The Time of Zeus Book 5: the Coup
Copyright© 2025 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 9: The End of Logic and the Beginning of Belief
“Faith is believing things when common sense tells you not to. Don’t you see? ... It’s kindness and joy and love and all the other intangibles.”
— Fred Gailey (as portrayed by John Payne), Miracle on 34th Street, directed by George Seaton, screenplay by George Seaton, story by Valentine Davies, 20th Century Fox, 1947. © Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corporation.
The riverbed was quiet despite its gentle flow of water.
Prometheus was located where he could have always been found recently, kneeling in the shallows. His hands were muddy from the effort of his latest creation. An exceptionally large portion of him wanted to fight against Zeus for destroying his female portion of humanity.
Upon the bank before him, arranged in neat rows like offerings to the wind itself, were his small clay figures. None stood taller than six inches, yet each bore the impression of his loving affection for them.
Each doll had a name in his mind, but he did not write them down as he hoped when they came into their own intelligence that they would have the want to name themselves.
They would grow when Zeus breathed life into them upon his return. They were ready. Prometheus only needed to practice patience for their agreement.
Would this be a moment of legend for them like the battle between Ouranos and his offspring was to many of the gods. He could not understand how so many of the gods did not believe in Chaos even though their very divinity came from the Great Progenitor.
Prometheus brushed flecks of dried clay from his palms and let out a long breath. After speaking with Chaos about the future of humanity so long ago, he understood that the rest of their fates would be up to choice and chance.
A ripple of divine energy stirred the air behind the son of Iapetus. Prometheus did not look up from the river. He recognized the presence before the sound of her feet touched the dry stones behind him.
“Welcome back, Athena,” he greeted simply. “I did not expect you to return so soon.
The goddess of wisdom maintained her distance a few steps back. Her armor was on as always, but the counselor of Zeus did not turn to face her, so he could not know what she wore.
For her part, Athena did not speak immediately. Her eyes drifted to the clay figures, then to Prometheus, then toward the trees beyond the river where the flicker of shadows did not move naturally.
“I believe someone is watching you,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice. “Nike and Bia, I believe.”
“I had guessed,” Prometheus said with a faint smile. “He always has suspected me of insurrection against your father.”
“You seem unbothered by it,” Athena said, confused. If she had been accused or suspected of poor behavior, she was one to confront her accuser.
“There are worse things in life than being called a traitor,” Prometheus replied.
He placed another figure gently beside the others. While he spoke in his informed manner, it was clear this was a thought he had had long before the moments of this conversation.
“And, I promise you, princess, there are far worse things to be.”
Athena stepped forward before stopping herself. While her eyes did not move to the spying siblings of Cratus, her mind went to them. If they suspected him of sedition, her being too close to him might be viewed as similar behavior. She would need to choose her words more carefully.
“Tell me something, Prometheus,” Athena said, keeping her voice casual. “How did you know you were on the right side during the War?”
He paused. Like her, he was entirely aware of the peering eyes and listening ears.
“Is your question theoretical in nature?” he asked.
The breeze moved his hair after his question.
“It is more...” she paused to be sure of herself. “I worry I am more loyal to a friend than he deserves.”
Some quality to the answer seemed to be found acceptable to the forward thinking titan.
“I didn’t,” he said with a laugh. “I couldn’t in the moment.”
Athena blinked in confusion. “But you fought for my father anyway.”
“Yes,” Prometheus said simply.
“But why? How?” Athena asked.
Stress seemed to infect her words. Regardless of her emotional state, she pressed with an honest need to know. “How did you fight when you were not certain? How do you act without knowing?”
He turned to look at her. She was not old, but she was not young in the sense of maturity. Among the younger generation of Olympians, Prometheus could see she would be a leader among them. She was ancient in her thoughts, and he knew from experience that this was always a heavier burden.
“Each of us, Athena,” he said slowly, “has to draw a line when it comes to our convictions. When we do, we decide where we stand, and we plant our feet and stay there.”
She folded her arms, frowning faintly.
“But that’s illogical. There’s no knowledge or strategy in that,” she said in irritation. “It’s just conviction.”
“No,” Prometheus corrected gently with a shake of his head. “It’s faith.”
Athena looked at the dead clay figures then back to their maker. To her, they seemed to be waiting. Was that a kind of faith?
“I believed in Zeus,” Prometheus continued, “when Cronos seemed undefeatable. It was foolish to side with your father. Cronos had bested Ouranos, and his brothers, including my father, were surely meant to come to his side, all five of them, but they didn’t. Even then, no one could know if we would win or even had a chance, but I knew I had to choose sooner than later, and once I chose, I gave everything to that choice.”
“Even when he became something worse?” Athena asked.
Prometheus’ jaw tightened. He was careful not to say more. He knew the listening ears might be upset with her for condemning her father. After all, what was one regime falling if not based on a child wanting their parent’s throne.
“Yes,” he said with a nod, “even then.”
“How does one just believe like that?” she asked at last.
“We each do what others know so well,” Prometheus explained. “That’s how we learned, especially at skills we are not good at.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Athena replied, frustrated.
“You start believing in something small, anything you can latch onto. Then you believe in what could be. Then, believe in what should be. Just remember to start.”
Athena lowered her gaze. While she did not fully understand, she knew that he had explained as best he could from the heart, but her core was that of reason, so Prometheus could only take her so far.
The admission was not a defeat, but she would need to take herself the rest of the way on this strange journey she was on.
“Thank you, Counselor.”
When she turned from him, the air folded around her with a sudden flash of golden-white. In an instant, she was gone.
“My pleasure, Princess,” Prometheus muttered. “I just hope it was enough to put you on the right path.
Sadly, he did not think it would be enough to prevent her from going against her father.
The city of Poseidonus was changing.
No longer was the underwater metropolis simply the serene jewel of the sea’s embrace. There was beauty among the city, but with the hustle and bustle of sea divinities, the overhauling transformation of Poseidon’s seat of power was well under way.
The currents churned as Oceanids and Nereids swept through streets of blackened stone and pearl halls. Weapon forges hissed with volcanic steam within the towers of this city. The glow of enchanted coral burned brighter than before as if nature was reacting to the more aggressive war-like response of its king.
Poseidon looked down from one of the highest points of his city where he was unmoved by the changes he had made.
He surveyed the transformation of his domain with his hands on the balcony’s edge. At his back was Pontus. In these days, he was his steadfast friend in all of this. As Primordial of the Sea, his form gently bounced between that of a pale-bearded elder and a deep shadow shaped by the ocean’s ancient void as was the nature of water.
He said nothing so as to allow a silence between them. It was best for nothing to be said or done at the moment.
From the far expanse, the sea stirred with grace and motion.
A chariot drawn by massive silver hippocampi cut across the ocean like moonlight.
The hippocampi were useful water steeds. They had the merits of appearing like the average horse in form and function above water and that of the seahorses under. They were a useful link between the two, especially since they could breed with both.
Upon the transport stood Amphitrite with her quicksilver wavy hair. She halted the steeds with a practiced flick of her wrist; after all, she had used them as transportation the most. Following this, she stepped from the chariot with her bare feet touching down upon the coral-strewn floor of the court.
“Husband!” she exclaimed excitedly. “I have found it.”
Poseidon turned his head towards her, but not his body.
“Found what, exactly?” Poseidon asked with the mildest of interest.
“A home,” she answered quickly.
Though she had not intended it, the excitement was not leaving her voice, so while she usually came across as graceful and regal, she was less in control of her tone and cadence and came across more childish.
“For Aegis and Eletheia. It’s a place not watched by Olympus nor ruled by your brothers.”
At this, Pontus seemed to have an interest, but Poseidon merely exhaled deeply through his nose.
“Then go,” he said with a distracted wave of his hand. “Tell them if it pleases you to assist them.”
Amphitrite froze. Her voice grew low and a certain edge of disbelief. The hurt from his dismissal after everything else was boiling over. How could he be so apathetic towards her?
He had wanted her to marry him. He was the least of the sons of Cronos and Rhea. He was entirely undeserving when it came to her.
“Is that all you have to say?” she asked, incredulous.
“Would you enjoy a reward?” he asked, almost challenging her. He turned his head away from her and back to his city, making it so his back was turned to her.
“If it is agreeable to them, and it makes you happy, that is enough. Don’t you think? I trust your judgment.”
She waited, but no further words came. She turned sharply and walked back toward her chariot without another word. Silver strands of her hair trailed behind like the last rays of a sunken sun.
Silence fell between them with the weight of the deep ocean.
Pontus watched her go, then drifted a little closer to Poseidon’s side.
“You should have at least asked what made the place special,” the Primordial said softly. “She is your wife; you need to make her feel important.”
Poseidon stared out over the bustling construction of Poseidonus. His mind churned with other thoughts.
“This does not matter,” he murmured. “None of it matters.”
Pontus frowned in response to his friend.
“Your wife finds a haven for two gods that will be indebted to you, your city rises in in equal stature to Olympus, and your throne holds firm. What more could you want?”
The Sea King’s jaw tightened at the question.
“Respect.” The word echoed like a struck gong beneath the waves. “You know that no matter what I do, I am always seen as less than my brothers. I need to change that.”
Pontus gave a long hum before letting out a soft laugh.
“There’s nothing you can do about that,” the Sea Primordial remarked offhandedly. “Unless you ruled Olympus yourself.”
The jest was a small ripple upon calm water. The two chuckled at the idea.
But then, for the smallest fraction of an instant, Poseidon did not laugh. There was a lapse where his mind was abuzz with possibilities. His eyes turned upward, toward the distant veil where sea met sky of Olympus. A slow glint formed in their depths. Not lightning, but something darker.
He did not smile but he continued to laugh.
Pontus could sense the change in his oldest friend and tilted his head.
“My king? Is everything all right?”
“Yes, yes,” Poseidon murmured. He waved off the Water Primordial. “Just my pride at the joke ... I made it too serious.”
And for a moment, Poseidonus stilled. The forge fires dimmed. The seahorses stirred uneasily to Amphitrite back to her island. The sea might have wailed and these two would not have known.
“I apologize, my friend.”
“Pontus, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Poseidon remarked. “I should focus on what I have, and...” he paused. He knew the wrong words would make his friend worry. “I should see where we can expand.”
The glint in his eye as he looked at Mount Olympus would no disappear.
The palace of Athena was similar to a spear of sensible white marble engraved in decorative gold. The evening’s twilight of Olympus only accentuated its uniqueness. Ivy wove along its walls in precise symmetry to mimic its mistress.
Within its central hall, the scent of parchment, cooled metal, and some fruit juice lingered. There was an organized stillness to this place. The stone intuited the intent of the daughter of Metis and complied with gladness
At the threshold, Hera stepped forth like the closing of a verdict. She bore no sign of the Underworld journey she had taken—save the faint, violet glow that clung to the pouch in her hand. The poppyseed sandy powder inside pulsed like a dream.
Athena looked up from a scroll that she had pulled. There was nothing on it that she did not already know. However, in Hera’s absence, she needed to keep her mind active. Otherwise, she would have gone mad. Her discussion with Prometheus has been helpful; however, he was a frustrating individual because Athena always left him feeling inadequate. She was like a student who was being told that she was the best and brightest, yet somehow, she missed the most crucial of information to some secret test that she felt she was failing.
“My queen?” Athena asked, looking up from the parchment.
Hera gave her a cool smile and unfastened the pouch from her belt. Slowly, after, she placed the the small bag of sleeping concoction onto the table.
“You’ll be pleased to know my visit to the Underworld was productive. Hypnos has given me the means to put Zeus to sleep.”
Athena looked confused and went to open the velvet pouch. Hera stopped her with a hand and picked up the container of a sac and placed it in Athena’s palm.
“Just a pinch is enough to put even the strongest among us to sleep. One breath and down they go.”
“This is how we bring my father to his knees?” Athena asked, entirely unconvinced.
“Yes,” Hera replied simply. Her voice was like deadly thunder wrapped in comforting silk. “But only if we choose to do so.”
Athena looked up sharply in impatient angry confusion.
“Are you hesitating? I thought you were ready to strike against Zeus.”
Hera sighed deeply. While the trip to the Underworld had upset her, especially with her argument with Hades, the real truth was that everything from Hades’ deal to Zeus to Athena’s call for war to even Zeus’ strange visits with Prometheus felt wrong.
There was some facet of truth just outside of her grasp. Going after Zeus was one matter. To go after him without knowing the full risks would be folly; after all, the likely conclusion of failure would be death.
To convey that to someone as young as Athena would be difficult. After all, the mature know caution while the young know carefree abandon through a false sense of invincibility.
“You and I both know that a storm can follow from a single drop of rain,” she replied sagely. “There is no guarantee that my husband will not put up a fight. Further, once Zeus falls, there will be a shift on Olympus. Others might seek to capitalize on the opening.”
Athena paced with the pouch still in her hand.
“We could bind him in sleep. Shatter his thunderbolt.”
Hera let out a single laugh at that notion. While she was entirely sure that Zeus’ Master Bolt could be destroyed, she did not believe destroying a weapon from the Cyclopes and Hecatoncheires was a smart idea.
Athena did blink at the interruption, but continued on even if she was mildly confused.
“Once he is bound, what is the concern, my Queen?”
Hera’s eyes glinted like polished garnet gem.
“Olympus has never gone without a ruler. There might be those that oppose me to be his successor if they found I brought him down. Rhea is only believed because people found out she betrayed Cronos after his imprisonment. Had she revealed it any sooner, I think the Titans would have turned on her.”
Athena listened with care. To be wise did not mean to think that she had all the answers. Wisdom had the grace and humility to know that she would need to take information from others, whether they were her betters or not.
“We’ll need others to help us then.”
“Potentially,” Hera remarked cautiously. She snapped her hand up and pointed to Athena to accentuate the severity of the situation. “However, only those who understand what is at stake should be by our side. This is what I was warning about when I said you should be more discreet.”
“But the balance of Olympus—” Athena choked out, trying to defend her actions.
“—and the price of inaction?” Hera finished in form of a judgmental question. She shook her head. “There are always risks in any path we take, but we should mitigate those risks with care.”
“That sounds like inaction.”
“Spoken like an impatient child,” Hera remarked simply.
“Spoken like an entitled ruler,” Athena rebuffed.
The use of the word ‘ruler’ was not lost on Hera. The subtle comparison to Zeus made it clear that Athena would act regardless if Hera helped, and the Queen of Olympus understood this fact.
“I am only saying we need to be certain of who we choose,” Hera said after a sigh. “This is where the risks grow greater, Athena. One misstep and our ‘allies’ might betray us for power after Zeus is unconscious or worse, they will tell him what we plan before we have a chance to act.”
Athena swallowed the saliva in her throat in nervous fear. She recalled her mother.
“And we know he is not above punishing those close to him. I can’t imagine what he would do to his enemies.”
Hera stared out at the window, recalling the Great War. She remembered how many Titans, Greater and lesser, fell to him and his power. She recalled how much fun he had ripping the weaker ones in half. She knew his power had only grown since, but so too did his imagination.
“You are right, Athena...” Hera remarked slowly. “You have no idea what he would do his enemies.”
The gardens were washed in the last amber light of day. There were forever green laurel trees, roses without thorns, and the most crisp air that any part of Olympus could ever know. Truly music could be played on a quiet breeze, and those with ears to hear would appreciate the melody forevermore.
Apollo sat beside the marble pool in his garden. His bloodshot eyes stared into the still water with wounded fury.
How could he be turned away by some no-name protector god? How was he not good enough to merit his father’s full attention? What had he done other than be the perfect shining light of a son?
His mistreatment simply was not fair.
He might have broken his fountain, but this would have accomplished nothing, and he was careful not to do so near the night. Who knew what would happen if Selene saw him having a tantrum or crying under the night sky, he would lose any positive reputation that he had garnered over the centuries.
Leto approached in silence. As his mother, she was always allowed to come to his gardens and his palace just as she was allowed in Artemis’ private practice range and palace.
She found her son on his back, and all too quickly, she pieced together his displeasure.