by Kris Schnee
"Or god," Poseidon rumbled.
Cecrops' people huddled inside the fort. It still had gaps in the walls and there was hardly enough food. Voices murmured inside as the tribesmen reminded themselves of the stories of gods. It was never a good idea to displease any of them, in any way. Cecrops felt his whole body droop. He was doomed to offend one or the other. "I am only a man, unworthy to choose between such wonderful beings as yourselves. Perhaps you could ask the wolf tribe of the seven hills?" He hated the wolf tribe.
Poseidon laughed, making Cecrops cringe. "No, no, we're not here to hurt you, mortal. This is a blessing! Be glad. Here is my gift." He reached toward the sea and summoned forth a massive golden trident, which he hurled past Cecrops. The man threw himself to the ground. He heard a noise behind him and the land shook with an earthquake. His hands clawed at the dirt to hold him steady. At last the world rumbled to a stop, and he could stand. The god hadn't meant to hit him, but even their carelessness was dangerous!
A fountain suddenly burbled to life a hundred yards inland. Sprays of shimmering water shot up from the ground and formed winding gullies as they traced a path to the sea. The flow lapped against the fort's foundation and eroded one edge of it.
Tribesmen peeked over the walls to look upon the gods. Athena let the mortals admire her, and casually called forth a host of spirit owls to attend her and take notes.
Cecrops walked toward the spring to inspect it. The ground shook again, and he sprang back. The eroded dirt reshaped under a further touch of magic, becoming a pool of intricate blue marble with sculpted dolphins all around it. Vines grew near where the trident had struck and filled the air with the scent of flowers. Cecrops approached the fountain with reverence, knelt, and cupped his hands to taste the water of the gods. And then he spat it out. "Salty!"
"Is it not wonderful?" said Poseidon, too close behind him.
Cecrops startled, spun around and tried to keep from touching the god. He quickly wiped the water from his mouth and forced a smile. "Of course, your greatness! You never know when a coastal settlement will need a new source of saltwater, after all." He tried to add a chuckle.
Athena had her owls yank Poseidon's trident from the fountain's edge and hand it back to him. "It's symbolic," she said. "You know -- naval power, good sailing weather, not having the smell of rotting fish blow through your city?"
"Indeed!" the sea god said. "Will you choose me, then?"
The goddess of wisdom said, "Let me show you something you can actually figure out how to use." She snapped her elegant fingers and the owls planted a glowing seed in the earth. The land rumbled as though the sea-god had struck it again, but only in one spot. A plant burst up from the soil, and then another and another, swarming over Cecrops and tearing at his flesh. He turned and ran from the massive tangle of branches.
"Stop, fool!" Athena said, and Cecrops halted. "They're plants. Mortals are afraid of shrubs now?"
Even fruit could be dangerous in the gods' hands. Cecrops brushed his torn clothes and the scratches on his legs, with fingers caked with dirt. Saltwater stung his wounds. The plants were scraggly trees bristling with green berries of some kind. "What are these for, your radiance?" he said.
"My latest invention," said the goddess. "I call them 'olive trees'. They'll give you food, oil, wood, and shade. Easy to use, and they'll grow wonderfully in this climate." An owl nudged her and handed her a scroll. She glanced at it, scowling. "Yes, yes, I know. Mortal, wait a century before planting any in the lands that were blasted in last decade's duel between Aphrodite and Hades. If you don't, there may be a slight problem with death tentacles. So! Surely you'll choose my gift?"
Cecrops' blood ran cold. Doom. "Please, your greatnesses, do not force me to choose."
"That's why we're here!" said Poseidon, leaning on his trident. He had a smile on his face and a bit of seaweed in his teeth. "Isn't this contest better than our having another war of demigods or another of Zeus' sprees?"
"Then when you punish me, could you please at least turn me into something pleasant? An owl, a dolphin, something not likely to be eaten by sunset?" He would miss his wife and children, but maybe he could visit them in animal form. It would be a light punishment by the gods' standards. He thought of the hunter who saw Artemis nude by sheer bad luck and was turned into a deer to be slaughtered by his own hounds. Then there was the weaver who claimed to have more skill than Athena here, and was turned into a spider; and there were women who'd had the hubris to say no to Zeus. The gods were big on punishing hubris in mortals; they seemed to find it everywhere.
Athena lowered her cloud nearly to the ground so she could fix her cruel eyes on him and contradict them with a dazzling smile. Cecrops' heart beat quickly. Athena was beautiful to the eye if not the heart. She said, "We won't get angry at you, dear mortal. We seek to be your benevolent patron gods. Now choose."
Cecrops turned his gaze away from those green eyes and tried to think. He remembered his people, watching from the walls. If he was doomed, he could at least wrangle as much benefit as possible from this situation. He said, "My people need a generous protector. Which of you will swear to let my people keep the gift you've offered me, if I choose the other? And not to curse it or anything of that sort?"
"You would want to keep my olive trees even if you chose the saltwater drinking fountain?" Athena said. "Of course you would. Fine. You may keep my gift regardless of what you decide."
Poseidon tugged at his long beard of sea-foam. "I make the same offer, then. But you haven't fully understood my gift." They were still standing by the spring. "Come forth!" he said to it, and pointed forcefully with his trident. One of the barbs tore Cecrops' sleeve and nicked his arm; a drop of blood sprayed into the fountain and probably did something that would become a legend in its own right.
The human staggered back, clutching the wound, and saw that it was only a scratch. "I should be grateful," he muttered.
"Indeed!" said Poseidon, who hadn't noticed what he'd done. "Now you can see the full potential of what I offer." He drew Cecrops' gaze to the fountain, where something was rising up. The water had become floating mist, and was shaping itself into a raging beast! Cecrops tried to run, but a huge godly hand yanked him painfully back and made him watch. The monster molded itself into flesh and muscle, hard hooves and deep black eyes, towering over him and ready to stomp him flat. At the last moment it reared to one side and crashed its hooves down into the fountain instead of Cecrops' skull. Water splashed everywhere. It soaked the garden and Cecrops' torn, bloodied, dirty clothes.
"Behold! I give you: the horse!"
Cecrops shivered and spat out saltwater. "A guardian monster? Some kind of giant goat?"
"Monster? Ha! This beast and its kin will serve you as bearers of burdens, drawers of plows, pullers of chariots. Your descendants will hardly know what an onager is. And those little donkeys you mortals have pale in comparison. You won't need them anymore; you can kiss your ass goodbye!"
"Indeed," said Cecrops.
Athena rolled her eyes. "No, Poseidon, you can't cheat. The rule is one gift each."
"Which is what I did. Horses are the gift; the fountain is a fancy wrapper."
"Liar. What if I made the olives cure diseases?"
Cecrops said, "I wouldn't object."
Both gods looked at him and bellowed. "Choose!"
Cecrops had managed to annoy them after all. The gifts were good, though. Sea power and some sort of domesticated animal that would terrify his enemies and work in his farms; trees that would feed his people and warm their houses. As horrible as his own fate might be, his people would have the potential for greatness. Asking the gods to refrain from punishing him would probably be futile, but maybe he could turn their anger against each other.
He coughed into one wet, dirty fist. "Your greatnesses, I'm impressed by both your gifts and humbled that you'd both seek to be my people's patron. I have an idea for resolving your dispute about the rules of your wager. My lord Poseidon,
what if you keep your offer to include the horses, but my lady Athena is allowed to change your gift in some way? Surely she will improve it, and I will have to weigh her additional generosity when choosing between you."
What would happen, Cecrops figured, was that Athena would sabotage Poseidon's gift instead of improving it. Both gods had promised to let him keep the gifts, but he couldn't count on that either. He would go with the olives, accept Athena, name his settlement 'Athens', probably get transformed into a fish and eaten, and die knowing that his people had gotten a good deal. He'd have let Poseidon's anger crash down on one puny mortal, and Athena's pettiness onto Poseidon's gift. A victory for his tribe, at least. Maybe his people would build a statue for him.
Athena grinned sweetly. "I have just the improvement in mind. Deal."
"What is it?" asked the sea god. "Horses that eat babies? Horses that come in ridiculous colors and sing all the time?" It seemed that he expected sabotage too.
The goddess of wisdom turned that smile on him. "Why would I do something so horrible? I want to show my benevolence, after all. Do we have a deal?"
There was a rumble like an undersea earthquake, deep in Poseidon's chest. "Fine. Yes."
"Very well," said Athena. "I was thinking that while such a noble beast has its uses, it's intimidating to the very people who'd be using it. Therefore, little mortal, I suggest the following revision..."
The goddess beckoned to the fountain. The water, already enchanted, reared up into the shape of another ghostly horse of mist. But this one floated in midair, whipping toward Cecrops. He stepped back, tripped, and hit his head on a rock. The wave flung itself at him. He cried out. The water shoved its way down his throat and grabbed him about the waist like some horrible leech.
He wasn't sure when he stopped gasping for air and screaming. The water had washed over him, fled his lungs, and lifted him into the air. Now the ghostly, misty shape of the horse hovered around and below him. Cecrops felt the blob of enchanted water as though it were flesh, a set of four hooved legs and a long muscular body extending behind him, with a tail like a waterfall.
Athena murmured like a lover from close beside him, so that Cecrops staggered -- on four legs -- to get away from her. "I propose to solidify this invention of Poseidon's, and make it part of you. That's sensible, isn't it? You and your people will each have all that brawn he likes so much, and great stature." She frowned as though thinking belatedly of something. "Of course, you would be part animal, and always have that hairy hide. But it'd still be to your advantage, whether you're facing spears in battle or pulling plows in the fields." An owl on her shoulder gave him a predatory glare, as though both eager and able to grow to a dozen times its size and devour him.
Cecrops tried to calm himself. He could feel the tail flicking behind him, under his control, and when he stepped forward there was a sense of might and speed at his command, a beast's strength added to his own.
"That's sabotage!" said Poseidon. "You know mortals don't like being changed."
"It's a logical improvement on your gift, oh wet one. Only silly fear would make this mortal turn it down, unless my gift really is better."
The man gaped. He felt his breath come from a new and greater set of lungs like bellows. The horse-body around him wasn't quite real, yet, still rippling like water. He understood the goddess's ploy. "Improve" the gift in such a way that it would strike him as monstrous, too invasive, a constant reminder that his humanity had been touched and violated by the gods.
What the goddess hadn't fully considered was that he might like the new form. Prometheus, the defiant and tormented god, had taken pity on Man by giving him one gift, a share of the gods' mysterious fire. And when the gods took revenge not just on him but on Man, their idea of punishment had been to create Woman and blame everything on her. Cecrops rather liked Woman.
He stood battered and bleeding, half-drowned and humiliated, all by the gods' attempts at friendliness. If they had maneuvered themselves into offering another gift -- one that would make his own body powerful and swift -- then he'd be a fool to refuse.
He said at last, "Both of your gifts are wonderful, and your generosity a thing to be admired at a respectful distance. Our people shall burn sacrifices for both of you and if you wish, build temples to you in our city. If I must choose one of you as a patron, though -- and I intend no disrespect, as I must choose one or the other -- then I will take Poseidon for my lord and protector."
"What?" shrieked Athena. "But his gift is a monstrous thing! A beast-man's shape!"
"Tough luck," said the sea god, patting her on the shoulder and squashing an owl. "I can see it now: Poseidonia, seat of a mighty empire of the plains and seas. Taking Syracuse where mere men would have failed; holding off arrogant armies in the east and an upstart wolf-tribe empire in the west. It will be glorious! Athena, you may solidify the enchantment."
Athena gave Poseidon a look that would quite literally have turned Cecrops to stone, had it been aimed at him. It was said that she had inherited the power of Medusa. The frightful expression faded quickly and she was back to her dignity as a benevolent maiden of knowledge. She smiled at Cecrops, though her eyes didn't match the smile. The magic struck Cecrops again and made him shudder. The water around him boiled away, burning him, and became tortured, seared flesh. After seconds of agony Cecrops found himself huddled on the ground, blinking away tears. He stood slowly to look himself over. The watery outline had become real. There was a horse's body melded to what had been his own. His muscles ached to practice, to dash for miles across the coasts of Attica or perhaps all the way to Marathon. With a beast's strength and a human's endurance, it felt like there was nothing he could not do. There were shouts of surprise and terrified, tentative wonder from inside the stockade. Cecrops saw someone staggering back up to the walls, and the shape of a horse's flank beside him. Long, fuzzy ears stood out from the man's head. It seemed they had all been transformed into these half-horse creatures.
Cecrops stared backwards at his own tan, hairy hide. He felt the thick mane that ran from his suddenly full head of hair and down his back. Young and mighty again! "Thank you," he said to Poseidon, in a moment of sincerity.
"You will thank me with your mighty deeds and sacrifices!"
"Yes, my lord." Cecrops attempted a four-legged bow, and then another to Athena.
Athena's hands dug into her robes like talons. "Very well! Enjoy your new god, mortal. And --"
Poseidon interrupted, pointing with his trident at the fountain. "And this very fountain, this magical spring with its beautiful marble, shall become the heart of a glorious temple to you, maiden of wisdom!"
Athena looked at it with covetous eyes. Cecrops admitted that it truly was a work of art. The sea god neglected to remind her of how poorly a saltwater fountain by the sea fit the theme of a wisdom goddess. "Make it glorious, mortal. Good day to you!" She vanished in a blast of feathers that whipped past Cecrops and scratched his skin.
Poseidon grinned hugely. "There; how is that for my first act as your protector? She even forgot to take back the olive trees." He leaned closer and whispered, "Do build her the temple, though."
"I will, my lord."
Poseidon stepped back, and the sea washed forward to lap around his ankles. Cecrops looked down and stared. There was water around hooves... hooves that were part of his body. "What am I, now?" said Cecrops to himself.
"I shall call you 'kentauroi'," said the sea god. "A new name for a new people. Go to them and congratulate them on having a patron!"
Slowly at first, then faster as he grew confident, Cecrops trotted away from the god and toward the gates of his settlement. Their plans would have to change along with their bodies. They had wondrous new might. There were two temples to erect, and farms and armies to rethink.
And with his closest friends, the first centaur started to plan how their grandchildren might one day march on high Olympus, and hurl down the gods.
Ivan and the Black Riders
>
Ivan had severed necks before, but this kill made his hand tremble on the axe. The dog's head thudded to the obsidian office's floor, eyes facing him and still filled with unquestioning love.
Vladimir, the Dragonlord's man, smiled. "Good. You're willing to follow orders. Go on up to meet your new master. Bring the head; we'll clean up the rest." He signed a scroll and offered it to Ivan.
Ivan's wrinkled hand twitched with an urge to bury the axe in Vladimir's skull for demanding this one little proof of loyalty. He clenched his teeth and set the blade down, taking the paper instead.
"I understand perfectly," said Vladimir. "Many of our recruits have mixed feelings. But your pet is in a better place, now, and no longer suffering. What's done is done, and miracles await you in our master's cave. Don't waste this chance that you've bought."
Ivan wanted to make the man care, to wipe the smile off his face. He looked one last time at his dog's grin. He murmured a prayer, picked up Laika's blood-slick head, and turned away to climb the long mountain trail.
* * *
The cave's guards weren't human. Ivan froze, looked at the wolfish muzzles peeking out under their hoods, and felt the weight of the head in his hand. The guards only sniffed, making puffs of breath in the mountain air. Ivan held out the scroll. The wolf-men glanced at it, then stepped aside.
Ivan hobbled into the cavern and was instantly warm. The walls looked like they had been gouged by claws and melted smooth. A forge's glow lit the end of the tunnel. No, not a forge. Like a work in progress by some mad smith, the famous dragon seethed with red light between iron-dark scales. The Dragonlord stood on all fours without need for a throne. The white-hot eyes on his massive head burned into Ivan's vision as he said, "Another petitioner. Speak."
"Your man said to give you this." Ivan stepped as close as he dared, holding up the scroll. "And this." He shuddered and set Laika's head onto the ground, making no move to wipe off his hand.
