuberantly as a result and then smacked wetly against his chest. Hermes nodded his assent, albeit grudgingly. He was uncommonly taciturn for a messenger.
“All right, Druid,” Jupiter said. “You have an agreement in principle thus far. I cannot speak for all the Roman gods, but I have some hope that I can persuade them.”
“The same applies to the Greeks,” Zeus added.
“Excellent. If you would not mind, I would like you to start by persuading Pan and Faunus. They are currently preventing me from shifting planes.”
“No,” Jupiter said. “If you are able to shift planes, then you will be able to abandon the huntresses and Bacchus.”
“I am in earnest and wish there to be peace between us. I won’t abandon these proceedings. But I must also have the ability to escape should any members of your pantheon choose to attack me before taking their oath. Think of this as your demonstration of good faith. Halt the pandemonium and I’ll render you the huntresses directly afterward.”
Zeus spoke to Hermes. “Where is Pan now?”
The messenger god’s eyes rolled up for a moment and then clinked back into place like slot-machine tumblers. “Here on this isle.” Interesting—and logical. Hermes was clearly able to locate any member of the pantheon he wished at any time, which would allow him to ferry messages. It would not be a far stretch to imagine that he could locate anyone he wished that way. If that were so, then perhaps the Olympians hadn’t been working with anyone in Tír na nÓg after all. Well, aside from that ambush in Romania. They could have simply followed Granuaile on their own and thus found me.
“Fetch him here immediately.” After glancing at Mercury, who was visibly improving but in no shape to fly yet, he added, “and if Jupiter agrees, Faunus too, wherever he is. All possible haste.”
Jupiter gave his consent to summon Faunus, and Hermes flitted away into the mist. We spent perhaps ten seconds simply staring at one another, which was nearly unbearable since I felt that Zeus’s persistent erection was also staring at everyone.
“You should really call a doctor if that lasts more than four hours,” I said, and instantly regretted it.
Both sky gods said, “What?” in unison, and I shook my head by way of telling them to never mind.
“If you’re wondering how long it will take them to get here,” Jupiter said, “it shouldn’t be longer than a few minutes.”
“That’s truth,” Zeus agreed. “Hermes is very quick about such things.”
“That’s reassuring to hear. Perhaps he will be able to bring the rest of the Olympians here and we can ratify the treaty this very day.”
Zeus gave a noncommittal shrug. “It depends on whether or not we are whole again. I will not summon them until Artemis is returned.”
“Nor I, until Diana and Bacchus are returned.”
“Fair enough. But will you do so if we continue to follow through on our promises and reach a new understanding?”
Zeus said, “I will. I wish to be a part of this battle against Loki and Hel.”
Jupiter did not verbalize his agreement but nodded.
Hermes returned with Pan first, who looked amused at our meeting more than anything else. Hermes disappeared into the mist to find Faunus next.
Pan required little persuasion to stop spreading pandemonium throughout England. The entire exercise for him had been one of mischief more than malice, and he’d never been particularly cheesed off about the temporary abduction of the dryads south of Olympus, since he preferred to frolic around Arcadia in any case. He simply liked to fuck with people, and Faunus had given him a great excuse to follow his fancy.
“It’s done,” he said in Greek, a half smile twisting his features. The horns peeking out through his hair were stubby things rather than the curled rams’ horns I’ve seen in some artist depictions, and his other goat bits were anatomically correct. “Do as you wish and live in peace so long as you leave me to do the same.”
“Gladly,” I said.
Faunus, when he arrived, took a bit more convincing. Some of those dryads had been his particular favorites.
“They’re perfectly healthy,” I reminded him, speaking in Latin. “And if Bacchus hadn’t persuaded you to spread pandemonium throughout Europe, it never would have been necessary for me to abduct them in the first place. He drew you into his personal conflict, and while I might question your judgment on that score, I don’t harbor any ill will against you or any dryad. I simply did what I had to do to escape Bacchus while doing as little real damage as possible.”
“Three months of worry about my dryads was pretty damaging,” he fumed.
“For that I am sorry. But you have caused me great personal hardship of late and may consider yourself avenged already. Can we exchange forgiveness and move forward in peace?”
Faunus clenched his fists and didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Jupiter and saw no sympathy in his hard eyes. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Yes,” he said.
My own shoulders relaxed. I hadn’t realized how tense they’d been. “Thank you. A moment while I check, if you please.”
Windsor Forest was an old wood and had been bound to Tír na nÓg long ago, though not by me. I put my hand to an alder tree and concentrated, searching for the tether that would allow me to shift away. It was there, strong and vibrant, waiting to take me wherever I wished. I breathed a soft sigh of contentment.
“Excellent,” I said. “I will bring the huntresses back and allow them the opportunity to end their hunt of me and my companions. If they refuse to end it, then I hope you will understand that I cannot release them.”
Neither of the sky gods had a problem with this, to my surprise. “On her own head be it,” Jupiter said.
I asked Albion to bring up Artemis first. When the rock and clay cleared away from her face, she was even more ready than before to swear an end to it all.
“Pride and arrogance led me to overstep my provenance,” she said, addressing me without prompting. “I should have been mor
e modest and attentive to my own responsibilities than to take another’s grievance as my own. I have lost my hounds and my dignity as a result.”
“Fairly spoken,” I said. I proposed the oath to her and asked her to swear it before Zeus, who stepped clearly into her view, boner and all. Artemis winced in disgust when she saw it pressing against the fabric he’d wrapped around his waist, but she swore the oath. I asked Albion to release her completely, and all the earth crumbled away from her body. Hermes descended to put her back together as he had done with Mercury. The Roman messenger had now healed sufficiently to stand, though he wasn’t quite ready to fly yet.
Diana was not nearly so ready to capitulate. She flatly refused, in fact, vowing instead to slay me and feed me to the crows before violating my bones in ways yet to be determined. Artemis implored her to reconsider, but Diana would have none of it. Jupiter even leaned on her a bit, demanding that she give up her hunt in the interests of Olympus. Diana suggested that he fornicate with Faunus. I probably shouldn’t have taunted her and kicked her head back in the Netherlands. And there was no telling what Flidais had said to her while I was blacked out.
Jupiter’s face purpled and he whipped his head around to me. “Do with her as you will, Druid,” he said. “I will fight for her no more, though I still wish to see Bacchus freed.”
I nodded thoughtfully, silently thanking her for making me seem reasonable by comparison, and then said, “Perhaps Diana will think better of her words if given sufficient time to mull them over. Shall we return here, say, once a month, to inquire whether she has changed her mind?”
“That is a noble idea, though I think it far too generous,” Jupiter said. “Once a decade should be sufficient.”
“I would rather be too generous than not in such cases.”
“As you wish.”
I almost laughed. Gods, not now, Oberon. It would be impolitic to show amusement as a cursing Diana was walled up in clay and rock once again and sent back into the earth to marinate in her frustration. I asked Albion to move her elsewhere, far away from this spot but remaining underground, and to keep her out of reach of anyone who might decide to attempt digging her up.
“And so we come to Bacchus,” I said. “I’m afraid that he is beyond conversation at the moment. He is deep in his madness, a rather murderous sort.”
Jupiter frowned. “How do you know? It’s been weeks since he disappeared.”
“I sent him to a land of slow time. It’s been weeks for us but a fraction of a second for him. As far as he knows, I just got finished kicking him in the chest. So when you pull him back here—and it will be you who does it, not me—he will be furious. Can you control him?” Jupiter assured me that he could. “And assuming that goes well—a dangerous assumption, I know—will you both call the rest of the Olympians here to cement our alliance against Loki and Hel?”
Zeus nodded enthusiastically and looked excited, and Jupiter agreed in more reserved tones.
“Just in case—should I be forced to leave—how do I contact you?”
Hermes looked up at my question and rose from the side of Artemis, who was mending quickly. “You can summon winds as a Druid, can you not?”
Thinking of Fragarach, I said, “To a limited extent, yes.”
“Summon a westerly wind, then,” Hermes said. “Invoke the names of Iris and myself, and speak to us as it blows past you. Zephyrus, god of the west wind and husband of Iris, will hear and tell us.”
“Fair enough.” I swiveled my head around to check on Flidais and Perun. “You might want to leave before I do this. He’s about ten gallons short of a keg, if you know what I mean.”
Flidais shook her head. “I wish to witness on behalf of the Tuatha Dé Danann.”
“All right,” I said. “Jupiter, I’m going to open a portal right here.” I traced my finger in a vertical circle, describing a hoop through which a circus animal might jump. “Bacchus will have his arms splayed toward you thusly.” I demonstrated by raising my arms forward and a bit out from the sides. “Reach in and pull him back through by his right arm, because his left one is broken. Do not put your leg or any other part of your body through the portal, or you risk being caught in the same slow timestream. I need you to do this as quickly as possible so that I can close the portal behind him, because it drains the earth to keep them open. Okay?”
“It shall be as you say.”
I checked everyone’s position before I began. The last thing I wanted was for someone to push me into the portal. But no one was trying to sneak up on my six.
Oberon, please go put one of your paws on that tree over there. If we have to bail on this thing, I want you to be ready.
Me too.
“Here we go,” I said, and created a binding between this plane and the Time Island where I’d kicked Bacchus. I scooted away to the side and headed for the tree, ready to shift away if necessary. Jupiter reached in and pulled out the personification of an unchained tantrum, green-veined and still roaring in rage.
Chapter 28
The Romans acted surprised when the god of madness would not be reasoned with. Bacchus threw Jupiter at Mercury—or tried to, anyway—because Jupiter was off balance and holding on too tightly to his arm. Jupiter didn’t let go, however, and pulled Bacchus down with him as Mercury scrambled out of the way. I closed the portal while they tumbled in the mist, Bacchus continuing to bellow his primal vocalizations over Jupiter’s loud demands that he calm down, until Jupiter managed to pin him on the ground.
But that was just the beginning, because then Bacchus twisted his head and saw me. His face began to cycle through several colors—pink, green, brown, purple—as he bared his teeth and let go with more decibels than I thought vocal cords could manage. The helicopters had turned away but could still be heard until Bacchus drowned them out.
My amulet thunked against my chest, and I wondered what he’d just tried to cast on me. One by one, the heads of Artemis, Mercury, Hermes, and Zeus all jerked as if someone had punched them in the face, but they didn’t look any different afterward, except perhaps a bit annoyed. Jupiter head-butted the back of Bacchus’s skull, driving Bacchus’s chin into the dirt, and bellowed at him to stop. He didn’t stop, though. He turned his head the other way and saw Flidais and Perun standing there without any magical wards except for fulgurites protecting them from lightning, and he flung at them the same spell of madness he had hurled at the rest of us. For that’s what happened: Flidais and Perun went mad and tried to kill everyone—including each other. Perun called down lightning, striking down both Hermes and Faunus, and Flidais drew knives that she had recovered from the assault on Diana and started laying about her, beginning with Perun. Had she been at 100 percent she might have ended him, but, damaged as she was, she got one knife into him before he batted her away to land nearby. She rose, saw Zeus, and charged him in a manner that wasn’t simply batshit but rather a whole cave full of batshit, eyes crazed and drool leaking out of her mouth. She’d already forgotten that she’d been fighting Perun; she would now attack whatever she saw first.
“I told you Bacchus was a dick!” I shouted. Jupiter made no sign that he had heard because he was still struggling to keep Bacchus contained. The demented eyes found me again and then fell off to my right side.
I wondered for the briefest moment what he was looking at, and then realized with horror what he intended. I spun around to my right, where my hound was waiting only three steps away to shift to Tír na nÓg, his paw on the tree as I’d instructed.
Oh, no. Oberon, stay with me—
My hound flinched and stepped back from the tree, and I couldn’t shift him away without that contact. Something changed in his eyes as his lips curled back from his teeth, his ears flattened, and he growled at me.
Oberon? Oberon, answer m
e. It’s Atticus.
He didn’t reply. I was getting nothing from him. The iron talisman around his neck hadn’t been powerful enough to stop the frenzy of Bacchus; if I wanted him truly protected I’d have to bind his aura to it like I had mine. The muscles bunched in his hind legs and my heart sank.
Oberon, no!
He leapt at my throat. I was able to sidestep, and we collided broadside as he passed. I scrambled for the tree in the few seconds I would have while he landed and turned to attack again.
Damn it, Oberon! I began to mentally shout his favorite words to him in hopes that it would shake him loose from the thrall of Bacchus. Sausage! Poodles! Snacks! Treats! Barbecue!
None of it helped. He bounded after me and I put the tree between us, which would slow him down a little bit but wouldn’t keep me free of his teeth for more than an extra second or two. Zeus must have thrown Flidais our way, because she landed behind me with a shriek and crunch of leaves. When she got to her feet she’d probably come after me, being the nearest thing she could kill, or else she’d attack Oberon and wouldn’t restrain herself. Bacchus had made a bollocks of everything, and Jupiter still hadn’t been able to get him to shut up.
Taking what I considered an acceptable risk, I squatted down next to the tree so that my right side was protected against the trunk, and held up my left forearm crosswise just below my chin. I didn’t have long to wait before Oberon barreled into me, taking my arm into his mouth in the instinctive strike at the throat and laying me out flat. His teeth sank deep, and he tore into it, shaking his head in an attempt to move the arm out of the way. In a moment he’d let go and dive in for the kill. I numbed the pain in my arm to keep my head clear.
I put my right hand on the trunk of the tree and found the tether to Tír na nÓg. Tearing my own forearm in the process, I yanked Oberon’s head toward the trunk so that he’d have contact with it—he certainly had contact with me already. I heard Flidais approaching, so far gone that she was not merely letting loose with a battle cry but actually ululating.
