CHAPTER XXVIII
[Warning: Dark, Mature Content]
Athena gaped as she crossed the threshold of The Hall. Memories flooded her mind.
It looked just as it did millennia ago.
The impossibly high ceiling, the equally high, white marble pillars lining the walls, the sumptuous thrones surrounding the ornately carved table that seemed almost as long as the ceiling was high. Every surface and embellishment shimmered with the same lustre that Athena remembered.
None of it had changed. Everywhere the eye could see within this hall was truly Great.
At the head of the table was Zeus, already seated. He looked sombre and patiently waited for council to make their way to their seats.
The air was unbelievably thick. It was not like Zeus to seat himself before the rest of the Olympians. He had an insurmountable ego and a penchant for spectacle, so it was only natural that he preferred making the last grand entrance. Today was different.
The Olympians entered The Hall almost tentatively. A wave of nostalgia seemed to wash over the group for a short moment as everyone sought out their assigned thrones.
Athena still remembered her seat's placement exactly – between Hera and Apollo, across from Demeter. Approaching the throne, she brushed her hand over the golden owl embossment on the arm before taking her place.
Was it strange that she felt small in this throne? Back then, when she attended meetings in this hall regularly, she felt as though her head could brush the ceiling. She was commanding the greatest army the realms had ever seen, she had brought her kingdom victory after valorous victory, her name was known pantheons over, and not a soul could mention Olympus' future without seeing her somewhere at its helm. Back then, her hair was wilder, her eyes brighter and her virtue unmatched.
Athena caught a glimpse of herself in the shimmering marble of the table before her.
Well, she thought, one thing in this hall had seemed to lose its lustre.
Drawn from her thoughts, Athena realised a deafening silence had fallen upon the council. No one spoke a word and the anticipation in the air was almost electric.
Zeus' eyes wandered over the council before him. A glint of pride flickered across his eyes before they darkened again.
'Well, Olympians. Here we find ourselves,' a sombre smile played on his lips as he gestured in the air, 'once again.'
It almost seemed as though he left a pause to allow the Olympians to gaze about The Hall once more. The members glanced around the cavernous room and then at one another. Athena looked up at the ceiling for a moment before glancing down at the table's end where her gaze briefly met Ares'.
She averted her eyes before his could pierce her through. Zeus continued with gravitas.
'Millennia have passed since our last council in this hall. I must admit, I am filled with…an overwhelming nostalgia just at the sight of these thrones, of these tapestries and motifs,' he glanced at Hera with a warm expression, 'of you all.'
'In the past, we met here often. We bickered often. Our blood was hotter and the future seemed brighter than our eyes could bear. But peacetimes have blessed us with millennia of tranquillity, prosperity and perhaps even complacency. Which is exactly why this Great Hall remained empty for so long. However, if we have all convened here today, with Lady Hestia among us, then I'm sure you all understand our position.'
The pit of Athena's belly felt like a roaring furnace. Her hands became damp and her mind reeled. She knew. She knew everything and had known for weeks. Why now did it suddenly feel like Zeus' words – the truth of Olympus' fate – would plunge her into Tartarus itself?
'You're all aware, I'm sure, of the beast attacks that have been assailing our kingdom and the Earth realm. From what I understand, a few of you have been victims of these attacks, while others have fought diligently to fend them off. You have all waited patiently for guidance. For an answer to all of this madness.'
'Today,' Zeus sighed deep enough for Athena to feel it in her own lungs, 'I offer you a report.'
And then it began. The plunge.
Athena heard everything and nothing. Zeus spoke and she listened to every word while hearing not a single syllable. The first attack. Suspicions. Investigations. Inquests. The Hearing.
Typhon.
It all seemed like a piece of theatre to her; a play. Or perhaps the shimmering imagery of a cruel tapestry, depicting the truest image of horror. Thousands of threads weaved intricate patterns that formed the visages of the frozen Olympians, their faces drained of colour and their eyes glazed with fear. To Athena, the glistening embellishments of The Great Hall only served as sardonic backdrop to the scene before her.
Hera watched Zeus deliver his report with steely composure, wringing her hands raw beneath the table. Demeter's hand trembled as she placed it over her lips as if to keep at bay a wail. Poseidon gazed into the marble table's surface; his eyes darker than they had ever been.
Apollo looked as though the colour that drained from him would never return, and Artemis' dusky face looked equally pallid. Aphrodite swayed in her seat before grabbing Artemis' arm to keep herself from keeling over; Hephaestus seemed to age another thousand years in a moment.
Towards the table's end, Hermes and Dionysus glanced at one another, seeking a kernel of comfort from within one another's gaze. Hestia, her trembling lips fervently mouthing a desperate invocation, clasped her hands tightly together in prayer.
And at the very end of the table sat Ares, his eyes fixed upon Athena and her eyes now fallen upon him. As the silent play of horror unfolded around them, Olympus' future as tenuous as the threads that weaved this cruel tapestry together, only their gazes seemed constant. The light that glinted from this gaudy, glittering behemoth of a room; the faces around them that morphed and contorted into grim masks; the very soil upon which they had been born – all of it seemed immaterial.
In this moment, to Athena, only Ares seemed real.
In this moment, for Ares, only Athena was real.
The moment her gaze left his, Athena knew she would be plunged back into this forbidding play. The reality of it all would suddenly hit her. Here her fellow Olympians sat, plummeting into the depths of terror, panic and despair – and she couldn't catch them.
With her armies inundated by the surge of attacks, her hands were not wide enough. With her warriors ill prepared to face Olympus' greatest nemesis once again, her arms were not strong enough. With her mind fogged with trivial matters and her throat swollen from fear, there was not a net she could cast out that had not been chewed through by her own uncertainty.
How could she possibly think to save her fellow Olympians from this plummet when she was sinking into a descent of her own?
As if hearing her words with his eyes still fixed upon her, Ares suddenly rose from his seat. Athena started just before his gaze left her and fell upon the council. While Athena sunk within her thoughts, she had not heard Zeus' command's to Ares to present the findings of his journey into Tartarus. With an unearthly repose, Ares recounted the fragments of his experience.
He spoke of a veritable hell.
Endless, punishing labyrinths of devilish design who soared into the air, contorted forms their stone and tormented wails their mortar. Dark monolithic towers whose turrets grazed the blazing sky, winged beasts guarding their entrances with maws hungry and agape. In caverns, damp and fetid, hid the trembling souls of the damned, seeking refuge from their punishers for but a moment. They clawed and called out to Ares, sensing his heat, seeking out salvation. If only, they cried, they could taste but a drop of his divine blood, their own sullied souls may be cleansed.
Further into the realm, where the true beasts were kept, time crumbled. The very fabric of it was made a farce in this sinking abyss. From here, Ares could only do his best to stitch together where that fabric had been torn.
Beside him was Hades. Always. An interminable descent led them to an enclosure whose design defied Ares' very understanding of space and dimension. Dark, colossal structures in anomalous shapes hung in the air, engraved upon them arcane inscriptions whose glowing light Ares could not meet with his bare eyes. In the centre of these eerie, hovering wonders, was an enormous mound.
It undulated. It breathed.
Typhon.
Every face, every tail, every claw Typhon possessed was tucked beneath the beast as he slumbered, Hades remarked. But beneath the beast were hidden greater atrocities.
With morbid fascination, Ares watched on as the sound of scratching and scraping emanated from Typhon's belly. Furiously clawing its way out from beneath the breathing mound came a beast whose form and shape Ares had never seen before. It had the dark, hairy, patterned body of an enormous spider, and where an equally atrocious spider's head should have been were instead two desperately bleating goats' heads, bound together as if their construction were decided by a child. Their horns interlocked as they thrashed, and their eyes darted about wildly.
The beast escaped the weight of Typhon's hulking mass, but not unscathed. Two hairy legs had been severely damaged – one broken at an angle and the other completely severed. The forsaken beast scuttled, its bleating heads crying furiously into the air, towards a place in the enclosure where the air almost seemed to shimmer.
Suddenly, as if the air itself were paper, it tore open.
It was not lost on Ares that the tear's size was consistent with the beast's own height and width. Within the confines of this ghastly portal was nothing more than a blackness darker than the absence of light itself. Its gait laboured, the beast darted towards the black portal.
Just then, a horn was blown.
Ares' ears rung as he witnessed a winged guard, its appearance equally monstrous, soar in from above his head. A flaming spear clasped in its claws, the guard dove into the enclosure, causing the dark structures to rattle violently as their inscriptions glowed a scarlet light.
The abominable beast cried out in anguish as the guard's spear pierced its centre, sending each coarse hair on its body alight. In seconds, the creature was reduced to a twitching mound of singed flesh. The winged guard retrieved its spear and soared back into the air, disappearing to its post.
Hades remarked that it was only natural that the beast was dispatched so quickly. Being weak, injured shortly after its birth and severely deformed made it light work for the guards. However, that wasn't always the case.
It was the strong and quick ones who survived. It was they who evaded the guards.
They who arrived in the realms.
Ares witnessed the births of four more atrocities before Hades guided him out of the belly of Tartarus and back into Olympus.
Following the conclusion of his report, The Hall fell once again into a deadly silence.
'So,' came Hermes' voice, distant and quiet, 'does this mean…that he will return? Typhon?'
The weight of the question hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine. Ares sighed; his face becoming a little pale.
'At this point, it is still unclear. Typhon is in a deep slumber; this has been the case for as long as he's been imprisoned. The breeding and spawning only begun this spring and no one, Hades and Tartarus included, truly understands what it means. Before we set out on our journey, Hades posited a theory. These…offspring are capable of opening portals that lead out of Tartarus and into Earth and Olympus. Hades mentioned that he employs a similar mode of travel within the realms but underscored the importance of erasing these portals after they have been used. If I remember correctly, he used the analogy of a tear in a piece of fabric and the difference between pinning that tear closed or stitching it. When these beasts open portals to travel, they create small tears in the fabric that separates our realms. When they arrive in Olympus, they merely 'pin' their tears closed, leaving the fabric weak and penetrable, and rendering those tears accessible to those who can find them.'
Ares glanced around the table. The council listened breathlessly. With a burdened expression, he continued.
'Hades' theory is that Typhon, wittingly or instinctually, may be sending his offspring in order to weaken the fabric that separates Tartarus from our realms so that when he awakens, he may break free of his prison, tear through the fabric with ease and make his resurgence.'
Quiet. The Hall was so still one could hear a droplet of dew trickle down a leaf on the other end of the kingdom. Athena watched Ares, the very space around her heart becoming clouded.
Who was this man? Where was he when she needed answers two days ago? Suddenly he was full of memories, theories and lofty analogies that not so long ago he vehemently refused to share with her.
He even went so far as to insult her.
In that moment, Athena tried to recall the thoughts that went through her head when she first welcomed him into her bed, but nothing came to mind. Just a grey fog that hung in her chest.
'Sir,' Hephaestus' gruff voice came suddenly as he turned to Zeus, 'If I may inquire.'
Zeus nodded. Hephaestus looked upon Ares with eyes not so kind.
'How can we be assured that there is any truth to this with such a flimsy account? You admit that your memory is hazy and fragmented, that you were plagued by delirium throughout the course of your journey. How do we know that what you saw is truly what you saw?'
Ares fought the urge to roll his eyes.
'The sight of our kingdom's most formidable foe churning out malformed and forsaken realm-hopping spawn is one that is both hard to conjure and forget. What I saw was not a figment of my imaginings.'
'No,' Hephaestus fought back a bitter chuckle, 'But it was conveniently the most vivid recollection of your journey despite taking place in the depths of Tartarus where, as you said, the very notions of time and reality were bent beyond your understanding.'
'What could I possibly gain from dragging myself through the pits of Tartarus to come and lie to you today? I made the journey to verify Hades' claims which were already evidenced as wholly true by Ma'at's scales. So, what more, Hephaestus,' Ares sneered, 'would you have liked to see?'
'If you must know,' Hephaestus glared, his voice dangerously low, 'I would like to see a more suitable representative make the trip to Tartarus. A fortified warrior who has always had the kingdom's greatest interest in mind. I would have greater faith if these claims could be verified,' Hephaestus glanced down the table, 'by the likes of Athena.'
Athena and Hephaestus locked eyes for a moment. In his eyes, she saw a trust he had for her that was greater than the trust she had in herself.
'No.'
Ares' voice cleaved the air and rumbled across the hall. A darkness had fallen upon his face and his eyes bore into Hephaestus. Hephaestus, feeling an uncharacteristic surge of mischief bubble within him, chortled with derision.
'And why not?' he folded his arms, amused.
'Because there is no time!' came from across the room. The council's attention turned to Artemis whose cheeks were flushed.
'Sending another Olympian to Tartarus would be a waste of time if only to confirm what we already know to be true. We need to focus our resources on refortifying the upper realms instead of squandering them on trying to prove whose right or wrong in these petty squabbles. These underlying seeds of mistrust that exist among us are the very reason we have remained in the dark for so long when we could have been leaps ahead in preparing for Typhon's potential resurgence.'
Artemis' eyes locked onto Hephaestus with a stern gaze.
'I, for one, believe Ares' account and see no reason to endanger another Olympian when one has already done the work. We need Athena here on Olympus, we need Ares here and we need Hades here too. That is how we defeated Typhon the first time and that must be the way we defeat him again.'
Her voice echoed with finality. The council was still.
Apollo gawked at his sister, his heart brimming.
Artemis felt her face scorch. She shrunk in her throne wishing she had kept her mouth shut. Zeus gazed at her for a moment. He placed his elbows on the table, clasped his hands together and rested his chin against his knuckles.
'Artemis makes an undeniably crucial point. It will require all our work, all our time, all our resources and all our focus to ensure the safety of Olympus. Whether this…theory proves true or not, we must prepare for the worst and assume that a resurgence from Typhon is inevitable. That being said,' his eyes darkened, 'this must be achieved without Hades.'
For the first time, the council buzzed and hummed with uncertainty.
'Hades,' Zeus' voice boomed over the commotion, 'has made his stance clear. He has no interest in being a part of the plans to secure the future of the upper realms.'
Athena knew this was not entirely true. At the hearing, Hades agreed to be forthcoming about any pertinent information he knew about Typhon, Tartarus and the attacks. He'd likely be difficult and decidedly smug about it, but given his openness to assist Athena's research into the faceless beast, with some persuasion he'd likely come around. In truth, Athena suspected that Zeus could not bear the thought of conceding and admitting his own shortcomings by asking for his brother's help.
'He's…just being petty,' Hera said with a tense laugh; her voice suddenly became sweet as she turned to Zeus, 'my dear, he merely needs to be prevailed upon to—'
'Hades has made his stance clear,' Zeus repeated, his expression severe, 'we only work alongside those who have a vested interested in the security of our kingdom, not with those who undermine it.'
The council fell into silence once more.
'Well,' Dionysus begun with a strained cheerfulness, 'when you really think about it, if we've defeated Typhon once then surely it can be done again. This time around, we know for the most part what to expect and we have more time to prepare. It's all just a matter of revising upon our former tactics and improving them…is it not?'
Dionysus' optimism was lost on the council. The weight of the truth, of Olympus' precarious future burdened the room.
The battle against Typhon that secured Olympus for the Olympians was not nearly as neat and valorous as the annals of history would have one believe. Typhon near decimated the kingdom. Whatever flashy tactics and ingenious strategies that were used during that battle were conjured up, for the most part, by Athena on the fly. Ultimately, it was Zeus who administered the final blow that sent Typhon hurtling into Tartarus, but whether or not he would have been able to do so without the contribution and sacrifice of those who fought tirelessly alongside him was up for debate.
'Improving upon former tactics,' Zeus nodded, half amused, 'well…what say our Chief Strategist?'
Athena felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle. She turned to Zeus and his icy blue eyes gazed at her deeply.
'You've been out in the field, bearing witness first-hand to what we're up against. What are your thoughts?'
Suddenly, every eye in the room fell upon Athena. Eagerly, expectantly, the council awaited her response.
She felt the inside of her mouth become dry. Her tongue stuck to the roof and her cheeks felt like paper, with teeth clenched far too tight to pry apart. She felt beads of sweat bloom atop her brow and her body become stiff. Her mind flooded.
Was it always this difficult? Just to speak in front of the council? Surely not; back then she did it all the time. She was the one who asked questions, who precipitated thoughtful dialogue, who had the solutions. Was she just out practice? Had she lost her touch? No, impossible! She could not afford to lose her touch, not as Olympus' Chief Strategist. Gosh…was it always so hot in the hall? Was it getting smaller? The ceilings were so high yet the walls—
'Athena,' Ares' voice burnt through the mist that engulfed Athena's mind. She glanced around the room and saw the incredulous faces of her fellow Olympians.
'Yes,' she began slowly; she turned to Zeus, 'yes…I…um research. I've been doing research, I mean, on the attacks and I—'
Athena blinked hard. Suddenly, a memory came to her.
Wind upon her face. A drumming heart. The crunching of dead leaves. The ghostly visage of a centaur. A meadow. A gaping maw. An exploding arrow.
Artemis.
'I agree,' Athena continued, becoming steadier, 'with Artemis. Fortifying this kingdom should be our chief concern. I have been…researching, studying, poring over the details of these attacks and I am yet to find a pattern to them. These creatures, for the most part, are not intelligent. In some cases, they don't even seem…well-bred. They appear to be sent here for little more reason than to create sheer havoc and destruction, which leads me to believe that there is some merit in Hades' theory. Regardless of whether or not we have any confirmation that Typhon will make his resurgence, and regardless of whether or not he breeds with intention or by some strange occurrence, we must see these beast attacks as a declaration of war. If there is war to be had, then we must prepare for the first battle.'
The room was quiet as the council hung on her words. Athena swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She took a breath and continued.
'Before we dare thrust ourselves into any war, we need an army. Typhon first attacked us shortly after our battle with the Titans. At the time, we weren't expecting him, but we were already well militarised, our hackles were up and we had hundreds of thousands of eager troops. Today, the opposite is true for us. We see our enemy on the horizon but our troops' numbers are hardly where they used to be. Together, Ares and I have the largest armies trained in combat and warfare. Artemis has a troop of archers, but they're trained for hunting, are they not?'
Artemis perked up at the sound of her name and nodded.
'Y-yes,' she said with uncharacteristic timidness, 'for hunting and patrolling the forests surrounding my temple.'
'And Hephaestus,' Athena continued, drawing Hephaestus' attention, 'you lead the Guild of Smiths and Masons, correct?'
'Correct,' he said, looking rather surprised, 'however the guild serves as more of a brotherhood than anything else. The creed of combat exists as a tool, such as in the case of the archers, to protect and maintain the mountains from which we mine our resources.'
'Which doesn't quite make an army,' Athena ruminated briefly before peering down the table, 'Hermes, I believe you too have some sort of minor-combat consortium in your camp?'
'Yes! I do,' Hermes craned his neck to address her, 'a fleet of messengers. Well…I call them messengers, but they serve more as messenger guards. They're who I send when there are important messages or parcels to be delivered that cannot under any circumstances be intercepted or damaged. They aren't particularly battle-hardy, but they are swifter than any winged creature in this kingdom…considering they are winged themselves.'
Athena nodded. Her mind felt as though it were crackling and sparking, but not nearly enough to ignite a flame.
'Poseidon has an army,' she furrowed her brows, 'which I assume is best suited for combat in water.'
'Correct,' Poseidon grumbled, folding his arms, 'they're useless on land.'
'There is also the Royal Olympian Guard,' Hera chimed in, 'they make a considerable portion of Olympus' overall troops.'
'Yes, but should Typhon return, regardless of where in Olympus he spawns, he will make a beeline to seize this palace. The King's Palace is imbued with enough divine energy to undo all of the work Tartarus has done to seal and suppress Typhon's power if Typhon manages to absorb it. The Royal Olympian Guard needs to stay right here to defend this bastion; they can't afford to be in the centre of the battlefield.'
A hum of agreement buzzed around the room as the council members glanced at one another, nodding.
'What about the rest?' Zeus spoke, a renewed light in his eyes, 'Surely, those mentioned are not the only capable troops we have in our barracks?'
'Well, following Typhon's attack,' Demeter started defensively, 'I saw no reason to keep an army that I wasn't suited to command anyway. As you might remember, I relinquished all of my troops to the Royal Olympian Guard.'
'The same is true for my former army,' Hestia's warm voice filled the space, 'the little troops I had were absorbed into the Guard after we entered peacetimes.'
'I never had much of an army to begin with,' Dionysus laughed sheepishly, 'they're just bawdy drunks in fancy armour if you ask me.'
'The few troops I had,' came Aphrodite's saccharine voice, 'were relinquished to another army.'
Aphrodite's gaze floated to Ares briefly, before she returned her attention to Zeus. The skin on the back of Athena's neck prickled again, this time more violently.
She heard a deep sigh beside her.
'And as for myself,' Apollo started, his eyes downcast, 'my army is no more. After the wars, I allowed for some of my troops to be reincarnated in the hopes that their new lives would be better than the ones that brought them to me, than the ones they led while fighting for my sake. For those who stayed, I implored them to abandon the path of combat and remain at the temple as priests and guards. Back then, I acted with only my own desires in mind. I should have considered the interests of the kingdom first; I apologise for my pomposity.'
'Apollo…' Artemis said quietly.
Athena placed her hand on Apollo's shoulder. He turned to her and she smiled, looking into his eyes meaningfully.
'You could never have anticipated where we are now,' she turned to the council, 'none of us could have, so we'll work with what we have. The troops that have become a part of the Royal Olympian Guard will stay where they are to defend this palace. Every Olympian here has, at the very least, a handful of sentries that guard their domain – they too will remain where they are. They may not be hardened veterans of war, but the little combat knowledge they know is enough to fend off a few rogue beasts who dare challenge the divine energy of our palaces and temples. As for the archers, the guild and the messengers I would like to consolidate them into my own army and begin a training and strategy regimen to fortify them for war. But only with the permission of their masters.'
'Of course!' Artemis spoke without delay, 'I could entrust them to no one more capable.'
'The messengers are all yours.' Hermes' voice teemed with relief.
'The members of the guild would be honoured.' Hephaestus said, tipping his head to Athena.
'Poseidon, your army is not suited for battle on land, I understand that. But that doesn't mean we can't bring the battle to the sea. Assure me that your troops will be expertly trained, and I shall formulate a strategy that will render the enemy easy prey in your territory.'
'Agreed.' Poseidon nodded, a small smile on his lips.
'Athena,' the warmth of Ares' voice resonated in Athena's ears, 'even with my army and your new army combined, our numbers are still far too small. The number of troops we have now were decimated within the first few hours of Typhon's first attack. We simply don't have the sort of manpower to fend off these beasts and thwart Typhon.'
The council droned among itself, disquiet creeping into their murmurs.
As the world hummed around her, Athena slipped into her thoughts.
This was true. The kingdom simply didn't have the numbers to achieve two tasks at once. It wasn't clear if or when Typhon would return, but when she considered the frequency of the attacks, Athena could conclude that Typhon's arrival would be before the next spring.
Next spring. Hardly enough time to conjure up battle strategies, formulate a training regimen and prepare an entire kingdom for the biggest battle in millennia. Even if the troops were to train day in and day out, they wouldn't be able to compensate for their meagre numbers without decades worth of combat experience. Excessive training would exhaust them, lower their moral and consequently put them in greater danger on the day of the resurgence.
How could she make this work?
Between her thoughts Athena could here the bickering of the council. Hera harping on about diversifying the Royal Olympian Guard's role. Ares retorting by reiterating the importance of defending the palace. Demeter whingeing about her crops. Dionysus asking pointless question after question.
Athena shut her eyes tight, massaging the skin above her nose bridge. She wished that instead of being subjected to the cacophony of voices here, she could be somewhere quiet to organise her thoughts.
She imagined a long stretch of land, the sun above her head, the wind in her hair and nothing and no one with her but her steed to carry her to the end of the horizon.
And then the flint struck and the flame was ignited.
'The horse!' she belted out, her eyes flying open.
The squabbling around her stopped abruptly. The council members glanced at one another, bewildered.
'The horse? What are you talking about?' Hera fretted.
'Hephaestus,' Athena leaned over and caught him in her wild gaze, 'the horse! The horse that you crafted for me.'
'Yes,' Hephaestus hesitated, looking alarmed 'what about it?'
'It is the perfect steed. It can change form and shape at my command. It can be shattered into hundreds of pieces and come together again in a matter of seconds. It feels no pain, no torment and exists only to serve my whims. Hephaestus,' a beaming smile formed on Athena's lips, 'it makes for the perfect soldier.'
Hephaestus' eyes widened. Light flooded them and his lips parted.
'Yes…yes!' he bellowed with a rumbling laugh, 'yes of course, why did I not think of it sooner?'
The hall burst into bubbling chatter. Excitement and confusion swelled within the room before Zeus hushed the group back to a simmer.
'Explain to us,' his voice boomed, 'all about this…horse?'
'Before the attacks began, Hephaestus crafted me an obsidian horse that comes to life and behaves much like any other steed. It can shift its form to become anything I want it to–weaponry, armour, whatever my situation necessitates. If it is possible,' Athena turned to Hephaestus again, 'we could apply this same technology to the creation of an army consisting of as many troops as you can forge, Hephaestus. They may not have the spirit or morale of flesh and blood soldiers, but they should be able to stave off the riff-raff among the beasts while the main army hones in on the greater threat.'
'Well, Hephaestus,' Zeus gestured to him, 'is it possible or not?'
Hephaestus sighed heavily, doubt creeping across his face.
'Well…technically, yes, it is possible. It will take time, but with the contribution of the guild, we're talking about an army with numbers as strong as they were when we first defeated Typhon. However…'
The council seemed to wince at just the utterance of the word.
'Oh no.' Hermes muttered, slumping in his seat.
Becoming visibly tense, Hephaestus continued.
'There is… a catch. The obsidian horse was an experiment of mine. I wanted to create not only a powerful protean invention, but also a weapon with which the wielder could create a profound bond, subsequently imbuing the weapon with the wielder's divine power. The emphasis was on this bond, but with all my mallets, hammers and tools I simply could not create the channel through which this bond needed to travel. So, I considered a different route. Instead of crafting the channel, I thought I might try to conjure it. The technology that allows the obsidian horse to behave as though it were flesh and blood, that allows the steed to bond so deeply with and commit to Athena is not technology at all. It is an enchantment.'
'An enchantment?' Artemis cooed, 'I never knew you were versed in that sort of sorcery—'
Artemis caught sight of Apollo. With eyes wide and face draining of colour, he shook his head. After a moment, it clicked.
'Oh.' Artemis' whispered, shrinking into her thrown once more.
Hephaestus folded his arms, bracing himself against the onslaught.
'It is an enchantment…courtesy of Hades.'
The air became tense. Every Olympian sat stiffly in their thrones.
'Without his contribution, I'm afraid the army will not be possible,' Hephaestus glanced over at Athena. Her heart sunk. Closing her eyes for a moment, she dared to return her gaze to Zeus.
'I see,' Zeus said after a long pause. For a long time, he said nothing else. He was simmering with fury – Athena could tell. Once again, the procurement of Olympus' safety fell upon Hades' contribution. No longer could he invalidate Hades' status as an Olympian – there were remnants of his handywork throughout the kingdom.
Hera placed her hand on his forearm. She searched his expression with gentle eyes.
'Zeus,' she spoke just above a whisper, 'whatever differences we may have with him…they can be reconciled. Consider the situation. He merely needs to be nudged—'
'By whom? You?' Zeus turned to her with a piercing gaze. Hera felt her stomach knot and her neck become hot. She fumbled with her words.
'Well y-yes…I mean, I suppose I could…Hades might—'
'I say,' Dionysus chirped, 'we get Persephone to have a word with him. She is his wife after all, who's to say a little…persuasion from his dear beloved won't bring him around?'
The council seemed to breathe a sigh of collective disappointment.
'Hush dear,' Hestia whispered, clasping Dionysus' hand under the table.
'Read the room!' Hermes mouthed from across him.
The pride that had spread across Dionysus' face diminished into incredulity.
'Absolutely not!' Demeter retorted, seeming to take pleasure in her voice being heard once again, 'we are not using my daughter as leverage against that man. Knowing him, he'd demand that she spend all year round in that dungeon in exchange for his assistance or something equally preposterous and sadistic.'
'He would not do that.' Hera said hotly.
'What do you mean he wouldn't do that? He spawned a basilisk onto Olympus for "research purposes" and you're convinced he wouldn't do that? He wouldn't demand Persephone all for himself?'
'Hades showed a willingness to help us before, without our knowledge. If we just come to him this time around with…a bit more compassion than before—'
'Compassion! Where is your compassion for me? You're a mother; he brought your son back half-dead from the depths of Tartarus and you don't even consider how I—'
'But he brought him back!' Hera's voice rung in the hall, 'The same way he brings your daughter back every spring, unscathed, bright and chipper and hardly in any condition that should precipitate your disdain for him. Forgive us if the absence of your daughter does not weigh upon us as heavily as it does you – perhaps if she actually contributed to our kingdom, there would be something to miss!'
Stillness. The calm before the storm. Oh dear, Athena thought. She glanced up at Demeter whose mouth hung agape as her face turned a bright pink.
'Hera,' Zeus shut his eyes and massaged his temples, 'Demeter, enough—'
'How dare you!' Demeter's shrill voice pierced Athena's ears, 'my daughter is this kingdom's gem! The very paragon of youth, the renewal of life, of spring! And you dare insist that she contributes nothing to this kingdom, you miserable wench!'
With a hard shove she awoke Poseidon from his apparent stupor.
'Poseidon, say something don't just sit there!'
Poseidon waffled with his words before sighing and looking at Hera.
'Hera,' he began quietly, 'sister…just apologise and—'
'No,' Hera fumed, 'what is there to apologise for when I have spoken the truth? Indicate to me one instance where someone has called upon that girl in a crisis?'
'Wha—' Demeter looked about ready to explode, 'Dionysus did! Just now!'
'Exactly,' Hera retorted, 'who dare follow the advice of Dionysus?'
Dionysus leaned forward and huffed indignantly, opening his mouth to speak. Hestia drew him back to his seat.
'Ladies,' she said with some authority, 'compose yourselves. Would you really have the young ones bear witness to your petty quarrels at a time like this?'
'No, I would not. The focus here is mending our soured relationship with Hades,' Hera whipped around to Zeus, 'he is hurt Zeus, he needs—'
'Hera—' Zeus gestured her to stop before his words were cut through by Demeter.
'Oh hurt? I'm sure he is! You were the very one in those council meetings millennia ago chastising and belittling him like it was a sport. Go on, admit it! Everyone here will remember – and yet you want to be the one to convince him to reassume a seat at this very council? Ha!'
'Or what?' Hera raved, 'we put our trust in the seductions of a mere child?'
'You wish you had such power over him!'
'Enough!'
A thunder clap boomed across the kingdom and the Great Hall shook with it. Sparks of electricity ignited above the Olympians' heads and Athena felt her bones rattle. Zeus turned to Hera in a rage, his blue eyes reflecting a violent, white light.
'This is who you would have return to our kingdom? Someone who divides us? Someone who sews his seeds of chaos among us and then watches them sprout for his amusement? This is for whom we must have compassion!?'
Another boom of thunder.
'Have it your way, then, Hera. Go to him. Implore him. Beg. Grovel! Show him what Olympus has truly become – a nest of pitiful, cowering, shameless beasts! The Olympians of old would never concede to fraternizing with those who tread the line between ally and foe. Times truly have changed.'
Zeus rose from his throne, the electricity in the room crackling and snapping. Athena could feel the hair on her head standing on end. He glared at the Olympians before him.
'Have your exchanges of compassion. Have your enchanted toy army. Have him if he will have you. But I, for one, remember how we defeated Typhon the first time around and I will not allow this interloper to mislead me into believing that without him, we cannot achieve this feat again.'
The Hall became unbearably hot. The pillars shook and the tapestries that donned the walls began to billow. In a flash, blue lightening erupted at the table, blinding the council for a moment. The air cleared. The gold trimmings of the hall glinted as the bright light that filled the room dissipated.
Deafening silence fell upon the Great Hall a final time. Zeus' throne was empty.