Chapter 13: Preparations and Resolve: Part Two
The next morning dawned bright and early, a typical late summer day, warm and sunny and without a cloud in the sky.
Hadriel had been there to greet the sun, just as she had been there to see it set. Sleep was not necessary for her, she was not some soft mortal thing that needed to lie in helpless insensibility simply to allow their mind and body to recover. She was a divine creation, an instrument of the Almighty. She was shorn of the weaknesses that bedevilled her lord’s mortal creations, so her nightlong vigil had not left her tired or slow of thought. She had been able to fully appreciate the beautiful sight of the dawn, and the emerging loveliness of the day to come.
However, it was a picturesque sight that contrasted rather sharply with her current mood.
“Oh? Is that pride I see? Do you look down on these hairless apes as well? That is good, to know that some of the younger generation see the world through eyes like mine.”
The words still echoed in her mind, a malignant earworm she could not exorcise.
“Wrath too? Tell me, how much blood have you gleefully spilt in order to turn your wings so red? You still serve our father, but how far from being like me are you really?”
Her wings twitched at the memory, and she could not help but notice their brilliant vermillion hue as they moved in her peripheral vision.
“How pure are you, really? How close are you to joining my true self in the Pit?”
Hadriel’s hand clenched, and the familiar and comforting weight of one of her swords suddenly filled it. For a moment she hovered by the window, in the hotel room that had been assigned to her, even if sleep was unnecessary, and just held the sword.
That night at the docks . . . it had been harder than she had expected. Of course, how could she ever have expected to find herself facing a shadow of Satan himself? It defied common sense, Lucifer, Satan, both were bound to Hell, unable to leave unless very specific circumstances were met. The simulacrum that was created by the power of the Wild Hunt was only a copy of the original, and far from his full power, but its cunning and cruelty had been undiminished.
When the Angel Lucifer fell and became the monarch of Hell he took on infernal aspects in order to be able to control the denizens of Hell. The fallen angel came to rule over the devils of hell, the beings of evil and order who made deals and planned schemes, but something different was needed to bring the wild and chaotic demons to heel. To that end, Lucifer forged the infernal aspects in what would become Satan, an existence that was him but also separate.
It was the shadow of that aspect that Hadriel had faced, and as weak and pale an imitation as it had been, it had still almost been too much for her.
Under other circumstances, it would have been a blow to her pride to have faired the worst out of Adam’s allies who faced the spectres of the Wild Hunt. Joan, Athena, and Kali, all of them had been able to eliminate the enemies they faced, their victory was only delayed due to the immortality that all the effigies had shared. Not Hadriel though, she had not defeated her enemy, the apparition had simply exhausted the power the Hunt had allowed it. She had outlasted it, not defeated it.
In all truth, the very existence of a copy of Satan was unexpected and complicated, but she could understand how it had happened. Lucifer’s other self was bound to the depths of hell, a being of such power that he was forbidden to step upon the mortal realm lest his presence trigger the Apocalypse, as was true of Lucifer himself. The problem was that for all his power Satan did not possess a body of his own, instead, he used the bodies of lesser demons and devils. Lucifer’s other self empowered them, making them more than even a greater demon, but stole control in return.
Sometimes, by inhabiting a lesser vessel and not strengthening it Satan could deliberately weaken himself. This allowed Satan to be summoned to the mortal plane far more easily than a being of his power should have been, and without breaking the bonds that held him and his other self. Hadriel knew that during one such summoning, Satan had acted as the Head of the Wild Hunt for a short time, apparently long enough to leave an imprint that the Hunt could exploit.
Her battle with the imprint had been . . . difficult. Measure for measure, their levels of power had not been too far apart. Hadriel might have had the edge there. However, the copy of Satan had just kept on talking!
“Why does our father care for these mud people . . .”
“All that power, isn’t it sad to have to use it to protect these walking sacks of sin . . .”
“All that anger, what do you think father thinks of it . . .”
On and on, as she swung her blades, as she called down lightning, as she sheathed her swords in fire, nothing she did silenced him as he hammered on the shameful thoughts she tried to deny and bury.
The truth was that Hadriel was well aware that pride and wrath were the two sins that she had to struggle with. She was dedicated to her duty and utterly loyal to her creator, but she could not rid herself of them.
Pride came so easily. How could it not be? She knew it was her responsibility to protect the mortals, to safeguard their lives and their souls. She knew that they were the special creation of her creator, the race promised to inherit the earth and the race loved by her lord. She was dedicated to her duty, she would protect them, even give her life if it meant saving but one of them. However, she could not help but find them to be . . . inferior.
How could she not? They were so weak, so fragile. They needed to breathe, to eat, to drink. It was as though their entire existence needed to constantly take from the world around them or they would perish in short order. Their flesh and bones broke so easily, so few of them had natural powers to call upon. They were only a few steps removed from the pigs and other farm animals they barely held dominion over. They fell so easily into sin and depravity that it beggared belief.
When compared to the power and purity of angels how could she not look at them with disdain? How could she not compare them to her angelic brethren and not see them as inferior?
As for wrath . . . If pride was easy, then wrath was natural.
Hadriel was a warrior, she had been from the instant of her creation. It was her purpose, her duty, and she fully accepted it and thrived in her role. However, it was that very loyalty that led to her growing bloodlust in the face of her enemies. After all, her foes were the enemies of the High Heavens, enemies to the Almighty, her father, her creator. Was it not perfectly natural for her to feel antipathy towards those who would dare to try to harm her creator? When faced with those that despoil His creations, was not a growing glee at the sight of them defeated and broken before her understandable?
How was she meant to feel, being forced to face her darkest and dirtiest thoughts?
Suddenly feeling penned up Hadriel floated over to the large French windows that led onto the room’s balcony. They were fortunately unlocked because she was not in the mood to try to decipher some mortal mechanism when she could simply break it. Soon she was out under the stars, even if the lights of the city she was in made them look dim and indistinct. Slowly she rose into the air, leaving the buildings behind, the stars and the moon growing clearer as she ascended into the night.
“How close are you to joining my true self in the Pit?”
The question refused to fade, echoing in her mind again and again. Just how true was it? Just how close was she to losing her connection to the High Heavens? How close was she to falling?
She looked down and barely repressed a wince as she felt contempt rise in her at the sight of the ugly blocks of artificial stone, metal and glass. So crude, so wasteful, so inferior to the silver and white perfection of the angelic cities.
NO! She had to take control of her thoughts, not let Satan’s insidious words control her. Yes, she might hold mortals in a certain degree of contempt, but that was not the only emotion she had for them!
Lady Joan . . . she was an example of a mortal that had achieved enough to earn her respect. The mortal had served the Lord well in her mortal life, then refined herself further when she reached the High Heavens. She was a soul made flesh once more, both mortal and immortal, a shining example of what humanity might become in the distant future if they lived up to their potential.
There were others too. Arthur Pendragon, Saint George, the Nephilim Warwick, and even her own charge, Adam. All of them were at some stage along the path from mortals to something greater, proof of the potential of mankind.
And even amongst the mortals that never set foot on that path, were there not those worthy of her respect? Had she not met a mortal policeman only two days ago that she felt merited note? True, he had been no hero, no future saint, but he had will and determination, enough to keep to his duty with commendable resolve.
As for her wrath . . . yes, she knew she was prone to it, but she also knew that she was disciplined and in control. Never had she lost herself to bloodlust, and never had she even thought of turning on her allies. Her wings might be stained red, but the colour itself was pure, unmarred in any way, a reflection of her mastery of her aggression.
Hadriel knew herself, enough to normally be confident in her nature and her resolve. Even so, why had she been so shaken by the effigiy’s words? Letting out a sigh she idly noted that the sun was beginning to show its first hints of light. Soon the day would begin, marking the swift approach of the next encounter with the Hunt. How would she deal with possibly facing that shadow of Satan once more?
“Hadriel?”
The voice caught the warrior angel so completely by surprise that she was already spinning in place, both her swords in her hands and charging with lightning, before she registered who it was that had addressed her.
“Adam?”
“Um, yeah, just saying hi. Um . . . mind putting the swords away?”
The young demigod was hovering just out of the reach of her large swords, both hands raised in surrender, his eyes wide with surprise. Hadriel noted that he had not summoned his halo, a clear sign that he had not expected any threat or violence. Repressing a grimace at her loss of control Hadriel dismissed her blades and folded her arms.
“My apologies, I was lost in my thoughts and . . . reacted poorly to being startled.” Hadriel offered by way of explanation, only for her charge to simply smile and nod.
“Hey, at least you didn’t tip your chair over and fall flat on your back. Trust me, that’s hell on your image.”
The angel had no idea what he was talking about, but at least he seemed to have accepted her words.
“What brings you out here?” She asked, curious. “I had thought I would have solitude, so far from the dwellings below, yet I find unexpected company.”
“Well, I’d just finished a long talk with Kali and I wanted to stretch my wings, y’know?” Adam seemed slightly embarrassed as he unconsciously rubbed the back of his head. “So I went outside, then I saw the sun coming up and I realised I’ve never been able to watch it from up in the sky. Back at the farmhouse, I couldn’t get too high because of the sanctuary, and because I was . . . having trouble with heights. I’m doing better now, and there’s no magic ceiling to worry about. So I thought I’d just go really high up so I could watch the sunrise without anything in the way. No buildings, trees, hills or anything, just me and the horizon. Then I saw you and I guessed that you were here for the same thing. Didn’t mean to make you jump, ‘specially not with swords.”
“I see.” What else was there to say? It was a reasonable explanation. “Might I enquire what you were speaking about with honoured Kali? Though she is a mighty warrior I struggle to imagine her as much of a conversationalist.”
“She was telling me about Shiva,” Adam explained. “Since I’m his Legacy I figured I should at least know something about him. It was interesting and left me wondering just what I’ve inherited from him, Shiva had a lot of powers and feats to his name.”
“Agreed,” Hadriel nodded. “There are few gods as powerful as he, even the likes of Michael or Gabriel acknowledge his might. Whatever gifts you have gained from his Legacy shall be worthy, no other outcome is possible.”
“Yeah, but you know what I liked the most about him?”
“Well, there is much to admire,” Hadriel commented. “Vast power, command over demons, knowledge of many secrets, the respect of multitudes, and the fear of those that lack respect, the devotion of servants, even a love with his wife that transcended death. Any would be enough for most mortals to sell their souls for.”
And was that not the truth? So many things for mortals to crave, so many things they would use their souls as coin to purchase, all without ever truly understanding the worth of what they bargained away. What might her charge be enamoured of? Strength? Authority? Love? Knowledge? He may have shown admirable responsibility with the power he already had, but in the face of his challenges she supposed it was only natural for him to wish for more.
“I liked how he was always trying to improve, y’know?” His answer caught her by surprise, and the red-haired angel stared at him quizzically. “It’s like, I always knew Shiva was one of the head honchos, really powerful and feared by everyone, but I always thought of him as sitting in some palace or something. A god on his throne, like Zeus I suppose. I mean, he’s a god, and he’s called the Destroyer. I kinda expected him to be the sort of god that just blasted anything he didn’t like to pieces and made everyone bow to him.”
Adam paused rotating in the air to look at the rising sun.
“Turns out I had it all wrong,” He admitted. “Shiva doesn’t have castles or palaces or anything, he meditates out in the woods, on mountaintops, in graveyards. He just lives the simple life, no thrones or jewels, just being an . . . aesthetic?”
Hadriel could not prevent a small smile from touching her lips.
“I do not believe honoured Shiva is overly concerned with appearances and beauty. I believe you meant an ascetic.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” the demigod agreed. “That’s what I admired. He’s a god, but he’s still trying to improve himself, meditating, living without indulgence, working on his self-discipline. Kali even told me about a couple of times he lost his cool, but also about the times he kept it. He sounded more . . . human than I’d expected.”
“And that was something that you appreciated? I would have thought that you would have preferred some figure without flaw as your ancestor.”
Adam looked at her with an expression Hadriel found herself unable to read.
“Well . . . yeah. Him being like a human . . . that’s something I can get my head around. I mean, the Greek gods and the Norse ones, they weren’t perfect, they could screw up, make mistakes, laugh and cry, and all that stuff. But Shiva . . . it’s like he looked at himself and thought that even with all that power he wanted to be better. Not better like more powerful, but just better as in being a better . . . I don’t know . . . person? A better himself? Sorry, I don’t think I’m explaining this right, but do you get what I’m saying?”
Hardly the answer she had expected, but a welcome surprise nonetheless.
“Self-improvement is an admirable quality to admire,” She agreed. “One seen far too seldom in gods, regardless of their origins. When faced with power they are far too content to sit upon their laurels and indulge in the pleasures their powers provide.”
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“Well, that’s not an option for me,” Adam commented. “I kind of wish it was, but the way things are I’m going to have to keep pushing to get better, or else I’m going to end up squished when I tick off someone way too powerful.”
He said it lightly, but the red-winged angel knew there was a grim truth to it. Adam had not set out to face an overwhelming foe, but he’d found himself facing a god. It was only due to good fortune, and the esoteric laws of the Hunt binding Herne, that he had not been annihilated by the Lord of the Hunt. He needed to become more powerful if he wished to survive. There was no other option, save cravenly abandoning his role, and she doubted he would take that route.
Yes, though her charge had been something of a distraction from her earlier dark thoughts he was also a reminder of why she followed her duty. Mortals might be pitiable and reprehensible in so many ways, but they tried. They had gone from living in caves to building towers of concrete and glass, from using sparks to start a fire to splitting the atom to fuel their cities. It had taken millennia, blood, sweat, tears and joy, wars and peace, triumph and tragedy, but as a race, they had continued on. Yes, they bumbled through the dark, they made mistakes, catastrophic ones even, but still . . .
Her mood lightened slightly, though the sight of her scarlet wings at the edge of her vision reminded her of the other matter Satan had taunted her upon. Her sin, her wrath. How was she to feel about that?
“Adam?” Seeing him turn back to her Hadriel tried to frame her question. “Are you not . . . disappointed to learn of how flawed your divine ancestors were? Bath Kol was an exemplary angel, but as you know gluttony was a sin she struggled with. Lord Shiva is all too human, giving into wrath when disturbed or provoked enough. Lady Nüwa is a deeply respected goddess, but even she has made entire nations suffer when she was slighted.
“Do you not feel some disappointment at this? That they were so flawed, so distant from perfection?”
Hadriel felt disloyal by speaking so of the Daughter of the Voice, but she was also speaking the truth. She felt less so bringing up the flaws of the other gods, but even so, there was some small twinge. Still, she wanted to hear his answer.
“Well . . . not really. I mean, yeah, I think Nüwa should have zapped that emperor with a lightning bolt rather than sick a psycho fox like Daji on him, but I can’t really think of anything else really bad about any of them.
“Besides . . .” He paused for a moment before grinning at Hadriel. “Perfect is boring. I asked Joan once why god didn’t make mankind perfect, why he didn’t make angels perfect, why he didn’t make anyone perfect. Do you know what she told me?”
That . . . in all honesty, strange as it was, the thought had never crossed Hadriel’s mind. Yes, she had wondered why her creator had made humans as weak and flawed as they were, but it had never occurred to her as to why such beings as gods or even angels were flawed in their own ways. She had always been dedicated to her service, her loyalty was absolute and as natural to her as gravity was to the existence of matter. She had been created as she was, there was no cause to question it, such was her life.
But now . . . why was she created flawed? Why was she given the possibility of falling? Her creator . . . her faith in him was absolute, so she did not believe he would inflict this upon her deliberately, as some petty cruelty. Perhaps it was an error, a mistake made in his early creations, one that had somehow become intrinsic to his angels, which could not be corrected without destroying them. Was it a curse of some sort? Something inflicted by an enemy? It all flashed through her mind as she stared at Adam, waiting to hear what he said.
“She told me that God told her that a perfect thing is beautiful, but it’s also static, something that can never be more than it already is. How can it? If it’s perfect then it's already as good as it can get, all it can do is stay the same or grow worse. If something’s imperfect then it can get better, it can grow, it can change. I guess that’s why we’re all like we are. If we’ve got room to grow then it gives us a chance to be better, right?”
Imperfection as an opportunity? The thought had never crossed her mind, but now . . . Hadriel could see it.
Her red wings teased the edge of her vision again, but without the bite the sight had held earlier. Yes, she could fall, but she could also grow. She could see it now, the potential that had been gifted to her along with her flaws.
The angel would have to spend more time thinking about this, unpacking the implications of what had been passed to her, but it could wait. What was coming was a day of preparations for the night to come.
“Adam?” She asked, causing him to glance from the sunrise back to her. “What is your plan for when we meet the Hunt once more?”
“I’ve been talking it over with Athena,” He replied, his wings spreading a bit more behind him, an unconscious expression of concern. “We’ve got some ideas, but we’re going to go over it with everyone.”
“Have you at least established your goals?”
“Yeah. We’re saving that other demigod, and we’re taking the sheath back to Arthur.”
There was unexpected steel in his voice. She had expected resolve, her charge was not a weak-willed man after all, but the sheer mettle in his tone was an unexpected, but not unwelcome, surprise.
“So, you are dismissing the deal that Herne offered?”
“What deal? He was hunting the kid, then he tried to take the scabbard as soon as he saw it. He’s got no claim to either of them, no right to complain if he loses them.”
“Agreed!”
Hadriel felt a surge of approval at Adam’s words. She did not wish to think ill of her charge, but she had thought that he might take a path of compromise in the face of the Wild Hunt, unwilling to risk the safety of the younger demigod. The path he had instead chosen was more dangerous, but she felt it more suitable. Much of his fate and destiny were unclear, but one thing she was certain of was that he would need to learn to use the closed fist as well as the open hand.
The white-haired demigod nodded firmly to her in reply, then turned to once more watch the sunrise. In silence, both watched as the sky turned a fiery orange with the rising sun. It was a beautiful sight, and Hadriel found herself appreciating it more due to having the company of one who had not witnessed such a sight before.
“That . . . was beautiful,” Adam stated, his eyes entranced. “I’ve never seen it like that before, not even on a plane or at the top of a hill.”
“To see the world from this place, with your own eyes and without any impediment, that is the privilege of those that can fly as we can.”
The angel could not imagine a life tethered to the ground as almost all mortals were. They had no way to feel the true joy of flight, of freedom in the skies. The closest they could come were their contraptions of metal and cloth to glide on the wind, or their machines of steel and plastic to fly faster than birds. Yet no option allowed them the power to feel the wind on their skin, to defy gravity with just their will, or to soar above the clouds on a whim. Truly, amongst all the gifts he had received, Adam should be most grateful to have gained flight as he had.
Wordlessly, the pair watched the sunrise, and the orange of the sky slowly giving way to blue as the day began.
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Lancelot set down the letter he had received the day before and did his best to keep his emotions under control.
He had to acknowledge the ease of communication in this era. In his mortal life, it would have taken days or even weeks for a missive to be sent from this city, reach Britain, travel to Buckingham Palace, and then for the reply to find him again. Now, all he had to do was dictate a letter to some scribe using one of these new machines, and a reply could reach him back in less than an hour.
Maybe he would have been happier if it had taken longer, at least then he would have been spared having to deal with . . . this!
The reply he had received had been his King’s response to his report on the situation. The scabbard, the demigod, his allies, the Wild Hunt, the captured demigod, and the bargain that had been demanded. He had also written of his own agreement with the winged demigod but had stated that should his king order him to try to take the sheath by force or guile then Lancelot would comply.
Arthur had replied, but his response had caught his knight completely by surprise. His king thanked him for his diligence and his loyalty but bade him take no actions against Adam or his allies. He was to retrieve the lost scabbard, but he was to do so by aiding the demigod, not by working against him.
‘This demigod has an angel and a saint at his side, as well as goddesses, and that is deserving of some trust.’
Arthur was gambling here, taking a chance on this young man who seemed to have the favour of the heavens. Lancelot could understand it, to a degree, but he felt it was too much of a risk. While he possessed the scabbard Arthur could survive having his heart run through, his flesh burning, poison ravaging his body. Without it, his king was mortal, or at least too close to it for comfort.
‘If the scabbard is lost then I shall have to make do. I fought without it before I had it, and I ruled and fought without it for years after I lost it. I can do so again.’
Sleep had not come easily to him the night before, and when it had the Knight of the Lake had found his dreams restless and disturbing. He had dreamt of Arthur holding court in Camelot again, and though Lancelot tried desperately to protect him arrows sailed out of the shadows and ran the king through. Blood seeped out around the arrows, but Arthur paid them no mind, simply continuing to hold court as though nothing had happened. More and more attacks came, shadowy assassins with daggers dripping poison, dark knights wielding huge swords, even Morgan le Fay slunk in, magic in her hands and murder in her eyes. And through it all, no matter what he did, Lancelot could do nothing to protect his king. It was as though he were wading through quicksand, his every effort sapped of speed and strength until it was useless.
He had come awake covered in sweat, his heart pounding and his hands clutching a sword he was not holding.
It had taken Lancelot some time to even start to calm down. A drink and a shower, another modern convenience he was growing enamoured of, had helped but it was not enough to settle his turbulent thoughts. Before he knew it he had dressed himself in his breeches and was pacing about the hotel room, trying to burn off his nervous energy.
Was he making the correct choice? Was trusting the winged demigod a foolish risk? Yes, the young man had personal power and potent allies, but was that enough?
And Arthur . . . he might be willing to trust, to gamble, but was Lancelot? He had already failed his king so badly, was he going to do it again?
What would happen without the scabbard? Would Arthur continue on, only to die years from now when he finally failed to defend against some attack? Maybe poison? Or would it be old age?
Lancelot felt as though his head was filled with nothing but a boiling mass of questions! Questions, questions, and more questions, no answers. He was filled with energy but had no direction, no outlet, no resolution. All that was left was confusion and frustration.
Suddenly the room was just too small, too confining, too stifling. If he was forced to stay there any longer he might well take his sword to the walls simply to have some relief! Instead, he left the hotel, walking through the surprisingly large garden behind it. Bushes and trees broke up the large space into smaller areas, somehow making the final result feel bigger. It was a clever set-up, and appreciating it let him distract himself from his turmoil for a short time.
But it did not last. The night ended and the dawn came, and with it the knowledge that time was continuing its inevitable march. And he still did not know what he was going to do.
“Sir Lancelot? Are you here to watch the dawn as well?”
The unexpected voice dragged him from his thoughts and made him aware he was not as alone as he had thought himself to be. Sitting upon a bench in one of the small glades the garden had been broken into, one with a clear view towards the east was Pallas Athena.
“Honoured goddess,” He said, offering a courtly bow as he did so. “I had thought myself alone. I did not hear you arrive.”
“I had made plans to watch the sunrise,” the goddess explained in her slightly accented voice. “A few preparations were placed to ensure I could arrive without interruption. I had not expected to find much company at this time. Mortals tend to prefer not to rise from sleep so early.”
“Was there any particular reason, or was it simply a whim?”
“A whim I suppose,” she admitted. “The coming night promises to be of . . . interest. I felt that I might be able to take this chance to centre myself somewhat for the coming conflict.”
“Ah . . . then I am sorry to have disturbed you. I shall leave you to your thoughts.”
Lancelot stood to leave, only to pause as the goddess held up a hand.
“Do not be concerned. Perhaps some company would not go amiss. Stay. I would hear your thoughts on some matters.”
Well, that was something of a surprise. Still, one did not simply reject an offer of company from a deity, certainly not one as beautiful as the goddess of wisdom.
“As you wish, honoured goddess.”
Stepping into the glade he moved to stand beside Athena. As tall as she was the bench where she sat seemed slightly undersized, as though an adult were sitting on something intended for a ten-year-old. Of course, it was not as though her height in any way detracted from her beauty, she was perfectly proportioned in every way, far different from the malformed and brutish giants he had met in the past.
“I had not thought to find you in such a . . . contemplative exercise,” he admitted, as a way to begin a dialogue. “I mean no offence, but I had not thought that an Olympian would be using a sunrise in such a way.”
For a moment he worried that he might have been too forward in his words. After all, the Greek gods were famed for their pride, and this was the goddess that had turned the mortal that managed to surpass her into the first spider. Fortunately, she simply nodded.
“I dare say that My fellow Olympians would have their own ways to prepare on the eve of battle. Ares would take pleasure in ensuring the integrity of his arms and armour, Dionysus would no doubt fortify himself with wine aplenty, and my father . . . well, I do not believe we need to discuss that in any great depth.”
Yes. Lancelot had no wish to hear that in any great detail. Zeus’s libidinousness was a thing of legend.
“Since returning to the mortal plane I have taken some interest in the other cultures of the world,” Athena continued. “When we were last on this world things were different, so much . . . smaller. Our world was Greece and the Mediterranean Isles. The city-states were our concern, the culture we held to and the people we ruled over. We did not travel further north, the furthest south we went was the likes of northern Egypt, and the furthest east was to the lands of Troy. It seemed so vast to us, such a huge sprawling domain of villages, cities, kingdoms and wildernesses, and yet, in truth, it was such a small part of the world.”
She paused, her eyes distant as she stared out at the lightening sky.
“One of my goals in this new era has been to learn about the rest of the world,” she admitted. “So many other cultures, so many other ways of living, of seeing the world about us. We Olympians . . . we knew there were other gods, other lands, but to us, they were so distant as to be unreal. We had our domain and it was our world. Now . . . there are so many other worlds, and they are all part of the same world. I found it all so magnificent, so much to learn, so much to master. Introspection was far from unknown to us, but the way it has been developed and refined in other cultures . . . Fascinating!”
Lancelot was genuinely surprised by the sudden enthusiasm that Athena was showing. The image she had presented until now had been more reserved, even stately. This was different, but her enthusiasm did not detract from her composure.
“Indeed, and how have you found this new world in regard to more practical aspects?” He asked. “I have stayed by my king’s side for the most part, but even I have been interested in the many new conveniences and innovations of this era. I understand that you aided your father in the establishment of his new business empire, have you enjoyed it?”
“Olympus Industries is my father’s grand plan,” the goddess explained. “He had few issues with incarnating as a mortal and did so repeatedly as the centuries passed. In the last century and a half, he did so almost constantly, fighting in wars, serving as a paper pusher, and learning from the shadows about this new world. When the Paths reopened and all deities regained access to the mortal plane my father was amongst the most knowledgeable and prepared.”
Athena paused, then turned to the side, gesturing to a small town that could be seen in the distance.
“He knew that power would be important in this new world, but it would not be the only factor. Far too many of the deities that have returned think that they can just carve out a kingdom for themselves, turn cities into forests, drive out mortals, thinking they can just do as they wish.”
“Well, with their power there is not much mortals can do to oppose them,” Lancelot replied.
“Yes, but that is only in the short term,” Athena responded as she stood up. “Mortals are not the powerless and divided children they once were. They have learnt so much and moved from mere city-states to nations that span continents. In addition, more demigod bloodlines are Awakening now than at any other time in history. Zeus believes, and I agree, that after the current chaos passes a new equilibrium will be found, one that shall not be quite as tilted in the favour of the divine as it was in ancient days passed.”
The Greek goddess turned and started to walk out of the manufactured glade. Lancelot fell into step beside her as she continued.
“My father wishes to make himself a part of that new balance, an invaluable part that cannot be moved or challenged, lest the entire new status quo come tumbling down. Kingdoms raised by ambitious deities and demigods are . . . fragile, lacking a firm foundation. Your king has the weight of legend and reputation behind him, even if he has not chosen to reestablish his rule. His people know him, his deeds are recognised, and his authority is respected. Some strong demigod seizing control of some towns and villages in South America and calling them his nation is hollow, weak and lacking in status.
“Rather than carving out a country through intimidation and force my father is establishing an empire of intellectual property and mercantile contracts. Olympus Industries is the first company in the world to combine technology and the supernatural. As things stand our products are expensive, more toys for the wealthy to buy. Already our income is vast for a new corporation and we are rapidly expanding, but that is only the start. My brother, Hephestus, is already working upon ways to make production easier and more efficient, methods that only our company will possess.
“Olympus shall rise not as a kingdom on a mountaintop, but as a part of the new economy holding the coming world together, an immovable irreplaceable component.”
The Knight of the Lake did not know what to make of this talk of global balances and set paradigms. It was not his meat and drink. Guinevere would have relished it, Arthur would have navigated it, and Morgan la Fey would have gleefully immersed herself in it, trying to carve out her own slice, but Lancelot was a knight.
“And how have you found it to be? Did you enjoy aiding your father in realising such lofty ambitions?”
“It has been . . . interesting,” Athena replied. “The negotiations, the organisation, the deals to be met, the opposition to be overcome. It was a new type of war, with wealth, resources and deals in place of soldiers, logistics and territory. I am able in this new world, business and management come easily to me, but I confess, they are . . . dull.”
There were a few moments of silence as the goddess and the knight walked in silence, returning to the stairs that led back to the hotel.
“When my father asked me to be Olympus’s envoy to Adam I was happy to escape my office. I felt some reluctance to leave what I had built, but at the same time, it had come to feel like a weight around my neck. To be out in the world once more, witness to and participant in the battles to come, is what I longed for.”
“You yearn for action rather than the building of your father’s empire?”
“The initial challenge was enjoyable, but our corporation has its own momentum now,” She explained. “There is little that I find interesting left for me to do. The staff I have assembled can take care of the simple company management duties in my absence. And my purpose there was now as little more than a figurehead. Acting as a . . . teacher to a young demigod was not my preferred task, but I could have been saddled with far worse.”
Lancelot marvelled at the informal way the goddess spoke to him. To be sure, her diction and pronunciation remained precise and eloquent, yet it seemed less detached than it had been when they started.
“Adam is not what I expected, yet he has not proven uninteresting. And this matter with the Wild Hunt and your king’s scabbard is a fine opening tale for a hero in the making.”
“That may be,” the knight commented, his tone growing slightly cold. “But for me, it is far more dire. I would not see my king weakened by failure here.”
“I doubt Adam has any such intention. Your king guards my charge’s homeland, and his friends and family as well. A fine guarantee that he shall do his utmost to ensure your king's strength remains undiminished.”
“Well, I shall place my hopes upon him, and yourselves, his companions.”
Lancelot had made his decision. He would return the scabbard to his king.
No matter what needed to be done.