The Olympians Breathe Fire

For eons, dragons ruled over the land from their perches on Mount Olympus. Gifted with a mastery of magic and bodies of insurmountable strength, they coaxed all other life into subservience through the force of awe and threat. From humans, they demanded worship; offerings and sacrifices in exchange for benevolence. Repressed but ever-relentless, humanity grew, building palaces of their own, houses of learning and the arcane. Dragons, although the undisputed masters, were no longer the sole wielders of magic.

Ares, insulted by growing human power, inspired his fellow dragons to war by framing human advancements in magic as a threat to dragon dominance. Although not all dragons rallied to his cause, none openly opposed him. At Olympus, his influence grew daily, and among humans, fire and blood reigned in his wake. Only the indifference of Zeus spared humanity. The War of Dominion had begun.

Although human heroes were outmatched, there was hope. A prophecy danced among survivors’ lips like a prayer. At Delphi, the Oracle foretold that on the night that the first dragon was slain by human hand, a child would be born with the Pulse of a dragon.

This child would have the power to end the war.

***

The night was starless, obscured by dark clouds. There was rain, but no thunder. That was good, Atticus thought. All hope dies when the thunder comes.

The party rode hard, pushing their horses as fast as they would allow. Despite the heavy night, the valley danced in orange, and behind them, the horizon was aglow in sunless sunset. Athens was burning to the ground and all the rain in Greece couldn’t have extinguished it. Looking over his shoulder, Atticus saw the dragon above the city. Ares parted the sky with every beat of his great wings, plumes of fire twisting around his crimson mass, wearing the smoke of Athens like a crown.

“He’s bigger than the Parthenon…” Alexei muttered weakly. His voice was faint with exhaustion.

Atticus considered his companion and spurred his horse even faster. If they could make it to Mount Parnassus they could take refuge in the caves and be safe for the time being. If. He could see from Alexei’s pale face that he wouldn’t be able to mask the child’s Pulse for much longer. For the hundredth time, he thought what a shame it was that power must be so loud. In Athens, there were six Magi dedicated day and night to weaving a spell to hide the Pulse. They would be teachers in Magic when the child was old enough. Now it was only Alexei, sapped from the effort of the facade, riding with the young child in his lap, the other five left to defend the city against Ares. They failed and were burning with the rest of it.

“Atticus, I’m sorry…” Alexei said.

“Be strong, Alexei!” Atticus yelled. Alexei swayed in his saddle and fell off of his horse, bringing the child down with him.

“No!” Atticus wheeled his horse, and though the dragon was a great distance away, he was confident of what he saw. From above the ruins of Athens, Ares’ was looking straight into his eyes.

“He’s fainted, my lord,” One of his men said.

“And the child?”

“Unhurt.”

“Throw the Magi on your horse until he wakes. Give me the child. We must move.”

“Did you see him, my lord? Did you see the Red One look upon us?”

Atticus saw the terror in the faces of his men. “Need I remind you all,” he yelled, “what happened the LAST TIME A DRAGON LOOKED UPON ME?” He raised his spear above his head. It was the legendary Glyfis, forged by the Cyclops from precious metal stolen from Hephaestus’ hoard. It was the only weapon that had ever tasted a dragon’s blood, the spear Atticus had used to kill Deimos. His men roared.

“Now ride, men, ride! We have the future in our hands!” Atticus hollered. His speech roused the men but did nothing to inspire himself. Deimos wasn’t Ares. He knew what fate awaited them once the Red One was upon them. He knew, too, that they would never make it to Parnassus.

Ares crashed down upon a hill beside them, sending the slope tumbling down. It was as if a mountain had fallen from the sky and collided with the earth. Boulders flew among the horses as the first plumes of fire broke through the trees. Alexei woke, screaming, as he was encompassed in flame along with the soldier and horse carrying him. With a shrieking battle cry, half of the men rushed up the slope in a desperate attack to slow Ares. I wish it hadn’t come to this, Atticus thought, but we can’t lose the child. He broke off of the main road, riding through the woods with the remainder of his party. Echoes of death sang from the slope behind them. The forest opened into a clearing, and Atticus slowed his horse.

“This will do. Men, I don’t issue this command lightly. But I don’t need to remind you what we fight for today. Go, heroes, and etch your names into stone.”

“And you, my lord?” One of his men asked.

“I will meet you there or meet you on the Styx, but I must deal with the child,” Atticus replied. The man nodded and rode off.

Atticus dismounted and laid the child in the long grass. Flames flew over the treetops, intermittently bathing the clearing in firelight. He could hear the screams of his men, the pummeling of Ares’ colossal limbs on the forest floor. Atticus took an amulet off of his neck and put it over the child’s. It was a simple wooden piece, adorned with a carving of a dragon’s wing.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said to himself. “I hope your word is worth more than your jewellery, dragon.” He got on his knees. He may not be a Magi, may not be able to cast even the simplest of spells, but he could pray.

Before he rose he kissed his fingertips and touched them to the child’s forehead. He noticed that despite everything, the child didn’t cry. In fact, he looked calm.

“Perhaps you will grow to be a hero after all, young Elias,” Atticus said. The two halves of the prophecy regarded each other. The man who had done the impossible and slayed a dragon, and the child born because of it. Elias’ pudgy face broke into a smile. Atticus sighed and laid his legendary spear in the grass beside the child.

“Believe it or not, you’ll need this even more than I do.”

Atticus mounted his horse and rode toward his fate.

***

“Look, half-sister, I’m playing stork,” Hermes said.

“Hermes…” A voice rumbled.

“I think you two will get along,” Hermes said, landing gracefully in the alpine meadow. He placed Elias on a boulder. “I’ll leave him right here for you to get acquainted.”

“He’s loud,” Athena said. She had been sleeping, coiled amidst a centuries-old temple dedicated to her by worshippers of days past. The two dragons stood in stark contrast. Hermes was silver, sleek, one of the smallest of their kind but possessing magic that allowed him to fly at an unearthly speed. Athena, on the other hand, was over two hundred feet long, with ebony scales and a giant head upon a neck that snaked slowly as she absorbed the world around her. She emerged from the pillars and moved towards the boy. Elias was crying but stopped when he saw Athena hovering over him. His blue eyes swam with curiosity and lost themselves in the great dragon’s bottomless gaze. Like any creature attuned, Athena felt the child’s Pulse, and as it coursed through the meadow she thought: the Oracles were right after all.

“So this is the boy behind my brother’s rage. Tell me, Hermes, how did he come into your possession?”

“I found him. In the forest.”

“Be serious,” she snarled.

“Oh keep it fun, Athena. The Dragonslayer called for me. When I arrived, there was the boy, all alone, wearing my amulet.”

“So you brought him to me? You’ve never been so sympathetic to humans before. Why not bring him to Ares? Or introduce him to your maw?”

“I owed the Dragonslayer a favour,” Hermes said as he took to the air. “That reminds me,” he added, “he also left this, for the child. Be careful, it’s sharp.”

Hermes released Glyfis from his claws, and the spear embedded itself into a boulder as it landed.

“Where do you think you’re going, Hermes!” Athena bellowed, but it was too late. Hermes disappeared in a flash of silver light that lit up the mountainside. In the darkness, she traced the outline of Glyfis with her talon.

“Poor Atticus.”

With Hermes gone, the meadow felt calm. And then Elias began crying again. He was rolling over on the boulder, crawling for the edge. That’s a stupid plan, little one, Athena thought. You won’t escape me, if that’s what you’re trying. Elias slipped on the stone and fell over the edge. Athena caught him in her giant hand and sighed.

“It seems to be that I am stuck with you,” Athena said to the child, “and you are stuck with me. Funny, isn’t it? But fitting, too.” Elias didn’t reply but stared back warily at the colossal being talking to him. Athena’s eyes lit up in a smile. What her father would think if he saw her.

Oh well, she thought. We’ll just have to keep it our secret.

***

Athena’s meadow was nestled in the great heights of Mount Taléton, isolated from the rest of Greece except for a steep and sometimes treacherous footpath that led to the village of Arna, far below. From there a man named Leonus visited, once a week, to bring supplies and consult with Athena. He was the only human, aside from Elias, welcome in the meadow. Occasionally Hermes would appear out of nowhere and bring news of Olympus. For the rest of the time, it was just the two of them.

As he grew older, Elias’ fair hair was replaced with curly brown locks. His blue eyes never lost their childlike curiosity, and much like the dragon that taught him, he absorbed his world with zest. His days were spent learning the wisdom of the world; how to turn herbs into potions and ointments, how to scale the cliffs of Taléton and run among boulders like a mountain lion. At nights, Athena would conjure a fire, and as they lounged around it, tales rolled out of her man-sized teeth like scripture. She told him of the first War of Dominion when dragons fought for control of the land against behemoths known as Giants.

“Bigger than you?” Elias asked.

“Yes, even bigger than me. But not as smart,” Athena winked.

She told him of Atticus, who snuck into the Caverns of Edrus and stole precious metal from Hephaestus’ glittering hoard. Who stuffed a goat with rope and fed it to the Cyclops, then when the rope was stuck between its teeth, offered Hephaestus’ metal so that the Cyclops could forge a toothpick, which Atticus named Glyfis and used to kill the dragon Deimos.

“Atticus must have been very clever,” Elias said.

“You’re right. He was,” Athena replied sadly.

She told him of the dragons. Of her father Zeus, and her brother Ares. Of Hera, her mother, the only one her father would listen to. Of the mountain they lived upon.

“What’s it look like?” Elias asked.

“Olympus? I think it's an ugly place. They may have covered it in heaps of gold, but it will always be no better than how my father found it; a pile of rocks fit for sitting and keeping track of his children.”

“If it’s so ugly, why does he live there?”

Athena laughed. “Because it’s the only mountain that won’t crumble beneath him. Now go to sleep, and stop asking so many questions.”

During the spring of his eighth year on Taléton, he was exploring a stream that danced in and out of the rocky slopes. He followed it from the temple and down the mountain until the plants were less sparse and the ground was more level. Here, the forest flourished. Wildflowers sprouted from the bases of fir and pine, and the scent of lavender and thyme filled the air. Animals, who never braved Athena’s meadow, played among the bushes and drank from the stream. He recognized the herb charisia, one of the dozens Athena had taught him about, which could be boiled with cow’s milk and enchanted into a love potion.

He was gathering herbs for Leonus to bring to the village when a shadow passed over. Athena blocked out the sun while she circled, slowly descending into an open patch next to the stream. Eagerly, Elias ran to greet her.

“Hello, Elias,” she said. She ran a bloody talon through the stream and wiped it clean in the long grass. Athena preferred the thrill of the hunt over the lazy gorging most of her brethren partook, simply plucking from the offerings demanded by humans that she saw as no better than theft. Elias watched as the trail of blood ran with the current, through his own reflection, painting the smooth stones red for a moment and then dispersing as fast as it had come. It may have been an intimidating sight, for a child not raised by a dragon.

“What do you see?” Athena asked.

“Whatever is left of your breakfast,” Elias said.

Athena laughed. “Look closer, Elias.”

Elias looked into the stream once more. He saw the grays, browns and greens of the smooth rocks. He saw the tufts of grass sprouting from the shallowest sections, reaching for drier land. His reflection bubbled with the water, distorting and dancing under his eye.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” he said.

“Just focus,” Athena responded quietly.

Elias focused harder on the stream. He saw tiny fish, swimming through the water in schools that coursed like nearly-transparent snakes. A patch of dirt, only as big as the tip of his pinkie finger, broke off of the bank and dissolved in a humble display of erosion. He focused even more intently, and the stream’s bubbling started slowing, leveling, and becoming clearer. Suddenly it wasn’t moving at all. He noticed his own reflection, as perfect as if he was looking in a mirror, and gasped.

“I believe, little one,” Athena said, “that you just did your first bit of real magic.”

Elias looked back at the stream but it was flowing normally once more. His body felt warm, like he had sipped a hot drink, except the feeling started in the soles of his feet and seeped upwards.

“Do you know why we can use magic, Elias?”

“No,” he said. He was still shocked by the stream.

“It is because we are not just on this world, we are of this world. Take this pine tree. You can see it, its trunk reaching skyward, needles grabbing for the sun. And you know it has roots below, snaking through the soil. But it doesn’t stop there, at the tip of its roots. The Pulse of this pine continues, reaches farther through the ground and up my legs, into my blood. I can feel this pine. It hums. Everything does.”

Elias put his small hand on the tree’s trunk. He felt the rough texture of the wood against his soft palm. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on nothing but the tree. And there it was; subtle, hidden under the surface of the senses, but there. He felt the Pulse of the pine. He smiled.

“I feel it, Athena!” He exclaimed.

“Of course you do, Elias,” a grin spread across Athena’s ebony features. “Now, feel for my Pulse.”

It was like he had been looking at the world with his head underwater, and only now came up for air. Athena’s whole being sang, echoed throughout the forest floor and off of the very walls of Taléton. The trees, the flowers, and the long wild grasses around the stream all leaned towards her like sunflowers to the sun. He realized that her Pulse had been around him all this time, and his surprise was replaced with a warm familiarity.

“Athena you are… so powerful,” Elias said.

“Thank you,” Athena arched her long neck so that her head, three times as tall as the child before her, was only a few feet from Elias’ awestruck figure. “You don’t know this, Elias, but your Pulse is almost as powerful. It’s what makes you so special. And it gets stronger every day.”

Elias looked bewildered. How could he be anywhere near as loud as the giant dragon in front of him?

“It’s true. Elias, Pulse is where all magic comes from. Everything around you moves with it. Being able to feel this vibration around us is what allows us to manipulate it. Casting spells is more than just knowing what words to use, it's showing your environment what you want it to do, like what you just did with the stream. We do that with our Pulse. Much like flirtation, magic is less about what you say, and more about how you say it.”

The joke went over Elias’ head. “Sorry, Athena?”

“Oh, never mind. You’ll understand when you’re older. Now let us get back to the temple. All of a sudden, we have much to talk about.”

***

Hermes’ arrival was like lightning in daylight.

“I have news,” the silver dragon said. Elias thought Hermes seemed almost frantic, his usually arrogant composure replaced by an earnestness he hadn’t seen.

“Yes?”Athena said. Elias could tell she noticed it as well. They had been practicing Pulse-hiding when he arrived, and her joyousness disappeared instantly.

“It’s Zeus. He’s called a meeting and commands you to be there.”

“At Olympus? I haven’t been there in decades, what could be so urgent?” Athena asked. Elias tried to stay ambiguous; he wanted to know what was happening, and they didn’t usually talk when he was around.

“Ares has been spreading rumours. That you’re harbouring the boy.”

“And my father believes them?” Athena huffed.

“I can’t be sure. All I know is that if you don’t go to Olympus, they plan to come here.”

Athena growled, and Elias could see flame growing in her maw. She was pacing amongst her temple ruins, the ground shaking with each step. Elias could feel her anger rolling through the mountain.

“My brother, the fool,” flames licked the air with each of her words, “he rallies our kind to a banner of hate, greed and ignorance.”

“Does this mean Zeus is siding against my kind?” Elias spoke up.

Athena noticed him and seemed to cool a little.

“No. I don’t think so. But if he finds you here, with me, it won’t do us any favours.” She sighed, and turned her attention to Hermes. “When is the meeting?”

“Tonight.”

“Then we have no choice. I must be off. Elias,” she turned her long neck towards him so they were only a few feet apart. “You will be safe here. Leonus will arrive shortly; ask him to stay with you until I return. I won’t be able to hide your Pulse when I’m gone, but if Ares and Enyo are at Olympus, it shouldn’t matter.”

“I’ll be okay,” Elias said. “I can take care of myself now.”

“I know.” Athena touched her snout against Elias’ outstretched hand.

“Be good, little one,” she said as she took to the air.

***

Leonus lunged, the tip of his spear surging forwards. Elias dodged to the right and stabbed for Leonus’ chest. Leonus parried, swinging the back of his spear down hard through the air in an arc that Elias blocked with the shaft of his spear. They continued exchanging blows in a flurry of motion, dancing among the rocks of Athena’s meadow. Leonus was stronger, but Elias was fast, his lithe body elegant and fluid in its movements. After years of training, they were almost equally matched.

“Getting tired, old man?” Elias taunted as he struck forward.

“Not too tired to kick your prophetic ass,” Leonus said as he jumped towards him. Elias laughed and rolled backwards, running behind a boulder. Leonus followed but Elias wasn’t on the other side.

“I said no magic!” Leonus called.

“You didn’t say no climbing!” Elias yelled, and leapt from the top of the boulder. They crashed together and rolled in a heap. Laughing and panting, Leonus helped Elias up from the rocky ground.

“You’re getting faster,” Leonus said as he stretched and cracked his back.

“Fast enough for her to let me use the spear?” Elias gestured to Glyfis. It was still stuck in the boulder, in the same place Hermes had dropped it fourteen years before. Sometimes, when Athena was out hunting, Elias would try to dislodge it from the rock, but it would never budge.

“Soon, I have no doubt,” Leonus said. “I’ll put in a good word for you when she returns.”

Elias grew anxious at the mention of Athena. It had been three days since Hermes materialized in the clearing bringing Zeus’ call to Olympus. She should have been back by now.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” Leonus said, noticing the concern. “Why don’t you collect some wood so we can get started on dinner.”

There was plenty of dry wood on the outskirts of Athena's meadow, but Elias roamed further down the mountain. He craved time alone to think. His entire life had been this mountain; he was fifteen now, and fourteen of those years he spent here. The first year, of course, he didn’t remember, but Athena said he had been swaddled by Athenians. Back when there had been an Athens. Part of him longed for Athena to return so that life would settle into its usual rhythm, but another part, a deeper part, hoped that this was the start of something. Leonus had told him about the prophecy. Each day, as his powers and prowess grew, the restlessness in him grew with it.

Elias stepped through a bunch of ferns and found himself among the stream from years ago. He looked into his reflection, stopping the water in place to create a perfect mirror. How easy that has become, he thought.

Nearby footsteps intruded upon his thoughts.

“Leonus?” He called.

He listened carefully. Among the trees, near the trail, he heard men stalking. They were quiet, but not nearly as stealthy as the wildlife Elias grew up hunting. He made out two, then three, then four individuals. Elias crouched low and hid among the ferns. All at once, the noises stopped. Elias held his breath. He thought his heart might burst out of his chest.

Then an arrow ripped through the fern inches from his ear.

“LEONUS!” Elias yelled. He was sprinting up the hill in an instant. Behind him, wild laughter burst from the forest. Arrows cracked against the stones at his feet. He crashed through the trees into the open alpine, the top of Athena’s temple visible over the ridge. Seconds later four men emerged behind him in full chase. He saw them knocking new arrows.

“LEONUS!” Elias pumped his legs harder, running for the temple. Behind him his assailants scrambled up the slope, laughing maniacally the whole time, their purple robes billowing behind them. Elias made it to the meadow, and a spear flew from Leonus’ hand and struck one of the men in the chest.

“Get in the temple!” Leonus commanded.

“No! I stand with you,” Elias replied. He took a stance next to Leonus, his sandals bracing in the dust as he faced his opponents. Leonus sighed and gave Elias the remaining spear, drawing a short sword from his belt.

The attackers didn’t slow but ran headlong into battle. Two of them converged on Leonus. Elias faced a large man, whose meaty face contorted with every strike and grotesque laugh. Although much stronger, the man was no match for Elias’ training and natural grace. Elias dodged his haphazard assault easily, and once an opening presented itself, thrust his spear into the man’s stomach. Blood pooled onto the purple robe and the man crumpled forward, landing in a heap on the rocky ground.

“FOR DIONYSUS!”

The yell pierced through the alpine meadow and echoed off of Taléton’s walls. The remaining attacker pulled from his robes a bushel of blood-red grapes. He bit into them furiously, their juices spilling down his face in crimson streaks. His eyes glazed over and his face cracked into a wicked smile as the enchanted grapes took hold. Leonus rushed him with his sword, but the man landed a kick against his chest with inhuman speed and strength that sent Leonus sprawling. He turned on Elias, a guttural laugh gurgling out of his horrific features. Elias threw his spear, but the man beat it aside effortlessly with his axe. Elias stuck a hand out behind him.

“Glyfis,” he said, willing the spear from the boulder. The man was getting closer, the sound of his axe dragging on the rocks mingling with his twisted cackle. Elias closed his eyes and focused his Pulse on pulling the weapon towards him.

“GLYFIS!” He yelled. The boulder erupted in an explosion of stone, and the spear ripped through the air. Elias had meant to catch it, but instead leapt out of the way as Glyfis barreled past him. The laughing man raised his axe at the last moment, but Glyfis cut the weapon like a blade of grass and embedded itself in the man’s chest.

Elias stayed on the ground for a moment, panting. Freeing Glyfis from the boulder had sapped his strength. He got to his feet slowly, dusting off his tunic. The purple-clad man was frozen in a smile, half-standing, draped over the spear stuck in his chest. Leonus limped over.

“Revellers of Dionysus,” he said. “A cult of fanatics. The dragon bends their wills with magic. They’ll do anything he bids.”

“How did they know I was here?” Elias asked.

“I don’t know. But if they know where to find us, we aren’t safe here any longer.”

“What about Athena?” Elias asked.

“Athena won’t be coming home.” The voice didn’t come from Leonus.

“Did you hear that?” Elias asked.

“What, more of them?” Leonus said wearily.

“No, someone said some-”

“He won’t hear me, child. I’m talking to you.” The voice reverberate through Elias’ skull, bouncing around his mind, but he didn’t know where it was coming from. It sounded gruff, threatening but also vaguely amused. “And wise old Athena? She never even made it to Olympus to sit on her daddy’s lap.” Leonus looked at him blankly, obviously not hearing the voice. Closing his eyes, Elias focused on the Pulses around him. There were the usual vibrations of the mountain; the firs and pines, the goats and mountain lions, but something hummed above all of it. A loud presence, discordant with nature, erratic and violent and demanding to be felt. Not as strong as Athena, but stronger than anything else he had encountered.

“He’s here, Leonus,” Elias said, pulling the bloodied Glyfis out of the reveller’s body.

“Dionysus is here.”