Chapter 7 A Burning Promise
Hermes, Messenger of the Gods, stood before the moving mosaic sprawled across the wall in the megaron corridor. The precious stones scattered into a flowing rainbow, swirling into the same scene that was triggered each time he passed.
An infant Hermes sat upon a grassy knoll, surrounded by a peach sky sliced through with golden rays.
In his tiny hands he held a lyre, fashioned from a hollow tortoise shell.
Amongst mortals it was believed that he had created the first version of the instrument on the day of his birth, a lie fed through his priestesses for generations until the myth became truth.
The other Olympians all had scenes celebrating real achievements, but Hermes had no cities named after him, no wars had been fought in his honour, and, unlike his father and uncles, he had battled no Titans.
When constructing the mosaic, his half-brother, Hephaestus, had said he wanted to commemorate the one thing that gave Hermes joy: his music.
It was a gesture born of kindness, something he would never see from his other siblings, but to Hermes it only highlighted his lacking.
He turned away and paced towards the megaron. Better not keep his father waiting.
As he paused before the great doors, inlaid with mother-of-pearl clouds, his thoughts returned to the harpy.
The unnatural angles of its bleeding, shattered body as it lay twitching on the stadium arena only hours earlier.
He shuddered at the thought of what kind of creature could have wrought such destruction on one of his father’s pets.
The groan of the megaron doors opening wrenched him from the memory, and he hurried into the throne room.
The sightless marble eyes of his family stared down at him from the empty thrones encircling the curving wall.
Zeus alone sat at the feet of his statue, so still he too might have been cast from stone.
Hermes flinched as the doors closed behind him, the guards leaving him to a private audience with his father.
He swallowed, then walked forward to stand on the yellow mosaic of the sun in the centre of the floor. Dropping to his knees, he bowed his head, the clatter of his armour echoing around the vast room.
‘Come here.’
Hermes rose, willing himself not to tremble as he approached the steps that led up to the thrones.
Once level with his father, he prostrated himself and stared at Zeus’ feet.
He racked his brain, trying to recall what he might have done to incur individual attention from the King of the Gods.
The last time he had been summoned alone to the megaron was because he’d stolen his brother Apollo’s prize cattle and hidden them in a cave in the Peloponnese.
He could still remember the agony of his lip splitting under his father’s gauntlet.
But surely Zeus did not blame him for the death of the harpy?
‘Look at me.’
Hermes sat up. Meeting Zeus’ gaze was like staring into the sun: his father’s eyes were so swollen with life-threads his cerulean irises burned gold.
‘Do you remember the day I made you a god?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Hermes would never forget it. He had just seen fourteen summers, living with his mortal mother, Maia, in a village on the slope of Mount Cyllene.
When the shades came for him, she told him he must be brave, although her own cheeks shone with tears.
That was two hundred years ago. He never saw her again.
Hermes had never truly believed he was the son of the King of Heaven until the moment he was brought to this very room.
The divine family had been seated on their statue thrones, and there, at the end of the semi-circle, waited a giant likeness of Hermes carved in marble.
It had felt like a dream, walking amongst the living, breathing gods of Olympus.
They all seemed so much larger than him.
So much older. There must be a mistake, he had thought, but then Zeus himself descended from his throne and bade Hermes kneel in the centre of the sun mosaic, as he had done with all Hermes’ siblings before him, and produced a wrinkled, golden apple.
He had never seen a fruit like it, shining with a strange glow and soft with decay as though it had been left on its branch far too long.
Zeus had bade Hermes take a bite. Reluctant as he’d been, as soon as he sank his teeth into the puckered golden flesh it was as though he had spent his whole existence in a dark cave and was only now emerging into the light.
He’d felt the power of his life force pulsating through him and suddenly seen the glowing strands of energy rushing around the bodies of the gods.
His new family. His father had placed a hand on his head and said, ‘By my power, Hermes, blood of Zeus, you are now divine.’ And he had wept without shame, for surely this state was what mortals called paradise.
Hermes flinched at the sound of his father’s voice, his focus returning to the present.
‘Do you know why I chose to make you divine?’
It felt as though Zeus had somehow read his mind.
The question was something he had wondered many times himself.
He was the last of Zeus’ children to be elevated to godhood, and yet his father continued to spawn mortal children with earth-bound women below, some going on to achieve far greater things in their short lives than anything Hermes’ legacy had yielded.
He shook his head.
‘I saw you, my son. The man you truly are. I knew you were destined for greatness.’
Hermes’ jaw slackened. ‘Me?’
Zeus smiled, and suddenly the room felt brighter. Hermes wished the other Olympians were here to see this. His father leant towards him, his voice heady and velvet like incense smoke. ‘I have a secret to tell you. A secret you must reveal to no one. Do you understand?’
Hermes nodded eagerly.
‘Do you recall the Underworld creature disguised as a mortal girl?’
‘The one with strange powers created by Hades for my siblings to hunt?’
Zeus nodded. ‘She is still alive. And it is no game she plays.’
Hermes’ breath became shallow as he waited for his father to continue.
‘I am going to tell you something your siblings do not know. My brother created her without my approval.’
Hermes’ eyes widened. Despite their strained alliance, there was one thing his father and his uncle had always agreed on.
Dominion over mortals. For centuries Hades had created creatures and sent them up to the surface to wreak havoc on humanity on Zeus’ command.
The King of the Gods would then dispatch one of his bastard mortal children to take care of them, reminding people the Olympians watched over them and kept them safe. So long as their faith never wavered.
Unease crept up Hermes’ spine.
‘Father … does Hades wish us harm?’
Zeus sighed out a long breath. ‘That is the right question. I knew you were the child of mine to entrust with this task.’
Hermes’ cheeks flushed.
‘You remember why your uncle is forbidden from ever stepping foot above the soil?’
He nodded.
‘Hades does not suffer his captivity gladly, and like a caged bird his beak can be vicious. Now, listen carefully.’ Zeus leant forward.
‘The creature he has made is cunning. She is dangerous. She not only looks like a mortal but thinks like one. Your siblings failed to kill her because they were brash and careless. Power alone is not enough; you must employ your cunning to snare her. I hear mortals call you the God of Tricksters. Perhaps you can succeed where your brothers and sisters have failed. And when you do, bring me her head.’ The King of the Gods sat back on his throne.
A myriad of questions burst into Hermes’ mind.
Normally, he would never dare interrogate Zeus’ orders, but he was drunk on his father’s flattery.
‘Why must I keep it a secret? Last year, we all took part in tracking her. And Athena said she has powers like ours, how can that be? Uncle Hades doesn’t have the ability to make gods, only you do, so why –’
Zeus’ gauntleted hand twitched, and immediately Hermes fell silent. The warmth had leached from his father’s expression, his eyes darkened like thundering clouds.
Hermes dropped his head, unable to bear the anger sharpening the angles of Zeus’ face, but his father forcibly lifted his chin.
‘I gave you everything.’ Zeus spoke so softly his voice was barely more than a whisper.
‘I raised you up from the dirt and made you ageless. You are blessed. My own father betrayed his family. He was a good man once, but he forsook all that was dear to him to become a twisted and monstrous Titan. Tell me, Hermes, what did he force me to do?’
‘Kill him,’ Hermes breathed.
Zeus nodded. ‘I threw him from this sacred mountain and made war on the Titans, so their kind would never again threaten my family.’ Zeus released Hermes’ chin.
‘Mortals do not bestow faith easily, my son. Even after I saved them from the Titans, gave them cities and riches beyond imagination, their love was hard won. You have been worshipped since the dawn of your divinity because of me. Everything you are, your very existence, is granted by my grace. And you question me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Hermes whispered. ‘Please forgive me.’
The chill of his father’s stare cut him to the marrow. Tears seeped beneath the cheek plates of his golden helm. ‘I will make you proud. I will bring you the head of the Underworld girl, I promise.’
Zeus surveyed his son. ‘The harpy tracked her to the Argolid region. Begin there.’
‘Yes, my king.’ Hermes bowed again, descending the stairs and shuffling backwards towards the megaron doors. ‘Thank you for entrusting me with this task.’
As soon as he passed the mother-of-pearl clouds, he turned and ran.