ToZ Bk 2: The Time of Typhon
Copyright© 2024 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 4: Of Fight and Flight
“You could talk to God,
Go bangin’ on His door.”
— The Script, “Hall of Fame,” from the album #3 (2012). Written by Danny O’Donoghue, Mark Sheehan, and will.i.am. Produced by Jimbo Barry, Danny O’Donoghue, and will.i.am. Released by Phonogenic Records and Epic Records. Copyright © 2012 Sony Music Entertainment UK Limited. All rights reserved.
She needed time, but that was a luxury that the gods of Olympus might not have. Metis recognized the danger that was Typhon. If Gaia mated with Tartarus, and the Earth Primordial had done something to train or empower this creature, Olympus should less of a chance then they realized.
This led Metis to a million other thoughts. She had to consider all of her options. There were only a few paths forward that guaranteed the survival of the gods of Olympus, fewer still that could allow for success.
If Typhon did this, Zeus would do that. It was not about peering through the endless and seeing the future for Metis. Hers was a more logical course of thinking that led to action. Zeus would be foolhardy and courageous. In war, courage was useful for inspiring others, but in a battle of single combat, courage was similar to anger, it made one vulnerable to mistakes.
If Zeus was courageous, he would lose a battle to Typhon. After which, Typhon would do one of two things. He would either kill Zeus or imprison him somewhere. Then, it would come down to who was loyal to Zeus and who was not.
This led Metis to Hestia’s little bonfire. There, both Hestia and Demeter stood talking.
“A moment,” Metis said, interrupting the two. The two stopped talking as they respected Metis’ counsel. “I want to talk about tomorrow, should things not go the way Zeus believes.”
“You wouldn’t be thinking of overthrowing out brother?” Demeter asked. Though it was a question, Metis sensed that Demeter might welcome a change in leadership.
“Nothing like that. Just ... if it looks as though we might not win, I would rather most of the gods lived. I have gone through Hyperion’s notes. There is a land south of here called Aígyptos. Ra should be in charge with the help of ... his ... offspring? Or his offspring’s offspring. The notes were not entirely clear. But look for Ra or Osiris. Pose as animals. Do whatever you have to. Talk to Hera. She knows how to perform shape-changing magic.”
The two stared at Metis in shock. The Oceanid did not wait for them to respond. There was more to do before she was with Zeus again, but she wondered if there would be enough time.
Aegle, Hespera, and Arethusa were not especially talented. In fact, they were rather naïve by comparison to other gods on Olympus. That could not be helped, if Hera was being honest to himself. Atlas had protected his daughter and kept them separated from the other gods. Of course they were not as experienced as the other goddesses on Olympus.
The Mage of Olympus sat there, watching the young goddesses tend to her trees. They had taken to craft rather masterfully. Though, they only seemed able to master one skill at a time, which was exhausting to Hera.
Hera thought about what Hades said to her. She loved him; truly, she did. Perhaps, the words were not vocalized, but what did that matter? He knew; she knew.
And then, there was what he said about her wanting him to be king. Was he right on that score? Well, of course he was. It solved everything. But did she want him to be King of Olympus for her mother’s sake or for her own ambition?
Did Hera want to be Queen of Olympus? Queen of the Underworld? Or was it even about being queen? Hera shook her head even if no one was talking to her.
It was never about that. She knew the ultimate, painful truth. She was not meant for the Underworld. Rhea’s training had prepared her to be Queen of Olympus. While she had no intention of marrying Zeus, she could not just abandon the godly city. If she did, the Hesperides would be lost to someone like Zeus.
Then there was helping Metis. Metis would be Queen of Olympus. Hera had been trained her whole life for that role. While the scope and political power of the Queen had been altered since Rhea’s time, certain facets could only be understood from the experience that Gaia and Rhea had been given firsthand. They, in turn, passed that knowledge onto Hera.
Hera was not meant to be divided between two realms. Sighing, she accepted the most brutal truth. Hades was right; she loved him, just not enough.
It was better that Hera be an advisor on Olympus rather than Hades’ Queen. She would be secluded in the Underworld, separated from where she could do the most good. Perhaps, one day, the position of Queen of the Underworld would mean something to the realm of the gods, but ... just then, it did not, and Hera would be selling herself short by being there.
She admitted it. She loved Hades ... just ... not enough.
In the dead of night on Mount Olympus, Metis had one more item on her to-do list. She knew where she would find her quarry. Prometheus was never one to leave his palace. He had been creating things since the time of Cronos. He was not one to stop when in the motion of anything. As such, Metis believed he would be working on something with Epimetheus.
“Prometheus,” she said as she knocked on the double doors to his palace.
“Metis?” Prometheus said just before opening one of the double doors. “What brings you to my part of Olympus at this late hour?” He looked her over.
He recognized an uncharacteristically frantic appearance of the wise Oceanid.
“What troubles you, Metis? Is it Typhon?” he inquired with a compassionate, if not melodic, tone in his voice.
“In a manner of speaking,” Metis replied cryptically. She waved her hand to make him understand that her answer was not what was important. “Do you and Epimetheus still intend to create humanity?”
Prometheus paused for a moment, considering her words with a thoughtful expression.
“Not particularly,” he replied. “After Cratus attacked us to find Atlas, I did not much see the point.”
“May I ask why?” Metis wondered.
Realizing the scope of her curiosity, he invited her into his workshop.
“Epimetheus is in one of the rooms in the back, sleeping, but we should not be loud.”
“We wouldn’t want to wake him on the eve of our greatest battle,” Metis said, mild irritation seeping into her words.
Regardless of how she felt, Prometheus walked her to his work table. There were multiple models of a clay woman.
“Even if Cratus had not stopped us from our final project,” Prometheus said irritably. “Which he did, mind you ... but that aside, we lack blessings from other gods.”
“Why not simply get them?” Metis wondered. “I fail to see the problem. No one, save Zeus and his protectors would deny you anything.”
“There are other challenges that we face in our commitment to this project,” Prometheus answered with crypticness of his own.
“And that is?” Metis wondered, hoping he would get to his point.
“We do not want humanity to be entirely like a god or Titan. They will not have our mortal lifespan or our natural grace or even a connection to the Progenitor...” he said trailing off.
“I am sensing a ‘but’ in there,” Metis said, squinting in annoyance at Prometheus.
“I would like to give humanity the gift of magic,” Prometheus said. “If nothing else, I want to give them the possibility of magic.”
“What is the difference?” Metis wondered. Stopping him from answering, she held up a hand and clarified. “What is the problem? Why can’t you just do that?”
“To give humanity such a gift,” Prometheus explained, “would require a permanent drain on the giver.”
“Meaning the giver would lose the ability to use magic?” Metis asked.
“Not lose ... more like ... permanently weaken. If I gave the gift for humanity to have the potential to use magic and have a connection to the primal forces we wield, I would be ... ten ... twenty ... maybe even thirty percent weaker than I am now. My access to my power would be irrevocably lessened.”
That was not what she had expected to hear from the advisor. Somehow, humanity was important. Metis could not be sure as to why or how, but she knew they were.
“I see,” Metis remarked. She considered what these little beings could do. “I assume they would be intelligent, these humans?”
“Of course,” Prometheus explained. “They would be made in our image. Lesser than us, but greater than the beasts that roam Greece.”
Metis nodded. “But no threat to us or even someone like Typhon.”
“Oh ... Chaos no,” Prometheus said quickly. “No divine being could be defeated by such a paltry creature.”
Metis was not so sure of that. In a way, Cronos was inferior to Ouranos, but with a tool, he defeated him. Zeus was inferior in power to Cronos; it had been magic and leadership that had brought him victory.
“Would they multiply like us?” Metis wondered.
“You mean procreate?” Prometheus asked for clarification. When Metis nodded, he went on. “Oh yes. Probably more so than us since they have such short life spans.”
That sealed it for Metis. It was likely the one who might bring Zeus’ downfall might come from these inferior imitations. And if Metis was right, they would do so without the need for immortality. Then ... tyrants like Zeus would be destroyed by time, which was ironic given Zeus’ victory over the temporal lord Cronos.
If nothing else, an army of humans might serve as a barrier between beings like Typhon and Olympus.
“Finish your creation,” Metis ordered.
Her statement was by no means a request.
“Metis?”
“Make them of something sturdier than clay. And when you’ve finished, come find me. No matter where I am, I will supply the gift of magic and some wisdom so they might learn from their mistakes. Given their short lives, I assume they will make many.”
Prometheus looked like he might kiss Metis. She stalled him. There was one more place she would need to go that evening if everything was to go as she planned.
“Thank you for your time, Prometheus. No matter what happens tomorrow, survive. Make your last great creation for Greece.”
She patted him on his bicep before departing.
A held breath would have been louder than the quietude that settled upon the nighttime of Mount Olympus.
The children of Pallas and Styx met in their shared palace given to them by Zeus.
Cratus stood at the center of the chamber, arms folded across his broad, hair-darkened chest. The lamplight caught in the curls of his reddish-brown hair and along the muscle of his shoulders, making him appear carved from a combination of metal and stone rather than born from flesh and ichor. His chiton of white and gold hung loosely from him, as if no cloth could truly claim his shape.
Cratus scarcely paced, and while today was no exception, he very nearly did on this evening. However, he stood still because that was when he was most comfortable. For him, no movement meant a decision had been made, and all that was left was to do what needed doing.
Niké was the first to break the silence after her brother broke the news to them.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she nearly screamed.
Her wings shifted slightly behind her to illustrate her discomfort and accentuate the words she spoke. Her voice was controlled, but tight. They had worked hard for their success and stature on the godly mountain’s city. Their comforts were a reflection of their victory in life, but her brother’s words threatened that accomplishment.
“Poseidon is one of the Three kings,” she went on. “He rules the seas and bested Oceanus and Pontus with his trident.”
She shook her head in a confused irritation.
“Yes, Sister,” Cratus rebuffed. “I am aware of Poseidon’s accolades.’
“Typhon broke him this morning. Nearly fucking killed him!” Niké exclaimed. “And you volunteered us to fight this monster?”
Zelus scoffed softly from where he leaned near the wall. He was always too cool to be in the fray during a familial argument. As such, his arms were crossed, and the weight of his body rested on one foot like a runner waiting for a signal. His pale hair caught the light like spun silver, which would have made the Titan Queen marvel in jealousy. His wings were larger than any of his siblings. This fact alone brought him great pride, but in such close quarters, the vans were half-furled yet restless.
“Not just broke that king,” Zelus added. “I hear that this ‘Typhon’ crushed Poseidon. Our king’s brother is only alive because of some dolphin and because the monster left him breathing.”
His lips pulled into a thin, incredulous smile. For the easiest moment, he backed his sister.
“And now,” Zelus went on, “you, Cratus, want us to stand before this beast?”
Cratus turned his head slowly from one sibling to the other.
“That is what I said, yes,” he confirmed. “I said as much to our sovereign, and I will not break faith with Lord Zeus.”
The word landed heavily because they had been spoken without ornament or apology. This was Cratus’ way.
Niké stepped forward in response. Her white-and-red garments shifted in the movement, but she was nonetheless a sibling of Cratus and child of Pallas in that moment.
“Zeus did not command this,” she remarked in understanding. “You had no right to offer up our lives to the king!”
At the mention of Zeus, Cratus’s jaw tightened in restrained anger.
“When one king falls,” he said evenly, “who holds the line?”
No one answered. This silence emboldened Cratus.
“Have any of you forgotten what occurred with the Furies or Atlas? You said you would never stand against me again. Was that a lie?”
Once more, there was quiet.
“We are as much the children of Styx as we are of Pallas. Our father made us strong, but our mother taught us to keep our word, to have honor, and to be truthful! So will you stand with me against this monster? Or will you just keep bitching?”
Bia stood slightly apart from the others. She was more contemplative when compared to her siblings, but when Cratus spoke of their parents, her wings folded and unfolded before folding again in vexation. It was similar to someone flexing their hand at words they did not want to hear.
Her strength was evident even in stillness. Quite likely, she was the second strongest of her siblings, but they would never know for none challenged Cratus’ authority.
When she spoke up to answer her brother’s statements, her voice was gentle and low.
“As full of himself as our brother is, Olympus is not the mountain alone. It is its king, and its king is only as strong as the foundation that his servants give him,” she said. “It stands upon us to hold up the structure.”
Zelus glanced at her in utter bewilderment.
“You’d have us fight that thing?” he asked, incredulity giving way to something sharper. “Typhon is ... I don’t know what he is! But he didn’t even bleed ichor when Poseidon attacked him!”
Bia nodded once. She was not going to waste words with her brother. The motion showed that she understood what he had said, and this was all she offered in the way of understanding.
Niké looked from Bia to Cratus to Zelus, hoping someone would offer him support.
“And you’d still have us go?”
“Yes...” she paused in her reply momentarily. “Even if I have to go alone to fulfill what honor demands.”
The simplicity of the answer unsettled the room more than Cratus’s certainty had.
“That’s insane!” Niké said. “We are meant for victory, but we are not kings or monsters. We are to serve, not die.”
Cratus stepped toward Niké when he realized they were the only one who would say no among the four.
“We are meant to serve even if it means our death,” he countered. “We are sworn to Zeus. We gave him our word and magical bond! Our parents did not teach us to count the odds. Our father taught us to be strong, and to be strong is to hold fast against adversity; our mother taught us to keep faith, and to keep faith means to hold to what we said even when we do not want to.”
“Faith did not save Poseidon,” Zelus pointed out.
“No,” Cratus agreed. “But it spared Olympus. If we do our part, perhaps, the monster can be defeated, and the monster can be slain.”
A heavier silence fell upon the room.
Niké’s wings shivered. Her eyes dropped, just for a moment, before lifting again. He faced her brother and revealed her fear with a forthright honesty that only family can have with one another.
“If Typhon comes again,” she said quietly, “and we stand against him ... we’ll die.”
“Yes,” Cratus confirmed with a nod.
Zelus swallowed as his own fear came to the surface. His usual sharpness had dulled over the duration of the conversation.
“And if we do nothing?”
“Then Olympus falls.”
“Very well,” Niké said through closed eyes. “If Olympus must be defended ... let it be defended without hesitation ... by us.”
His room was glorious. Of course it was. It was used by two other great kings. It had curtains of the finest fabrics, a bed big enough for five gods to sleep in, and sometimes, the Lightning lord tested to see if he could reach that limit.
For all of that, as Zeus harnessed his power, he could not take his mind off the impossibility of where he was. Not the kingship; that was always meant to be his. From the chance that Metis could betray him by giving birth to a child that would usurp him to this Typhon and his ability to best gods in combat.
Truthfully, Zeus always believed himself to be the greatest of the three sons of Cronos. Until recently, he had held that belief as firmly as he had once believed he would be King of Olympus. Recently, however, Hades had outstripped him, and if he asked his brother to deal with Typhon, Zeus suspected that Hades would be able to defeat the monstrosity within a day.
With such upheaval, Zeus wondered if he had ever been the strongest of the three. What if Poseidon, with his allies in Pontus and Cetus, was better than the King of Olympus? What if Zeus was not nearly as powerful as he had once thought?
Even as he tried forging the siphoning bolt, he could not help but wonder. He felt hollow, lesser to his brothers. He had won his throne through machination and scheming with his mother and grandmother, and he had betrayed them.
He had not truly made right by them. He had discarded them when they had given him everything. If he could overcome Typhon, it might be time to fully restore them. He was pretty sure they stayed away from Olympus because of his mistreatment of them.
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