“YOU NEED TO go back,” Hades says as I toss a dismembered foot for Cerberus to fetch. The middle of her three heads nearly has it when the left head snatches the half-rotted appendage from the floor of Hades’s vast cavern. I’ve lingered here since I brought Io to the Chasm, hiding from the wrath I know Zeus will slap me with when I return to Olympus. “This is not your place. Besides, your wings look wretched; you should really have them tended to.”
I stroke the wings on my helmet. They’re singed and frayed and one hangs at a strange angle. Although neither appears to be broken, they do need repair before the damage becomes permanent. It is this thought that forces me to reluctantly accept Hades’s advice. Cerberus brings the foot back and I toss it again making certain to not throw it further than the length of the leash Hades must keep around his pet’s neck to control her blood-thirsty urges.
“You’re always begging us to come visit you,” I tease. None of the gods likes to visit the Chasm. Not because we fear the creatures that dwell here, but because the sulfurous stench overwhelms our heightened senses. It did sting my nostrils at first, but after nearly a week I’ve almost become used to the irritation. “Now you have a visitor and you beg him to leave.”
“But you’re not visiting. You’re hiding out in fear of my brother. Go and get your message delivered before Zeus finds out from some other god or mortal. It’s your duty,” he says and pats me on the shoulder with a hand that feels as hot as lava.
Not wanting to subject my wings to any further harm, I say my goodbyes to Hades, pet Cerberus on each of her heads and then snap my fingers to return to Olympus. I’m back for less than a heartbeat before the god of the gods bounds across the common area like an excited puppy, his face filled with expectant hope.
“Where is she? Where is my love?” Zeus asks as if I’m playing a child’s game, as if I have Io tucked away in my pocket like the figurine of her he carries.
But as he takes a moment from his own excitement to scan my face that feels as if it hangs to my navel, Zeus’s expression sours.
“What’s wrong with you?” His voice booms against the marble walls. “Can’t even perform a simple task? Idiot.” He grabs the front of my tunic, jerking me forward. My tattered wings flap for balance and Zeus bats his free hand at them. “You are an—”
“Enough,” Hera shouts, sending a winter’s chill over the normally pleasant climate of Olympus. “You have no reason to treat him like that.”
“He’s a failure.” He releases my tunic with a shove. “He disgusts me.”
I stagger back a few paces. My arms tremble and defensive phrases rifle through my head, but none finds its way to my lips. I should speak for myself, but Hera has stood up for me when I couldn’t. I can almost forgive her for her deal with Aphrodite. Now, in place of the fear of Zeus’s wrath, I’m filled with the worry of angering Hera if the purpose of my errand is revealed. She has defended me from Zeus; it will be a betrayal to have her do so over my failed retrieval of her husband’s lover.
As if my mind has beckoned them onto the stage, Aphrodite and Ares enter the common room, look at me and snigger. I try to prevent it, but I cannot keep my eyes from glancing toward Ares. When all I see is disdain, my gaze drops to my tattered sandal wings. How must I look to this most glorious of the gods? Hot embarrassment flares from my cheeks to my ears.
“What has he done?” Hera asks. “Whatever it is, it looks like he’s put up a fight. His wings are never in such a state.”
“If he spent less time preening and more time—” Zeus’s words are cut off by a gale of wind roaring through the common room. Thunder shakes the marble floor. Unfazed by either of these disturbances, Zeus maintains his chilling glare at me. “Is Poseidon coming to your defense too? Why can’t you speak for yourself, Hermes?”
“It’s insulting to be mistaken for one of the gods,” a booming voice says. Materializing before us is the face I had seen in the clouds. “I can’t think of anything worse to be called.”
“Typhon, you know you aren’t welcome here,” Zeus says. His angry shouts toward me seem nothing more than a firm warning compared to the menace he conjures against the titan.
“I’m sure I’ll be even less welcome when you hear my news. I had hoped that winged one would tell you, especially in front of Hera.”
“Speak sense or get out,” Zeus growls.
“I killed Io. That one put up a good fight though. Impressive really.”
I don’t have to look at Hera to feel the burning look she shoots at me.
Before I can offer an excuse, before anyone can speak, Zeus hurtles toward Typhon. The sound of their bodies clashing is louder than the deepest thunder. Both god and titan stagger back until they roll down the side of Olympus as if they are two massive boulders loosened in an avalanche. The other gods appear from the common room’s corners and niches where they have been eavesdropping and watch as the two beings bounce off outcroppings and break through scrubby trees on their descent. Before they hit the bottom, two massive black clouds billow up from the valley floor. The clouds slam into one another, rattling Olympus so hard that stones are loosened from the mountain. A thin crack in the marble floor forms at my feet, but before I can dwell on it my attention is jerked away as lightning bolts crash together creating electric arcs across the sky.
Apollo steps forward. “I can bring the sun, burn Typhon away.”
“Impossible to tell which is Zeus and which is Typhon,” Poseidon says as he presses down Apollo’s hand.
The battle plays out with an unnerving ferocity. I steal sidelong glances at Ares. Where I expect to see him cuddling Aphrodite, clutching her protectively to him with each crash and boom, I see instead the god of war has abandoned his lover. He pays no mind to her peeved expression. He stands on the very edge of the common room, his eyes wide and eager to take in all of the action.
Suddenly I see him for what he is, why he has chosen the dog and vulture as his emblems; like scavengers for meat, Ares salivates for destruction. He is the god of war, of course I know that, but his sister Athena is also a goddess of war. It is a conundrum why one should be revered and the other reviled. But I understand now. Athena fights for wars that are just, she represents the honorable battle. Ares fights for the thrill of fighting and the power of killing. He cares not for justice, he cares only to satisfy his bloodlust. For the first time in years, I want to be nowhere near Ares.
Before he can catch me staring at him and think my look is one of longing, I turn back to the fight that has him so excited. One of the thunderheads bursts through the other scattering it to pieces. For a moment I have no idea which contender has been dispersed. The question is answered when the intact cloud manifests before us.
“Rein in your mortals or I will declare war on the gods.”
“This is war, Typhon,” Ares says, his voice ringing with lusty enthusiasm.
“Good.” Typhon grins in a way that reminds me of tabby ready to launch an attack on an unwary sparrow. “I can’t wait because if we war, mortals will die.”
While the pieces of Zeus find one another and reform, Typhon delivers another message. This time he addresses Hera. I move to stand beside her.
“And your chosen one, Hera, the one you thought would be Osteria’s hero and needed no more of your protection is in for a surprise. Your little love spell is about to end, as is his line. The letter his wife is receiving at this very moment will guarantee it.”
The cloud of Zeus pulls itself together. A lightning bolt sizzles through the air toward Typhon. Before the bolt can reach him, Typhon disappears and the bolt cracks against the rear wall of the common room.
Hera, ignoring the tapestries on the far wall that the bolt has ignited, turns to me. Her eyes plead for information as she takes my hands in hers.
“The pelt. Where is it? Who has it?”
Disappointment overwhelms me. I want to be able to answer her question. I want to ease her worry that the pelt has not fallen into Medea’s hands, but again, I fail.
“I do not know. It was placed in your satchel.”
If only I could wipe away the angst on her face. We both know what the words mean. An object in her satchel becomes unwatchable by the gods. The pelt that could define who rules Osteria is out of our view and beyond our control.
Just as the bolt has set fire to the tapestries, the gods’ tension ignites a fierce cacophony of disputes. Aphrodite rages against Ares for leaving her side. Ares shouts that he was through with her anyway. Apollo takes offense at the rudeness toward his sister. Hera accuses Aphrodite of being incapable of a proper love spell. I step back, not wanting her to hurl any hatred at me for the part I played with Io. Zeus flings his insults to everyone for not coming to his aid.
“Enough,” Poseidon shouts. His eyes fill with a tempest as he hurls a spray of water at the smoldering tapestry. His voice and actions dampen the arguments as well. “There has been enough meddling in mortal lives and politics. It is driving us apart. We’re missing the point. If Typhon is interfering we have more to worry about than our own petty problems.” His glance shifts over to Ares, but does not linger.
“What do you suggest?” Hera asks. With fury still fuming through her, the question comes out more as a curse than a question.
“We need to get to Jason’s wife,” I say quietly. It is a naïve thought, but I hope that if we can stop whatever Medea is about to do perhaps we can keep my great-grandson from ruin.
“I will not,” Ares says, hurling the words like a slap. “You may have once thought Jason had the potential to be a hero, but he does not. None of you know anything of how the world truly works. You all scurry around as blind as moles. And you,” he says, pointing to me, “you are the worst of them. You’re the messenger. You should know things before we do, but you’re too busy preening your wings and ogling me. You disgust me.” I cannot blink. I cannot swallow. Had I not realized what Ares was only moments ago, my eyes would now be overflowing with tears at his insult. Still, I have admired him for too long to not feel the arrows of his words piercing my chest.
My heart rips as Aphrodite slinks up next to Ares. He will take her in his arms and love her as he will never love me. A new stab of self-pity tears at me even though I tell myself Ares is not worth it.
“Even you,” Ares shouts, spinning on Aphrodite and snapping me to attention. His words drive the goddess back like a crab scuttling away from an incoming wave. “You think beauty is enough to make everyone love us. I tell you, beauty will be what brings Osteria and Olympus down and I’m not going with it.”
On his final word, Ares vanishes in a flash of red. I blink hard fighting the heat searing my eyes. Ares does not care for me. He never has. He does not even care for the other gods. Why has it taken so much for me to realize these truths? Hera approaches me. At the same time I both hate and appreciate the apology in her eyes. I should never have betrayed her, not over Ares. “Where has he gone?” Hera asks.
I close my eyes. I don’t need to scan Osteria to answer the question, but closing them soothes some of the sorrow I feel.
“He has gone to Typhon.” He has always been with Typhon, I think but do not confess what I know. I open my eyes. In better times, I would have lingered for weeks over my angst of Ares’s betrayal, but there are more pressing matters to attend to. “We should get to Salemnos.”
“It is too late,” Aphrodite says. Her voice sounds as hollow as my chest feels. She is gazing over a map of Salemnos, honing in on the palace, on one room of the palace. As Hera and I step closer, Aphrodite’s hand flies to her mouth, but her hand does nothing to stop her gasp of horror. I run to the map. Every piece of me shakes with anger, with rage, with disgust, with agony at what I witness. I look to Hera. So many words spring to my mind, words of accusation over her meddling, over her bringing Medea into my great-grandson’s life. But I hold my tongue. Unlike any hardship we have ever faced, we gods must stick together. We must put our pettiness and our vanities aside if we are to continue.
But now, the deed is done. There is nothing I can do. I must be alone.
Pulling off my tattered sandals, I walk from the common room. It has been ages since I’ve known the feel of the floor on my feet and now the marble cools my skin from heel to toe. I hate it, but the distaste of the sensation suits my mood. Stepping through the horrible scene in Aphrodite’s map, I leave the common room behind and seek out the solitude of my chambers.