Chapter Fifty - Epilogue
Apollo stood facing the rising sun through a sheet of glass so clean it could only be seen by the occasional glimmer off of its surface. He frowned at it even as its familiar warmth crept into his bones, as it lit the room behind him and revealed what was very nearly a museum; the walls were hung with ancient swords, spears, shields and other antiquities from long ago. A hall of remembrance, he supposed, though he paid them no more mind than he might a flea. The reason for this was, of course, that he was not happy. Not happy at all. The events that had occurred in and around the Ottawa region had not gone the way he had wanted, and he made a point of ensuring he got what he wanted. Turning from the sun, framed between the ceiling and floor the wall-length window was set into, he strode between the rows of ancient trophies into his study, closing the door behind him. Settling into the enormous leather chair set behind the equally imposing, hand-carved mahogany desk, he brought one bare foot up onto the chair, crossing the other leg beneath it so he leaned back in a more comfortable position. Reaching to the underside of the right-hand corner nearest him, he buzzed for his personal assistant.
The man in question, knowing his employment was one that required him to be ready to serve at any time of day, had his own quarters in the veritable mansion Apollo made his home within. He was presently within these quarters, draped across his four-poster bed where he had fallen asleep last night after attending to some of his employer's needs. He was a tall sort of a fellow with a muscular build, though he possessed nowhere near the size or strength of Tyrone Burgess; he did, however, share in the big man's smooth, ebony skin tone and ivory smile. He kept his hair short and professional and had no discernible facial hair. The rasping, nasal sound of his employer calling for him woke him immediately, for it had, in the years of service he had devoted to his master, come to be more effective than any alarm clock he had ever had. Dressing himself in his typically professional attire, a black suit, white shirt and tie, he was through his door and knocking on the engraved, gold-inlaid double doors to Apollo's study within forty-five seconds. He had, for a while, made a point of timing himself, so he was quite sure of his estimate.
"You may enter, Owen," came his employer's voice, the tone of which was balanced precariously between simple boredom and annoyance.
Doing so, the man pushed one of the heavy doors open and slipped inside, shutting it again behind him. Turning to his employer, his breath caught for a moment; there was just something awe-inspiring about the man he had never quite been able to keep from affecting him. He was, for lack of a better term, beautiful. He was eternally youthful, seeming no older than perhaps his early twenties, with a corona of curly, golden hair framing the fine, almost delicate features of his face. His skin was a light tan and utterly unblemished, and, though he had noticeable muscle tone, he seemed fragile, like a harsh word would turn him to dust and rob those in awe of him their vision of perfection. Drumming his fingers idly against the arm of his colossal seat as he waited for the man to approach, the athletic youth glanced up at him with a bored, impatient shadow drawn over the light blue of his eyes.
"I see there are clouds in the sky, today, Sir," Owen began, inclining his head to the deceptively young man before him.
Apollo smirked momentarily. "I'm a little cranky, I suppose, but I'll get over it. I want you to convene those behind the Veil who have any sort of influence in Canada's capital region; it's about time I got to the bottom of this business with the shape-shifter. If he's working for, or with, any of them, I'll pry the information from them by any means necessary."
Owen coughed lightly, inclining his head anew. "Might I suggest you not overly antagonize them, Sir? You are their ruler, but the unappreciative are prone to resentment when pressed by their superiors."
The sun deity sighed, obviously disappointed that he could not go about it as he pleased. "Yes, yes, you're right. Very well, I will try to be gentle in my insistence. If the man is working with them, though, I must know it. And if he is not, then there is another mystery to solve entirely; I have spent every waking hour of my rule ensuring I remain well-informed of all significant goings-on. To have a Veil-dweller appear, seemingly from nowhere, is a disturbing notion."
The man, noticing his tie had come ever-so-slightly loose during his bowing, adjusted it. "Will you be needing their assistance, Sir?"
Apollo sighed, massaging his temples. "I hate to say it, but yes. There is no need for you to summon them, however, you know as well as I do that the Moirai always know when I require they be present. Perhaps I will have them arbitrate during my meeting; they are impartial, if nothing else. I suppose the architects of Fate are required to be."
Owen nodded in agreement. "That seems a wise decision, Sir. I wonder, though... Do you suppose they have anything to do with the upstart?"
The sun god laughed quietly. "That's a difficult question to answer. They have something to do with everyone and yet nothing to do with anyone. They guide Fate along its predetermined course and so have a hand in the lives of every person on this planet, but they show favouritism for none of us and so are not responsible for any of us. Quite the annoying system, wouldn't you say?"
"It is rather puzzling, Sir," his aide agreed. "I wonder, though; if the fates they keep in motion are predetermined, who, exactly, decides upon them?"
Apollo smiled approvingly. "Ah, you see, you've hit upon the real question. And you know, it's one of the tantalizingly few things I don't have an answer to. Not a real one, at least. But I have come to terms with that. Indeed, I ignore the idea of a predetermined destiny entirely for the most part. We each do as we choose and our actions affect everyone else; after all, my actions have been shaping the course of just about everyone on this planet for hundreds of years. If that is their destiny, then it is given to them by me, not some vague notion of fate."
Owen smiled politely. "I see your point, Sir. Very well, then; shall I deliver your invitations at once, or shall I wait a while?"
"Now," was his master's decision on the matter. "But... don't bother sending one to those miserable fringe-living wretches; you know how I detest them so. What was that delightful term for them I'd heard was beginning to be circulated? Slumpire?"
His assistant nodded hesitantly; he, personally, did not go in for derogatory terms, but he knew very well not to disagree with his master, particularly where his unreasoning hatred for the people in question were concerned. "Yes, Sir, I believe that is correct."
Apollo laughed aloud, a musical sound that caused the curled mane of his hair to shimmer into motion. "No, I have a better idea. Send them the invitation, but only use that term. If we're lucky, they'll be so incensed they'll do something foolish and I'll finally have an excuse to drag them all outside at noon and watch them go up in smoke."
"As you wish, Sir. For what date shall I set the meeting?"
Becoming serious again, the fine featured youth's eyes became stormy once again. "Immediately. Failing that, as soon as possible. This rogue shape-shifter knows of my involvement in Mytikas Multinational and will search out my holdings, I'm sure of it. I don't know what drove him to stick his nose into my affairs in the first place, but it's reasonable to assume he'll keep doing it. Regardless of whether I discover his identity or not, events must be put into motion to see him captured before he can disrupt what I have created. Before others get it into their heads to go against their master."
Bowing once more, Owen backed towards the door. "Understood, Sir. I will see it done."
Leaving the room, the straight-laced man strode down the hall to see to his errands, unaware that the room he had just left was being watched, as had the conversation they had just had. The events had unfolded upon the glassy, moist surface of a floating, crystal eye that, even now, blinked and changed its view to the sun god, still sitting in a rather bored fashion in his arm chair. The sound of light, ghostly laughter sounded between those watching the crystal ball, apparently amused by Apollo's deliberate lack of actio
n. With another blink, the focus of the eye changed to a lone individual walking through the early morning streets of a city; an individual who did not appear outwardly as he rightfully should.
"The meeting is called and events are begun, setting the stage for both Hunter and Sun; one rises each morn and the other falls nightly, but it remains to be seen which of them shines the most brightly."
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About Me
I was born in January of 1992 and I've lived in the Ottawa region of south-eastern Ontario ever since. I've had an interest in reading since I was a child, with much of my time spent nestled in a corner reading C.S. Lewis' "The Chronicles of Narnia", J.R.R. Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" and other works similar to theirs. With a rich supply of characters and fantastic settings to push my imagination off onto its own path, I suppose it's no great wonder that I developed a desire to create works of my own. And, much to my delight, I found that I loved writing as a young adult just as much as I had reading as a child. So, if you are one of those willing to give my work a chance, allow me to thank you. I hope that you enjoy the experience from the first word all the way to the last. And if you ultimately decide that my work is not for you, then that's all right; no two people have exactly the same taste, as I'm sure the average dragon would attest.
Happy reading! - M.J.
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In Icarus' Shadow Page 68
