CITY OF THE GODS: FORGOTTEN (32 page)

“Is it really fair to gamble with him right now?” Eros asked Hermes. “He took a pretty hard knock on the head.”

Zephyrus brushed off the suggestion that he was hurt. “I’m fine! That beast would never have managed to kick me if I hadn’t been distracted by one of those half-naked dryads.”

Unlike the Wind, it took more than a show of skin to scramble Hermes’ wits. “Seen one naked nymph, seen ‘em all. Right, Eros?” he dismissed.

“Maybe,” Eros partially agreed, “but I never saw anything like that beast. I wonder what Ares and Zeus are going to do with it?”

“If I know Ares,” Hermes said, pushing his chair away from the table and putting his feet up, “he’s either trying to make a pet of it, or coming up with a way to use it in battle.”

Zephyrus frowned as Hermes’ feet scattered the dice and signaled the end of the gambling. Then a sneaky expression replaced his glower. “Care to make a bet?”

“What kind of bet?” Hermes asked. He’d win the tunic off Zephyrus’s back if the fool kept trying to beat him.

“A bet about what Ares is doing with the beast. We each make a guess, and then we’ll fly over to the fortress and see who was right.”

Eros groaned. “Like I said,” he reiterated, “don’t listen to the god with the head injury. Apparently the piece of his brain dedicated to not annoying war gods fell out somewhere.”

“Ah, it would annoy him, wouldn’t it?” Hermes grinned. As one of the twelve great Olympians, he had no reservations about toying with his brothers and sisters. “I like the idea on that basis alone.”

“All right,” Eros said. “I can see I’m outnumbered here, so let’s get it over with. Zephyrus, what’s your guess?’

Zephyrus was immediately pleased that he had first choice, then suddenly doubtful. Once he spoke his idea, the others might be able to come up with something better. But if he gave up his advantage, one of them might pick his idea. “This is hard!” he complained, thinking. “We’re betting for beer, right?” The other two laughed at him, which he tried to ignore.

“Beer will do. But hurry and make your wager before Ares gets hungry and eats the thing,” Hermes nudged.

“Fine. I think he’ll keep it in his dungeons and feed prisoners to it,” Zephyrus stated.

“I can see that,” Hermes mused. “But I think he’s more likely to keep it hungry until he wants to unleash it on some unfortunate army. So you say he’s feeding it, I say he’s not.”

Hermes and Zephyrus looked at Eros. They noticed that despite his assertion that this was a stupid thing to bet on, he was putting a great deal of thought into his guess.

“And the love god says . . .” Hermes led.

“Bait. He’s using it for bait, like a hostage. He and Zeus want to see who or what is going to come after it,” Eros reasoned out.

“How are we going to know if that’s s-so,” Zeph protested. “That’s too complicated! It’s not easy to check, like whether it has food or not.”

Hermes nodded. “He’s right. Eros, I release you from this bet. It will just be between us.” He made a magnanimous gesture toward Zephyrus, which flattered the naïve Wind. “Eros can be impartial,” Hermes went on. “He will come with us to see, and if there is any doubt, I trust him to decide which of us wins.”

“Agreed!” Zephyrus said, thinking himself to have the advantage because Eros was his best friend. “Let’s go. I’m already getting thirsty.”

The three flying gods headed off for Ares’ Fortress. It was a considerable journey, as it lay on the opposite border of the realm. But such a distance was nothing for speedy Hermes. Eros and Zephyrus could not keep up with him and he arrived at the fortress well ahead of the others. While he waited, he considered going in to the beast’s prison and rigging the bet to his advantage; but the stakes of a single beer wasn’t worth the trouble. When the others arrived, Hermes led them to the courtyard where a magical cage held the beast, enthusiastically chewing through the nets which held it, and a group of humans, frantically trying to dig their way out of the prison before the beast got loose.

“Ha! I win!” Zephyrus gloated. “The beast is being served Greeks under glass for dinner!”

Eros studied the scene and agreed. “I’m afraid he’s right Hermes, there’s no doubt - D’Molay? What are you doing in there?”

D’Molay looked upon the three gods with considerable relief. “I’m trying to escape,” he said. “And help would be greatly appreciated!”

The Greek soldiers who were exhausted from digging trudged over to D’Molay’s side of the cage and yelled out for help as well. Hermes stepped up to examine the bars that were holding the men. “This old trick again,” the god said smugly. He turned to his companion gods. “If they deserve to be free, tell me, and I’ll let them out. I always did have a soft spot for criminals.”

“Free them,” Eros said immediately. “That man was on a quest which we had to interrupt for this business. He’s done what he was pressed to do.”

D’Molay nodded thankfully to Eros then turned to Hermes. “If you open a small hole, all these men can escape but the beast will remain trapped,” he suggested.

“Human, of all the gods, I am the least in need of suggestions for breaking prisoners out of jail,” Hermes scoffed. Hermes took action immediately. He chose a point where the bars crossed and danced his fingers over the seemingly impenetrable metal. The bars snapped like brittle twigs, leaving an opening large enough to let the men out. They immediately began hoisting each other to freedom.

Herikos looked back at the wagon they would have to leave behind. “If that monster gets loose, it will eat the oxen,” he said regretfully. This remark made Hermes laugh.

“Do I understand you would like me to steal some livestock as well?” With a twinkle in his eye, he temporarily widened another hole in front of the team. Herikos hurried over to unhitch the animals and prod them toward safety. He followed them out, thanking Hermes for his kindness.

“If I did not fear Ares’ wrath, I’d ask them to put Panos in here,” Kastor said to D’Molay as he assisted him to escape.

“Thank you, all of you,” D’Molay said once all had been freed. He suddenly realized he was the only one standing as the Greeks knelt down to properly thank the gods that had come to their rescue. Feeling out of place, he moved to leave. D’Molay’s mind was filled with what he had learned from the beast. It was more important than ever that he find Aavi. As he ran out of the fortress, the last thing he heard was Zephyrus demanding to be served a beer.

His enthusiasm carried him about half a league before his common sense kicked in. He had been flown a great distance from where he and Mazu had camped and she would have surely moved on since then. D’Molay came to a halt. The road ahead stretched endlessly. Realizing it would take him weeks to traverse the realms and return to the City, D’Molay cursed, looking back toward the fortress and wondering if he dare return for help.

At that moment, Eros felt an itch in his wing. He reached under his arm and scratched, his fingers encountering D’Molay’s metal relic. He pulled the lump free of his feathers and observed it as it rested in his palm. A prickly aura of static danced across the metal. Eros glanced over at Zephyrus, Hermes, and the Greeks, who had rounded up some of Ares’ servants to bring them liquor and food. Their loud celebrations rang through the courtyard. He wouldn’t be missed if he snuck away to get rid of the tracker’s stone.

Eros flew off, speeding in moments to the spot where D’Molay stood. “Tracker,” Eros said, landing before him. “I have something for you.”

Eros held out his hand, but D’Molay was only looking at his wings as a wide smile broke across his face.

“Eros - Please fly me to the City!”

“That’s not why I -”

“Take me there, I beg you. The life of my friend is in peril.” D’Molay said forcefully. An anger deep inside him that he’d set aside long ago was rising. On Earth his commands would have been obeyed without question. Part of his soul rebelled at being always under the authority of the strange beings that held power in this City.

Eros felt the passion behind the Freeman’s demand. It was raw, and it spoke to him.

“You will owe me service if I do this,” Eros warned, putting the lump away. It would be useful in finding the man later when he had need of him.

“I agree, yes - can we leave now?” D’Molay had no care of what giving his word to the Olympian might mean. Only moving on in his search for Aavi was important.

“Where are we’re going?” Eros asked as he hoisted D’Molay into the air.

“The Great Library,” D’Molay answered.

Thanks to Eros’ speed, the Great Library soon appeared in the distance. A huge white dome sat atop a square pedestal surrounded by hundreds of columns. The dome was over two-hundred feet high and perhaps a thousand feet across. On each corner of the pedestal were other large white buildings topped by peaked roofs. Each of these buildings was decorated in the manner of one of the major realms so that the whole complex represented all the gods. One building stood for Egyptos, one for Asia’s deities, one for the Mayans and one for the Hindu. Olympia was represented by the large dome in the center, and midway between each of the four buildings were four structures styled for the remaining Pantheons: Celtic, Afrik, Babylos and the Cold Realms.

“Can you set me down there?” D’Molay asked as they arrived, pointing toward the Afrik building. Without question, Eros veered and soon D’Molay felt his feet drag against the dirt pathway outside it. Before he could turn and offer his thanks, Eros had darted back into the sky. D’Molay paused for a moment to rearrange his windblown clothing before proceeding inside. His destination was the Sacrificial Registry.

Although the information Glaucus had provided suggested that Aavi had been taken to live as a slave, another dark possibility existed. Some slaves were bought specifically to be used as sacrifices. It was a horrible practice that had been warped by the gods of the City into an honorable fate for the unfortunate slave. The Afrik wing held the great register of life and death. All humans that were sacrificed to the gods were supposed to be listed in the great book, though D’Molay had some doubts about who was responsible for it and how accurately they kept track of all the sacrifices. Perhaps some magic on the part of the Council automatically added the names, but only the high priests and the scribe gods knew the details of how it all worked. D’Molay’s greatest fear was that he’d see Aavi’s name there.

There were no guards standing vigil for the library was open to all, though D’Molay was sure the Council had unseen methods of protection put in place after the War of the Gods almost five hundred years ago. He had never entered the Sacrificial Registry before. D’Molay walked up steps and through an arched entry flanked by white marble carvings of a giraffe and a zebra. Even those creatures might be some kind of protection, coming to life when needed. Beyond the archway, he noticed that tiny blades of grass were poking out of the stone tiles. With each step he saw more and more of the grass appearing, until there was no tile to be seen, only green savanna grass and roots. The walls underwent a similar change. Clinging vines covered them, snaking among large ceremonial masks, spears and the shields. Carved faces of numerous Afrik deities peeked out from the foliage. The vines covered the ceiling as well. After walking about fifty paces, D’Molay felt like he was deep inside a jungle rather than inside a building. The air was moist and refreshing. It smelled of rain and fresh grass.

At the end of the hall he came to a round room, perhaps thirty feet in diameter, with a round skylight in the roof. Sunlight streamed in and caught mist in its beam. A dark-skinned, middle-aged Afrik man wearing a colorful robe sat cross-legged on the grass in the middle of the room. His visible skin was covered in small, dark symbols that D’Molay could not read.
 
He suspected this man was a deity of some sort.
 
D’Molay at first thought he was bald, but as he got closer he could see that the man had very short, black hair. His eyes were closed and he did not seem to notice D’Molay’s presence. In front of the man a thick leather-bound book lay open. A feathered quill floated above the book, writing on the pages by itself.
 

As he stepped closer, a red dragonfly whizzed past, the unique thrumming sound of its wings tickling his ears. A snort coming from the ground drew D’Molay’s eyes to a sleeping hyena next to the guardian of the book.
 
D’Molay couldn’t say if it been there the whole time, or had somehow appeared as he came close. The man still seemed oblivious to his presence.