“Wheat is one of my favorites—so versatile, so abundant! How rewarding it is to toil in the fields; reap the benefits of a good, honest harvest; and then use a modest portion to make flour for cake! Everybody enjoys cake!”
—Demeter, 2010 Farming Almanac
AS ZEUS EXPECTED, the other Olympians indeed sensed his resurrection, and on Olympus the effect was akin to kicking over a hill of egotistical, self-serving ants. Some argued over strategy; others hunkered down and tried to look busy. Many did both at the same time or switched between the two courses depending on the moment and the look of the sky. Poseidon’s initial attempts at organizing everyone—or anyone— against Zeus failed like a man trying to build a house of cards in a stampede of burning cattle. The question of what to do with Apollo, now captured, was lost amid the chaos. He was chained in the Olympian cellars next to some abandoned exercise machines and forgotten.
Or at least mostly forgotten. When Zeus failed to return to Olympus immediately, the chaos gradually turned to hushed waiting. Some of the gods moved among the rest and sowed further plots, alliances, and contingencies. Others hunkered down to scan the horizons for lightning storms. Yet someone did, finally, think to pay Apollo a visit.
Apollo lifted his head at the scrape of the opening door.
“Wakey-wakey!” rejoiced Demeter, entering. “And how are we feeling today?”
Apollo tugged demonstratively at the god-forged chains that held him fast to the wall. “I’ve had better days. And you?”
“Just peachy, and thank you for asking, dear. Oh, but I’m sorry you have to stand. Your tootsies must be tired! Soon I’ll knit you some nice, warm slippers!”
“I’d like that,” Apollo said. Humoring Demeter was usually the best option. He nevertheless added, “Though letting me out would be even more helpful.”
She clucked her tongue. “Oh, now that’s not really my decision, is it? But you’re a good nephew; I’ll have another chat with that Poseidon and see what he says. I just don’t understand why he’s all up in a snit about everything, striding about Olympus with a big puss on his face like everyone else now that Zeus is back. You’d think he’d be excited to see his brother again, but everyone’s just got bees in their bonnets about how he’s going to come back angry and start fighting, the poor darlings.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Oh, Zeus does have a temper, now doesn’t he? But worry is wasted energy, I always say. So I got to thinking, what makes anything better? A big, scrumptious apology cake made from fresh soft wheat! Which reminds me! Artemis, bring it in, dear!”
At that, Apollo’s sister came through the door, smiling sadly in greeting. She pushed a gold and ivory dessert tray topped with a wide doily, atop which sat a sheet cake decorated with broad cursive strokes of white icing on chocolate that read: “Sorry we had to lock you up, Apollo!” Traces of smeared white along the cake’s outer edges seemed to indicate previous lettering that had been scraped off.
Apollo beamed at his sister. “I didn’t think they’d let you see me. I heard about the oath.”
“I’m forbidden from coming here in order to speak with you,” Artemis explained with a wan smile. “So officially I’m only helping Demeter with the cake. Any talking to you now is purely incidental, then, is it not?”
“Thank the Fates for loopholes,” Apollo said.
Demeter clapped her agreement, adding, “Over and under, around and about, that’s what shoe-tying’s all about!”
Neither twin corrected her.
“Would you care for some cake?” Demeter asked. “It used to say, Welcome back, Zeus, and sorry you got murdered! But now, of course, it says this. Zeus still hasn’t shown up yet, so I redecorated before it got stale. I thought it might cheer you up a bit.”
“I expect he’d love some,” Artemis answered for him, “but he’ll need to be freed if he’s to eat it.”
“Don’t worry, dear. We’ll feed it to him. You’re not too grown up for that, are you, Apollo? Let me take that knife; I don’t want you kids hurting yourselves!” She snatched the cake knife from Artemis and went to cut.
Artemis moved closer to whisper. “Did any of your visions include this, Brother?”
He ignored the rebuke. “No sign of Zeus at all yet?”
“No, and the longer he takes to show up, the weaker he looks in everyone’s eyes and the less they fear him. I’ve heard some gods wonder if he’ll try any wrath at all.”
“Trust me. He will.”
“I can tell when you’re lying, Apollo.”
“It’s not a lie!” He gritted his teeth and had to make an effort to keep his voice down. “Fine, so I’m uncertain. But about some things I was right: Ares killed Zeus and now I know he had help. Dionysus, Hermes, possibly Hades, and one of the goddesses I’m not sure about.”
“I know. I’d not heard anything about Hades and a goddess, but the others admitted their involvement. That’s secondhand, though.”
Demeter remained busy with the cake, dividing the entire thing into far more pieces than necessary.
“Now they admit it?” Apollo whispered. “Why?”
Artemis shook her head. “I can’t. Some things I’ve been specifically ordered not to tell you.”
“Then let me tell you what I know, and maybe you can—”
She put her fingers to his lips. “No. If you tell me anything new, I’ll have to report it. I’m bound from helping.”
“So you’re just making a social call?”
“Don’t sound so annoyed!” she whispered. “If you’d trusted me enough to involve me fully, things might’ve worked out different!”
“I was trying to protect you!”
“Well done! I’ve only had to swear myself to Poseidon to save my own skin! Things could hardly be worse!”
Demeter broke in before Apollo could answer. “Artemis dear, where are the forks?”
“Lower shelf under the tray,” she answered without looking.
“Oh, yes!”
“How are we going to get out of this?” Artemis whispered.
“I don’t know, but I’m not entirely without hope. Help me with Demeter.”
“I don’t know that I can.”
“Do your best?”
“Here we are!” Demeter hurried over with two pieces and presented them proudly. “Cocoa-fudge with raspberry filling! It’s not quite as fresh as it could be, I fear, but I’m sure you don’t mind, do you?”
“I’m just grateful you thought of me,” Apollo answered, at least thankful for the first visit he’d had in a few days. Now he simply needed to figure out how to use it to his advantage. “What about Zeus, Demeter?” he tried.
Demeter offered him a forkful. “Don’t worry. I’ll bake him another after this.”
“That’s not what I—”
Demeter pushed the cake into his mouth. He’d have said more, but talking with one’s mouth full in front of Demeter tended to aggravate the goddess.
“I just love cakes,” she went on. “They’re really one of the best uses for wheat and sugar. Aren’t crops marvelous?” She got another forkful of cake for him just as he swallowed the first, asking, “So, Apollo, you do intend to apologize to poor Ares, don’t you? Apologies make everyone feel better.”
“I really think there’s more to it than that. Do you realize—?”
Demeter shoved another bite into his mouth. “Oh, tish-tosh! Don’t be so stubborn. It’s just a little apology. You should play nice.”
“Let him talk a little, Demeter,” Artemis tried.
“He needs cheering!”
Apollo swallowed and decided to switch tactics. “Speaking of playing nice, Demeter, do you know what’s become of Thalia?”
“Oh, she’s fine, the poor darling. Back in with her sisters, though Poseidon still has them under house arrest. No chains, though.”
“And Tracy?” he managed before the next bite invaded his mouth.
“I’m sorry, dear, who?”
Artemis only shook her head, perplexed.
“Tracy Wallace? The mortal who was with me at the temple. You didn’t hear about that?”
“No, I didn’t hear about any mortals. One of your little crushes?”
Apollo frowned and tried to decide what it signified that Demeter knew nothing of Tracy. Either Hades, Hermes, and Ares had kept her a secret after she and Apollo were captured, or they’d killed her. There was also the possibility that she had escaped somehow, but that was about as likely as Ares writing decent poetry. If she was truly dead, would Zeus hold that against him? In any case, Apollo would be sorry to learn she’d come to such an end after displaying so much heroism.
Artemis cleared her throat. “I expect I should go before you say anything further, Brother.” The unspoken words “that I’d have to report” hung plainly in the silence. Artemis said good-bye and, after a frustrated hug that the chains kept him from returning, turned to go.
“Watch yourself,” he told her.
“Likewise,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”
Apollo watched her go and wondered if Zeus would regard her oath to Poseidon as betrayal.
“Demeter, about this mortal,” he began once she’d left, “I don’t suppose you could find out for me? Ask around? I’d like to know.”
“Oh, so she is a crush!” Demeter beamed. “It’s so nice to see you’re dating again, a handsome, young god like you. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“I’d be glad for that. Might I also trouble you to carry a message to the Muses for me?”
“Poseidon said not to, dear. I’m sorry. But I can ask him if he’d change his mind for you if you like. Oh, you’ve got a bit of frosting on your chin. Hold still!” She licked her thumb and wiped it off.
He grimaced. “I doubt he’ll change his mind.”
“Oh, he may, dear. You know what he’s like, ‘as swiftly changing as the sea,’ as they say. Though there was that whole Odysseus thing, I suppose, wasn’t there? But that only lasted, what, two decades? Two decades goes by like that!”
“I fear Zeus will be back before then, Demeter. Why not just let me out now? Join me? Like you said, Zeus is going to be angry, and—with no dishonor to your baking—I don’t think a simple cake is going to appease him.”
“Of course not! I’ve knitted a nice, thick sweater to go with it.”
Apollo forced a smile. “Nevertheless. Some of the other gods murdered him, and I doubt he’ll be thrilled with how we all violated the Withdrawal the moment he was gone. I helped to bring him back; the only wise course is to side with me. Free me, and you help Zeus. You’ll be spared his wrath!”
Demeter tugged away the next bite of cake she was about to offer. “It’s poor manners to threaten your Aunt Demeter, Apollo. Now say you’re sorry, or no more cake.”
“Demeter, please. I’m warning, not threatening. For your own sake. And mine.” He shouldn’t have added that last part, but he couldn’t help himself.
She sighed. “Oh, you boys and your silly theories! You’re all just being mean.”
“Aunt, please! Some of the others are directly responsible for killing Zeus! For killing him! Are you comfortable knowing some of us can actually kill the others?”
“Oh, I know. Ares, Dionysus and Hermes,” Demeter answered. “They told everyone yesterday.”
“Not Hades or . . . anyone else?”
“No, no. Hermes simply came to me with Ares and Dionysus to ask if I’d side with them and the rest of the gods when Zeus gets here. He said some foolishness about how we all need to stand united under Poseidon because Zeus will be angry and want to toss us all in Tartarus.”
It was a good strategy, Apollo considered. Though dethroned, Zeus would still be a force to be reckoned with. The remaining Olympians stood their best chance if they united, but fear and political maneuvering might very well keep them from doing so unless they were assured of victory. A god-killing weapon on their side might be just enough to provide that assurance. The timing of the conspirators’ confession gave them a way to turn their culpability into an asset and gain power without the others wishing to lynch them on principle.
“But you told them no, right?” Apollo asked.
“What I told him was that Poseidon is king now and I’d of course do whatever he says we ought to do.”
“I suspect Poseidon will tell you to do whatever lets him keep his throne.”
“Hush! All you worry-warts! Everything will work out; you’ll see. It’s just like that thing with the Titans. It worked out for the best for everyone.”
“I daresay the Titans would disagree.”
“Nonsense! The Titans went to live on a farm where they can run through the fields and chase rabbits all day!”
Apollo sighed against the urge to correct her, choosing his battles. “And the fact that Ares, and the others, committed deicide doesn’t bother you at all?”
“Oh, tsk, Apollo, of course it bothers me. It’s terrible manners, but Zeus got better, so there’s no harm done. If worst comes to worst, we might have to put Zeus down here with you just to give him a ‘time-out’ until he calms down, I suppose, but after that we’ll all be one happy family again.”
“Or the others may try to kill him again! And after that, what’s to stop them from killing anyone else who stands in their way?”
“Manners, Apollo!” Demeter whacked him on the forehead with the curve of the fork. “And stand in their way of doing what? Olympus’s doorways are quite wide enough.”
Before Apollo could think of a response, the horn that summoned the Dodekatheon into assembly sounded throughout Olympus. A trio of extra notes declared that all gods and beings upon Olympus were required to attend.
“A universal summons,” Apollo tried. “I’d best go too. If you’d please help me get free, Demeter?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Apollo. Poseidon told me specifically that you must stay here until he sends for you by name. You just rest up and remember: turn on the love, even when you don’t get what you want!”
“You’ll remember to ask if I can see the Muses?” Apollo called after her. She was out the door so quickly that he couldn’t be sure if she’d even heard.
He tugged at his chains again; they still refused to budge. Once more he wondered at the meaning of his vision of Zeus talking to Karlson on the Eiffel Tower. That Karlson had fallen into the sea was the one detail Thalia had managed to whisper to Apollo when they’d been captured at the temple. Could Leif have survived somehow, or was the vision merely a figurative one?
In any case, if Apollo was to get to Paris himself and meet Zeus, he was rapidly running out of time, if he had any left at all. Perhaps the call to assembly heralded Zeus’s return. What could Zeus possibly do on his own against a united force of Olympians? What would Apollo’s own fate be when they triumphed?
It is uncertain just how Apollo might have reacted to the knowledge that around the same time, Tracy herself was alive on Olympus. As she occupied a prison of her own, however, it likely would not have given him much hope.
It was at least comfortable, for a prison. Tracy had to admit she’d never actually been in a prison before, so her basis for comparison consisted of only what she’d seen in films and that one hotel in Kansas with the three thousand crickets in the bathroom.
This place was at least better than Kansas.
In fact, given the brightly shining skylight above, the glorious view from the balcony (which dropped off much too far to consider it a means of escape), the plush furnishings, and numerous flowers adorning the place, she didn’t realize it even was a prison until she discovered the door was locked. And that no one responded to her yelling. And the helpful “So Now You’re in Prison” pamphlet on the bedside table.
In hindsight that should’ve been her first clue.
Decidedly tired, Tracy had languished for an indeterminate amount of time before the door opened at last. She waited on the edge of the bed to find out if someone was coming to rescue her or if her jailors were coming with a meal, and given the growl in her stomach, she couldn’t decide which option she’d prefer.
Hermes entered, bringing neither food (on account of being empty- handed) nor rescue (on account of being Hermes). She gave no greeting, barely even making eye contact as she estimated her chances of running past him and out the open door in the split second before he closed it: surely impossible.
She bolted for it anyway. Hermes grabbed her by the back of her shirt and lifted her off her feet in an instant. Her estimate’s accuracy at least made her feel a little better about the failure. Plus, she figured, points for trying, right?
Hermes closed the door and set her back down. “Tracy Daphne Wallace,” he said with a smile. “Mortal daughter of Zeus. How did that escape us for so long?”
Despite the numerous snarky comebacks queuing in her mind, Tracy said nothing.
“Zeus rarely sires mortal daughters,” Hermes went on. “He prefers strong, heroic young lads. Perseus. Hercules. Davy Crockett. I suppose that’s part of why you slid right under the radar. Crafty ol’ Zeus, switching to his least-favorite gender just to trick us all.” He sat down on the other end of the bed. “Not a very smart move, trying to bring him back to life.”
“Better than killing him, isn’t it?” she tried.
“It’s not as if we didn’t try other options first. He was a tyrant, you know. A world-class, manipulative git. Power mad. Made us all retreat from the public eye without even a word about why. ‘I command it!’ he would shout. Nearly his favorite phrase, after ‘Can I read your T-shirt in Braille, miss?’ I daresay. Quite frankly we did the world a favor, putting him out.”
“What do you want?”
“Oh, this and that. World peace. Fat-free doughnuts. Winged sandals with better arch support.” Hermes shrugged. “And for you to see things from our point of view. Despite everything, I meant you no personal harm. I like mortals; I’d prefer to call you a friend. You might better understand if you could see what a manipulative bastard Zeus really is. Or was, rather. That ritual he demanded of you would have killed you if it had worked.”
But the ritual had worked, Tracy insisted to herself. Hadn’t it? After all, blasts of electric light like that didn’t just happen, right? . . . Anyone? The nagging doubt she’d kept locked up since her capture sprang forth, empowered by her continued imprisonment and Hermes’s insinuation. She tried to quash the worry and keep a brave face as a trickle of sweat slid down her spine.
“Aren’t you the god of tricksters?” she asked finally.
Hermes rolled his eyes. “Hardly a question anyone answers ‘yes’ to, is it? Shall I try to deny, knowing you’ll doubt me even if I tell the truth?”
“Call it rhetorical if you want.”
“Unfair would be more like it.” Hermes shook his head with a sigh. “Put a couple of whoopee cushions on the wrong chairs, and suddenly you’re the ‘trickster god’ for the rest of existence. A misrepresentation, I assure you. More chiefly I am god of merchants, travelers, and boundary crossings. I love a good gate.” He shrugged. “But every ounce of trickery in me I inherited from Zeus, and he has it in spades! Take that amulet of brainwashing you wound up with. The loyalty to Zeus you felt when you had it, that irresistible drive to bring him back—did you feel nearly so loyal and zealous once the amulet was gone?”
He did at least have a point, she thought. When she had the amulet, she’d hardly cared about herself, willing to do anything to find justice for a father she’d never known. Yet now the worry about her own fate loomed much larger.
“Let me go,” she said.
“We will, soon enough. For the moment I am required to show you something.” Hermes stood and opened the door for her. “Do follow me. And don’t try to run again because . . . well, Hermes.” He smiled apologetically.
“Where?”
“To see something the others have made,” he answered. A long horn sounded, followed by three short blasts. “I only ask you to remember this was not my idea.”