Discord's Apple

8

Apollo woke Sinon. When he spoke, his tone was serious, incongruous with the god’s usual demeanor. “If you keep quiet and act the part, you will see a thing few mortals have witnessed. A Council of the Gods.”

Sinon sat up, holding the coverlet around himself.

“Oh, look—is that a flash of curiosity in your eyes? Athena has called us to discuss your friend Odysseus. I would have you there to consult, since you know him. You can come as my servant if you promise to behave yourself. No tricks, no petty rebellions. I assure you, many of my colleagues are not as good-humored as I am. They’ll toss you off Olympus if they find you the least bit offensive. Do you promise?”

He nodded quickly. News of Odysseus! And to see Olympus.

“I must hear the words. Say it.”

“I promise.”

Apollo straightened, his arrogant smile returning. “Good.”

Phoebus Apollo dressed in gold, shimmering like the sun, and wore a circlet that gleamed with its own intense light. He garbed Sinon in a white silk chiton pinned with gold brooches, leaving much of his muscular chest and arms exposed. His beard was closely trimmed, his hair tied back with a gold ribbon. Apollo brought him to a doorway. Sinon had always thought it led to a closet, but Apollo slid back the screen, and beyond the door lay nothing, a shadow, featureless space.

“You will stand behind my chair and keep my goblet filled. Deliver messages if I need you to. Keep your head bowed, and keep your thoughts to yourself. Think of wool or fog if you must think of something. They won’t be able to read you so easily. Do not speak unless I give you permission, not even if Zeus himself asks you a question.”

“Zeus will be there?” Sinon blinked, feeling suddenly ill.

Apollo smirked. “Of course. Now remember, behave yourself.”

They stepped through the doorway. For a lurching moment, Sinon thought he had stepped off a cliff: his stomach turned, his mind felt dizzy, his feet tumbled over his head—But he took a second step and felt stone under his feet. He opened his eyes.

The stories told of a lofty palace, vast spaces capable of holding the heavens and filled with the blinding light of the gods, overwhelming to the eyes of mortals, inducing awe and madness.

In fact, Sinon walked on the stone base of a great bowl that had been cut out of the side of a hill. Tiers made of cracked and weathered stone, shining in the sun, had been built up one side, forming a hundred rows of benches that curved around and looked down upon the central floor. Every seat had a vantage, and the depression trapped sound. Footsteps echoed. A grove of trees closed in the other half of the circle. Sinon couldn’t see beyond to look for landmarks on the chance he might recognize the place. The sky above was blue, flecked with clouds, and he smelled the ocean on a slight breeze.

“What is this place?” Sinon asked breathlessly.

“An amphitheater. Athena’s design. In another five hundred years, I imagine they’ll be littered all over Greece.”

Without a second glance, Apollo strode forward into the plaza. Sinon followed, trying to show indifference.

On the central floor—the stage—a dozen chairs, gleaming white, made of ivory perhaps, sat in a circle. Beside each chair was a small table with a silver goblet and pitcher, and a tray of delicacies. Several people, dressed much like Sinon was, their gazes downcast, went from table to table, filling pitchers and trays with wine and food. Others stood by the chairs, meek and unmoving. Servants. Slaves. All mortal, Sinon thought.

He watched the people who weren’t servants. They stood apart, in twos or threes, studying each other across the room, talking quietly. They were regal, garbed in the richest fabric and jewels, their hair oiled and perfectly arranged, tied with strings of pearls and lapis. The men were broad of shoulder, proud of mien; the women slim, curved, gleaming with marble beauty. Imperious. The gods and goddesses of Olympus.

Their gazes turned to Apollo when he and Sinon came into view. Sinon hung back, not wishing to draw attention to himself—willing, for once, to defer to Apollo. Apollo nodded to the others, who nodded in return. Sinon felt some of their gazes pass over him, a pricking as his hair stood on end.

Think of nothing. Wool. Fog.

“Greetings, Brother. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.” A woman in a short tunic belted with silver, wearing silver-laced sandals bounded up to Apollo like a young girl, or a deer. Where Apollo was light, she was dark, black hair tied with silver chains, her skin olive, her eyes intense.

“Greetings, Sister. It has been far too long.” Apollo touched her face and leaned in to kiss her cheek lightly. His smile seemed genuine. “Tell me, what’s the mood?”

“Everyone’s still cranky about Troy.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s why we should put men and women on different continents and have visiting days only once a year. Men and women together cause such problems.”

“That would not please some of our brethren as much as it would please you,” Apollo said.

Artemis pointedly looked Sinon up and down, studying him. Sinon kept his gaze on his toes. “He’s new, isn’t he? Very nice.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Sinon was afraid he was blushing. He lifted his gaze enough to see Artemis wink at him before she went away. He let out a sigh.

Apollo glanced at him and chuckled. “My twin sister. Lovely, isn’t she? Don’t get any ideas. She’d eat you alive.”

Sinon snorted. “I’m only thinking about wool and fog, my lord, as you commanded.”

Apollo laughed.

One of the chairs was larger than the others. It had thick armrests and shimmering upholstery, and stood on a dais. An old man with gray hair and beard, a stern gaze, and heavy shoulders emerged from the grove of trees and moved to the chair. He drew attention to him—he was like the North Star pulling lodestones, the way everyone fell silent and looked at him. He stepped up on the dais and rested on his throne.

This was Zeus.

Sinon had an urge to prostrate himself before that throne, to pray as he never had in his life, not even in battle. He clenched his fists.

Apollo turned to him and whispered, “You’d bow to Zeus but not to me?”

Sinon nodded. His voice shook. “He’s Zeus. The Father.”

“Yes, he is.”

When Zeus sat, the others took the signal to make their way to their own chairs. The servants disappeared, except for the personal slaves of each of the gods, who lurked unobtrusively behind the chairs. Most of the gods had servants. A pair of girls waited on Artemis. Aphrodite had an army of maidens. (Sinon knew she was Aphrodite—he could barely look at her, she shone so brightly.) Hermes, the man with wings on his sandals, didn’t have any. Nor did Zeus himself.

Sinon tried to name them all: Hephaestus, who slumped in his chair over a twisted leg; Athena, the regal woman with the gray eyes and piercing gaze; Ares, who snarled at everyone around him.

The minor deities sat on the stone benches carved into the hill, around the outside of the circle. One of the chairs of the inner circle was empty.

The goddess who sat closest to Zeus was not the most beautiful, but she was striking. Sinon looked past her once, but found himself drawn back to her, until he could look at no one else. There was a gravity to her, much like the aura of authority that clung to Zeus. Her dark curling hair was piled on her head in a queenly fashion, respectable, admirable. Her gown was elegant, her jewels tasteful. This, then, was Hera.

Zeus spoke. Sinon expected his voice to break the silence like thunder. Instead, it was calm. It held the weight of authority without the storm.

“Athena, speak your grievance.”

Athena stood. She was tall—taller than Sinon. He remembered she was a warrior goddess. She looked like she feared nothing.

“I come to plead on behalf of Odysseus the Ithacan. For ten long years, he has been the plaything of our anger, our rivalries. We should have been done with such pettiness at Troy. Instead, our bickering continues, scattering the Greeks across the oceans. Ten years have passed since Odysseus left Troy. It is time for him to return home. I would enlist your help to make this so.”

Ten years.

He had been enslaved to Apollo for ten years. But he didn’t feel any different than he had that night in Agamemnon’s tent, when they planned the horse—

He crouched and whispered in Apollo’s ear. “Ten years? It’s been ten years?”

Apollo said, “Yes. And every one of Odysseus’s men has died on the journey home. I saved your life, enslaving you. Now be quiet.”

Athena continued. “He is being held captive by the nymph Calypso. My King Zeus, one word from you, and she would release him. He could go home, after all this time.”

Odysseus, also held captive. And all his men dead. Sinon nearly wept for his friend. Odysseus would have taken to heart every one of those deaths.

Hera leaned forward, smiling sweetly. “I observe that you petition us now, when Poseidon is absent.” She nodded at the empty chair.

“An astute observation, my lady. It’s no secret, he hates Odysseus and would never consent to easing his path home. But he cannot oppose a decision that we all agree to. So I ask for aid now.”

Ares stood. “He is a Greek. I oppose them on principle.”

Athena raised an eyebrow, looking like she was exercising patience. “That was a long time ago. Troy is gone now.”

“Because of Odysseus. Why should I help him?”

“You don’t have to help him. Just don’t hinder him any longer.”

A pleasant soft-featured woman with hair the color of wheat—Demeter?—leaned forward. “Is he in any danger? Is Calypso mistreating him?”

“Only by keeping him prisoner.”

“Then why not let him be? Why interfere?”

“Because he longs for home more than anything. Have pity on him!” Athena said, pleading with a closed fist.

Aphrodite laughed, a sound like bells. “It’s true, isn’t it? You do love him! The one man you’ve ever encountered who might actually be cleverer than you!”

Athena scowled.

Ares said, “Abandon him, Athena. He’s just a mortal. Let him free himself, if he wants. I’m betting he’ll just give up and live out his days in Calypso’s arms.”

Athena’s lips thinned. “A bet? How much?”

“My finest war stallion.”

Athena gave a full-blown smile. “Anyone else? I’ll wager a golden lyre that he fights for freedom until he reaches his home.”

Hermes hopped up so he crouched on the seat of his chair. “A bottle of wine from each of the four corners of the world says that he reaches home.”

Aphrodite: “A casket of pearls that he surrenders.” She and Ares exchanged a glance.

Apollo gestured for Sinon, who crouched by his master’s chair. “It’s terrible. Half of us admire Odysseus’s persistence. The other half want to see how much he’ll take before he gives up. What do you say? What will Odysseus do?”

“He will not give up. He’ll die trying to return home.”

“You know him better than the gods, who can read his thoughts? The thoughts of Odysseus are racked with despair these days.”

“I fought beside him, my lord. He does not give in to despair.”

Apollo said, “If I take Odysseus’s part, if I ensure that he is able to return to his home and wife, will you come willingly to my bed?”

Sinon would have thrown himself off a cliff to help Odysseus. What Apollo asked—it was little enough. “Yes.”

Voices volleyed around the theater. “I say he fights.”

Another said, “I say he doesn’t!”

“Enough!” Zeus stood. Now his voice thundered, echoing against the stony hillside. Everyone fell silent. The slaves cowered behind their masters’ chairs. Sinon was on his knees, head bowed. “I will not stay silent while you gamble on the lives of mortals. They are not our playthings, however much some of you might treat them as such. We destroyed one of the greatest human cities because of our rivalries. Isn’t that enough?”

Apollo stood slowly, as if he had come to a momentous decision. “You are right, Father, of course. Our sister Athena is right. You should send Odysseus home.”

Athena bowed to Apollo, but her gaze was narrowed, her brow creased with curiosity.

Zeus said, “And you take this position because—?”

“Because it wins us nothing to keep him away from home. I’m sure he prays to the gods daily for release. Why not answer his prayer and win a bit of faith?” He returned to his seat and rested his hand on his chin.

Ares gripped his armrests. “I want to see if I win my bet!”

“Ares, be quiet,” Zeus said. “Hermes!”

The messenger god sprang from his seat and, moving so quickly he was a blur of light, crossed to Zeus’s dais and bowed. “Go to Calypso and tell her she must set Odysseus on the path home. No arguments.”

“At once, Father.” In another flash of light, a breath of wind blowing with his passage, he was gone.

Athena bowed. “Thank you, Father.”

Zeus waved her away. “You should all know that as many mortals hate us as worship us. They know it was the jealousy of vain goddesses that destroyed Troy and ruined the kingdoms of Greece. A time will come when they find they do not need us. And if they do not love us, what will they do with us then? I’m tired of listening to you lot. Leave me now.”

Thus the council ended. The gods and goddess rose, bowed to the King on his throne, and began to disperse.

Apollo said quietly to Sinon, “Do you see the woman there in the white veil and sea-green gown? She is Ino, one of the sea goddesses. Go tell her I wish to speak with her.”

Sinon blinked. “You want me to tell a goddess?”

“I want you to deliver a message. Now, go.”

The woman he had pointed out was leaving the stone benches, her two handmaidens accompanying her. Sinon had to slip around them, nearly leaping into the goddess’s path. Haughty, she stared at him through the misty fabric of her veil, which rippled in the sea air. One of the handmaidens lifted her gaze, her eyes widening.

He recalled everything he had ever learned of manners and fine speech. He bowed deeply. “Great lady, my master, Phoebus Apollo of the Sun, wishes to speak words with you, if you would deign to linger for but a moment.”

She might not even have been breathing, she stood so still, reacted so little. Then the veil rustled as she spoke. “Call him here. I will wait.”

Sinon bowed yet again, then ran to tell Apollo. “She’s waiting for you.”

“Good.”

Sinon followed the Sun God. Apollo stood before Ino and merely inclined his head. “My lady. Thank you for staying.”

“Your servant asked so nicely, how could I refuse?” She spared him a glance, the tiniest shifting of her head. Sinon wished he could see her without the veil.

Wool, fog.

“I need to ask a favor of you. Poseidon will hear of this. He will be angry. Watch over this Odysseus for me. See that he reaches the shore.”

“You’ll owe me a favor, Phoebus Apollo.”

“I believe that is how such arrangements work. You will have my thanks, at such time as you feel the need to call upon it.”

They nodded politely to each other, and Apollo stepped aside to let her pass. The handmaiden who’d looked up before glanced over her shoulder at Sinon. She had red hair and green eyes that made his heart clench.

Apollo said, “Poseidon will send Odysseus storms. Ino will protect him. Satisfied?”

“Yes.” He looked away, feeling suddenly tired. He would never see Odysseus home and happy. But he would know his friend was safe.

“Quick now, stand behind me and look submissive.”

Sinon looked up—Athena stood before them. She studied every inch of him, and he knew that she saw inside him, saw everything about him, knew who he was and what he had done.

If she knew what he’d done for Odysseus, would she care?

“Can I help you, Sister?” Apollo said.

She turned her cold gaze to the god. “I only wanted to discover what you’re getting by taking my side. Now I know.” She smiled at Sinon and walked away.

“Come on,” Apollo said, tipping his head as he turned to indicate that Sinon should follow.

Sinon didn’t see the doorway that exited Olympus. He followed Apollo to the edge of the stone theater and found himself back in the Sun Palace. After the sun and breeze of the theater, the light and air here seemed harsh and artificial.

Apollo said, “So. What did you think of the Gods of Olympus?”

Olympus hadn’t been what he expected. Sinon chuckled while he decided how best to say what he wished. The Council of the Gods had reminded him of the meeting in Agamemnon’s tent as they planned the destruction of Troy. Powerful, arrogant men trying to compromise. No one willing to let go of his pride. Achilles sulking because of a perceived insult.

Ten years ago.

He said, “You’re human. As human as I am. At least, you used to be.”

“Very good. As clever as Odysseus. We were mortal magicians who became powerful enough to make ourselves gods. And the only things that amuse us anymore are the lives of mortals. It’s ironic, don’t you think?”

Sinon crossed his arms and stalked toward the god—the man. Apollo was shorter than Sinon. The Sun God grinned up at him, smug and playful. Like the whole thing was a joke he enjoyed telling again and again. The gods and their human passions. So much became clear.

He stopped just short of touching Apollo, so they could feel the heat of each other’s skin.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Sinon said, and kissed Apollo on the mouth.

Apollo held his face and pressed himself against Sinon. Pausing to take a breath, he said, “Yes. Yes, I am.”