MY WINGS GIVE a jerky ride as they flutter nervously to deliver me into the common room on Mount Olympus. Truly, there are days I hate being the gods’ messenger, especially the days when I have to deliver to Hera the news of the identity of Zeus’s new lover. My wings, an extension of myself, sense my hesitation and stop their beating the moment my eyes land on Hera. She stoops down to hand Sophie a doll the girl has dropped. Hera’s sudden affection for the children of Herc Dion still seems to bewilder the big man who she worked so hard to hate until only recently. Hera doesn’t see me yet, and I consider urging my wings to jettison me out of here, but my momentum has already been lost and my wings drop me several inches into a stumbling landing on the marble floor. I give my left helmet wing a flick with my index finger as punishment then straighten my shoulders and stride toward Hera.
Sophie hands me her doll. “Make her fly.”
Hera gives me an encouraging glance. I take the doll and soar her through the air. On the doll’s third loop a toy arrow thumps into her and Sergio, Sophie’s twin brother, lets out a whoop of joy. Sophie’s delicate face turns from ivory white to fiery red as tears spring to her eyes. I apologize, my awkwardness with children makes me feel like her distress is somehow my fault. In an instant, Iole takes back the doll to comfort Sophie while Herc tells his son he made a good shot but that a good shot counts for nothing when aimed at an innocent victim. I take the chance to link my arm with Hera’s and guide her to our favorite gossiping spot near at the columns that look out onto the Olympic Plain and the islands in the sea beyond.
“I have news,” I say to fill space before I have to deliver my message. My stomach lurches as if someone has just tried to push me off the edge of the cliff the common room perches on.
“No doubt you do. And from the look on your face it isn’t good news.” Worry creases her face. She glances over her shoulder to ensure no one is near before whispering, “Where is Jason? Has he come to harm?”
“No,” I say, relieved to be able to tell her good news. News that will hopefully lift her spirits before I deliver the bad. “He is just arrived at the Island of Doliones.”
“Well,” she says, her face now smoothed with relief, “he will come to no trouble there. Perseus knows the rules; he knows how to avoid any trouble from the wolfside of the Dol.”
“Wolfside?” I feign ignorance to keep Hera talking so I don’t have to. “At times I think there are too many creatures in Osteria even for a messenger god to keep up with.”
“When their blood is up or when they are threatened in the night, the guards of Doliones Island take on the form of wolves but with the cunning intelligence of man. But as I said, Perseus knows the rules. He knows not to approach their shores in the dark, he knows not to go roaming beyond the Hall, and he will ensure they leave the island at dawn. Now, what news?”
A hand grips my gut. I want to talk more of the Dol, to have Hera tell me how they took on the wolfside, but she urges my news with an impatient tilt of her chin.
“Zeus—” Gods, how I hate this aspect of my job. There is no way around it. I speak the words as quickly as my tongue can manage. “Zeus has indeed taken up with another mortal woman. He thinks he’s in love.”
“He what?”
Unlike her brothers, Hera’s outbursts of rage don’t call up thunder or storm clouds, but the fury in her voice shakes me with a small start of surprise as if a thunderclap has just sounded overhead. Iole and Herc look up, but then resume playing with the twins, although their game has a forced cheerfulness about it as if they hope to ride out Hera’s mood. I swallow hard and repeat my news adding the details I’ve gathered.
“He’s seeing Io. He’s completely besotted with her. If you ask me, that’s why we haven’t seen much of him and, when he is here, he’s distracted. Managing Olympus does tend to interfere with bedsport.”
“Enough.” Hera holds up a hand. “I don’t need the disgusting image dancing through my mind. He can’t do this, not now. Not when we need him.” Hera rages through the common room with the eyes of Herc and Iole on her. Sophie and Sergio seem to accept this as a cue to play quietly.
“The titans are the threat, right?” Herc asks. Hera reels around to face him. Fury burns in her eyes. I know Herc can get away with speaking up to Hera; he’s saved her life after all. But I also know some gods have short memories when it comes to forgiveness. In my mind I urge Herc to hold his tongue more tightly once in a while.
“Yes, obviously,” Hera snaps.
“But there are titans who aren’t against you. Titans who are willing to ally themselves with the gods.”
Hera rushes to him. I half expect her to grip the front of Herc’s tunic in her fist. “What good does that do us? The gods need to stand together to fight, and Zeus is the only one who can summon all of us together. But apparently he can’t be bothered to rouse an interest in anyone but this Io.”
She storms back to where I stand and stares out over the Olympic Plain.
“The titans I know could eliminate the distraction,” Herc says. Why can he not remain silent? Does his brawn require him to be idiotically daring?
“Herc, you know the titans can’t kill,” Iole says.
“No, but they can steal and they can hide things. Your garden, the dragon, Zeus has no control over them, does he?”
Hera looks at me as if I’m the one stupid enough to open my mouth when she’s in one of her jealous moods. I’m about to defend myself, but where I expect to be cowed with rage, I see a flicker of electric curiosity in her green and gold-flecked eyes. “No, the dragon is mine. But if that slut is in my garden, she’ll have access to the tree.”
While I think I understand what Herc might be suggesting, Hera’s worry is justifiable. Like the trees on Olympus, the trees in the Garden of the Hesperides bear fruit and nuts year round, but one fills its branches with apples of pure gold. It is this tree that holds Hera’s power. Her essence. If Io got hold of the tree, she could destroy Hera.
“Create a place within your garden that Io can’t leave,” I say, the image coming to me as I speak. “It’s your garden and since it’s not occupied by mortals at the moment, the rules state you can remodel it with a sweep of your hand. Have the dragon guard her while the nymphs keep her entertained. Your tree will be safe.”
“And once I do this remodel how does she get to the garden?” Hera asks irritably. The good mood the idea had cast on her, vanishes as her quick mind sorts through the technicalities of mortal transportation. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m certainly not going to take her there.”
The room falls silent. Of the gods only Hera and I know the location of her garden. No mortal knows where it is. In fact, it is nowhere. It moves, shifts, disappears and reappears. Trying to find it would be like trying to find the end of rainbow. The only other immortals who know the garden’s location at any given moment are the nymphs who guard it and their uncle, Atlas, the titan who is brother to Prometheus. Not that anyone asks my opinion, but I want no part in the matter. Still, if Hera asks, I can’t refuse, so I take a step back moving just to the other side of the column to be out of her line of sight. I’m so close to the edge of the common room, my wings instinctively start to flutter, but I urge them to remain still. After several lengthy moments, Herc Dion gives an exasperated sigh.
“If you can locate Prometheus, I can arrange for him to have Atlas take Io to the garden.”
“Do it.” Hera snaps her fingers and I move out of my hiding spot to see a map of Osteria etched into the floor of the common room. Thousands of small figures move about in the image Hera has conjured. “Immortals,” Hera says in an annoyed tone. The majority of the figures disappear. Looking far to Osteria’s east where Prometheus spends most of his time, I spot the titan’s massive figure.
“There,” I say, pointing to him.
Hera spreads her hands over the area to enlarge it. She looks to Herc who steps back a pace, his normally tanned face pales with apprehension.
“No, please, I can travel there by horse,” he protests. His fear of god-style travel sits strangely on his proud, strong frame.
“I’m in no mood to wait.” Hera claps her hands and Herc vanishes from the room. In less than a heartbeat, his figure appears next to Prometheus. Herc tries to utter a greeting but pitches over and vomits as Prometheus belts out a hearty laugh.
“Not so bold an entry as last time we met,” Prometheus says.
Sweat beads on Herc’s pallid forehead and he sways like someone who has just been whirling in tight circles, but he manages to pull himself into his rigid vigile stance. He explains to the titan what is needed. Prometheus’s face loses its amused expression.
“I don’t like to mettle in the affairs of the gods.”
“Atlas is the only one who can do this and I don’t think even he could be fooled by me again.” Herc says referring to the trick he played on Atlas to complete one of the tasks Eury Stephanos ordered of him. The dimwitted titan fell for the ruse, but even the dumbest titan can learn from his mistakes. “You must convince him.”
“And this will help the gods against Typhon?”
“They hope so, yes.”
Prometheus watches Herc a moment and I’m certain he will say no. Titan against titan, no one has ever heard of such a thing. It is as unheard of as a god betraying another god—my thoughts stop instantly as I recall Ares speaking with Typhon and Pelias. Maybe the unheard of is possible.
“Then I suppose I must go have a chat with my brother,” Prometheus says casually.
“Thank you. I owe you for this,” Herc says bowing his head. The titan chuckles. At first I think it is at the deference Herc is showing, but then realize Prometheus is laughing at what he is about to do.
“You won’t thank me after this.” Still shaking from his own humor, Prometheus raises his hands, palms facing each other. Herc’s gaze shoots up, his eyes widen and his mouth starts to form a protest. But before the words can come out, Prometheus brings his hands together in a single clap.
Herc arrives back in the common room. He heaves, but the first leg of his trip has already cleared his stomach so nothing comes up. In the scene beside him, Prometheus giggles like a child who has just heard his grandfather farting in his sleep.
“I hate god travel,” Herc says as he rests his head on the cool marble of the common room floor.