7 #3
Her painted eyes tighten. “He will not.”
“Would any of your divine friends happen to owe you a favor?” I ask hopefully. “Brigid? Ceridwen, perhaps? Or Dagda? Surely you can persuade your husband.” And if she can’t, any god or goddess of the Irish pantheon, or any other she’s friendly with, will do.
“Ares has amended the rules of championship since we joined the contest,” she replies carefully.
“How very magnanimous of him.” And how predictable. That’s what he did in war. Moved the finish line when his opponents were about to reach it and best him.
Her shrewd eyes narrow. “Many games are afoot within this one, Callalie. Layers upon layers of them. Everyone has their own agenda. Ares has several. You’re about to be given the rules, so listen well and figure out how to work within and around them.
” She glances down at my cup. “Keep your wits about you at all times.”
“It’s water,” I tell her.
Morrigan snatches the vessel from my hand anyway and disappears into a thin stream of dark smoke.
“I have to drink water,” I say to the space she just occupied. I’m not stupid enough to drink anything Dionysus supplies.
The music of the inaugural song ends and the dancers part, already seeking a new partner when the Greek messenger Hermes blows a golden ram’s horn, catching everyone off guard.
Tonight, he wears a pale blue linen shirt, casually unbuttoned, and darker linen pants rolled to mid-calf like he’s been wading in the sea. His bronze feet are wrapped in leather talaria sandals, their flaxen wings tucked against either side of his ankles.
“Pardon the interruption. Ares asked me to explain the rules that have been established for The Mortal Trials – for champions and contenders alike,” Hermes announces as he strolls through the potential partnerships.
“The thirty nominated mortals will participate in a series of five trials. These contests will test them physically, mentally, and emotionally. Those fit to be called heroes will survive them and advance to the games, if they also find a god or goddess to champion them by the end of the fifth and final trial, when the trial’s winner is crowned with golden laurel. ”
He gazes at the contenders. “You must find a champion before the laurel strikes the final winner’s head,” he repeats, pausing for emphasis.
“Should you perish honorably in the trials, your blood pantheon will be permitted to collect your soul. If you come from more than one bloodline, you may choose who collects your spirit.”
What if a mortal perishes dishonorably? What constitutes dishonorable behavior?
Hermes moves on to the next talking point, which happens to involve Niall and the girl in lavender.
“Congratulations to the two contenders who secured champions so early in the competition. Impressive.” The messenger god claps and everyone in the room offers polite applause, stopping when he stops. “We hope to be equally as impressed tomorrow during your first trial.”
Tomorrow.
“With respect to championship – a single deity cannot champion more than one mortal. Pantheons, however, can champion multiple, but can only choose one contestant who stems from their blood line. Any others they sponsor must hail from another.”
Which is why the Irish can’t help me, because Morrigan already claimed Niall.
“Mortals – you may strategize, form alliances, and otherwise assist each other in any way you choose. That rule does not apply to the divine. If a god or goddess is caught providing support of any kind to a mortal they have not claimed or are ineligible to claim, all contestants in their pantheon will forfeit their position in the trials, and therefore, their lives.”
The room goes still.
If a deity cheats, the mortals in their care die. The rule seems extreme, but it’s a safeguard of sorts against any of the divine who would offer unsolicited advice to sabotage another god’s contestant.
It sounds like a demand Morrigan would make, and I realize she likely had a hand in crafting it. She knew the rules had changed. Perhaps she shaped what she could out of what was left.
Morrigan won’t help me again now that the boundaries have been clearly established. She won’t risk it, and I wouldn’t want her to.
“Mortals, the divine wish to impart one piece of wisdom to you all with respect to what you’re about to endure: Do what you must to win.”
Hermes gives a lazy smile, meeting each of our eyes for a second before turning to face the deities.
“Gods and goddesses who would like to refrain from championship and remain benevolent are invited to help in designing the grandest games the realms have ever seen.”
I didn’t realize how many divine were in the room until we were herded into its middle and surrounded by them. They vastly outnumber us. So, while not all of them can become champions, they can all play some part in this macabre, unbalanced display of power.
Hermes claps his hands and turns in a slow circle. “Now that the rules have been made clear, you’re free to dance, woo, partner, plot, and otherwise scheme.”