Hermes took the letter and glanced over Alex’s shoulder. “That’s a nice tent you have. Real nice.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Athena chuckled.
Alex didn’t.
Hermes tucked the letter away and smiled. “Only a comment.” The messenger god took a deep bow and left. Less than two minutes later, he returned with letter in hand. “Reply for a one Alexander Weiss, sign here.”
Alex took the parchment and looked at the reply:
Weapons?
“He’ll never agree to anything modern, if that’s what you’re planning,” Athena said after she read over his shoulder. “And even if he did, I’m certain he’d still beat you.”
“Maybe you should insist on Ares having a handicap and forcing him to use a banana,” Jessica suggested.
“I’m going to use a pineapple,” Alex replied as he wrote his reply. “Ares can use whatever he wants.”
Jessica tilted her head. “A pineapple?”
“Yes. A pineapple.”
To Alex’s surprise, Athena patted his shoulder. “Clever, Alex,” she said. “Very clever indeed. Skirting on deceitful, but within the rules, I think. I suppose it can’t be held against you that my brother refuses to read a little history and know what’s what.”
“Thanks.” Alex handed his letter over to Hermes once more, and Hermes, in turn, left and came again before anyone could say Parthenopeus. Alex read through the final exchange and then set his mind to the task at hand. “Well, I guess I need a pineapple now.”
“He agreed to the terms?”
Alex looked at the letter again to make sure he hadn’t misinterpreted it. “I’m assuming. There’s a smiley face at the bottom. So I should go.”
“We should go,” Jessica said.
“He lives in a volcano, right?” Alex said. “I think you should sit this one out since you don’t have an immortal body, and I’d rather not see your face melt.”
“Point taken,” Jessica said, plopping down in her folding chair. “Have fun, and try not to fall in any lava.”
* * *
Alex kicked the ash off his winged sandals. Looming in front of him was the volcano of Hephaestus, stretching high into the night sky. It was the sole occupant of some nameless island in the middle of the sea. From its top, great columns of smoke made their way into the heavens, and deep within its belly came the rhythmic sounds of a hammer striking an anvil. In the back reaches of his mind, Alex wondered if this was such a good idea after all.
Alex picked his way up the side of the volcano, pausing every so often as it rumbled. He ignored the strong smell of sulfur, and while a large part of his brain prayed that there would be no sudden eruption, a small part—the useful part that insisted on his survival by considering all points—reminded him that spewing lava wasn’t the only method a volcano had that could do a person in. Case and point, poisonous fumes were just as lethal, and a gasmask wasn’t part of his usual personal belongings.
Thankfully, no eruption took place, and no noxious clouds poured forth. Alex eventually found himself at the mouth of a dark cave. He entered, and after fumbling in the dark and procuring several new bruises on his shins and head, he emerged from the tunnel and found the forge he sought.
On the other side of the chamber stood Hephaestus with a hunched back and a withered, twisted leg. Powerful arms slaved away at the hammer and anvil. Upon Alex’s entry, Hephaestus snorted and stopped his work. “Alex, Alex, Alex,” he said. “You dare rob me in my very presence?”
Alex swallowed hard and wished he had brought a drink. Nothing too strong, mind you, but enough to calm his nerves. Maybe a keg or two of mead, as he could then share it and break the tension. Blacksmiths were keen on mead. That much Alex knew. At least, he corrected, according to a number of books and movies that depicted their alcoholic preferences, they were keen on the stuff. But without any drink to offer either himself or Hephaestus, Alex was forced to get straight to the point. “Rob? No,” he said. “I was hoping you would fashion a weapon for me. A unique one at that.”
Hephaestus flipped the hammer in his hand, end over end. “Yes, yes. That’s what they all say. Make us a weapon and never mind what we’re doing while your back is turned. Never mind at all.”
“No, no, that’s not it at all.” Alex threw up his hands defensively. “I need your help—”
“Silence!” Hephaestus yelled. He picked up a glowing steel bar in his bare hands, turned it over, and held it out for Alex to see. It was about three inches wide, tapered and curved at one end. “They lust for my wife. Their desire burns hotter than any bar in my forge. We know this well. All of us down here.”
“I would do no—”
But as quickly as the words came out, Hephaestus stepped forward, and Alex shut his mouth. Despite the god’s limp, Alex did not doubt the divine strength that rippled throughout the god’s arms and chest. “I can smell her on you,” he said, leaning close. “Even the forge cannot cover such a thing. They think the outcast knows nothing. That they can do whatever they please and I’ll be none the wiser. You, Alex, are not near as clever as they. I know you want her. I know you’ve been with her. Insult me no more.”
“I’m only here to save Euryale,” Alex blurted out, terrified what the god might do next. “Please believe me, I would never pursue another man’s wife.”
“Believe you?” Hephaestus said, pointing and laughing at Alex. “With one breath we lie to my face, and the other we whisper sweetness into her ears.”
“I am not stupid enough to try and deceive you,” Alex said. He hoped a new line in the conversation would pan out better. And if it didn’t, he hoped he might be able to at least talk his way out in one piece. “Your perception is as strong as the anvil you use.”
“Yes, yes it is. Deceit is not something you can craft, is it?” Hephaestus backed off and eyed Alex with newfound respect. “Do you know what this will become?” he asked, nodding to the brightly glowing piece of metal.
“No,” Alex replied. He glanced to the walls where countless numbers of arms and armor hung, hoping to find the answer, but none seemed to match. “Cow tools?”
Puzzlement crossed Hephaestus’s face. “Cow tools?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said, wondering what he was thinking as well. “It was the first thing that came to me.”
Hephaestus murmured his disappointment and put the bar down. “Go. Leave me be. I have work to do.”
“I can’t leave empty handed,” Alex said, bordering on begging. “I need your help to save my bride and my sanity.”
“Your bride? Your bride!” Hephaestus spun around and threw his hammer. End over end it flew until it struck the far wall, carving out a portion of rock. “You would have me save your marriage as if I have no problems with my own? Tell me, Alex, why are your problems my concern? Tell me, or I shall not intend to miss with my second throw.”
Alex picked himself off the ground, glad the god had not separated his head from his shoulders. “They are not your problems,” Alex admitted. “But you know what it’s like not to have your wife at your side. I’m asking that you might have some compassion for my predicament, especially since I face Ares in the morning. I need you to craft a pineapple for me. You’re my only hope.”
Hephaestus’s anger faded and the corner of his mouth drew back. “Ares, you say? You seek to defeat him?”
Going by the expression on the god’s face, Alex dared to hope Jessica’s prediction would prove true. “I do.”
“Humiliation…” the god’s voice trailed. His face grew brighter until it outshone the fires at his back. “Are you ready for his anger, mortal?”
“Probably not,” Alex replied. “But I haven’t a choice at this point. I’ve already issued my challenge.”
“He thinks he is clever, lusting my wife while believing I’m not paying attention.” The god limped across the forge till he stood next to Alex. “We trapped them o
nce,” he said taking a golden, chain-linked net that hung on the wall. He held it up for Alex to see before giving it a tug. The net disappeared in the blink of an eye. “Stronger than any god, and unable to be seen,” he said. “Yes, yes. This worked well, but not well enough. Maybe it is time to show them all what we are capable of.”
“Does this mean you’ll help me?” asked Alex.
Hephaestus hung the invisible net back on the wall at which point it reappeared, its golden links catching the forge’s light. “Indeed we will, Alex. Indeed we will. After this is done, we will be great friends. Trusted friends, that is, but you must promise to come see us again.”
“Help me win back my bride, and we’ll visit often.”
“Do you promise?”
“I do,” said Alex.
“Swear by the River Styx, will you?”
“Whatever oaths are needed,” Alex said. “But I don’t even know what that means.”
“Gods that swear by the River Styx and break their oaths lose their immortality,” said Hephaestus. “Those who are not divine fare far, far worse.”
“Sounds serious.”
The corners of Hephaestus’s lips drew back. “Which is why we insist you swear such things.”
“If you help me, I swear by the River Styx I will not forget what you’ve done for me and will visit often, fate willing.”
“Good, good. We are lonely here and will enjoy your company.” The God of Smiths limped his way back to the anvil before continuing. “Promises, Alex, are not to be given lightly. I will hold you to them, but now that we are friends, tell me about this pineapple of yours so that I might fashion one without rival.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Two minutes before nine in the morning, Alex waited in a small alcove inside the stadium for his duel with Ares to begin. He could hear the roar of the mythological crowd above him, eager to see what this contest would bring. Tension mounted in his shoulders and neck, and he tried—unsuccessfully—not to think about how half-baked and desperate his plan really was.
“I think you’ve got a good shot at this,” Jessica said, massaging his shoulders. “But you’ve got to loosen up. You freeze out there, and you’re dead.”
“Right now I’m giving my odds of success at about seven hundred and twenty-five to one,” he admitted.
Jessica slipped around to his front, keeping her hands on him as she did. “Everything like we practiced, yes? Think of it like any other performance you’ve done. You’ll be fine.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am and you’ll see.” She hugged him tight. “When this is done and you’re even more famous than before, don’t forget me, okay?”
“I’ve never forgotten you.”
“Me either,” she said, tightening her embrace. She held it for a couple heartbeats longer than he’d have guessed. When she finally pulled away, her eyes had a sheen to them. “I mean it, though. I’d like to see you again before another decade or two passes. Since I can’t exactly come visit you at your new house with your new wife, you’re going to have to come see me, you know?”
“I’ll be looking forward to it. I promise.”
A loud voice, muffled but strong, carried over the crowd’s noise, and their energy grew tenfold. Jessica sighed longingly. “Your wife’s a lucky girl,” she said before kissing him lightly on the cheek. “Not many would willingly face a god for someone they’ve known only a short while. Now go, before I keep you for myself.”
Alex laughed and slipped free of her grasp. Though her tone was playful, he wondered if he detected a hint of seriousness to what she said, and then wondered if it wasn’t her, but him, that wanted what she said to be true. Before he could will himself to pursue the topic, trumpets blasted. “I guess we’re starting,” he said. “Any last-second words of advice?”
“Yeah, look good for the camera,” she said, holding up her Nikon. “Might as well finish this adventure of yours with drama and style.”
“Will do.”
With that, Alex dashed out of the alcove and into the center of the Olympians’ arena, his helm in one hand and a small sack in the other. The sun was bright, the weather perfect, and the stadium was filled. Most of the spectators kept their conversations to themselves, but a few offered the occasional jeer or bit of encouragement to Alex for undertaking such a risky endeavor.
“So, this is it then,” Alex said loudly enough for both the crowd and his opponent to hear. “If I win, I get my bride and scepter back, and you leave us alone. If you win, then I surrender to whatever terms you offer and admit to wrongdoing at the Olympic games.”
Ares, who stood a dozen paces away, thumped his bare chest. “I agree to your terms, Alex,” he said. “You are brave, more so than my sister, who hides behind her legions and plays games on boards. It will be a shame to destroy you.”
“I’ll hate to be destroyed,” said Alex.
“How do you want to mark the victor?” Ares asked. “First blood?”
Alex shook his head. “How about first killing blow? For a mortal that is. We both seem to be able to take a little more punishment than normal.”
“It’s not my fault I am the strongest and toughest,” said Ares. “Why should I handicap myself?”
Alex shrugged nonchalantly. “I figured you were skilled enough to not need the extra help.”
Ares’ eyes narrowed. “Fine,” he said. “Whoever scores the first blow that would kill a mortal shall win.”
“Are you ready?” asked Alex. He loosened the string that kept his sack tied, pulled out his pineapple, and gave it a small toss in his hand for good measure. It was a little heavier than he had expected, weighing perhaps a pound, give or take.
Ares pointed at him with his spear. “What is that in your hand? What manner of trickery have you brought?”
Alex tried to look as innocent as possible. “No trickery. It’s a pineapple, as I said.”
“I know what a pineapple is, and that is not one.”
“What else would it be?” Alex said. Though he felt like his nerves were under control, he hoped his voice did not betray him. Using an old pianist trick, he tried to picture his opponent naked. Sadly, Ares seemed as scary naked as he did dressed in a loincloth.
Ares extended an open hand. “It looks more like a rock than a fruit. Let me see it.”
“It is more like a rock than a fruit; a painted rock at that.” Alex hid the pineapple behind his back and took a deep breath. Confidence. “I’m not about to let you play with it. You’ll probably break it and then where will I be?”
“Dead.”
“Yes, dead,” Alex said. “And despite what you say it is, where I come from, we call these rocks, pineapples. So let’s begin, or are you scared of rocks now?”
Ares glared. “Your people are strange, indeed.”
Alex shrugged.
Ares charged, the point of his spear leading the way.
It was a half-hearted attempt, even Alex could see that, but it was more than enough to send Alex scrambling. Whether Ares’ motive was to probe his reactions or to simply toy with him, Alex wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he would not survive a real attack. He needed to stall. He needed distance. “That was fun.”
Ares bounced on his feet and twirled the spear over his head. “Your reflexes are sharp,” he said. “With some training, you would make a fine warrior.”
“Seems like I already have to be.” Alex took a few steps back. Hephaestus had mentioned that he should be at least ten paces away, preferably fifteen or twenty. That, above everything else, was paramount. Alex wasn’t about to test otherwise.
Again, Ares charged, and again, his actions seemingly had no other purpose than to send Alex running. The God of War took a break from his assault and rested his spear on his shoulder. “You run like a frightened rabbit. Are you going to cower all day? For my sake, at least, put some sport into this.”
Alex hopped backwar
d and wriggled his nose. He wasn’t sure how convincing of a part he played, but with some luck, the theatrics would mask his intentional retreat. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find a carrot or two?” he asked as he put two more steps between himself and the god. “I’m a touch hungry.”
“You should eat before battle,” Ares replied, stepping forward. Ares shifted his grip on his spear. It didn’t mean much to Alex on its own, but when the god lowered his stance, he suspected that playtime was about to end.
“There’s one thing you should know before you come at me,” Alex said.
“What would that be?”
“This!” he shouted as he sprang into action. With one swift motion, he pulled a small, metal ring from the top of his pineapple and gave the weapon a heave. It sailed through the air, landing with a dull thud and making a quaint impact crater in the sand.
Ares picked up the missile and snorted. “Your aim is abysmal.”
Alex, who had been counting in his head, dropped to the ground and covered his head. A split second later, the mark two fragmentation grenade, affectionately known as a pineapple by those who once threw them, exploded in Ares’ face.
* * *
Ares decided that having a 20th century hand grenade detonate in his face was a disagreeable experience. Moreover, Ares felt torn from it all. On the one hand, he thought that Alex had been deceitful and should be ripped limb from limb several times over. But on the other, Ares had to admit that there was an underlying bit of fun in seeing something so small explode with such force. And if tossing these sorts of pineapples back and forth was how man now waged war, he could see the appeal.
Ares also decided that he would have to wait for another time to give the notion some more thought. At this moment, there were more pressing matters. Ares was lying on Aphrodite’s bed, arms crossed over his chest while the goddess leaned over him, picking pieces of shrapnel out of his face. It was a painful, bloody affair that would have ruined any normal pair of sheets, but Aphrodite’s stainless bed set had been tailor-made to accommodate her eclectic sex life.
The Gorgon Bride Page 17