Hunted

Chapter 25

While Hermes went to go tell his dad on me, I glanced at Flidais and said, “I was impressed by what you said. Is that truly what the Tuatha Dé Danann wish for us—to remain alive and free?”

“Perhaps not all of them,” Flidais admitted, “but it is the position of those who matter. It is what Brighid wishes.”

So Flidais remained the staunch ally of Brighid. “I’m relieved to hear it. Please give her my kindest regards.” That would serve as a thank-you without placing me in her debt.

“I will. What’s next?”

“Well, I sure wish Perun were here.”

“You do? Why?”

Once I explained, she offered to go get him. He’d been hiding out in Tír na nÓg with Brighid’s permission ever since Loki had destroyed his plane.

“How are you going to get him?” I said. “The Old Way under the castle is rubble now.”

“It’s not the only one around here.”

“It’s not?”

“Herne’s oak does double duty. It’s tethered to Tír na nÓg but it’s also an anchor to an Old Way. Why do you think we kept influencing England’s monarchs to plant new trees in the same spot when the old ones were ripped out?”

“What? You did?” The enormity of her omission hit home. “I mean, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

She grinned, unrepentant. “I wanted to fight. And it was right to do so. The Olympians needed a lesson. But we can leave now if you wish.”

Earlier I would have jumped at the chance, but this was an opportunity to preserve our hides for more than a few hours or days. “No, I want to see this through. But if you could take Granuaile and Oberon with you—she needs help with the arrow—that would be great.”

Granuaile was fine with the idea and gladly limped into Flidais’s chariot once we went to fetch her. She wobbled and looked a bit peaked, but, true to her word, she seemed to have it under control. I gave her a kiss and wished her a speedy recovery. Oberon, however, flatly refused to leave me, and I didn’t have the heart to fight him on it.

After leaving Granuaile in the care of Goibhniu, who would saw off the arrowhead to allow the shaft to be withdrawn, Flidais came back before Zeus and Jupiter could arrive. She exited her chariot hand in hand with Perun, the Slavic god of thunder and her current snogging companion.

He looked rejuvenated and spoiling for a fight. His adventures in tailoring were also getting a bit wild. The V in his tight belted tunic plunged precipitously and ended just above his belly button, allowing what appeared to be red shag pile carpeting to spill out. His pants were tucked into blue calf-high boots with a flared top. He looked like a superhero from the seventies. He smiled and gave me a manly hug, which felt like being wrapped up in a throw rug and stomped on. Vertebrae popped and my wounded back sent me an outraged query, wondering what the hell I thought I was doing, allowing myself to be crushed like that. “Atticus! Is good to see you. Why does Flidais bring me here?”

“We need you to appear big and intimidating.”

“Ah, you need to scare peoples with face of rage?”

“That’s it.”

He smiled at me. “I can do this. Will be fun. Look.” He crossed his arms and the atmosphere darkened around him. His eyebrows drew together and his eyes, normally blue, flickered with the blue and white of lightning as he glowered down at us. He flexed everything and grew bigger.

I didn’t do anything, Oberon. This is performance art.

Perun’s visual promise of doom relaxed, and he grinned. The sky brightened immediately. “Is good, yes?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “That’s perfect.”

Perun had moved on to greeting Herne, and I was reminded again that he was one of the nicer gods I’d ever met—at least, when he wasn’t stirred to anger. He was going to provide me a bit of an edge in the coming psychological warfare. When they arrived, Zeus and Jupiter wouldn’t be able to intimidate us with muscles and thunder when we had plenty of that on our side. And I thought it would be important for the Greco–Romans to see that we had a thunder god throwing in his lot with us. They’d accord Perun some respect and perhaps pause long enough to give me a serious hearing. Without him, I’d expect the Olympians to pummel us into submission without bothering to talk.

The current popular image of Zeus as a cheerful, avuncular type perplexes me. I know it comes from a silly kids’ movie, but I’m not sure they could have gotten it more wrong. Zeus was never avuncular. He killed his father, raped his sister, and then married her, calculating that sanctified incest was marginally better than the unsanctified kind. After that he conducted a series of what are generously called “affairs” with mortal women, though sometimes tales will admit he “ravished” them, which is to say he raped them. He turned into a swan once for a girl with an avian fetish, and another time he manifested as a golden shower over a woman imprisoned in a hole in the ground. His actions clearly paint him as skeevy to the max and the most despicable of examples. He’s not the kind of god that belongs in kids’ films. He’s the kind that releases the kraken.

Thunderclouds condensed and roiled above us, signaling that the gods of the sky had heard my words fall from the lips of Hermes. The messenger god rocketed out of the southern sky and hovered six feet above us, safely out of our reach.

“Zeus and Jupiter approach,” he said, then darted sideways like a hummingbird.

The Olympians knew how to make an entrance. A deafening thunderclap boomed in our ears, causing Oberon to yipe, and two lightning bolts struck the ground not ten yards away. Zeus and Jupiter stood in their place. Lightning continued to rain down around us and clouds boiled directly above, which was odd since we could see blue sky not all that far away.

By now I’d grown used to the differences between the Greeks and Romans and could immediately tell the two apart. Zeus, the uncredited god of sexual deviancy, had wrapped a thin sheet of polyester material around his waist, like a towel, but was otherwise naked—and was visibly aroused by the opportunity to confront us. His beard, oiled and entirely white, was tied underneath the chin and fell to his sternum. His hair still had a dash of pepper in it here and there, and this fell in oiled waves down his back. Jupiter was dressed (or undressed) in much the same way, but his white beard was cropped close and oil-free. His hair seemed unnaturally black by comparison, with some graying only at the temples. Perhaps he’d been using Just For Gods hair cream.

Their eyes glowed with menace, and both sets locked on me.

“Enough of this, Druid,” Jupiter growled. “Release Bacchus and the others now.”

The Olympians, I had noticed, were not the sort for small talk or pleasantries. They just showed up and demanded that you jump to serve them.

“Thanks for coming to talk, Zeus and Jupiter. Look, I’m not the bad guy here.”

“You have imprisoned members of our pantheon, have you not?”

“Yes, but that’s only because they were behaving like ass napkins. There’s something beyond our petty squabbling that requires your attention. It’s Loki and Hel and the end of the world as we know it. Despite what Michael Stipe might think, you will not feel fine when it gets here. You should poke your head outside Olympus once in a while. See, if Loki finds me and manages to kill me, Ragnarok will begin. And most of the Norse gods who were supposed to act as a check on that have checked out prematurely. The threat of Loki is real. He’s destroyed the planes of two thunder gods already by himself—Perun’s of Russia and Ukko’s of Finland.”

The Olympians flicked their eyes to Perun, who gave them the barest nod of confirmation. The exchange surprised me, because I thought the Olympians would have known about Perun’s plane already, but apparently they hadn’t been paying attention to recent events.

“If Loki is able to unite his power with that of Hel and Muspellheim and pull off Ragnarok,” I continued, “Olympus goes down in flames with the earth. So the world could use my help and yours. What do you say we put aside our differences for a bit and fight a common enemy? Odin’s with us, I can assure you of that.” Name-dropping couldn’t hurt at this point.

Jupiter’s expression of impending wrath modulated into a frown of concern. Zeus’s leer underwent a similar transformation. At least they were listening, I thought. But there was no give in Jupiter’s tone as he uttered his reply.

“We cannot put aside differences until our pantheons are whole again,” he said.

“Okay, I’m sure we can work something out. Let’s talk so everybody wins. But, first, could you maybe dispel those storm clouds?” I jerked a thumb at the sky. “That’s weird and it’s going to draw attention.”

“Attention from whom?” Zeus snorted, and glanced toward Windsor Castle and the distant helicopters buzzing like flies around carrion. “I care not what the mortals think.”

Oberon said,

My hound’s gaze was fixed on the northern sky. Following it, I saw a familiar orange meteorite with a heart of white phosphorus headed our way. “Aw, damn it!”