by John Hosh
“She said she doesn’t want to eat any more mushrooms. She said she wants to stay here with her husband.”
“Her husband?”
“Yes, Thumon. She told me to go away.”
“Anything else?”
“She said there are no cornelian cherry trees. Is that true?”
“That is true, but the king did not promise you a cornelian cherry tree.”
“He did too.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He did so; he said it was an exchange. I would get the tree and he would get the princess.”
“No; he said if you would help him, then maybe — maybe — he could do you a favor.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Then I think you misheard. I think you heard what you wanted to hear and not what the king said. Perhaps you were misled by what you misheard, but what you misheard is not the king’s fault. You made the mistake. You misinterpreted what the king said, but none of that matters now. We must have the princess. Move out of the way.”
Puknos backed out of Jono’s sight. Puknos shouted, “Plan Number Two. Plan Number Two.” Staying low Jono moved two steps away from the hole. A few moments later spuds were spurting out of the hole. Carrying two bricks each, the spuds tramped toward the log house.
Puknos climbed out of the hole. He looked up. He cupped his hands round his mouth. He shouted to the passing swans, “Plan Number Two. Plan Number Two.” Quickly Jono pulled his cloak’s hood tight round his head.
A few moments later the lamp in front of the house was snuffed out. The fort had light only from torches at the fort’s rear gate, from a torch hanging near the fort’s front gate and from the torches being held by the men who were standing a short way outside the fort. Jono stood and threw off his hood.
Briskly the spuds built a stairway of bricks to the platform at the front of the house. When the stairway was complete, Puknos climbed onto the platform. Several spuds carrying leather cords followed him. The first spuds pushed through the leather door.
The light from outside the fort grew brighter. The men’s voices grew louder. Jono crouched.
A voice — like a spud shouting — spoke out of the sky. “Hello, down there! It is I, the messenger of the gods.” A face as high as a spud is tall came down out of the blackness above the front wall of the fort. The face was circular and flat. It was shiny and orange. It had black circular eyes. It had black circular nostrils. It had a black circular mouth. It had a black circle at the top of its forehead.
The face turned a little to its left; then to its right; then left again. The face reflected the light of the torches. After a few moments the face jumped up by jerks. It vanished.
No sooner was the face gone than the voice — a king’s voice — returned. “I’m still here. I’m invisible now. I bring great news. You have all been pre-selected to pre-receive a great prize from the gods. To pre-win, all you have to do is lie on the ground, face-down — right now — and close your eyes. Hurry now. Don’t miss out. This is a time-limited offer. Keep your eyes shut. If your eyes are not shut, you will not be pre-entered in our draw for the pre-bonus prize. What are the prizes? I will tell you as soon as you are all on the ground.”
Struggling with Thumon and Kalista, who were gagged and had their hands bound in front with cord, Puknos and his helpers descended the brick-stairway. Puknos and his helpers hurriedly pulled and pushed Thumon and Kalista toward Jono and the hole.
The voice in the sky shouted, “The eighth prize is three quail. These are not ordinary quail, mind you, oh no, not at all. These are genuine, egg-laying quail . . . with real feathers. The birds are guaranteed to give you two eggs every day.
Keep those eyes shut now. You don’t want to miss out. If you don’t want the eggs, you can always trade them. You can’t lose. But you must keep your eyes shut. I see someone peeking. You can’t fool the gods, you know.”
While Puknos and his helpers wrestled Thumon and Kalista into the hole, the other spuds ran back and forth collecting the bricks from the house.
The voice in the sky shouted, “The fourth prize is one ram and three ewes. Thinking of marriage? What girl’s father would not look kindly upon a young man with a ram and three ewes? You can win them here — today only, but you must keep your eyes shut. If I see one eyeball, then the game is over. I will have to keep all the prizes. The time for the big draw is only moments away. Hang on tight. You must claim your prize as soon as I call your name.”
In no time the spuds and the bricks were all in the tunnel. When the last spud went down the hole, Jono peered into it.
“Come on, human,” Puknos said. “This is no time to be dawdling. We want to seal the hole.”
****
When Eos was drawing a golden glow along the eastern horizon, a column of spuds with bowls, hoes, picks and spades was hurrying up the slope near where Jono had tied his boat. In the middle of the column were Thumon and Kalista. At the end of the column was Jono, who was following Puknos.
Barking came from the walkway. From the same spot, a torch-carrying man shouted, “This way!”
Puknos, who was carrying a bowl, whirled round. Jono urged, “Go! Leave them to me.” Jono hurried down the slope. Where the grassy slope met the rock slope, Jono halted. He pulled off his cloak and quickly made a bundle of it. He sat and yanked off his boots. His cloak in one hand and his boots in the other, he waded toward the boat. After tossing his belongings into the boat, Jono splashed toward the mooring-stick. He grabbed it and unwound the mooring-stick’s rope from its anchor. Turning toward the west, he shouted, “Here I am! Here I am!” Jono splashed toward the boat.
Eos was chasing Nyx from the sky while the men and the dogs were bearing down on Jono. Four men — two with torches — and two dogs hurried along the grassy slope toward Jono. The dogs tried to pull their handlers up the slope, but the men tugged the dogs to keep them aimed at Jono.
Jono tossed the mooring-stick and its rope into the boat. He threw himself on board. He scrambled into the boat’s seaward end, leaned over the left side and stuck his left hand, like a paddle, into the water. The next instant he lifted his left hand high. He was holding a leather strap. A broom was hanging from the strap. Jono exclaimed, “Isn’t that curious!”
Jono jabbed the broom between his legs. He forced the broom down while he leaned forward. “Anabasticize,” he commanded. Jammed against the stern, the broom pushed the boat swiftly away from the shore.
Chapter 22 : Zeus
Dionysus, the god of wine and of good times, pushed aside the pelt-door. Tall, slim and easily mistaken for a young man, Dionysus had neither a mustache nor a beard. His black well-groomed hair was hanging a little below the top of his shoulders. In green swimming-trunks, he stepped out of the log-cabin that provided the gods and the goddesses with changing-rooms and a refreshment-bar. To hold up his trunks, Dionysus had over his shoulders green vines that crossed each other over his back. In leather sandals he clip-clopped on a walkway of rock-slabs. The walkway went up to, and it surrounded, a swimming-pool that was at Dionysus’s right.
The pool was round. It was not big; Dionysus could have swum across the pool in four backstrokes. The pool looked much like the pools that are below small waterfalls. Its surface was giving off wisps of cloud.
Round both the pool and the walkway was a well-kept lawn. Beyond the lawn, on Dionysus’s right, was a forest of bushes and shrubs. Beyond the lawn, on Dionysus’s left, was a hedge that was as high as a man.
In his left hand, Dionysus was carrying a tall green mug. A stalk of celery, split for half its short length, was perched on the rim of the mug. In his right hand, Dionysus was carrying a big, green linen towel that was neatly folded.
Dionysus ignored the few goddesses and nymphs, in yellow or red, sea-grass bikinis, who were in the pool. He ignored the pretty brunette flutist whose music was as soft as a lullaby. The flutist, in a long yellow tunic, was sitting on a rock that was close
to the cabin. Dionysus clip-clopped through a man-sized opening in the hedge.
In front of Dionysus was another lawn. This lawn was rectangular; it was half a score of spits long and almost as wide. A man-high hedge enclosed the lawn. Above the hedge was only cloud and sky.
On Dionysus’s right was a circular patio. Made from small pieces of colored stone, the patio had a circular white pool at its center. The pool was not as far across as Dionysus was tall. The pool’s crystal-clear water was not as deep as Dionysus’s hand was long.
Facing the pool and surrounding it were as many chairs as a locust has legs. The armless chairs were made of rough wood, some rope and some twine. Each chair had a seat that was more than one stride long. The seat let the sitter rest his heels on the chair. Each chair had a high back. Tied to each back and covering the full length of the chair were colored sheepskins.
Dionysus walked to the chair that was closest to him. From the chair’s right side, he settled onto green sheepskin. He removed his sandals. He swung his legs onto the long seat and rested his back against the chair’s back. After putting his towel beside him on his left, Dionysus sipped his drink.
At the near left of Dionysus was Poseidon, the tall, well-fed god of the sea. Poseidon was lying on a chair that was covered by blue sheepskin. He had his eyes closed and his hands clasped at his abdomen. Poseidon’s hair, mustache and beard, which were blue, covered his front to his ankles. The mass of hair almost completely hid Poseidon’s blue trunks with their blue vines. Poseidon’s blue sandals were on the patio at his right side.
At the near right of Dionysus was Arës, the god of war. Of average height, muscular Arës had a shock of curly hair that was the color of rust. He had a big twisted nose that was hanging over a bushy, rust-colored mustache and over a bushy, unkempt, rust-colored beard. Arës was sipping from a red mug. In his red trunks with red vines, Arës was resting on a red sheepskin. He was wearing red sandals.
To the near right of Arës was Hadës, god of the underworld. Hadës was tall and thin. He had gray hair that flowed down his back. He had a gray beard that looked like a broom’s brush. Barefoot, Hadës was lounging on gray sheepskin. He was wearing gray trunks with gray vines.
To the near right of Hadës was Hephaestus, the god of metalwork. Short and sturdy, with long blond hair, a blond mustache and a neat blond beard, Hephaestus was lounging barefoot on golden sheepskin. He was wearing golden trunks with golden vines.
To the near right of Hephaestus and across the white pool from Arës was an empty chair. Purple sheepskin was covering the chair. A pillow of white ermine was hanging from the top of the chair’s back.
Hadës yawned. Hadës asked Dionysus, “Where was the party last night?”
“I attended a harvest festival,” said Dionysus, “on a tiny island. The people were making a human sacrifice. They were going to kill just one girl, but I had nothing better to do. I supplied the wine.”
Hadës chuckled, “Of course.”
“Here’s a curious thing. The victim turned into a dove and flew away. The altar-man became a toad. Whoever was doing the magic spoiled the whole evening.”
Horns blared. Goddesses and nymphs squealed. A few moments later Zeus clip-clopped through the hedge. Zeus had long black hair that was graying at the temples. He had a thick graying mustache and a thick graying beard that reached his waist. Smaller than Arës, Zeus was handsome but hairy. All the gods except Dionysus were very hairy.
Zeus was wearing purple trunks with twisted purple and gold vines. He was wearing a thigh-length, armless, purple jacket that was not fastened in front. He had a wreath of golden laurel on his head. He had gold bracelets on his wrists and on his ankles. He was wearing black leather sandals. In his left hand he was carrying a purple towel and a roll of parchment. In his right hand he was carrying a gold goblet. A slice of an orange was hanging on the goblet’s rim.
Zeus walked to the chair that was empty. He stepped out of his sandals. He lowered himself onto the purple sheepskin. He swung his legs onto the chair. He put the parchment in his lap. He took a quick gulp of his drink; then put it beside his chair. Grunting, he made himself comfortable. He cleared his throat loudly. “I call this meeting to order. First, I call for old business. Does anyone have any old business?”
“The dryads want us to do more to stop the humans from killing them,” Hadës noted.
“That’s new business,” Arës said.
Hadës retorted, “We discussed the issue several meetings ago.”
“It’s still new business,” Arës insisted. “Old business is not to discuss what we should do, but merely to report on something we have done.”
“No, it isn’t,” Hadës retorted.
“Yes, it is.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Uh-huh.”
Zeus barked, “ENOUGH! We will deal with the tree-killers under new business. Does anyone have anything else under old business?”
“You said we should keep our eyes open for something better than parchment,” said Poseidon. “Some Egyptians are using a river-reed called papyrus. They squeeze the water out of it and squeeze it into small sheets. They use a burnt stick to write on the sheets.”
Arës snarled, “You’re talking new business. You’re asking about what we should do. That’s not old business.”
“Yes, it is,” Poseidon said. “It’s something from a former meeting and I’m merely reporting what happened.”
Arës snapped, “You are not. You’re raising a matter that needs discussion. That’s new business. If everything we ever talked about is old business, then everything is old business.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Poppycock!”
“It is too.”
“Balderdash!”
Arës bellowed, “It is so!”
Zeus thundered, “ENOUGH! I’ll take the matter of papyrus as old business. Send me some papyrus. I’ll give it a try. On the subject of new business, I have a few items. First, we have to spend more time on this people-problem. Every time I look, I see more people. And, of course, the more people there are, the fewer trees there are. The more people there are, the fewer beasts there are. Look here.”
Zeus put the roll of parchment beside his drink. He swung his legs to the right side of his chair. Grunting, he pushed himself up. He padded to the low end of his chair and sat on it again. He leaned forward over the circular pond. Hadës and Poseidon moved to the ends of their chairs. They looked at the water. Hephaestus, Arës and Dionysus did not move.
Zeus touched a purple stone at the edge of the pond. A purple sphere, as big as a purple cabbage, rose out of the terrace beneath Zeus’s right hand. The sphere quit rising when it was mid-way out of the terrace. Zeus put his hand on the sphere. The water in the pond became a window upon Earth’s land and oceans.
Zeus squeezed the purple sphere. The window adjusted itself to make the sights below appear closer. Small islands filled the width of the pond. While he squeezed the sphere, Zeus pushed his wrist forward. Islands, lakes and rivers drifted across the pond. Zeus flexed his hand to one side; then to the other. Islands flew into view and out. Zeus gave the other gods a bird’s-eye view of great expanses of land and water.
“Look,” he said, “the humans are expanding north. They will come to the end of the Northland in no time. In the Eastland the humans have reached the sea. They have nowhere to go. In the Southland the humans are everywhere now. In the Westland they are a few steps away from the edge of Earth. We have to stop them. How do we rid ourselves of these pests?”
Poseidon announced, “I have an idea for a new monster.” He showed the other gods his hands. Except for one thumb, all his fingers were spread wide. “It will be able to eat this many people at once.”
Hadës asked, “Is it a sea-monster?”
Arës grumbled, “Of course it’s a sea-monster. He always makes sea-monsters.”
“No,” said Poseidon. He fixed his gaze on Arës. “It’s not a sea-monster. It’s a land-monster and it can fly. It has the wings of a dragon.”
“I don’t know,” Hadës said, “whether we want herds of monsters stomping on the trees and hedges. We have enough trouble with those dragons and their fires all over the place.”
Poseidon barked, “I told you! It can fly. It has wings. It doesn’t have to stomp all over everything.”
Hephaestus complained, “And there’s nothing wrong with the dragons. The humans would be all over Earth if not for the dragons. Besides, if you can come up with a better idea, let’s hear it.”
Arës snarled, “I’ve told you repeatedly war is the best way to get rid of those pests. Monsters spend too much time sleeping.”
Hadës said, “We could make more grippers.”
Arës retorted, “Grippers don’t kill people fast enough.”
Zeus shouted, “ENOUGH! I’m willing to try anything. Poseidon, give your new monster a try.” Zeus removed his hand from the purple sphere. The sphere sank into the terrace. The pond cleared. Zeus sat up. He crossed his arms in front of him. He cleared his throat. He declared, “Children are eating vegetables!”
Dionysus gasped, “No!” The other gods gaped.
Zeus put up his right hand. “My spies tell me that mothers are cooking the vegetables and then pouring sweet sauces over them. The children are asking for more vegetables. They are eating beans and peas and onions . . . even spinach. Children are crying if their parents won’t give them cabbage or beets.” Zeus thundered, “DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?”
The other gods did not respond. They looked at the floor.
Zeus growled, “I will tell you what that means! Children are going to be healthier. If they eat vegetables, they are going to be sharp-eyed and strong. They will not give up their thoughts and their feelings as easily as they do now.” Zeus paused. “I don’t know who told people to make vegetables tasty. I will tell you this. If one of you did it, you will regret the day you set yourself against the king of the gods. You will regret the day. Mark my words.” Zeus grunted. Grimacing, he scanned the faces of his companions. Zeus snapped, “Does anyone have some other matters for discussion?”