246. Climbing a Golden Mountain
Climbing a Golden Mountain
I had never been more grateful
to have the powers of a Goddess
than in the moment where we
turned damp pieces of wood
into torches with a touch.
If we were mortal, this would take
a hundred days or more,
but for Gods it was effortless.
Within moments of my suggestion
thousands of torches had been formed
and handed to the army behind us.
And this was when we began our climb.
From above, heavy marble pillars
fell past us, and the smell of sweet
ambrosian God-blood grew thick.
I felt a sickness as I climbed
and the smell of ichor and iron
grew stronger, reminding me of
Tartarus, where my father was trapped.
I was climbing a mountain full of his blood.
I pushed this thought away brutally
as the climb grew steeper
and we had to use our hands
as much as our legs to rise.
Finally, my hand reached up
and I touched cold, smooth floor.