Chapter Seven Ares
Chapter Seven
Ares
“You’re absurdly fast, you know,” Julia panted. She reached up to tug at the elastic band that held her ponytail, letting her hair fall around her face before sweeping it back again and retying it. Ares found the whole motion surprisingly erotic.
“I’ve trained for marathons before,” he said quickly. Next time he would make sure to run at a more ordinary mortal pace. They had just finished the trail that looped around Queenstown’s harbor and were headed back to the apartment.
“You ran the New York marathon a few years ago, right?” Julia prompted.
Ares nodded. Actually, he’d done the New York marathon dozens of times over the years, along with Boston and Tokyo, London and Kilimanjaro. He had invented marathons.
Each of the gods claimed ownership over something. The more powerful the deity, the greater their domain: from Zeus, Lord of the Skies, all the way down to the minor nymphs who ruled over a single pond.
Humans had a tendency to simplify, which was why they’d always referred to Ares as the stormer of cities, the breaker of walls—the god of war.
Ares did count soldiers among his followers, but also explorers, athletes, rock stars.
Humans who competed in triathlons and World Cups, who blasted themselves toward the stars in rickety metal spaceships, who climbed mountains and tamed wild animals, who tested the limits of what was possible.
He embodied humanity’s wildest and most extreme impulses, their courage in the face of impossible odds.
He was the god of physical prowess. Of adventure, spontaneity, living on the edge. And yes, of war. The place where all those things came into brutal focus.
They turned onto their street, weaving past a delivery boy on a bicycle.
Ares’s eyes traveled over the familiar landmarks: the laundromat, the drugstore, the fish-and-chips shop on the corner.
He couldn’t help thinking, a bit wryly, that his mother would be appalled by where he lived—and was immediately annoyed with himself for the thought.
Over the past three years, he’d done a remarkable job of banishing his family from his mind. Until he and Julia ran into Dionysus last week. What a fool Ares had been, taking her to a luxury hotel, even if he’d deliberately chosen one that his family didn’t own.
Julia unlocked their mailbox, marked 2B, and began shuffling through envelopes as they walked up the stairs. “Do you want to head to Carlos and Molly’s tonight?” she asked. “She texted that they’re having some people over later, very casual.”
Ares opened their apartment door and flicked on the lights. “Sounds great.”
When Julia didn’t reply, he looked back to see that she was standing in the hallway, frowning at a heavy cream-colored envelope. “This one looks expensive. Maybe a wedding invitation?”
Ares’s heart plummeted.
He watched, powerless to stop her, as she sank onto the couch and opened the letter. It did resemble a wedding invitation, the words embossed in swirling calligraphy:
Please join us for a weekend of
Conversation and Cocktails
The Island of Olympus
Transportation will be provided from Athens upon request
Conversation and cocktails. What an understatement. The gathering at Olympus was vicious and unpredictable, a week of shifting alliances and high tension, the entire thing fueled by bottomless alcohol and magic.
“It’s an invitation to your family reunion,” Julia said slowly.
“I guess so.” Ares watched as Julia placed the invitation onto their cheap coffee table and began tracing the overlapping curlicues of the S in cocktails.
“Olympus,” she murmured. “You failed to mention that the reunion is in Greece, on an island named after the Greek gods’ mythical mountain.”
“My family has a weird sense of humor,” he said hastily. “Besides, so much of my family lives abroad that Europe is the most convenient location.”
Julia bit her lip, then looked up. “Harry…I really think we should go.”
He sank onto the couch next to her. “If you want to go on a trip, let’s do Fiji. There’s no point in going all the way to Greece for a few days of boring family stuff.”
“Why are you so determined not to go? Are you worried I’ll embarrass you around all your rich relatives?” Julia asked, her voice quiet.
Ares stared at her. “What? Of course not. But, Jules, it’ll be miserable.”
“I’m not asking because I want to go on a fun trip. I’m asking because I want to know you better. You’ve met my grandmother, and my aunt Jess and uncle Daniel,” Julia pointed out, naming the only family she had left. “I should meet your family, too.”
My family will treat you with contempt, or if we’re lucky, they’ll just ignore you, Ares wanted to say. And what if taking her to Olympus put her in danger? Though it was forbidden to hurt a mortal under the protection of another god, “accidents” still happened.
Ares had his fair share of enemies. A god who didn’t dare strike at him directly might decide to hurt him by going after Julia.
“My family is complicated,” he said helplessly.
Julia looked away, her voice tense. “All families are complicated, Harry.”
“Not like mine. We love each other, but we’re always fighting. I wouldn’t expect you to understand—”
“Because I didn’t grow up with money?” Julia demanded. “What does your family possibly have to fight over? Opera tickets and vacation houses and—” She spluttered as if searching for the perfect insult. “Yachts?”
As if the gods would waste their time arguing over yachts. They only ever fought over one thing.
Power.
Julia crossed her arms. She was still sweaty from their run, her cheeks flushed and her athletic shirt clinging to her skin, but it only made her more formidable. “This is about that woman, isn’t it?”
Ares went as still as one of Athena’s statues. “What woman?”
“The one Dylan mentioned. Your ex-girlfriend,” Julia pressed, watching his face.
For once, Ares wished that Julia weren’t so smart, so observant.
What had possessed Dionysus to bring that up?
Of all the shameful things Ares had done—and there were plenty to choose from—sleeping with Aphrodite was the worst of them all.
He’d certainly hoped he would never have to share any of it with Julia.
That was yet another reason he had no desire to return to Olympus. It was where he’d ruined everything, three summers ago.
· · ·
The council talks had been especially contentious that year, dragging on and on as each of the Twelve presented an issue for discussion.
They had already covered the American presidential election, two major corporate mergers and acquisitions, and climate change, always Demeter’s issue of choice.
Aphrodite had tried to shut down some video app that she insisted made young woman hate their bodies, only to be overruled in the name of technological innovation.
Hera worried about the declining birth rate in Japan and was permitted to cast fertility charms in the water supply.
Ares almost suggested that Hera enlist Aphrodite’s support—it seemed logical that more sex would lead to more babies—but he kept quiet.
Even back then, no one would have dreamed of putting those two goddesses together.
Then it was Ares’s turn to present an issue to the Twelve.
He cleared his throat nervously. Public speaking, especially before his quick-witted sister and judgmental family, always left him feeling defenseless. As if he’d walked into a fight without any weapons.
“I’d like to close the cobalt and copper mines in the Congo,” Ares began. “Too many young boys are getting conscripted to work in the mines, and—”
Zeus cut in with a loud guffaw. “Getting a humanitarian impulse, Ares? Why don’t you stick to what you do best and decide which team should win the World Cup this year.”
“We need those mines open,” Hephaestus chimed in. “Those metals are used for all sorts of human technologies, like computer chips and conductive wire.”
Ares knew that Hephaestus was trying to smooth things over, to soften their father’s brusque teasing. But there was a note of condescension in his words that stoked, rather than soothed, Ares’s resentment.
“Sounds like my brother is talking his own book,” Ares observed, leaning back in his chair. “The more humans scrabbling in the dirt for metals, the better for him.”
It was true: the more humans who worshipped a given god, the stronger that god’s magic became.
And while worship might not have happened in temples anymore, it was still worship.
Humans still devoted their time and energy to something.
They delighted in their families (Hera’s domain) or their careers (Zeus’s).
Farmers were the modern devotees of Demeter, scholars the quiet followers of Athena.
And every human lingering at a bar, demanding one more cocktail before last call, was unknowingly a worshipper of Dionysus.
Though the Olympians were too proud to admit it, especially not to one another, this was the worry that constantly plagued them—the danger of becoming irrelevant. The fear that they might lose too many followers and wake up one morning to find that they’d slipped out of the Twelve.
Ares knew he had nothing to worry about. Humans would always find new reasons to keep fighting one another.
“Sounds like you’re talking your book, Ares,” Hephaestus replied quietly. “Everyone knows that if those young men aren’t in the mines, they’ll join the army.”
That was the moment everything went south.
Ares tried to persuade the other gods, but their eyes had already glazed over with disinterest. They all believed what Hephaestus had implied: that Ares had suggested closing the mines for his own gain, not that of the mortals.
Teenage boys who should have been out in the world living, instead of down in the dark, mining elements for the construction of cell phones.
In the end, the other gods all voted against him—except for Aphrodite.