Chapter 4: Of Fight and Flight

You could talk to God,
Go bangin’ on His door.Hall of Fame, The Script (2012)

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 tomy power would be irrevocably lessened.”

“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. It 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.

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.

Then there was Metis ... He had done her wrong. He either needed to let her go her own way or treat her better.

Lo and behold, as he held the bolt in hand, Metis was at the doorway.

“Siphoning bolt?” Metis asked.

There she was. Ever the figure of beauty and strength. He did not appreciate all she was before. Long, golden locks could not encompass a description of this Oceanid’s hair, but it was true. Her eyes were a swirl of hazel and blue. How had Zeus not fully seen or appreciated that before? Her body was strong, yet despite what weaker males might think, altogether feminine. Her nose was slightly pinched, but her lips were so wonderfully kissable.

“Yeah,” Zeus breathed. “I figure it might be the only thing that gives us a chance tomorrow, or the next day if he leaves. But I will only get one chance at it.”

Metis listened to all he said and nodded with the understanding nature she had always given him even when he was not entirely deserving of it.

“Why not just hurl the thing when he is battling Cratus?” Metis wondered.

“Siphoning bolt, remember?” Zeus said as if it were the simplest thing. When she still looked confused, he sat straight and motioned for her to sit near him

With a pulsating spear of lightning that could temporarily strip a godly being of their divine power, Metis hesitated for the briefest of moments, but if she revealed that she was fearful of Zeus at that moment, it would do her no good. He might not want her gone. Gaia could be wrong. It was in that small window of a wishful dream that Metis believed in Zeus. By his side was where she was met to be, so that was where she sat.

The draining nature of the bolt created a nauseous effect on her.

“Feel it?” Zeus asked.

Metis struggled to swallow. Her throat seemed to lock up. In that vulnerability, she nodded.

“The bolt must be fed energy constantly. When I throw it, it loses some of potency. The further the target, the less the bolt can take away from the other person. Ideally, the opponent would be right in front of me.”

Metis laughed. “But what are the chances of that?”

Zeus laughed, standing up. He walked out to where the window was. Hurling the siphoning bolt into the heavens, the clouds swallowed up the siphoning spear of Zeus.

“That is enough of that,” he said, washing his hands of the weapon.

“Will it survive up there?” Metis wondered.

“The clouds will always have power for it to survive on,” Zeus said. Turning, he looked at Metis. “Before you say anything, I want to say that I am sorry, Metis. I have not been as appreciative of you and your advice as I should have.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Zeus,” he replied. “And after this, if we survive ... husband is what I expect you to call me, Metis.”

“Husband?” Metis asked, skeptical.

Zeus reached out and held Metis’ hands. “And I mean to call you wife, Metis, and should we survive, I have no intention of being parted from you.”

His words meant more to her than she could possibly know. With everything else going on, she struggled to fully believe him.