2.05: Sunrise

Location: Temple of Apollo

Time Remaining: 31 years

It was dawn when Nemesis reached Apollo’s temple. She swooped up under one of the eaves and perched on the edge of one of the stone columns, where the roof did not rest squarely on the column’s top. Now what? She wondered.

She’d defied Zeus when she’d spared the child, spurned his advances, attacked him, and now she’d run from her punishment as well. Nemesis had hunted many heretics at Zeus’s behest, but none who’d done so much as she now had, had ever been afforded forgiveness or mercy. Death was the best case scenario, now – more probably, she’d be sealed away in one of Tartarus’s sarcophagi and condemned to an eternity of torment in one of its nightmare worlds.

But isn’t that what she deserved? Zeus was her lord and master, ultimate arbiter of right and wrong, and she’d defied him. Perdition was the fate she deserved. So why was it that she still hadn’t simply flown back to the Constellar Palace and surrendered herself? Why was she so driven to prolong the inevitable?

She’d served the gods for roughly two centuries. Generations of human beings had come and gone in that time, so it seemed strange to Nemesis that she would suddenly be so determined to prolong her life. Perhaps, she thought, the reason she was so reluctant to let go of her life was the uncertainty. The humans believed they knew what was coming for them, and some of them structured their lives around that expectation. Nemesis didn’t have the benefit of that certainty. In fact, until just now, she’d not given too much thought to what would await her if or when she reached the limit of her immortality.

Contrary to what most humans believed, one did not automatically travel to the underworld when they died, no matter what their relatives did with their bodies to mark their passing. One had to be taken to the underworld by a servant of Mt. Olympus. 

Some of the humans residing in the underworld were there either because of a random lottery maintained by Demeter and Hades, or due to an allegation of minor heresy. When someone’s number was up, or when they were declared an irredeemable threat to the people’s faith, an agent like Nemesis would be sent to retrieve the person, abducting them from their lives and sealing them away in one of Tartarus’s ancient sarcophagi, where their minds would enter a dream world the humans described as the Asphodel Meadows. In the sarcophagi, the human’s body would survive almost indefinitely.

Those humans closest to the gods, either by relation or favor, were sometimes taken to the underworld when death was imminent or very recent. These individuals found themselves in the dream world of Elysium, where they would live on eternally as pets and servants to the gods and titans who had retired there. The most unfortunate humans, though, were those who’d managed to outright enrage one of the gods – these individuals were interred in nightmare worlds, designed by Zeus himself, to torment his enemies for all of eternity.

Most humans simply died, though, never setting foot in the underworld before or after. This was now Nemesis’s best option. At one time, if she’d thought about it, she might have expected to retire to Elysium when she could no longer serve the gods in the physical world, but now the nightmarish prisons of the titans who’d opposed Zeus hundreds of years ago seemed a much more likely destination.

A roll of thunder announced Zeus’s arrival. Artemis’s attempt to conceal Nemesis’s escape had given her time to fly to the temple, but only just barely.

Two of Apollo’s priests walked out of the temple to greet the Lord of Olympus. They all but threw themselves on the ground to kneel before Zeus.

“Praise Zeus, father of the Sun God! Father of knowledge!” they shouted.

“I’m searching for someone,” Zeus said, towering over them, “You know her as Nemesis. She may have assumed the form of a mortal woman to hide amongst your flock. Have you seen anyone unfamiliar?”

“No, my lord,” one of the priests said, “Everyone who came in for sunrise worship is a regular worshipper.”

“Indeed my lord,” the other priest said, “But there will be sessions at noon and sunset, as well. Perhaps if you would like to join us…?”

“Ugh… tedious,” Zeus growled, “I have another idea.” Zeus turned around and walked to the top of the stairs that led up to Apollo’s temple. He took a deep breath and channeled his power into his voice, shouting so that the entire town below could hear, “NEMESIS! I know you’re somewhere in earshot, being sheltered by the people of this town. You disobeyed me because you had qualms about killing a mortal. You did so, full well knowing that your disobedience would be punished. Yet, when I demanded you surrender yourself last night, you refused, condemning the three mortals you took sanctuary with to violent deaths. So, I’m confused, Nemesis – do you care about these mortals or not?” Zeus paused for a moment until the echoing boom of his voice faded, “So, let’s find out.” Zeus wove his fingers around in an elaborate gesture, conjuring an orb of blue-white lightning. He flung it into the town, and it exploded in a storm of arcing electricity, partially collapsing one of the smaller homes and sending the townspeople screaming in terror. “Come out, Nemesis, or I will keep this up.”

“No! Please my lord!” one of the priests cried, “We have not seen the goddess, or any unfamiliar face. If someone is…”

“Silence,” Zeus flicked his wrist and casually electrocuted the man, “Come and meet your maker, Nemesis, or they will all die. Men, women, and children.”

Nemesis was paralyzed with fear. That unfamiliar feeling of regret and responsibility gnawed at her again. Now she was sure it was what others called ‘guilt’. The mortals had short lives, of course – from a god’s perspective, intervening to save any given human from harm accomplished little. The most affluent Achaean men had a life expectancy of around seventy years, with women, impoverished Greeks, and slaves having much shorter lifespans. A titan, by comparison, could live for centuries without medical assistance, and a god like Zeus or Nemesis herself had no defined upper limit to their age. Zeus’s stark white hair was the direct result of his battle with his father, Kronos, rather than any natural aging.

But then, the difference between a slave and a king had little to do with competency or diligence; luck decided the family one was born into, and so it was luck that determined how long a person could expect to live. A king was luckier than a slave, and though Nemesis was loath to admit it, a goddess was luckier than a human king. The notion violated her innate sense of fairness and justice, just as it did when she saw a fat rich man attended by emaciated slaves.

And that parallel was where her answer lay. For a starving man, a loaf of bread and a portion of meat was a feast, while for a king it was likely garbage, scraps to be thrown to the dogs. The lives of mortals were all the more valuable for their brevity. One more year of life, for a mortal, had more value than a decade for a goddess.

Nemesis flew down to the ground and changed into her god form. It was now mostly healed from the lightning bolt that Zeus had stricken her with, though she was still weak and in a fair bit of pain. She leaned with one hand on the column for a moment, collecting the strength and courage to step out into the open and surrender. She took a deep breath and stepped out into the early morning light.

“Stop!” she shouted, “Stop killing them! I’m right here!”

Zeus laughed as he juggled an arc of lightning between his hands, “You have grown sentimental, haven’t you? You forfeit your life for mortal insects; your resolve has become weak.”

A blinding light flashed between them, and when their vision recovered, a tall man with golden skin stood between them.

“Step aside, son,” Zeus said, “My quarrel is not with you.”

“And yet, one of my most devoted priests lies at your feet,” Apollo said, “That certainly raises some questions.”

“He was harboring a fugitive,” Zeus pointed at Nemesis.

“My priest did not know she was here, and even if he had known, a sanctuary is a sanctuary. Violence in our temples is forbidden.”

“Don’t presume to tell me what is and is not permitted,” Zeus said, “You quote laws written by my great grandfather. They bind me no more than they bound the Skyfather before him.”

Zeus started forward, but Apollo’s golden hair blazed with a corona of energy, and a brilliant beam of golden light erupted from his eyes and tracked across the ground in front of Zeus, leaving a glowing red cut in the marble walk way. It was enough to give Zeus pause.

“You wouldn’t dare raise a hand against me,” he said.

“You murdered one of my priests,” Apollo said, “You’ve undermined me in the eyes of my worshippers. I’m well within my rights to defend my status.”

“You forget yourself, child,” Zeus raised a hand, and the clouds swirled and darkened, blocking out the sun. The honey undertones of Apollo’s skin faded, and his luminescent hair dimmed to an ordinary blonde. Zeus lashed Apollo with a lightning bolt, knocking him aside, and walked past him to seize Nemesis by the throat.

Nemesis sank her talons into Zeus’s wrist and arm, drawing blood, but she was too weak from the various injuries she’d been dealt over the past couple of days to inflict more than superficial damage. Zeus lifted her off the ground and punched her in the abdomen with his free hand, cracking one of her ribs. Nemesis tried to kick him, but again, couldn’t muster enough force to hurt the god.

But then, Zeus faltered, and – for lack of a better word – he yelped.  He dropped Nemesis and fell to the ground, clutching the back of his calf, which was sizzling.

Apollo stood behind him with his bow drawn. “Artemis uses arrows she conjure at will; bronze usually,” Apollo said, “But I always felt that effectiveness was more important than convenience.”

Zeus ripped the arrow from his calf, and held it up. His blood burned on the metal arrow head, as if it were white hot. “Iron,” Zeus growled. Although most gods could conjure weapons of wood, bronze, or tin, one element almost none of their number could create was iron, the bane of Titans and Olympians alike. Centuries ago, iron weapons had been plentiful. The ore was ubiquitous, more common than bronze or tin, and thanks to Prometheus, the Minoan humans had known how to smelt it. That knowledge had largely disappeared from the Aegean when Knossos collapsed, though, and the surviving iron weapons had quickly rusted away, making it incredibly easy for Zeus and his kin to dominate Greece. “Who gave you iron arrowheads? Hephaestus?”

“My little brother owed me a favor,” Apollo said, “Now leave. I’ve got several more of these priceless beauties, and that broad chest of yours is an easier target than your leg.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Apollo fired again, and struck Zeus just below the left collarbone. Zeus shouted in pain and anger.

“I could just as easily put this through your throat and sever your spinal cord. Or straight between your eyes – 10 grams of iron, delivered straight to your brain. Either way, you’d be dead before you could shape shift.”

“You wouldn’t kill your father,” Zeus said, “You were never that cold.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Apollo said. He lowered his bow to aim at Zeus’s groin, “Did grandfather’s testicles grow back before you killed him? I have to think that it would hurt either way.”

“You will pay for this insult, son,” in a flash of lightning, Zeus transformed into an eagle and disappeared into the storm clouds.

Nemesis staggered over to Apollo and knelt before him, “Thank you for protecting me, Lord Apollo.”

Apollo looked down at his dead priest, the other clergyman was weeping over the man’s badly scorched body. The other worshippers would be lucky if Zeus didn’t exact his revenge by sending a storm to wipe out their little city.

“Leave,” Apollo said simply, “Artemis was wrong to send you here, Nemesis. You are a goddess. You have your own temples; shelter in one of them. Let Zeus’s wrath fall on your worshippers, not mine.”

Nemesis staggered back to her feet. The god didn’t even look at her; he just turned and walked down into the town to tend to the people injured by Zeus’s rampage.

Nemesis returned to human form, summoned a simple garment, and left town on foot, using the tree cover to hide her from Zeus’s gaze. She was alone now. She could maybe go to one of Hades or Persephone’s temples, but the outcome would likely be the same – Zeus would track her there and attack, killing their worshippers. Zeus had drawn her out once, that way, and so he would use that tactic again until he succeeded. She could go directly to the underworld, but it was doubtful she’d even be let in; her security clearance had likely evaporated with her station.

So, she simply wandered through the wilderness until she was satisfied that she was far enough away from town to have escaped Zeus’s watchful eye. She transformed into a bird and flew to her nearest temple. A god or goddess’s power was greatest in their house of worship – if she sheltered in one of her own temples, she might be able to put up a fight.