Something
was changing in the world. Hermes could
feel it like a growing anger in the air. He had pulled over and sat on the
motorcycle as he looked at the city sprawling on the distant horizon,
pinpointing the place he needed to go.
He could deliver the note to his half-sister and leave. The city was filled with distractions for
him. So many businesses, so many
opportunities for someone who had been, among things, a robber, a cattle
driver, a bringer of dreams, a watcher by night, a thief at the gates. . . .
He
missed the days when they wrote poetry about him. He missed the simplicity of the old life,
which was why he still delivered messages for the others.
Cars
passed him by, more than a few slowing to take a closer look at the cycle. Custom built, of course. Heph, his half-brother, had done most of the
work and he was really good with metals.
Hermes
had and unusual family, but he also had enemies.
Sometimes
he could go for years without crossing paths with one of the people he'd
annoyed in the ancient past. Sometimes
he even got lax, and this was one of them.
Hermes had started the cycle and pulled out into traffic, determined to
get the work done and get on with whatever it was he wanted to do. A few minutes later he saw the antelopes
running along the edge of the desert and hardly gave them a glance until they
got nearer and he felt the magic --
By
then he was already forcing the cycle to stop, swerving out of traffic amid the
blasts of horns and screeching tires.
The creatures ran straight at him and he heard startled cries of humans
where there had been curses a moment before. Circe's work! He could feel her touch and he lifted his
hand to carefully (and without much show) send the animals darting away from
the open road where they would have been killed and likely taken some of the
humans with them.
He
saw her standing out in the desert, hands on her hips, her hair flying. No one else could see her, though. He wanted to go grab her and shake some sense
into that brain. What a stupid thing to
do just to try and hurt him. He would have
survived --
Something
hit him just below the knee --
And
the teeth sunk in.
Rattler.
"Son
of a bitch," he whispered. The
words brought a surge of power and a flash of wind. His leg was already on fire. He wasn't certain the snake would survive,
but he would. It just wouldn't be
pleasant.
Circe
was gone.
He
still had hold of the cycle but wasn't
certain it was safe to drive it into town now.
What would he do instead? Fly?
He
climbed on, started the cycle with a bit
of magic rather than the usual way, and then put enough magic into the
all-too-normal tires to keep them balanced on the road. He headed for the city because if he could
reach Athena, he could get help. She was
very wise, his half-sister.
Besides,
he still had the message to deliver to her.
The
poison sent waves of pain and fever through his body as he rode away. He thought for a moment that he heard Circe
laugh, but he wasn't sure. Why had she
suddenly taken up the old disagreement?
Was he imagining the feel of trouble growing again?
The
storm that came suddenly was not his imagination. Lightning flashed across the sky and Hermes
looked up, letting the rain fall across his face. He couldn't think clearly, though. He could only look ahead and watch as the
night fell across the land and the stars rose in glory. Poetry, he thought. There used to be poetry and ships and battles
that he really didn't want to see again.
He thought he saw trouble playing out in the skies above him --
Athena
found him. Good. He didn't have to go find her in the city
after all. She strode down the now empty
road, larger than life of course, and he stopped the cycle. There were still cars around, but not where
they stood, in a slightly different place.
He heard them as whispers and saw them as the fleeting ghosts of
humanity.
"Message
from father." Hermes drew the sealed packet from inside my jacket. "I think there is trouble."
"No
shit, Sherlock," she said with a nod up at the sky.
She
took the packet and tore it open while Hermes leaned forward over the
handlebars and thought about crawling off into the desert.
"Who
did this to you?" she asked. Her cool hand touched the side of his face.
They'd never been very close, but they were not enemies. "Hermes?"
"Circe,"
he said and forced himself to sit up.
"I wish she'd get over it.
Find a new hobby rather than annoying me. Anything to keep her busy."
"We
are all going to be busy soon," Athena said. Hermes looked at her, worried. She met his stare with a nod of her own, her
gray eyes sparkling. "A war is
coming. I think Circe has already chosen
her side. What side will you
choose?"
"Not
the one with Circe," he mumbled.
"Good
decision," Athena said. She took
his arm and pulled him off the cycle.
The storm had already passed, or perhaps simply wasn't here. It had likely been a portal and he stood now
with Athena in a place of stark sky and bright stars, beyond the world of
technology. An old and ageless place.
"A
war?" he asked. "I wish he'd
said something to me."
"Father
left choosing our warriors in my hands, Hermes." She stopped and shook her head. "We go to war like the old days. There will be glory --"
"And
blood and death," Hermes said. And
poetry. "Sing, Goddess, Achilles’ rage. . . ."
The battle was coming.
999 words
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