“Though no mortal has ever seen it, the Olympians claim to have a council of twelve gods known as the Dodekatheon, which convenes regularly to discuss various matters of Olympian importance. The council is ruled, of course, by the king of the gods, though the precise organizational hierarchy is unknown at the time of this writing.”
—A Mortal’s Guidebook to the Olympians’ Return
“Poseidon worries more about votes and politics on the Dodek than Zeus ever did. I can’t decide if it’s because he’s too erratic to lead well or if he just fears he’ll share Zeus’s fate if he makes too many unilateral decisions. Perhaps both are likely—and suddenly I’m thinking it unwise to express these sentiments in a public blog.”
—(unpublished) blog entry of Athena
ONCE HE WOKE and got back to Olympus, Ares insisted on speaking to the Dodekatheon as soon as possible—so soon, in fact, that not all member gods were in attendance. Fine with him. Poseidon was the only one he cared about now, the only one with the final word on anything. The other eleven could take a flying leap for all Ares cared.
Ares belatedly realized that he was one of those remaining eleven himself, but screw that. Just details. He could take a flying leap too, if he had to. No use correcting himself. Admitting mistakes was weakness.
Standing at the center of the circular Dodekatheon chambers, he looked over those gods seated around him who were able to respond to the immediate summons: Poseidon, Hera, Artemis, Athena, the spinelessly nurturing Demeter (she was knitting), and Hermes. Speedy bastard was everywhere, only this time Ares was glad for it. Now he could show the little trickster the value of action. Still, he’d gladly trade Hermes’s presence to get rid of Artemis. It didn’t take a genius to guess whose side Apollo’s twin sister would take.
At the moment, all waited on Poseidon. The Olympians’ new king sat on a throne of coral and jade, twin to the one he’d sat on beneath the sea. His eyes were two blazing emeralds staring into the distance as he concentrated on feeling the ether of the world, searched along the Earth's lines of mystical power, and scanned down from atop Olympus for something only Apollo’s elders had the power to sense.
Ares cracked his shoulders and wished the salty old fart would get the heck on with it already. It wasn’t like he was trying to take Stalingrad in winter or do long division or anything. Locating Apollo shouldn’t be that damn hard.
Poseidon’s eyes cleared.
“Well?” Ares asked.
“Apollo is not within my sight.”
“What? Now that don’t make no damn sense! Get him here now! I want to do this to his face!”
“Ares!” Hera’s rebuke matched the glare with which Poseidon slapped him. “Calm yourself!”
“What precisely has Apollo done?” Poseidon asked. “Then we shall see.”
“What, if anything?” Artemis quipped.
Ares ignored her and yanked off his helmet. “What’s he done? Only broke your highest damn law—that’s what he’s done! Look at this! Hit me in the back of my head with my own spear!” He pointed to the gigantic dent. “Knocked me right out! My skull’s still ringing!”
Anger flashed over Poseidon. Ares could feel the god scrutinizing him. Unlike his predecessor, truth-sensing wasn’t the sea god’s strength, yet so strong was the god’s decree that he would be able to tell just by looking if another had violated it. Ares held his ground with a righteous sneer. “Unprovoked,” Ares boasted. “I didn’t lay a finger on ’im.”
Poseidon begrudged a nod. “Why?” he asked.
“Why? Why’s it matter why? He broke the law! Your law! Punish him!”
“Apollo is no impulsive savage,” said Artemis, “unlike some I could mention. I move that we wait for his side of the story. I’m certain it would be more coherent.”
“And what makes you so damn sure?” Ares shot. “If he’s in the right, why’s he hiding, huh? For all we know, he killed Zeus!”
Artemis chuckled grimly. “I thought you had claimed that deed for yourself, Ares.”
“Ah, no one believes that hogwash anyway. I’m a blustering boasting brute, ya know.”
“And if he was trying to kill you, why aren’t you dead? You were knocked out, unconscious . . .”
Ares inwardly cursed the stupid virgin goddess and her stupid smart questions while trying to come up with an answer.
It was Hermes, as it turned out, who had one. “Even so, he raises a good point. What does Apollo have to hide? And how is he even hiding at all? Ever since . . . what happened to Zeus, we have wondered just what power exists that allows an immortal to be killed.”
“You are suggesting,” Poseidon said, “that the source of this same power might allow a god to escape his elders’ attention?”
Hermes shrugged. “Oh, wondering more than suggesting. We don’t know for sure either way.”
“Exactly! Hiding makes him guilty, can’t ya see? Strip him of his duties, track him down, get him here, and lock him away!” Ares declared. “Stick him in Tartarus for a century, then see if he wants to talk.”
Demeter looked up from her knitting. “But Apollo’s such a nice boy. Why not just send out word that we’d like to speak with him, and ask if he could please stop by and let us know his side of things?”
“Yeah, and when he gets here we can all have ambrosia and butter cookies and dance a little jig!” Ares sneered.
Demeter clapped. “That’s the spirit! Oh, I’m giving these mittens to you when I finish them, Ares. Isn’t it nice to get along?”
Ares stared. Were a lump of coal between his teeth, he’d be chewing a diamond in short order.
“King Poseidon,” Athena spoke for the first time, “with apologies to Artemis, is it possible that the reason you cannot locate Apollo is that he’s now dead as well?”
Artemis immediately shot her a stricken look and then turned away.
“No,” Poseidon answered. “Were he killed in the same manner as Zeus, I would sense it.”
A bit of motion in the balcony caught Ares’s eye. It was Hecate, who stepped from the shadows to lean forward and scrutinize Artemis. Not actually a member of the Dodekatheon herself, she nevertheless often lurked in the balcony, listening in and—so far as Ares felt—being weird for the heck of it.
Hera noticed her too. “Hecate, is there something you care to share with the Dodekatheon?”
The dark-haired goddess shook her head. “Answers I do not have are not mine to give. Yet sunlight shines upon the cypress.”
Ares rolled his eyes. “Speak plain! This is why we don’t invite you to parties!” They did invite her to parties, actually, or at least most of them, but Ares wasn’t one to let facts stop a good offensive.
Hecate gave the slightest nod toward Artemis. “She knows.”
All eyes turned toward Artemis, who shifted in her seat. “Something’s different with my brother. I don’t know what it is, but something has changed.”
“Explain,” Hera demanded.
“I cannot. Just recently, before we were all summoned here, something felt . . . off. I’m unable to quantify it any more than that. Please, great Poseidon, allow him time to return of his own accord.”
“No!” Ares roared. “You can’t just—he’s not just going to show up! We have to find him!”
“And where do you propose we look, Ares?” Hera scolded.
“Ah, this is ox crap! If he’d attacked anyone else, you’d all be out in force, trackin’ him down!” A stray thought struck his skull. “There was a Muse there too! Why don’t ya go find one of ’em and make ’em say where Apollo is?”
“Which one?”
“Eh?”
“Which Muse?” Hera repeated.
“Oh. Umm . . . the redhead. What’s-her-face.”
“Thalia!” Demeter declared, beaming. “She’s got such cute little dimples.”
“Yeah, so’s my puckered butt,” Ares muttered.
Demeter gasped. “Manners! No mittens for you now!”
“If the Muses are involved,” said Artemis, plainly ignoring the vitally important winter-wear issue, “it can hardly be something to do with Zeus’s death! They loved him!”
Hermes chuckled. “Or appeared to, anyway.”
“Ares,” Hera started, “perhaps you should tell us the entirety of what transpired, and omit no further detail.”
“I ain’t leavin’ out . . .” He set his jaw as a dozen acerbic comments jammed up against each other, trying to get out. The delay gave just enough time for him to register Hera’s warning glare and, against all odds, pick the least offensive of the bunch. “Fine, if you wanna waste time . . .”
Ares went on to explain the truth of what happened, the partial truth, and little beyond the truth, describing his rage at the mortal’s slaying of the creature he and Athena designed together. He told of his fully understandable request that the Erinyes avenge the destruction of such a rare collaboration when they could, and of his warning to the dead hero’s companions regarding further attacks on his favored beasts.
“Jason Powers is dead?” Athena jumped to her feet in shock. “You killed him for that? I watched the fight; he fought well and nobly!”
Ah, hell. Leave it to the goddess of defense to get squeamish. “He killed our creature! I had the right!”
“Oh, for our sake, Ares, it was just a stupid turtle-frog! That you consulted on!”
“Athena!” Hera warned, wresting them back on track.
Athena threw herself back to her seat. “Rage-tripping jackass. I liked that show.”
“And for this,” Hera continued, “Apollo attacked you?”
“I dunno why he did it! But yeah, that was when. Maybe he liked the show too, I dunno!”
“If Thalia was there, perhaps he thought you were threatening her?” Artemis asked.
Ares whirled on her. “I didn’t threaten her!”
“Ares, you’re violent, loud, and destructive,” she said with a smirk. “You threaten the air with your very presence.”
“Flatterin’ me ain’t gonna shut me up.”
“I meant that it would be very easy to misconstrue your usual demeanor for a heightened threat.”
Hermes cleared his throat. “That would make sense, were Apollo not as used to Ares’s temperament as the rest of us. And . . .” The god scowled and shook his head into silence.
“Speak your mind, Hermes.”
He glanced at Poseidon. “I can’t help but wonder if Thalia—or all of the Muses, for that matter—are in on whatever Apollo must be up to.”
Artemis scoffed. “What he ‘must be up to’?”
“Might be, then,” Hermes amended. “But we all know how close the Muses are to—”
“Oh, yes!” Artemis cried. “They work with him, so they’re all in on some conspiracy! Why not round up anyone who’s ever had anything to do with Apollo? We’re most all of us related to him in some way! I’m his twin sister! Lock me up!”
Demeter leaned over. “Quiet, dearie. No one’s locking anyone up, are we, Poseidon?”
Poseidon considered this for a moment. “I—”
“Now you be nice!”
The problem the Olympians faced in dealing with Demeter was her sheer sunny disposition. She’d been more like the rest of them in the early days, but centuries of playing the nurturing harvest goddess had softened her. Some viewed her as downright senile. Thinking she would be easily influenced, the others gave her Zeus’s open spot on the Dodekatheon, yet she cared not a whit for political machinations, instead lending what could only be described as grandmotherly support to whichever party she perceived as playing the nicest. To appear too abrasive was to lose her vote.
Poseidon gave only a resigned glance in Demeter’s direction before addressing the rest of them. “The Muses shall not be under suspicion yet but will be called before the Dodekatheon and questioned regarding Apollo’s whereabouts. Apollo himself shall be placed on probation pending investigation. Hera will summon him personally. If he does not appear in three days’ time—”
“Three days? Who knows what he could—”
“Be silent!” Poseidon was on his feet, trident slammed into the ground. It was enough to shut up Ares. Poseidon calmed, slightly, after that. “If Apollo does not appear in three days, then he shall know his uncle’s wrath.”
Ares stifled the impulse to ask what Poseidon’s punishment might consist of, as he was pretty sure Poseidon himself didn’t quite know. With Zeus—as much of a pain in the ass that he’d been for the past two millennia—you could at least count on the fact that he had a penalty in mind when he threatened you with one. Poseidon wasn’t nearly so organized. There was something to be said for fear of the unknown, but it was a heck of a lot less satisfying when you were rooting for the retribution.
On the other hand, Poseidon, god of the sea, monsoons, and hurricanes—who once had spent two decades kicking Odysseus in the metaphorical crotch—had a fine track record for wrath. Even so, the three-day delay was outrageous and blunted what should have been a clear victory against Apollo. Artemis and her bloody arguments! Maybe if the virgin goddess got laid once in a while, she wouldn’t be such a bitch! He and Hermes could’ve gotten Apollo tossed in Tartarus immediately if not for her, and now the rest of the conspiracy would give him crap for going against their damn “plan,” perhaps Hades most of all.
Yeah, well, bring it on. At least he was doing something.
But why couldn’t Poseidon find Apollo?