The Immortal Fire Page 8

  It occurred to Zee that the Promethean’s absence from the school on that particular day was no accident—someone, somehow, had removed him so he could not protect the cousins from the creature. At least Zee now knew what he’d been trying to warn them about.

  So focused was he on his thoughts that he did not notice the person standing at the edge of the field until he nearly ran into her.

  “Zee!” Maddy exclaimed, her voice cracking.

  Zee stopped abruptly. “Maddy!”

  Maddy stared at him, eyes agape, rain streaming down her face. “Everyone’s looking for you,” she said, her voice high and tight. “They lined up by homeroom and you weren’t there. You’re missing.”

  “Oh, we—”

  “Jack told me he thought he saw you guys go up here, and so I ran over, but I didn’t believe it was really true. I thought you were—” She pointed in the direction of the school. Smoke billowed in the air up ahead, mixing with the thick clouds.

  “I know,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “The door was blocked and we went out the window—”

  Maddy looked around, seeming still dazed with fear. “Where’s Charlotte?”

  “Uh…she’s fine. Look, Maddy, have you seen Mr. Metos?”

  Maddy started. “What? Why?”

  “Oh, I just, uh, have to ask him something.”

  “The school’s burned down, everyone thinks you’re dead, and you want to ask Mr. Metos something?”

  “Um, yeah, well…Perhaps we should…” He stared at Maddy, with her eyes round and full of fear and sorrow and pain. With rain pouring down on him, smoke from the school thick in the air, and the trail from the Chimera lingering behind him, his mind sharpened.

  “Maddy,” he said. “Look, I treated you horribly.” He looked her in the eyes. “I was not myself—I was…barmy—and I’m really, really, really sorry. You’re the only girl here I can talk to, and I hope you can forgive me.”

  Silence, while the air thickened and the Chimera flew farther away, and then Maddy’s eyes softened. “Maybe,” she said, a small smile on her face. They stood a moment in the rain, and then her eyes widened. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “We should probably tell everyone you’re alive.”

  Zee and Maddy raced back toward the school, Zee’s mind full of his cousin. She was all right; she had to be. If the Chimera had wanted to kill her, it would have in the field. Whatever its mission—and Zee did not think a Chimera had come to Hartnett Middle School by random chance—it wanted his cousin alive.

  Right?

  Under normal circumstances, the scene at the school would have seemed quite dramatic, but it was a bit hard to focus on when your cousin has been carried off by a lion-headed dragon, and Zee moved around as if in a fog. The firefighters, aided by the rain, were on their way to quelling the blaze, and all that remained of Hartnett Middle School was a burned-out skeleton. The students were gone, evacuated by buses to the upper school campus. Only the principal remained, watching his ship go down with all the dignity he could muster. But when he saw Maddy and Zee, he burst into a run toward them.

  “Zachary! They said you weren’t in there.” He gestured to the firefighters. “But I’m sure glad to see you. Is Charlotte with you?”

  “Yeah,” Maddy said, turning to Zee. “Where is she?”

  “Um, she went home,” said Zee.

  The principal sighed. “I suppose I should be very angry at you, but I’m just happy to see you. And Madeline—you should be with your classmates.” He shook his head and gave them both a stern look. “I’ll let everyone know you’re safe.”

  A few minutes later one of the firefighters came over and gave both of them a lecture—the firefighters had searched the building for them—and despite everything else, Zee felt his ears burn. Brilliant—more people that he’d put in danger.

  “Everyone is being picked up at the upper school,” said Mr. Principle. “Your uncle will be expecting you, Zachary, and your mother, Madeline. I’ve called in to say you’ll be right there. Now”—he looked around thoughtfully—“to get you there…”

  “I’ll take them,” said a voice behind Zee.

  Zee whirled around, letting out a great exhale. Mr. Metos was sweaty and looked as frazzled as Zee had ever seen him—and that was saying a lot for someone who had gotten his liver chewed by a Harpy.

  “Zachary, where is your cousin?” Mr. Metos asked steadily.

  “Um—”

  “She went home,” Maddy said.

  “She did?” Mr. Metos gazed at Zee over Maddy’s head.

  “Yes,” said Zee. No, he shook his head.

  “I see,” said Mr. Metos. “Well, we should reunite you.”

  “That would be nice,” Zee said.

  “Why did she go home, anyway?” asked Maddy.

  Zee could only shrug, and Maddy did not press. The three of them walked in hurried silence to Mr. Metos’s car, Zee trying desperately to catch the teacher’s eye. He had to close his mouth to keep the story of what had happened from spilling out—though it seemed that Mr. Metos, in his Mr. Metos way, had some idea of what had passed. But did he have a plan?

  That question was partially answered when they got to Mr. Metos’s small car. The hatchback was open and a long, thin steel pole was sticking out. When they opened the doors, they found that the pole traveled from the trunk all the way to the front seat, where its pointed edge threatened to burst through the front windshield.

  “Oh,” Mr. Metos said as Maddy started to climb into the backseat, “be careful.”

  The front seat was filled with books, so Zee climbed into the car on the other side. Maddy was frowning at the object that separated them.

  “Mr. Metos?” she asked slowly. “Why is there a spear in your car?”

  CHAPTER 8

  And Now Presenting Zeus on High, Father of Gods and Men, and Lots of Other Stuff Too

  WHEN YOU THINK OF ZEUS—LORD OF THE SKY, the Cloud-Gatherer, Master of the Thunderbolt, God of Gods, Supreme Ruler of All That Is and Was and Ever Shall Be, and Even What Might Be Too—you probably have a hard time pinpointing the one quality that makes him the most greatest ruler in the entire Universe. There are, after all, so many—his strength, his good looks, his leadership qualities, his vast knowledge and experience, his highly advanced sense of humor, his skill with the ladies—but if you were to really think about it, the thing that truly sets him apart is his absolutely spectacularly fantastic judgment.

  Yes, that is why he was chosen above all to be Lord of All, and that is why the Universe is thriving to this day. If you looked back on the history of the Universe since he took over, you would see one thread shining through it all—all of Zeus’s awesome decisions, keeping the whole place from spiraling into chaos. Sure, Zeus listens to everyone—he’s Supreme Almighty Lord of the Whole Universe, not a tyrant—but the decisions are his to make. That’s his job. He’s the Decider.

  He hadn’t asked for this job—it’s simply what you get for being so wise and just that the whole Universe looks to you to rule it. When he led his older brothers and sisters in the War on Cronus, he thought that they would all rule together, but all his siblings begged him, “Oh, Zeus, you are so awesome, so magnificent, we need you, the Universe needs you, lead us, guide us!” It was the curse of greatness.

  So, while the other Immortals were out frolicking and gallivanting and whatever else gods who don’t have to make the tough decisions do, Zeus was busy ruling the Universe and being Lord of Justice and stuff, and it’s not easy, you know. It’s hard work. Finding the most perfectest, most justest solution for every problem is a huge deal.

  Still, Zeus managed to do it every time.

  Like Ixion. Ixion was a mortal king whom Zeus invited to dine at Olympus. Pretty great of Zeus, right? And how did Ixion show his gratitude? By casting his dirty, coveting mortal eyes upon Zeus’s bride, Hera. So, after careful reflection on what was the very best way to handle this situation, Zeus decided to blast him with a thunderbolt, then bind hi
m to a wheel of fire that would spin for all of eternity. There. Justice!

  Or the whole Persephone thing. Persephone was the daughter of his sister Demeter, and Hades saw her frolicking in a field one day and was like, “Oooh, pretty!” and asked Zeus if he could have her, and Zeus—never one to stand in the way of young love—said, “Sure! Help yourself!” So Hades burst through the earth and kidnapped her (Zeus preferred to be a little subtler when courting the ladies, but he wasn’t going to judge) and dragged her down to the Underworld to make her his queen. Well, wouldn’t you know it, but when Demeter found out she got in a major snit and blamed Zeus—which was totally out of line because he wasn’t the one who burst through the earth and kidnapped her, now, was he?—and she started sulking. And normally Zeus would say, “Fine, sulk all you want,” because he certainly wasn’t going to interfere with a mother’s grieving process, but Demeter was the goddess of the harvest, and so nothing grew on Earth and then all the people and animals and stuff began to die. And, you know, if you’re Lord of the Universe and a few species go extinct, well, c’est la vie—but if the whole place slowly starves to death under your watch, people are going to talk.

  So Zeus—reluctantly—stepped in. He told his brother he’d have to return Persephone to her mother but promised he’d keep his eyes out for another pretty young lass Hades could kidnap. (Keeping eyes out for young lasses was, after all, one of Zeus’s core competencies.) And then things got really crazy, because Hades tricked Persephone into eating some pomegranate seeds, and once you eat the food of the Dead you’re bound to the world of the Dead, so suddenly Zeus was faced with what you might call a problem. A command challenge. But fortunately, he was Zeus, Lord of Justice, wise above all, and he came up with the perfect solution: The girl would spend six months of the year with her mother and six months in the Underworld, during which time Demeter could sulk all she wanted. She couldn’t, after all, starve every man and beast on Earth in six months. (Probably.) It was a brilliant solution. Win/win!

  And there was Prometheus. Prometheus was a Titan who had the foresight to side with Zeus in the War on Cronus, and to reward him Zeus let him make his very own species. And Prometheus made these, like, little god-shaped creatures, which was a little weird, but, hey, whatever floats your boat.

  So Prometheus made humans, and then felt bad for them just because they were starving and freezing and getting eaten by wild boars and stuff. And so, instead of doing the sensible thing, which was writing off the whole lot and starting again, he had the genius idea of giving them the gods’ sacred fire. And when Zeus says “genius” he means moronic. Because the gods’ sacred fire, as you might be able to discern, belongs to the gods.

  Anyway, the whole thing went something like this:

  PROMETHEUS: Hey, Zeus, you know how the humans are starving and freezing and getting eaten by wild boars and stuff?

  ZEUS: Yeah?

  PROMETHEUS: Can I give them fire?

  ZEUS: Oh, yeah, that’s a genius idea.

  PROMETHEUS: Oh, thanks, I really thought so—

  ZEUS: I was being sarcastic.

  PROMETHEUS: Oh, okay.

  Except it wasn’t okay. Because Prometheus had the brilliant idea (again: sarcastic) of stealing the fire from Olympus and giving it to humans, and suddenly the humans changed. They had been brainless two-legged beasts before, but the fire gave them knowledge of the gods, and they transformed into the sentient, needy pains in the thunderbolt they are today.

  So suddenly you had all these hairless mini-yous running around making sacrifices to you and building temples and asking for your blessings and mercy, and let’s just say that changes the whole god dynamic. Which was the whole reason he didn’t want the humans to have the fire in the first place—it wasn’t just that he didn’t care what happened to them, it was that there were going to be consequences. (Okay, it was mostly that he didn’t care, but still.)

  So the mortals needed to be punished for Prometheus’s actions. Zeus did want to be careful, however. He could, naturally, wreak enough destruction to destroy the entire planet, but he didn’t want to destroy the Earth, just, you know, people. That is the thing with power—it’s important that you have wisdom to go along with it, otherwise you might do something rash.

  So he sent a flood to wipe out the whole population.

  It was a terrible bother, of course, and he was exhausted for days afterward, but the situation demanded decisive action. Leadership. And that would have been the end of the whole thing had Prometheus not foreseen the flood and warned his son, who built a nice little houseboat for himself and his wife, and so they survived and had a whole mess of kids and there went Zeus’s plan to destroy the human race.

  But, as Zeus soon learned, there are advantages to humanity, particularly the female aspect of it, which is soft and pretty.

  Oh, people told him to stay away. Zeus’s mother warned him that someday his womanizing would cause his downfall, but you know how moms are. Sure, there were some problems here and there, mostly because his wife Hera just didn’t get the concept of an “open relationship.”

  Like with Io. Zeus stole her up to Olympus to spend some quality time snuggling by the fire. Then he heard Hera outside the door, so he—thinking quickly, as always—turned Io into a cow. So Hera walked in and Zeus was like, “Here, Pookums, I got you this cow!” And Hera was all, “Wow, Cuddlebug, thanks for the cow, I love it! Hey, you know what I think I’ll do? Set this awesome cow loose to roam the Earth and send a fly after it to sting its butt and torment it for all eternity!”

  So, that’s what happened. Poor Io. Zeus couldn’t save her, because that would have been admitting to Hera that she wasn’t really a cow, you know? It pained him to see the girl suffer, and so Zeus had to find himself another mortal girl to comfort him. That was the story of things: He’d see a nice girl, Hera would find out and get all jealous, and find some way to torment or destroy her, and Zeus would have to go find somebody else. It was a big bother, of course, but hardly led to his downfall. Well, there was the one time Hera got really mad and got together with Poseidon and the pair of them stole his thunderbolt and tried to overthrow him, but Zeus just hung her by her heel from the sky for a few days, and she didn’t try that again.

  Sure, Zeus knew that you had to be careful with your offspring. After all, he’d overthrown his father, who’d overthrown his father in turn. But he was on top of things. Like with his first wife, Metis, there was a prophecy that if she bore a son he would overthrow Zeus. So Zeus ate her. Problem solved.

  He didn’t really worry about being overthrown anymore—he was so Universally beloved that all the Immortals would come to his aid, and so mighty and feared that no one would try in the first place. Anyone who came up with such a creative, brilliant solution to the Mortal Question had certainly proven why he was Lord of the Universe. Letting humans think Immortals were all some kind of myth was the perfect solution—there were still mortals for the gods who wanted them for entertainment value or whatever, but no one had to be responsible. Do you know what it’s like to have people praying to you all the time? Every moment of every day, there’s no peace at all. Sometimes you just wanted some alone time, you know? And to tell the truth, by the end there, he’d found that mortal women were a little loath to come to Olympus for snuggles because they were worried about what Hera might do, and it just made it hard to get a date.

  So it was hands-off from then on. (Though he didn’t mean “hands off” exactly literally; Zeus was under a lot of pressure, and if he needed to let off some steam by going speed dating and picking up a nice school librarian or something, that was his right. He was Lord of the Universe, after all.)

  It was working out brilliantly, really—the Immortals were happy, Zeus was happy, and his judgment had, once again, proved impeccable. Life was going along just fine, and Zeus didn’t even have to think about mortals—except the soft, pretty ones.

  And then everything changed.

  It began one day a few month
s ago as he sat in his throne room doing his daily cogitating and snacking on some baklava, when his cupbearer came in. Ganymede was a mortal boy Zeus had kidnapped when he needed a new servant, and the boy did such a very nice job that Zeus made him Immortal so he could have the privilege of waiting on Zeus for all eternity. A few years ago, after taking a date to the Ice Follies in Cleveland, Zeus had the brilliant idea of having Hephaestus make Ganymede an outfit that looked like a cup, so now the boy wore a black leotard and tights and a giant china teacup around his middle. There were some terrible accidents at first, so after a while Zeus decided to stop putting hot tea in the cup. That was another great decision.

  “My Lord,” Ganymede said, giving a little half bow. “I come bearing news.”

  That was one of the reasons he liked Ganymede so much. He had such a nice way of putting things—I come bearing news. It’s great when your servant says something like that, and it’s even better when he’s wearing a giant teacup.

  Zeus bowed his head in a way that said he welcomed his news but was far too regal to actually say so. He’d gotten very good at things like this over the years.

  “My Lord, a half-breed tried to overthrow Hades.”

  “Really,” said Zeus. “Did it work?” Now, that would be funny. Next time he saw his brother, he was going to be sure to laugh at him.

  “No. It almost did. The demon stole the shadows of mortal children and turned them into an army. He destroyed the Palace, but”—the boy took a deep breath—“two children stopped him. Mortals.”

  Now, that was both funny and unfunny. Funny, because two mortal kittens did what his brother could not. Unfunny, because those two mortal kittens defied a god.

  Naturally, it didn’t take long for Hera to come sauntering in, smiling that annoying smile of hers. “My love,” she said, all too casually, “did you hear about the mortal children in Hades?”

  Zeus sighed. “Yes.” He knew what was coming next.