Marilyn Tsinajinnie's Story

“These rumours are nothing but rumblings from malcontent lesser deities.” The voice is masculine, deep, and unquestionably authoritative. Though there are many impressive figures seated in the airy chamber, there is only one who radiates such imposing power; Zeus, King of the Gods and Ruler of Olympus. Seated in majesty, he has full command of the room and his audience, his piercing eyes meeting the steady gaze of one of his daughters as he continues his strong protest, “It is idle gossip, spread no doubt by some trickster with no better use for their time.” A flap of his hand conveys his disdain for the topic and his desire to see it ended, yet his wish is unlikely to be heard. Though Zeus reigns supreme, eleven other voices may offer their own thoughts of such matters.

“Father, I do not think it is wise to ignore the omens.” The steady voice of Athena advises, her arresting grey eyes displaying a clear intelligence that should warn any not to take her cautions lightly. “There are more than rumours to act as evidence. We must be cautious with how quickly we dismiss them”

Zeus looks rebellious, as if he might still refuse to heed the Goddess of Wisdom’s words. Yet, before he can voice his disapproval another figure steps forward. Light catches on his golden hair, creating a halo around the god’s head, and leaving none questioning what aspect this deity holds sway. “My prophets have been making strange predictions of late.” Apollo announces, glancing from his father to the other Olympians gathered, “They speak of chaos shifting in the shadows and dark times to come.”

“When do they not speak of such tidings?” Came Zeus’ reply, his tone glib as he waves away Apollo’s warning. Small bolts of lightning can be seen playing around the god’s hands, proof that his irritation is mounting. Yet, that does not stop others from voicing their dissent at his attitude. Artemis, resplendent in a personalised hunting chlamys, steps forward after her brother.

“My hunts have been off. Something is making the animals flighty.” She says, determined eyes on her father. “The nature spirits too can feel that something is wrong, though they know not what.” Across from the Goddess of the Hunt, Dionysus, lounging on his throne with a goblet of wine in his hands grunts his agreement, though he merely takes a sip of his drink rather than add his voice to the growing crowd.

Despite the evidence piled at his feet, Zeus still seems hesitant to accept that there might be trouble brewing. He has ruled from Olympus for centuries, content in the certainty that none could challenge him. To entertain such rumours would undermine the power he holds. His famous stubbornness, inherited by many of his illegitimate children, flares as he contemplates accepting what has so plainly been lain at his feet. Yet, he is not stupid either, and it is the weight of the next speaker that finally sees Zeus relent.

“I would not disregard these warnings, brother. There have been whispers in the seas, and I fear more than one ancient beast stirs in their confines.” Poseidon’s gruff voice speaks truthfully, and with such counsels Zeus sees no other option but to give in to the demands of his divine family.

“Fine, check the chains. Check that the lesser gods are not questioning their loyalty, but do so quietly. I would not wish to create more trouble should these whispers turn out to be nothing but lies.” Zeus’ eyes sweep across the hall, taking in the other Olympians gathered. Hades is the only one absent, yet it is to the deepest pits of Hell that all their minds turned, “Tartarus has never been breached before, yet should its bars be weakened, Apollo’s prophets might finally have their doom and destruction.”

Zeus words reverberate in the columned chamber, the only noise in the room as a temporary shadow descends on those gathered at the very mention of ‘Tartarus’. Seconds pass as minutes, time in the Halls of the Gods taking on a life of its own as the thought of what might come hangs over them all. The first to break the silence is not Zeus, but the kind voice of Demeter.

“What of Eupheus?” She asks while a sprouting vine curls slowly up her arm.

“Yes, yes. Send someone down there with word. They should know if this nonsense comes to fruition.” Zeus sighs with a casual wave of his hand, obviously done with the conversation. All eyes turn to Hermes, who gives a bright smile as he pushes himself to his feet.

“I guess that’s my cue.” He says with a smirk, golden wings sprouting from the leather sandals that decorate his feet. “As the Mortals say these days, don’t wait up.” Hermes adds with a teasing salute, before he’s gone in the blink of an eye.

Far below, mountains, plains, and seas pass by in the blink of an eye. Hermes, the Messenger of the Gods, deity of travellers, sports, trade, and thieves (to name a few), should be fast, it is what he was born to do. Faster than the wind, faster than any fictional superhero, and faster than the quickest man-made airplane, Hermes zips across the skies at a break neck speed. He crosses the English Channel mere seconds after giving his farewells to his brethren, flying over bustling cities, lush, green countryside, and twisting roads that begin to disappear as he reaches the isolated corner of Wales where the children of the Gods learn.

The closest village is a twenty minute drive through winding roads and overhanging trees. Argoed is small, yet it is the frequent destination of the older Eupheus students when they wish to take a day trip out of the boarding school, a privilege given only to the older students provided they stay in the teachers’ good books. All the basic amenities can be found within the town’s small limits; a café, intimate restaurant, post shop, small supermarket, and even a tiny cinema that runs on weekends. More than the basic shops, the town plays home to a large community of mature demi-gods, ex-students of Eupheus who wish to live amongst their own where they aren't forced to hide their inherited powers from prying neighbours. The town itself is pretty, with an odd combination of Ancient Greek architecture and quaint thatched rooves. At first glance it looks very much like any other village one might drive through in the United Kingdom, until you notice the town square boarded by Greek Doric columns or the modest temple set off the main road which houses statues of the Greek gods.

But it is not the village which holds Hermes’ interest this day, instead it is the school. Sitting on the edge of a pristine lake, Eupheus gleams in the early morning sun. Its grounds are extensive and dotted with facilities that one would both expect and not expect to find at a private boarding school. A boat shed stands on the banks of the lake beside a small jetty, further around and up on a small cliff stand the stables, which house Pegasi rather than normal horses. The main body of the school stands in a large clearing just back from the lake, with dormitories to one side and the classrooms to the other. A dining hall and large kitchen, open-air amphitheatre, indoor pool and training facilities for physical and powers training can be found just behind these buildings, their architecture a mixture of modern sleek, Victorian grandeur, and ancient Greek openness. Many of the buildings are connected by stoas, covered walkways with Doric columns lining the sides. Statues large and small can be found around the school grounds of the gods and goddesses that rule from Olympus, as well as plaques bearing the names of famous demi-gods whose stories are still told today by mortals and demi-gods alike.

As Hermes rushes towards the school he’s aware as always of the presence of his own children, though for now he does not deviate from his mission. Rather than stop to see what pranks his offspring have dreamed up for the start of the year, he directs his flight towards the council room where he senses he will find the recipients for his message. A large room welcomes him, a circular table taking pride of place in the middle while the dozen teachers who make up the ruling board of the school gather around its edge. They stand as he comes to a stop by the door, his appearance to their eyes no doubt looking as if he stepped out of mid-air.

“My lord Hermes,” one teacher says, his tone respectful as ever. The dark skinned man isn’t one of Hermes’ children, though the God recognises him as Hephaestus’ spawn and the teacher of the Rustic powers, Ciao Kywaku. “To what do we owe this hon-…” He begins to say, before Hermes waves away the formalities.

“No time for that. I have to run.” Hermes interrupts as he pulls an old scroll from a bag that magically appears at his side, “Message from the top.”

The twelve shift as they watch Hermes handing the message to Ciao, their interest piqued instantly. Though the gods' own children attend Eupheus, it’s not always common to receive such messages from Olympus. As Hermes is handing over the missive more scrolls magically appear in his bag, glowing a warm golden hue as each new scroll joins the collection already there. At least five have appeared in such a fashion in the time that Hermes has been with them and the god responds to the extra work with a light, “Never a moment’s rest.” Rather than staying to expand on whatever might or might not be contained in the message, Hermes takes his leave, duty calling him away. With a wink at his son, Lawrence, Hermes departs, leaving as abruptly as he arrived and causing more than a few papers to flutter in his wake.

Only after the god has left does the council return to their seats, all eyes on Ciao as he breaks the seal on the scroll and carefully unrolls it. In his deep, South African accent he conveys the message sent from the gods, his tone growing worried as words such as ‘Tartarus’ and ‘titans’ appear. Finally Ciao reaches the end of the message and places the scroll tentatively on the table, his intelligent eyes looking up to meet the gazes of his colleagues. There is a moment of silence as around the table the teachers shift, absorbing all the implications of what this could mean for the school. Lawrence Stone gives a sigh, sitting back in his chair and racing both hands through his hair, while Dale Cooper, son of Zeus and the sky instructor breaks the silence by giving a nervous whistle. Leda Cooper, Dale’s wife and daughter of Asclepius takes his hand and addresses the rest of the council,

“If these warnings prove truthful we will need to protect the children somehow.”

Across the table heads nod, though voices join Leda’s to raise concern over how to protect their charges against whatever enemies the titans may conjure up. They all realise that should these rumours turn out to be truths, the children they’re to teach could very well be the pivotal pieces of the war, or sadly the pawns with which the gods move and sacrifice as they see fit. The last option is not one any of them likes to contemplate, but there is no avoiding what may likely happen.

“If it comes to war they will have to fight.” Alkippe remarks. The Centauride is wise, her advice and insight valued by everyone on the council.

“Many of the children can’t fight.” August, half satyr and half wood nymph, protests.

“They will all have to contribute to the effort.” Alkippe responds before turning to the Amazon beside her as Andronika leans forward to speak,

“August is correct though, many of the children would be unprepared for a battle.” She says as her strong gaze glides around the table, “We will need to begin preparing them properly, increasing their power and physical training, working on defences, and so forth.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Dale protests in his distinctive southern drawl, “We don’t even know if the titans are waking and we’re already planning on putting the kids through military boot camp? They’re kids, damnit, not marines.”

Silent thus far and sitting quietly to the side, Lysandros has merely been watching the debate. As the son of a titan his loyalty has been questioned more than once, though his connections also make him a valuable source of information regarding the primal immortals. It is now that he speaks up, his soft voice carrying easily. “If the titans break from Tartarus, it will take everything the gods have to put them back. That includes their children fighting for them.” His words hang heavily in the air and there as a pause as he lets them sink in before directing his next words at Dale, “Would you rather prepare the children and give them a fighting chance, or have them outmatched should war break out?”

The logic of the statement is not lost on any of them and it is decided that training will increase, though, before the council is dismissed Ciao rises his voice again, “Do we tell the students of what might come?”

“No, we do not want to cause panic.” Comes his answer from Alkippe, “We will keep them safe in ignorance for as long as possible, and hope that our worries will come to nothing.”

With subdued minds the council is closed, and the teachers head towards the dining hall where the students are due to gather. Orientation day, the first day back at Eupheus, is meant to be a happy time; a day to look forward to the year to come. Yet, with such ominous tidings to start the year, many teachers are already questioning just what there is to look forward to.