Hermes Book: Chapter 1

The first clear memory Hermes had of Olympus was a fish dying in water.

He had older memories, of course, both from his arrival on Olympus and from Earth. He favored the dying fish memory because it marked a undeniable break from before, from the self before, that thing that couldn’t bargain for its own security.

Instead, he remembered the fish lying on its side—not out of hunger or its natural life’s end.  Because it couldn’t breathe in water. The gods had changed the water to prevent human drowning. And now a fish couldn’t live in it.

This was during the era of the previous gods. Those gods tried to fix death. They wanted to prevent catastrophes, bring about utopia.

The gods now wanted to do the same thing—in a different way.

* * *

Jes said, “We entirely understand Hades’s worries—though one has to note that he is now being influenced by a much younger man.”

Jer said, “Highbound principles get in the way of recognizing painful outcomes.”

“No one wants a repeat of what happened during The Chaos.”

“Though one questions that emotion-laden terminology.”

“But an alternative should be found. Hades’s mate is fairly young. Who knows what he might do next.”

Jer agreed enthusiastically and he and Jes began to issue a series of statements about the mistaken stances of Hades and his “mate.” Hermes couldn’t imagine who they were arguing with since they completely agreed with each other, and Hermes never argued with anybody.

In fairness, they would say all the same things to Hades and Kouros if they were present. Hades would bluntly disagree. Hades’s mate, Kouros would listen and go back to work.

“Not another Adonis, of course,” Jer said and chortled.

“No, no—we wouldn’t want to get anyone jealous.”

“But there are other options. The Wild Hunt, for one.”

“Of course, the Hunt is often associated with Norse myths, but we aren’t so insular, are we, Hermes?”

“No,” Hermes said.

Jes and Jer were Zeus (Jes) and Hera (Jer). Jes was female. Jer was male. They liked to applaud their broadmindedness. Hermes didn’t care what they called themselves. Amun. Waaq. Zojz.

Self-involved idiots.

“The Wild Hunt chases away winter, welcomes Solstice. Spring is coming. A positive myth.”

“Associating the Wild Hunt with ravaging and other unpleasantness is blatant prejudice. It’s a wholesome event.”

Jes and Jer would turn the crucifixion of Christ into an accident with a pen knife. Stigmata? Don’t worry, folks. It is only a pinprick.

Hermes said, “A Wild Hunt needs an Odin.”

He spoke contemplatively—as if he was in complete agreement with Jes and Jer’s enthusiasms—and he produced a concerned look. Jes and Jer immediately began to ramble about their ability to wear multiple hats, be Zeus, Hera, Odin. “If Kouros can do it—”

Hades’s mate, Kouros, was The Persephone and The Adonis and The Eros. And Jes and Jer—who operated as Olympus’s main gods—were irritated. They were always reminding citizen and other gods that they were, ultimately, The Ones in Charge.

They were also afraid of losing more ground to Kouros, who was in his early twenties and scared the shit out of most people, including Hermes.

Hermes understood the need for self-protection, but he didn’t commiserate, didn’t throw himself on their “why don’t people love us more” altar. He didn’t throw himself on anyone’s altar.

The trick with Jes and Jer was to figure out how much of their egos were bound up in their current demands. Was deference his best choice here? A reasoned argument? Would Hermes be able to move on to something else—he was currently working out a deal for paving materials—or would he need to pretend to focus on Jes and Jer’s wishes?

Worse, would he actually have to do something?

“No Odin then?” he said innocently. Not a smirk in place.

“We don’t need him. Only his dogs for the Hunt.”

“Apollo’s greyhounds?”

“No,” Jes snapped, annoyed at the mention of other gods. Hermes kept his expression bland.

Jer muttered, “Not that he would lend them anyway.”

“They should be hunting dogs,” Jes said.

“Artemis then,” Hermes said.

“She will point you in the right direction,” Jes agreed complaisantly. “It is her job after all—to hunt.”

“But not as the Hunt’s leader,” Jer said quickly, and Jes agreed.

“Jer and I manage this world. Our burden. And we need, this world needs, more than one way to create winter. Our responsibility to explore the possibilities, to do better than—to do better.”

Better than our predecessors.

Hermes considered asking, Do the records mention a Hunt?

He refrained.

Olympus was created to be run by gods, and the gods could change. New gods entered Olympus, took on those roles and stopped aging. Jes and Jer, in fact, arrived after Hermes. They evoked the older gods when they needed to parcel out blame. They ignored them when they wanted to claim credit.

Many records were lost during the Chaos. The ones that remained were either in Hades’s computers or city hall’s computers. Jes and Jer’s temple was city hall.

Hermes had access to all those computers—as well as the one he recently got for Ven, who took care of courtships and marriages and what-not. Hermes figured that everyone knew he had access but all of them pretended not to know. Ven might legitimately not care. Up until recently, he’d still been tracking Olympus families with index cards.

In any case, Hermes tried not to remind Jes and Jer about his knowledge. He definitely never reminded them that he had arrived on Olympus before them.   

Hermes bowed slightly. He wondered as he strode out of city hall how long Jes and Jer had searched for find something, anything, that could possibly compete with Kouros. Kouros brought on winter when he left the mainland to live with Hades for six months. He brought on spring when he returned. In a world where agriculture rather than industry was still the primary economic mode, the god who started up spring had a lot of power.

Plus Kouros bypassed Jes and Jer. Jes-Jer were in charge of appointments—they flubbed when they appointed Kouros—and in charge of punishments. In the years after the Chaos, Jes-Jer controlled winter and spring through punishing the Adonis. Not a rebirthed god but a destroyed human. Barbaric, of course. Unnecessary now that Kouros had arrived. But—

Everything for the so-called top gods these days came down to one issue: Jes and Jer wanted to get their hands on attack dogs rather than risk a loss of more power.

Not Hermes’s problem what they did with the dogs.

Hermes wanted to speak to Artemis—he always wanted to speak to Artemis—but he knew better. He did research first.