“That would give you permission to behave as you wished in the future if we promise not to pursue vengeance.”
“No. I’m asking for amnesty for my trespasses to date, not diplomatic immunity for the future. If I break my oath and mess with you, then I should be punished—though I hope we would talk before we let it get this bad again. By the same token, should any Olympians break their oaths, they can expect to disappear. But let’s not focus on what could go wrong. Things are wrong enough as it is. Let’s focus on what could go right. Your pantheon will be whole again and have an exciting new challenge coming in the form of Loki’s traveling horror show. You will win much good karma for helping the Norse. Also, if we win the fight up here in this part of the world, then your people in Greece and Italy are saved and so are you. If we lose, then it’s the kind of loss we won’t live to regret.”
I paused to let them respond. Jupiter didn’t speak to me, however. He stroked his beard contemplatively and spoke instead to Mercury. “You have heard his words. You know what is at stake. Will you, in exchange for your freedom and a similar pledge from the Druid, swear to hold the Druid and his associates blameless and seek no vengeance on them?”
Now that he was whole again—and perhaps because he’d had a small taste of what awaited him if he refused—Mercury had little problem agreeing to such an oath. At Mercury’s words, Zeus cast his eyes to Hermes and chucked his chin by way of a question. The oiled beard lifted up exuberantly as a result and then smacked wetly against his chest. Hermes nodded his assent, albeit grudgingly. He was uncommonly taciturn for a messenger.
“All right, Druid,” Jupiter said. “You have an agreement in principle thus far. I cannot speak for all the Roman gods, but I have some hope that I can persuade them.”
“The same applies to the Greeks,” Zeus added.
“Excellent. If you would not mind, I would like you to start by persuading Pan and Faunus. They are currently preventing me from shifting planes.”
“No,” Jupiter said. “If you are able to shift planes, then you will be able to abandon the huntresses and Bacchus.”
“I am in earnest and wish there to be peace between us. I won’t abandon these proceedings. But I must also have the ability to escape should any members of your pantheon choose to attack me before taking their oath. Think of this as your demonstration of good faith. Halt the pandemonium and I’ll render you the huntresses directly afterward.”
Zeus spoke to Hermes. “Where is Pan now?”
The messenger god’s eyes rolled up for a moment and then clinked back into place like slot-machine tumblers. “Here on this isle.” Interesting—and logical. Hermes was clearly able to locate any member of the pantheon he wished at any time, which would allow him to ferry messages. It would not be a far stretch to imagine that he could locate anyone he wished that way. If that were so, then perhaps the Olympians hadn’t been working with anyone in Tír na nÓg after all. Well, aside from that ambush in Romania. They could have simply followed Granuaile on their own and thus found me.
“Fetch him here immediately.” After glancing at Mercury, who was visibly improving but in no shape to fly yet, he added, “and if Jupiter agrees, Faunus too, wherever he is. All possible haste.”
Jupiter gave his consent to summon Faunus, and Hermes flitted away into the mist. We spent perhaps ten seconds simply staring at one another, which was nearly unbearable since I felt that Zeus’s persistent erection was also staring at everyone.
“You should really call a doctor if that lasts more than four hours,” I said, and instantly regretted it.
Both sky gods said, “What?” in unison, and I shook my head by way of telling them to never mind.
“If you’re wondering how long it will take them to get here,” Jupiter said, “it shouldn’t be longer than a few minutes.”
“That’s truth,” Zeus agreed. “Hermes is very quick about such things.”
“That’s reassuring to hear. Perhaps he will be able to bring the rest of the Olympians here and we can ratify the treaty this very day.”
Zeus gave a noncommittal shrug. “It depends on whether or not we are whole again. I will not summon them until Artemis is returned.”
“Nor I, until Diana and Bacchus are returned.”
“Fair enough. But will you do so if we continue to follow through on our promises and reach a new understanding?”
Zeus said, “I will. I wish to be a part of this battle against Loki and Hel.”
Jupiter did not verbalize his agreement but nodded.
Hermes returned with Pan first, who looked amused at our meeting more than anything else. Hermes disappeared into the mist to find Faunus next.
Pan required little persuasion to stop spreading pandemonium throughout England. The entire exercise for him had been one of mischief more than malice, and he’d never been particularly cheesed off about the temporary abduction of the dryads south of Olympus, since he preferred to frolic around Arcadia in any case. He simply liked to fuck with people, and Faunus had given him a great excuse to follow his fancy.
“It’s done,” he said in Greek, a half smile twisting his features. The horns peeking out through his hair were stubby things rather than the curled rams’ horns I’ve seen in some artist depictions, and his other goat bits were anatomically correct. “Do as you wish and live in peace so long as you leave me to do the same.”
“Gladly,” I said.
Faunus, when he arrived, took a bit more convincing. Some of those dryads had been his particular favorites.
“They’re perfectly healthy,” I reminded him, speaking in Latin. “And if Bacchus hadn’t persuaded you to spread pandemonium throughout Europe, it never would have been necessary for me to abduct them in the first place. He drew you into his personal conflict, and while I might question your judgment on that score, I don’t harbor any ill will against you or any dryad. I simply did what I had to do to escape Bacchus while doing as little real damage as possible.”
“Three months of worry about my dryads was pretty damaging,” he fumed.
“For that I am sorry. But you have caused me great personal hardship of late and may consider yourself avenged already. Can we exchange forgiveness and move forward in peace?”
Faunus clenched his fists and didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Jupiter and saw no sympathy in his hard eyes. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Yes,” he said.
My own shoulders relaxed. I hadn’t realized how tense they’d been. “Thank you. A moment while I check, if you please.”
Windsor Forest was an old wood and had been bound to Tír na nÓg long ago, though not by me. I put my hand to an alder tree and concentrated, searching for the tether that would allow me to shift away. It was there, strong and vibrant, waiting to take me wherever I wished. I breathed a soft sigh of contentment.
“Excellent,” I said. “I will bring the huntresses back and allow them the opportunity to end their hunt of me and my companions. If they refuse to end it, then I hope you will understand that I cannot release them.”
Neither of the sky gods had a problem with this, to my surprise. “On her own head be it,” Jupiter said.
I asked Albion to bring up Artemis first. When the rock and clay cleared away from her face, she was even more ready than before to swear an end to it all.
“Pride and arrogance led me to overstep my provenance,” she said, addressing me without prompting. “I should have been more modest and attentive to my own responsibilities than to take another’s grievance as my own. I have lost my hounds and my dignity as a result.”
“Fairly spoken,” I said. I proposed the oath to her and asked her to swear it before Zeus, who stepped clearly into her view, boner and all. Artemis winced in disgust when she saw it pressing against the fabric he’d wrapped around his waist, but she swore the oath. I asked Albion to release her completely, and all the earth crumbled away from her body. Hermes descended to put her back together as he had done with Mercury. The Roman messenger had now healed sufficiently to stand, though he wasn’t quite ready to fly yet.