CHAPTER 1

It is a hot day on Olympus, too hot for me to go and attend to my temples. I am lying on my stomach, the smooth cushions of the divan caressing my cheeks as tenderly as a mother cradles her baby.

As my mother might have cradled me…

With an effort, I jerk my mind away from the mother I do not have and toward the small fantasy I always use to distract me whenever I think of her. Sometimes it is good, even for a moment, to pretend that I am just an ordinary mortal woman lying down after a hard day of housework and preparing food. If the other gods knew this was what I imagine while relaxing, they would laugh in derision. I know that I should not care what my fellow deities think of me, that I should go about my business with little concern for the opinions of others. But I know that I cannot survive alone. A wolf needs the protection and support of its pack to thrive; it is the same with a goddess and the pantheon.

The wind blows softly throughout my private chambers, bringing with it the fragrance of cinnamon. I can feel the wind gently tugging at my dark brown hair, trying to tempt a few strands loose from the chignon. My head is sunk deep into the soft but slightly firm pillow. Despite the heat, the breeze feels wonderful on my back. In weather such as this, a goddess can feel sluggish enough to dream…

"It's amazing what a little laziness can do to such an overachiever."

My eyes fly open and in an instant I am sitting up, glaring at the intruder. My brother Hermes hovers in the air, his winged sandals keeping him aloft. He is more than two centuries younger than I am, but any mortal would think he had been born only twenty years ago. Hermes delights in displaying adolescent behavior and playing pranks upon god and mortal alike. His eyes are a mischievous light blue and seem to become even lighter whenever he is planning a prank. It is easy to see how he, like my father and the rest of my brothers, can enchant women and convince them to bear his sons and daughters.

But right now, all I feel towards Hermes is irritation at having been disturbed in the middle of my meditations. I throw a pillow at him, but he darts aside, causing the pillow to fly and clash against the wall where it explodes. A cluster of feathers issues forth from the slit, rising half-heartedly and then slowly descending to the floor. "You really need to improve your aim, sister," Hermes comments dryly as he disengages a few feathers from his precious hair.

"What do you want, Hermes?" I demand testily. "I am really not in the mood for any of your tricks, so you had best fly out of here before I send your pestilential entrails to Tartarus!"

"Such language, sister!" Hermes chides, although the corners of his mouth twitch as if he might laugh. "What would Father say to hear you talk so, like a common fishwife?"

Failing to come up with a clever response, I vent my irritability by hurling another pillow at my obnoxious brother. This second pillow, like its predecessor, also misses its target and another storm of feathers envelopes my chamber. Hermes sighs as he plucks more feathers from his hair. "Father requests your presence. He has called an assembly of all the gods and goddesses in his main hall."

Reluctantly, I rise from the divan and drape a light orange peplo over my hair. I secure the peplo with several pins and then follow my brother from my chamber. Hermes is an accomplished liar but he does not lie when it comes to our father and the frequent pantheon meetings that are called. Once, Hermes did spread word of a meeting that Zeus never called. All of us showed up at our father's banquet hall, only to find him in a rare and rather intimate tete a tete with Hera. I do not know what my father did to punish Hermes for his insolence, but Hermes has not since attempted any similar pranks.

It is difficult to describe what lies between our individual godly residences and the main palace from which Zeus rules as king over us all. Some mortals believe that because Mt. Olympus touches the sky, we gods live amongst clouds. Others think that we dwell in the mountain's deep dark gorges. But both groups are mistaken. Gardens both great and small occupy some of the walking distance to the palace. A large courtyard makes up the rest of the vicinity and there is little else to say about the surroundings.

Hermes leads me through the bastion's entrance to the main hall where the other Olympian gods have gathered. The circular chamber is enormous; the walls are formed from polished but rough-cut white stone. Some of the gods attribute this architectural preference to Zeus' childhood in the caves of Mt. Ida, where he hid from his tyrannical and bloodthirsty father Cronus. I myself would prefer this room to be constructed from polished marble and ivory, but Zeus is the ruler of Olympus and its gods. His word is law.

Eleven different thrones stand semi-circle before my father's, which is positioned on a mosaic dais depicting his battles against Cronus and the Titans. My stepmother Hera occupies the throne on Zeus' right; her throne is variously decorated with inlaid pearls and lapis. Hera is a striking woman with fair skin and deep-set light blue eyes. Her golden-blonde hair is braided and swept up beneath her purple peplo. Her favorite golden diadem rests atop her head, while golden earrings dangle from her earlobes. Hera and I get along quite well with each other and she is usually the first person to back me up whenever my father and I have our rare little disputes. She is also quite clever and witty but becomes easily enraged when Zeus leaves their bed for his frequent trysts with mortal women or nymphs. Even though such extramarital behavior is common among god and men alike, I nonetheless feel sorry for my stepmother and wish my father would pay her more attention.

Seated next to Hera is my father's older brother Poseidon. Poseidon has always been antagonistic towards me for some unknown reason, long before he lost the contest that determined which of us would claim Athens as a primary place of cult worship. Most of the Olympian males scorn my chosen status as a virgin goddess, and Poseidon especially never misses an opportunity to openly mock me for it. Like my father, Poseidon is powerfully built with bulging muscles and strong limbs. His deep blue eyes are unsettling and his dark blue-black hair and beard give him an intimidating appearance. This image of power is complete with the silver trident he holds, a gift from the Hundred-handers after the final battle with Cronus.

Next come my younger twin brother and sister, Apollo and Artemis. Their thrones are unusual because the two seats fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Artemis, the older of the duo, sits upright in a seat encrusted with silver and covered with various animal skins. The skins emphasize Artemis' role as goddess of the hunt. Like me, she also chose to remain a virgin and is as fiercely protective of her chastity as I am of mine. Artemis' devotion to the single life is so steadfast that all her earthly handmaidens are required to be virgins. This younger sister of mine has honey-colored hair that is pulled back into a high bun, with a few loose strands that give her a slightly wild look. Her silver hunting bow and quiver of arrows lie at her feet, always ready to be used. Her twin, Apollo, has curly hair of the same shade but he adorns his tresses with a crown of laurel leaves. Like Artemis, Apollo also carries a bow and quiver of arrows, but these objects are gold-colored and can be unbearably hot upon touch to anyone but the owner himself. The arrows are particularly deadly, for they have the power to cast sunstroke upon their victims. A slow and agonizing death eventually kills the unlucky target after his body is pierced. Apollo's seat is also gold-colored; thankfully, death does not lie within this chair.

Demeter, the harvest goddess, comes next. She does not care much for jewels and usually just wears a pendant with a single amber stone set in the middle. Her clothing and general appearance are just as simple- a dark green stola with a matching peplo over her dusky auburn hair. Demeter only dresses in lighter colors when her daughter Persephone leaves the Underworld for their three months together.

My brother Hephaestus sits next to Demeter. His reputation for craftsmanship with metal and other materials is quite renowned. He is the individual who carved all our thrones in the main hall. For all his skill with his hammer and chisel, he is often taciturn and does not like to socialize with the rest of us. I credit his behavior mostly to artistic temperament, for he has been known to react violently whenever any of us question his work. He is not particularly attractive and seems to take a fierce enjoyment in looking and smelling as though he has just come forth from his forge, which he undoubtedly has. Hephaestus' dark brown eyes move over each of the other thrones, as though daring us to challenge his right to be present here.

Aphrodite, that ever-persistent temptress of so-called "love" sits next to Hephaestus. Her kinship to the rest of us gods is unknown. According to some gods, Aphrodite entered the world because of Cronus' blood touching the earthly waters as Zeus cast him deep into Tartarus. The other gods believe that Aphrodite is a result of a tryst between Zeus and a Titan goddess named Dione. Whatever the truth of her origins, Aphrodite makes fools of men and immortals alike. The mischief and heartbreak that result from her actions seem, in my opinion, only to delight her. Her shamelessness extends to her appearance- she does not even have the decency to wear a modest robe or cover her hair with a peplo. Now Aphrodite wears a rose-colored chiton with a neckline cut so low that it exposes the top of her perfect and abundant breasts. Every now and then she casts a malicious smile in my direction, no doubt thinking that I envy the curvaceous hips and seductive smile that would make even the most responsible shepherd boy shirk his responsibilities for a night with the goddess of love. Aphrodite could not be more mistaken; I have no interest in pursuing an amorous relationship with a mortal or immortal. However, it might be nice to have someone think me beautiful and alluring occasionally.

Directly next to Aphrodite sits another of my brothers, Ares. If his entire character could be summarized in one word, it would be destruction. He is my fellow deity of war but there the likeness ends. Ares glorifies in conflict of any kind, senseless and bloody battles being his preference. He is impulsive and reckless, always ready to retaliate to any slight he thinks is cast his way. For all his battle-lust, he is a born coward. None of us Olympians, especially Zeus and Hera, like him. Ares has dark amber eyes that are always raging with anger while his dark hair and beard bristle beneath his warrior's helmet.

Enough has been said about Hermes, who now settles into his throne with careless abandon. The throne next to his used to belong to Hestia, Zeus' eldest sister and virgin goddess of the hearth. Hestia granted her throne to my brother Dionysus after she decided that Olympus' issues had become too centered on idle discussion and little action. This aunt of mine instead throws her energies into what she feels is productive work- cleaning the many hearths, scouring the floors, or pruning the garden bushes. Performing these tasks helps clear the mind, she says, and I often find myself working alongside her during my infrequent mood swings. Hestia is also a great listener and never interrupts one's recitation of personal daily problems, preferring to reserve judgement until after the speaker has finished talking.

The best way to describe my brother Dionysus is to say that he lives for celebrations, particularly ones that involve both men and women. He is especially renowned both for hosting and taking part in great orgies, if half the rumors about him are true. His eyes are always bloodshot and his long flaxen hair is quite untidy. Little more can be said about him.

Now, the sound of thunder loudly echoes throughout the main hall. For a moment, the entire room is bathed in piercing white light which temporarily blinds us all. When the light fades away, we again regain our sight. Looking down at the floor, I see the fading ashes of a thunderbolt and know that Zeus has at last arrived in the main hall. My father is built along the lines of the dashing soldiers that mortal women sometimes dream of. Like the rest of us, he is taller than the average mortal. His muscles bulge with the strength of a thousand men put together but his torso is otherwise slight. His eyes are a deep blue, rather like the sea during a storm; a slight cunning can almost always be seen. Undoubtedly, swallowing my mother whole has only increased his ability to strategize successfully.

As Zeus opens this meeting of the gods, I find my mind gradually wandering to the various tasks and duties I must perform within the next month: consecrating this year's virgin novitiates, annually blessing the oldest olive tree, reading the petitions of my worshippers… The list goes on and on.

Suddenly, I am aware that my father's voice has fallen silent and that everyone is staring at me. Completely at a loss to know why I am being ogled like a sacrificial holocaust, I stare back at them stupidly. "Athena," my father says, a bite of impatience in his voice, "you are not paying attention!"

Like any mortal child caught doing something she should not, I feel my ears redden and I find myself wishing that I could just disappear into the nethermost region of the earth.

"My apologies, Lord Zeus," I manage to say quietly, as if that will lessen my humiliation. It does not. "What were you speaking about?"

It is my cantankerous brother Ares, not my father, who speaks up. "We were speaking about Athens' unjust seizure of the fertile land around Thrace! You ought to pay more attention to your capital's dealings, stupid wench!"

Ares has always shown rudeness towards me- he is rude to everyone but Aphrodite, who simply defers to him. I raise my eyebrows and retort coolly, "I pay more attention to my capital's dealings than you might think. That is why warriors seek my patronage and not yours when going into battle, Ares. And as for Athens' 'unjust seizure' of that region? Thrace has no claim to that area of land. If your warriors paid more attention to peace treaty settlements and less to vainglorious actions, maybe Thrace's population wouldn't always be so short on men."

Ares opens his mouth to snap back but our father's voice booms across the hall as it does when he is either really enraged or irritated. "Enough!"

Chastised like children, both my brother and I fall silent as Zeus re-takes the floor. For a moment, I fear that he might throw another of his thunderbolts just to alleviate his anger with us. Surprisingly, he does not. What he does instead is ten times worse. "I am sick unto death of you two fighting like a pair of harpies," he says in a cold, quiet voice. "Therefore, you are both condemned to a year of mortal existence until you learn to better comport yourselves as gods."

At this, both Ares and I let out indignant cries. "It is all her fault!" Ares shouts at Zeus. "Don't punish me just because your unnatural daughter refuses to take responsibility for what her pestilential citizens do!"

"Oh, my fault, is it?" I retort, laughing sarcastically. "Why, I shall- "

This time, Father does hurl a thunderbolt into the middle of the room; the collision is so loud that I clap my hands over my ears until after the aftershock has faded. When I remove my hands from my ears, I look up to find Father still glaring at Ares and me. It is pointless to look to the other gods for help; they all cower whenever Zeus loses his temper.

Ares and I both look at our father in shock. Spend an entire year as helpless mortals? I know that Ares would rather spit-polish Hephaestus' forge three times over than live as a mortal for just one year. As for me, I am in shock. Yes, I have spent most of my daydreaming moments fantasizing about the freedoms mortals have. But these daydreams featured me living in an oasis of sorts, isolated save for several handmaidens. In these fantasies, I did not have to work but spent my time weaving at my leisure and exploring the caverns that lay adjacent to the oasis.

But the reality of a mortal woman's life, I have heard, is quite different. Having to live among a group of women, to spend all my time preparing food and rearing children is not the way I imagine occupying my life. When not doing these things, mortal housewives are expected to weave cloth for the household. Rarely do they weave the silken clothes and tapestries that I love; most of the woven product turns out to be rough, undyed clothing. And that is only how wealthy mortal women live. Their sisters in the lower classes not only give birth to children in squalor but also slave away at their husband's vendor stands in the agora.

My mind has wandered yet again and for the second time, Ares' voice brings me back to the present. "You cannot do this to me!" he shouts at our father. "You cannot punish me in this way, making me toil on the earth as a helpless mortal!" Whenever Ares raises his voice, his tone becomes childish and whiney. For once I long to add my voice to his, to stamp my foot and demand of my father why he would inflict such a punishment on me. But though I can feel my ears reddening with anger, I bite back my tongue with great difficulty.

To judge from the scowl on Zeus' face, he has plainly had enough of Ares' temper tantrum. "SILENCE!" he bellows, and again his voice rings impressively throughout the hall. By the time the repercussions have died down, Zeus is master of himself again. "Now, the two of you will spend one year among the mortals without your immortality and without your powers. This means that you will be exposed to all the diseases and conditions that the mortals face every day. You will toil long and tire easily…"

At this point, I can no longer keep my silence. "But my temples! My duties as a goddess!"

"I will answer all petitions that come to each of your respective temples," my father continues mildly, though he throws a reproachful look at me for interrupting him. He then resumes his speech. "You are not allowed to tell any mortal your identity, not that they will actually believe you. If either of you violate this settlement, your sentence as a mortal will increase."