Zeus is Dead

by Michael G. Munz

  “Silence!” Apollo demanded. It didn’t work as well as he hoped.

  Tracy took the panicking man by the shoulders. “Doctor, it’s all right! He helped us! Doctor!” She caught the doctor’s gaze long enough to apparently calm him to the point where he at least stopped hyperventilating. He nevertheless held the look of someone who’d bagged his limit of stress for the day.

  “But,” he managed, “who is he?”

  Apollo radiated a bit of divine manifestation over the group in response. “I am the god Apollo.” He just barely managed to get it out before Thalia answered for him. “I expect you’ve heard of me.”

  “See?” Leif said. “I told you.” He gave Apollo a wave.

  “Thank you,” Tracy said. “You stopped those things?”

  “Less stopped than redirected. But we can discuss that—”

  Something flickered at the edge of his vision.

  “Oh, now, don’t be thankin’ him too soon,” said Ares. “I don’t think he’s gotten you out of this quite yet.”

  The god appeared out of that flicker, standing atop a collection of rocks and girded for battle. With Ares, “girded for battle” normally equated to “not naked” (and sometimes even that was untrue), but now he’d gone to special effort. The gleaming bronze armor, colored red with the blood of every war in history, was usually something he wore for only especially dangerous battles or holiday meals. Strapped to his left hand was his favorite shield, a heavy iron affair crafted in the shape of a snarling dog. His right hand held a spear he used in the Trojan War (on both sides), and a vulture-shaped helm completely covered his face save for the eye slit. Even so, there was no mistaking him.

  Leif groaned before Apollo could say anything. “Why is everyone so stuck on shields and melee weapons? Haven’t you guys heard of guns?”

  Ares’s gaze didn’t waver from Apollo’s for a single moment. “Heard of, invented, perfected . . . But you don’t go messin’ with the classics, mortal. Now shut up and think up some proper last words.” At this fresh new threat, the doctor shrieked like a man crashing through his stress threshold and gleefully rocketing toward a temporary breakdown.

  Apollo stopped time.

  It wasn’t a true stopping of time; that’s just plain impossible. Yet when two or more Olympian gods stand close to each other, there exists enough malleability in the space-time continuum to create a small pocket outside of time. Such pockets are notoriously unstable and as such worthless for anything but the purpose of simple conversation, but they have their uses.

  “Aww, now what’d you have to go and do that for? They were all ’bout to quake and piss ’emselves!”

  “You answered your own question, Ares—which for you is amazingly astute. I assume you’ve been watching. What the Styx do you think you’re doing, if thinking even comes into it?”

  “Figured I’d kill your little pet pipsqueak there before I grab a late supper. You got a problem with that?”

  “You didn’t send the Erinyes for Jason Powers at all, did you?”

  The god sneered. “Collateral damage. Seemed worth a shot. Damned crones can’t do anything right. Some things ya just gotta do yourself.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Ares laughed. “The great Apollo wants to know why? Don’t play dumb, sunshine; you’re bad at it.”

  “I’ll assume that was intended as an insult.”

  “We know what you’re doin’! You can’t be bringin’ Zeus back.”

  Apollo tried to mask the worry boiling up inside him. “We?”

  “Yeah, we! Me and—Yeah, we!” Ares pointed his spear at Leif. “We know about blondie there, about your visions. He’s the key to bringin’ back Zeus or some such. You know what Zeus’ll do if he gets back?”

  Apollo considered that Ares might not really know the extent of Apollo’s commitment to that very thing, and that this was a trick to get him to expose himself. Then again, Ares’s tricks were usually of the “look behind you!” variety. He discarded the possibility.

  “All the more reason to be the one to help him do it, I’d say. Care to join the cause?”

  “You got the wrong damn pantheon, Apollo. Zeus ain’t the forgivin’ type.”

  “So you did kill him.”

  “Damn right, and it ain’t just me. Now I’m about done talkin’. This spear? It’s goin’ right through your pet mortal’s heart, and you got no choice in the matter.”

  “You think I can’t stop you?”

  Ares laughed. “I ain’t attacking you, Apollo. You wanna stop me, you gotta make the first strike. I ain’t much for laws, but you know what ‘King’ Poseidon decreed: god attackin’ another god gets you in big damn trouble after what happened to Zeus. He ain’t takin’ any chances now some mysterious unknowns of us know how to kill each other.”

  “I can defend the mortal just as easily as you can attack him.”

  “Maybe. But can you stop me from attackin’ again?”

  He had a point, annoyingly enough. Apollo had no idea how Ares knew about the visions. He thanked the Fates that he didn’t seem to know Tracy’s significance, but Leif was likely still vital, and Ares was just as likely to take out the entire group once he got started.

  “I can wear you out,” he tried. “Defend him until you lose interest in the fight.”

  “Lose interest?” Ares laughed and flashed a smirk. “Apollo, come on. This is me here.” The god of war had another point.

  “Very well. What if—?”

  “Nah, I’m all through talkin’.” Ares raised his spear. Time took notice of them again. “Hey, towhead! Speeeeeeear’s Ares!”

  The god rolled to one side and thrust his spear straight at Leif. Apollo leaped between them in time to slam his boot down on the shaft, driving the weapon into the ground and snapping it in two.

  “All of you, run!” Apollo ordered. The others wasted no time, dashing off again with a panicked doctor in the lead.

  “Puns are lazy writing!” Thalia screamed at Ares as she went.

  Ares picked up the broken spear. “Rotten Titan-whore’s whelp! That’s my favorite damned spear!”

  “And you let it get broken by a whelp!” Apollo taunted. “That’s got to be humiliating.” If he could just goad Ares into attacking him first . . .

  Ares’s glare only turned to a sneer. “A broken shaft’ll run a mortal through good as anything, Apollo, and if that don’t work, I’ll pound him to death with my bare hands!” Ares tried to dash past him. Apollo grabbed the broken spear with both hands and wrenched him back. Tugging and yanking, they struggled against each other for possession of the weapon. Apollo considered whether this counted as an attack, but if he laid hands on only the spear and not Ares . . .

  Apollo’s preoccupation with legal details allowed Ares to spin him around and away from the mortals. The war god released the spear entirely before Apollo could correct his mistake, turned back after the mortals, and sprinted away. Ares bellowed a wordless, bloodthirsty battle cry, shield arm raised to strike. He was one of the swiftest on the battlefield; there was no way Leif could outrun him. Off balance, even Apollo had next to no chance to get there in time. He hurled himself after them anyway. Thalia looked behind her and screamed, diving out of Ares’s way (to land in a spectacular pose). Leif ran hard beside Tracy, not looking back. Ares closed to striking distance.

  Apollo wasn’t going to make it.

  “Ares!” Apollo yelled and hurled the broken spear end over end at Ares’s head. Ares didn’t look back. The spear hit him in the back of the skull with the force of a cannonball and pitched him forward into a boulder. His helmet struck rock with a clang that reverberated into the evening sky like an alarm: Olympian had attacked Olympian. The Styx was hitting the fan.

  Then again, no one particularly liked Ares . . .

  Apollo dismissed the minor hope. It was just as useless as the non-fatal blow―Apollo didn’t even possess the power to even make it a fatal blow. There would be retaliation from on high. Posei
don would be anxious to enforce his law in the face of the first real challenge to his authority.

  Apollo wasn’t the only one to realize it. Thalia had picked herself up and was staring in shock at Ares’s unconscious form.

  “What did you do?”

  “I knocked the lights out of the god of war. Most people would cheer me.”

  “Oh, that’s good, why do I get the feeling Poseidon isn’t one of them? We’re out in the open now, Apollo. You know what everyone’s like! The pantheon’s going to freak, and you know how Poseidon gets when someone snubs him!”

  “I had no choice, Thalia.”

  “You’ve at least heard of The Odyssey, right? He’s going to come down on you like a tsunami on a rowboat.”

  Leif spoke up before Apollo could answer. “You know, it occurs to me, this whole thing? Total deus ex machina! Gotta say I don’t mind when I’m on this side of it.”

  Thalia stared. “Oh, gods! And on top of everything, now we’re cliché!”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Though no mortal has ever seen it, the Olympians claim to have a council of twelve gods known as the Dodekatheon, which convenes regularly to discuss various matters of Olympian importance. The council is ruled, of course, by the king of the gods, though the precise organizational hierarchy is unknown at the time of this writing.”

  —A Mortal’s Guidebook to the Olympians’ Return

  “Poseidon worries more about votes and politics on the Dodek than Zeus ever did. I can’t decide if it’s because he’s too erratic to lead well or if he just fears he’ll share Zeus’s fate if he makes too many unilateral decisions. Perhaps both are likely—and suddenly I’m thinking it unwise to express these sentiments in a public blog.”

  —(unpublished) blog entry of Athena

  ONCE HE WOKE and got back to Olympus, Ares insisted on speaking to the Dodekatheon as soon as possible—so soon, in fact, that not all member gods were in attendance. Fine with him. Poseidon was the only one he cared about now, the only one with the final word on anything. The other eleven could take a flying leap for all Ares cared.

  Ares belatedly realized that he was one of those remaining eleven himself, but screw that. Just details. He could take a flying leap too, if he had to. No use correcting himself. Admitting mistakes was weakness.

  Standing at the center of the circular Dodekatheon chambers, he looked over those gods seated around him who were able to respond to the immediate summons: Poseidon, Hera, Artemis, Athena, the spinelessly nurturing Demeter (she was knitting), and Hermes. Speedy bastard was everywhere, only this time Ares was glad for it. Now he could show the little trickster the value of action. Still, he’d gladly trade Hermes’s presence to get rid of Artemis. It didn’t take a genius to guess whose side Apollo’s twin sister would take.

  At the moment, all waited on Poseidon. The Olympians’ new king sat on a throne of coral and jade, twin to the one he’d sat on beneath the sea. His eyes were two blazing emeralds staring into the distance as he concentrated on feeling the ether of the world, searched along the Earth's lines of mystical power, and scanned down from atop Olympus for something only Apollo’s elders had the power to sense.

  Ares cracked his shoulders and wished the salty old fart would get the heck on with it already. It wasn’t like he was trying to take Stalingrad in winter or do long division or anything. Locating Apollo shouldn’t be that damn hard.

  Poseidon’s eyes cleared.

  “Well?” Ares asked.

  “Apollo is not within my sight.”

  “What? Now that don’t make no damn sense! Get him here now! I want to do this to his face!”

  “Ares!” Hera’s rebuke matched the glare with which Poseidon slapped him. “Calm yourself!”

  “What precisely has Apollo done?” Poseidon asked. “Then we shall see.”

  “What, if anything?” Artemis quipped.

  Ares ignored her and yanked off his helmet. “What’s he done? Only broke your highest damn law—that’s what he’s done! Look at this! Hit me in the back of my head with my own spear!” He pointed to the gigantic dent. “Knocked me right out! My skull’s still ringing!”

  Anger flashed over Poseidon. Ares could feel the god scrutinizing him. Unlike his predecessor, truth-sensing wasn’t the sea god’s strength, yet so strong was the god’s decree that he would be able to tell just by looking if another had violated it. Ares held his ground with a righteous sneer. “Unprovoked,” Ares boasted. “I didn’t lay a finger on ’im.”

  Poseidon begrudged a nod. “Why?” he asked.

  “Why? Why’s it matter why? He broke the law! Your law! Punish him!”

  “Apollo is no impulsive savage,” said Artemis, “unlike some I could mention. I move that we wait for his side of the story. I’m certain it would be more coherent.”

  “And what makes you so damn sure?” Ares shot. “If he’s in the right, why’s he hiding, huh? For all we know, he killed Zeus!”

  Artemis chuckled grimly. “I thought you had claimed that deed for yourself, Ares.”

  “Ah, no one believes that hogwash anyway. I’m a blustering boasting brute, ya know.”

  “And if he was trying to kill you, why aren’t you dead? You were knocked out, unconscious . . .”

  Ares inwardly cursed the stupid virgin goddess and her stupid smart questions while trying to come up with an answer.

  It was Hermes, as it turned out, who had one. “Even so, he raises a good point. What does Apollo have to hide? And how is he even hiding at all? Ever since . . . what happened to Zeus, we have wondered just what power exists that allows an immortal to be killed.”

  “You are suggesting,” Poseidon said, “that the source of this same power might allow a god to escape his elders’ attention?”

  Hermes shrugged. “Oh, wondering more than suggesting. We don’t know for sure either way.”

  “Exactly! Hiding makes him guilty, can’t ya see? Strip him of his duties, track him down, get him here, and lock him away!” Ares declared. “Stick him in Tartarus for a century, then see if he wants to talk.”

  Demeter looked up from her knitting. “But Apollo’s such a nice boy. Why not just send out word that we’d like to speak with him, and ask if he could please stop by and let us know his side of things?”

  “Yeah, and when he gets here we can all have ambrosia and butter cookies and dance a little jig!” Ares sneered.

  Demeter clapped. “That’s the spirit! Oh, I’m giving these mittens to you when I finish them, Ares. Isn’t it nice to get along?”

  Ares stared. Were a lump of coal between his teeth, he’d be chewing a diamond in short order.

  “King Poseidon,” Athena spoke for the first time, “with apologies to Artemis, is it possible that the reason you cannot locate Apollo is that he’s now dead as well?”

  Artemis immediately shot her a stricken look and then turned away.

  “No,” Poseidon answered. “Were he killed in the same manner as Zeus, I would sense it.”

  A bit of motion in the balcony caught Ares’s eye. It was Hecate, who stepped from the shadows to lean forward and scrutinize Artemis. Not actually a member of the Dodekatheon herself, she nevertheless often lurked in the balcony, listening in and—so far as Ares felt—being weird for the heck of it.

  Hera noticed her too. “Hecate, is there something you care to share with the Dodekatheon?”

  The dark-haired goddess shook her head. “Answers I do not have are not mine to give. Yet sunlight shines upon the cypress.”

  Ares rolled his eyes. “Speak plain! This is why we don’t invite you to parties!” They did invite her to parties, actually, or at least most of them, but Ares wasn’t one to let facts stop a good offensive.

  Hecate gave the slightest nod toward Artemis. “She knows.”

  All eyes turned toward Artemis, who shifted in her seat. “Something’s different with my brother. I don’t know what it is, but something has changed.”

  “Explain,” Hera demanded.


  “I cannot. Just recently, before we were all summoned here, something felt . . . off. I’m unable to quantify it any more than that. Please, great Poseidon, allow him time to return of his own accord.”

  “No!” Ares roared. “You can’t just—he’s not just going to show up! We have to find him!”

  “And where do you propose we look, Ares?” Hera scolded.

  “Ah, this is ox crap! If he’d attacked anyone else, you’d all be out in force, trackin’ him down!” A stray thought struck his skull. “There was a Muse there too! Why don’t ya go find one of ’em and make ’em say where Apollo is?”

  “Which one?”

  “Eh?”

  “Which Muse?” Hera repeated.

  “Oh. Umm . . . the redhead. What’s-her-face.”

  “Thalia!” Demeter declared, beaming. “She’s got such cute little dimples.”

  “Yeah, so’s my puckered butt,” Ares muttered.

  Demeter gasped. “Manners! No mittens for you now!”

  “If the Muses are involved,” said Artemis, plainly ignoring the vitally important winter-wear issue, “it can hardly be something to do with Zeus’s death! They loved him!”

  Hermes chuckled. “Or appeared to, anyway.”

  “Ares,” Hera started, “perhaps you should tell us the entirety of what transpired, and omit no further detail.”

  “I ain’t leavin’ out . . .” He set his jaw as a dozen acerbic comments jammed up against each other, trying to get out. The delay gave just enough time for him to register Hera’s warning glare and, against all odds, pick the least offensive of the bunch. “Fine, if you wanna waste time . . .”

  Ares went on to explain the truth of what happened, the partial truth, and little beyond the truth, describing his rage at the mortal’s slaying of the creature he and Athena designed together. He told of his fully understandable request that the Erinyes avenge the destruction of such a rare collaboration when they could, and of his warning to the dead hero’s companions regarding further attacks on his favored beasts.