EVEN FOR A Saturday, the standard of dress at the Olympic Council was conspicuously sub-par. It was as if the normally competitive Olympian stylists had all conspired to take the day off, opting for manicures, mimosas and a matinee in favor of bedazzling last week’s cast-off garments. Left to fend for themselves, the Olympians had done a lackluster job, especially those who had been planning a lazy day of adultery, only to have the shag pile rug yanked out from under them. Despite Aphrodite’s ill humor, Ares was feeling particularly short changed at having his tryst cut short. But judging from the untucked tunics and off-centered weapons around the table, he wasn’t alone. His own son, normally a snappy dresser, looked like the water boy at a bordello and Dionysus was positively disheveled. Only Zeus and Hera had risen to the occasion, presumably because they’d had more than an hour’s notice. And the smug virgins, of course, who were above the indulgent weekend lay-ins so beloved of the copulatory majority.
‘Olympians,’ said Zeus, rising to his feet. ‘I bring you here today to discuss a grave matter that has been brought to my attention by our most esteemed goddess, Athena.’
Ares raised his eyebrows. This was a new one. Since when was his sister in the habit of going straight to Zeus with a matter of military strategy without first discussing it with him? Presumably it was a matter of military strategy, because when it came to Athena’s overreactions, this was invariably the case. He glanced around to see if anyone else had wind of the alleged crisis, but they all appeared to be equally in the dark. Athena, meanwhile, was avoiding his gaze, a sure sign that something was up. Her owl, on the other hand, was watching him like a hawk.
The goddess of wisdom slowly rose to her full height. Not one for ostentatious clothing, she was dressed simply in deep green leather armor over a short gold tunic, which showed off her impressive physique. On her head she wore a plumed headdress, militaristic in style but somehow feminine, due to the way it curved in a delicate arc below her cheekbones. It highlighted her beauty, but also gave an authoritative air to her outfit. Ares had to hand it to his sister, she really knew how to dress for the occasion.
‘I bring some disturbing news,’ said Athena. Not one to mince words, she didn’t see any point in sugar coating their impending demise. ‘Of our impending demise,’ she added, after a moment’s thought.
Perhaps it was the general post-coital lethargy of the crowd, or perhaps it was Athena’s habit of making dire predictions on what turned out to be flimsy pretexts, but it would be fair to say that her words didn’t evoke the kind of response that might be expected from such a startling revelation. Dionysus, in fact, yawned. ‘I’m sorry, brother,’ Athena snapped, ‘am I boring you?’
Dionysus looked down at his ambrosial ale. He’d been having a hard time of it lately, with several of his vintages receiving scathing reviews in Wine Spectator. Then there was the decreased interest in wine on Earth in general, due to all the loved-up coupling going on. Not to mention his own lack of loved-up coupling due to the decreased interest of the Maenads, whose libidos rose and fell in direct proportion to the price of his pinot noir. That he’d managed to get any action at all the previous evening was a miracle. ‘Er,’ he said sheepishly, ‘I had a late night.’
A few of the Olympians tittered, which only further irritated Athena. ‘Exactly,’ she said, sweeping an accusing finger around the room. ‘Late nights, feasts, fornication, that’s all that ever goes on around here. When was the last time any one of you went to target practice, or patrolled the perimeter? When was the last time you actually fulfilled your divine duty?’
At which point Apollo pushed back his chair, stood up, and made to leave the table. ‘If you’ve come here to lecture us,’ he said, ‘you can save it for the solstice. I’ve got a TV show to run.’
‘Sit down,’ boomed Zeus. He hadn’t boomed for a while, and felt that a good booming was rather overdue.
Apollo sat down.
Zeus nodded at Athena. ‘Please continue,’ he said. ‘But perhaps, a little less melodrama.’
Athena bowed her head, chastened. It was true, she was prone to apocalyptic prophecies but what she had seen would send a chill down the spine of a serpent. Raising her head slowly, she looked each Olympian in the eye, daring each one to blink. ‘In the past week,’ she said, ‘on the edge of Olympus, I have seen the end of immortality.’
That got their attention. Not a god coughed, not a goddess hiccuped. ‘The field that protects us,’ she continued, ‘is disintegrating. The tiny fractures observed by Hera some time ago are not merely cracks, they are chasms. Stripped of the protective spectrum of visible light, it can clearly be seen. The infinite is becoming finite.’
For a moment, no one said a word. Nor did they dare turn to one another with a skeptical expression. Finally it was Hephaestus who broke the silence. Of all the Olympians, he was the only one who’d ever really had the intellectual curiosity to come to grips with the more technical aspects of immortality. ‘How can you be sure,’ he said calmly, ‘that this is what you are seeing?’
Athena was unequivocal in her answer. ‘Because of the prophecy,’ she said.
Apollo snorted. Prophecy was his domain, the gift of which he had famously been endowed and just as famously squandered. Despite the shrines, despite the cults, despite the Delphic Oracle, he was as lazy with his talent as any half-assed craftsman. Yet with the singular arrogance of the naturally talented, he assumed that anyone who worked at the art form was a hack and a fraud. He hadn’t even been to the Oracle in over a thousand years, yet he still felt as though the only prophecies with any credence were the ones that he had personally made. Which, due to his spectacular laziness, amounted to almost none.
‘Silence,’ boomed Zeus, banging his scepter on the floor for good measure. Truly, there was no more worthy target for his temper than that overrated idol, Artemis’ annoying twin.
‘I didn’t say anything!’ protested Apollo.
Athena wasn’t above a bit of derisive snorting herself. ‘You were about to,’ she said. ‘Everyone knows what you think of the sorceress, but that’s only because she predicted your sex tape with a centaur.’ The entire room erupted in laughter, while Apollo’s golden skin burned furious orange.
‘Well she was wrong about that,’ he growled.
‘So far,’ giggled Artemis. Growing up, her vow of celibacy had come under assault from everything her brother had been able to throw at it, while his own tastes, which ran to pretty much everything with a pulse, had flown under the radar. Now that it was coming back to haunt him, she couldn’t have been happier. Even Zeus was inclined to let the mirth run its course, despite the temptation twitching in his right hand.
‘The sorceress,’ said Athena, once the laughter had died down, ‘predicted a temporal flip. The end of immortality, the erosion of Olympus. The underworld becoming our world.’
‘That doesn’t even make sense,’ grumbled Apollo.
‘Unfortunately, it does,’ said Hephaestus. ‘Olympus exists in delicate balance between the finite and the infinite. The existence of Hades, where mortal souls become immortal in death, is necessary for our continued existence. Which, in turn, relies on our intricate relationship with the Earth.’
‘Our relationship with the Earth,’ said Apollo, ‘is fine. Or it will be, once my show premieres.’
‘Maybe,’ said Hephaestus mildly, ‘but there is definitely a disturbance in the two-way field.’ He turned to Zeus and bowed his head deferentially. ‘It has only just come to my attention,’ he continued, ‘which is why I have not spoken of this matter before. But there appears to be a problem with the arrows.’
At the mention of arrows, Hermes’ ears pricked up. Until that moment he had been drifting in and out, trying to catch up on the sleep he’d missed out on the previous evening playing strip poker with the Graces. Needless to say, he played to lose. ‘What arrows?’ he asked.
Athena glared at him. ‘Decided to join us, have you Hermes?’
Unlike most of the Olympians, Hermes was not intimidated by Athena, largely because he could out-fly her owls. But he was always a little nervous around his grandmother, and at that particular moment, Hera’s eyes were boring into him like diamond-tipped drill bits.
‘I think the pertinent question,’ said Artemis, ‘is what kind of problem?’ An expert hunter, Artemis had learned to forge her own arrows at an early age and was therefore familiar with metallurgical conundrums. She was also the only Olympian, apart from Hephaestus, who had witnessed the secret process used to transform Eros’ golden arrows into trans-dimensional weapons capable of altering the hearts and minds of humans, without triggering the unfortunate side effect of death.
‘Indeed,’ said Zeus, at a volume just below boom that still implied please get to the point.
‘The inter-dimensional transference is hovering at the upper level of physical probability,’ said Hephaestus, getting to the point. Or rather, somewhere in the vicinity of the point, judging by the eleven blank stares.
‘Which means?’ said Athena eventually. Although her knowledge of the complex dimensional mechanics that governed their interactions with Earth was better than most gods’, she still had a hard time, on occasion, grasping exactly what in Hades Hephaestus was banging on about.
‘The arrows are not safe,’ said Hephaestus, finally arriving at his destination.
‘Does Eros know that?’ said Hermes. The last time he had spoken to Eros, his cousin had been reluctantly heading back to Earth for another round of romantic roulette.
‘Not exactly,’ said Hephaestus, for once sounding slightly unsure of himself.
‘Well shouldn’t someone tell him!’ said Hermes, suddenly feeling unpleasantly awake. He was shocked that he seemed to be the only one concerned for Eros’ safety. Not to mention the safety of the humans. ‘Can’t you do a product recall, or something?’
‘It is only with the latest batch that there appears to be a problem,’ said Hephaestus. ‘Previous batches are probably safe.’
‘Probably!’ said Zeus, with a boom that was entirely justified.
‘They are safe,’ Hephaestus assured him, trying to sound more certain than he felt. It didn’t work, at least not on Athena. Nor on her owl, who was nonchalantly clenching its claws. ‘Unless…’ he muttered.
‘Unless what?’ said Athena.
‘Unless the temporal disturbance is concurrent, not sequential,’ Hephaestus admitted.
‘Which means?
‘Unless it applies to all arrows at the same time, regardless of when they were made.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Hermes thought he saw Apollo whisper something to Hera. So far, he had managed to put off making good on his promise to talk to Eros about Greed Date, and with this latest development, he may yet dodge that bullet. If the arrows weren’t safe, then Eros could hardly use them on unsuspecting game show contestants. Unfortunately, he knew Apollo well enough to know that such a minor setback wouldn’t stop him in the long run.
‘Hermes,’ commanded Zeus, snapping him out of his depressing daydream, ‘you are to go to Earth immediately, find Eros and bid him return to Olympus. And if there have been any casualties, you are to cover them up.’
‘What?’ said Athena.
‘Ares,’ continued Zeus, ignoring her, ‘you are to go to Earth immediately, wrap up your movie by the end of the week, return to Olympus and jointly convene a subcommittee with Athena to investigate this grave threat to our world.’
‘But post-production’s nowhere near finished,’ protested Ares. Two minutes ago, he had been contemplating a quickie with Aphrodite before returning to his palace for a rub down and some roasted goat. Now he was going to have to head straight to Earth with backed up testicles, aching shoulders and an empty stomach.
‘Son,’ said Zeus gravely, ‘When it comes to post-production, I think it’s time you learned to accept a universal truth.’
Ares scowled. He knew he was being set up, but with Zeus, the only way out of a trap was straight through the middle. ‘What universal truth?’ he felt obliged to ask.
‘You can’t polish a turd!’ yelled Zeus. And with a roar of laughter that set off the entire Council, he banged his scepter heartily on the marble floor.
Hermes was so busy trying to stop his head from exploding that he failed to notice his grandmother slip into the shadows with the god of light.