Updates from Mount Olympus

Long after his time as king of Pylos had ended, and the position was taken by another, King Nestor sat beneath the olive trees, his hands trembling as he read the message brought by his healers.

The message was clear:
A sickness stirred within him—a sickness born of time, that unchecked for too long, was already part of him, embedded in his bones.

He did not cry out.
He merely set the message aside and stared at the horizon, where the sun had always risen—slow, steady, inevitable, like fate.

The news reached the rest of the world soon enough. It is not possible to hide this information from the world.

In his sky-high palace of gold and storm, Zeus raised an eyebrow.

“Nestor?” he said, as he lounged on his throne, ideas forming in his head. “Still breathing? I thought time had claimed him already. That mind of his has been going for long enough.”

He laughed, a sound like thunder, and called for his scribes.

“Send word. Tell the people that the former king’s candle is sputtering.”

But Nestor wouldn’t go down without a fight. He met with the descendants of Hygeia, daughter of Asclepius. They spoke of treatments, of ways to manage his condition, but Nestor interrupted them with a raised hand.

“I am not afraid of this. I have had a long life, and I have carried heavier burdens—Troy, the Calydonian Boar hunt, journeying with Jason. This too, I will carry.”

Some debated whether a man should still assist the public, while ailing. Some thought he should withdraw—as they had thought for a long time—while others admired his fortitude. Warriors, in particular, said a leader who limps cannot truly lead. But philosophers noted he could still be wise as his body failed, even if he couldn’t dispense wisdom without first telling a story about how that particular wisdom had aided him in his youth.

But Zeus, seeing opportunity, began his own campaign.

“Look at the old man!” he shouted to the mortals below. “He forgets names, he limps through speeches, and now he battles a sickness of the loins. Is this who you want guiding the ship of state?”

He cast lightning—not at Nestor, but around him—hoping the fearmongering would be enough.

But on the day of the assembly, Nestor stood before the gathered kings and commoners. His voice, though softer than in youth, didn’t waver.

“I am unwell,” he said. “But illness does not strip a man of his honor.”

He looked up, not to the gods, but to the people.

As he said this, Zeus watched from above, his arms crossed in disapproval.

He did not smile.

Nestor had not fallen.
He had not hidden.
He had spoken.

When asked later what he thought of Nestor’s speech, Zeus scoffed.

“Let the old man talk. He’s not the storm.”

It wasn’t that long after the death of Tiresias that Zeus decided to
take more opportunities. The fires on Olympus still burned hot with
his ambition, as did the fires in the forge of his son, who he put to
work making gifts for his trip. An important trip, in which he would
strike deals for his own gain.

For word had reached him from the desert kingdom beyond the Pillars of
Heracles, where oil, gas and minerals were abundant in the sand. He
called this land Araby, the new land of opportunity, where he would
one day carve a palace from glass and oil.

He waited two weeks to let the excitement of his actions at Tiresias’
funeral die down, and then called forth his chariot and summoned his
horses.

“It is time to remind the world who rules the sky,” he said to
Hephaestus as he took the gifts and left. In his mind, the deal had
already begun.

When Zeus arrived in Araby only a day later, the local kings met him
not with spears, but with splendor. The high king of Araby bowed low
and presented him with a gift. It was a sword gilded with gold
filigree, a symbol of alliance, meant not for war, but for display to
show their partnership.

Zeus, flattered, roared with laughter. “They know how to host a god.”

The next day, in the halls of commerce, Zeus and the country’s
officials bartered not in money, but in plans. Zeus demanded that more
money be invested in Olympus, but also promised to gift hundreds of
flight capable chariots to the people of Araby—provided, of
course—that they paid full price for them, as was proper. And later,
he brought sorcerers and sages—thinkers and doers, conjurers of
artificial minds—who signed scrolls to provide truly intelligent
thinking and data storage to the rulers of Araby. He also swore he
would lift the curse—a longstanding sanction—on a neighboring realm
newly ruled by a younger prince, declaring: “They’ve changed. I know
this. It’s time we trade again.”

His actions and promises were recorded. The ink had barely dried
before new announcements echoed through the land.

At night, Zeus held court atop a tower of polished obsidian, flanked
by rulers and commoners alike.

He spoke not of peace, nor prophecy—but of the “greatness” of past
eras he sought to revive. He told tales of how he alone could do this.
And to the crowds, he asked for support, in the form of an order.

“Who among you will be part of my age of prosperity?”

Back on Mount Olympus, the other gods watched uneasily.

Prometheus gave a frown that may have been a smile, as he whispered,
unheard by the others.

“He’s not a god. He’s a merchant in robes.”

And the mortals cheered. The desert shimmered with promises bearing
the name Zeus. And somewhere, a new monument was carved—not to virtue,
but to victory.

Some said he had bought the favor of leaders.
Others said he sold the futures of the unborn.

But all agreed:
Zeus had come not to conquer—but to trade.
And in doing so, he left behind only his own brand.

It came that well into spring, the world was shaken by the death of the seer Tiresias. A truth-teller, a man who had known so much in his time, someone who even the gods asked the advice of, was now gone. The world paused for a few days to mourn for him, and even the gods looked down in humility.

At least, most of them did.

When Zeus looked down on the world that mourned the lost seer, his eyes shone not with tears, not with sorrow, only with the knowledge that he would soon have an opportunity, the opportunity to spread his ideas among the leaders of the world, when they were all in one place to mourn the man who had brought them all together while alive.

He had nothing against Tiresias, at least not that anyone could confirm or that he’d admit, but he wouldn’t ignore this glorious opportunity that had presented itself so suddenly.

And so it was that on the day of Tiresias’ funeral—held in a sacred place—Zeus arrived dressed differently from the other mourners, dressed in blue instead of the customary black, drawing attention to himself without speaking.

He arrived early, making sure that he was the first thing anyone saw, and the people came to know that he had pulled Athena aside to talk to her about other matters. All anyone knew was that Athena said it was “a good meeting” and that they “discussed a lot”.

While other mourners kept their heads down, Zeus kept his head up. He sat in the front row, not where he should have been, and made sure everyone saw him there. And then he cemented his position as the star of the event by leaving early in a way that ensured everyone would notice.

“Let us honor him,” he proclaimed, “by making deals in his memory!”

A hush fell, as the others clearly had something different in mind.

After the seer was buried, Zeus was reported to be seen mingling with agents who hadn’t come to mourn. He signed contracts with a smile, and suggested to reporters that the focus of the story of the burial should be him, not Tiresias, who of course, was only great in the first place because he advised the king of the gods.

Later that evening, while Zeus was alone on Olympus, the wind blew through the throne room, but none of the doors opened, all it did was freeze Zeus’ exposed skin and ruffle his hair.

And as it passed, it whispered something new.

“Beware the man who dances on the grave of wisdom.”

“Your time is up now. The world needs power, not wisdom,” Zeus replied unflinchingly.

“I saw beyond power, and I saw you in every warning,” the voice replied as the wind died.

Below the earth, the blind prophet smiled. One day, the truth would come out.

It always does.

In the halls of Olympus, Zeus leaned back upon his throne. His hair shimmered with borrowed lightning to keep the others out of the hall for his privacy, and his voice, as he whispered to himself, echoed with the power that he knew had made the Titans fear him.

But all that power didn’t comfort him now. His mind was, at the moment, occupied by another storm, a rare storm, a storm he didn’t often feel and never admitted to feeling.

A storm of doubt.

He had, on the advice of someone who had betrayed him and made up for it once, elevated a mortal who had rejected his son to a seat of influence among her people. It had been a smart move, as she knew the future and he knew how to make them believe her. The prophetess Cassandra, her tongue sharp with knowledge, would be their new secretary of health. He had known this would upset his son, but no decision pleases everyone. And Zeus was king of the gods, not Apollo.

“The world has changed,” he had declared. “We need a different way of looking at it. And she was ideal for the job.”

But now, Cassandra had stood before the assembly and called sugar—the sweet ambrosia of modern feasts—“poison of the plebs.”

The Senate had gasped. The people who received the news later had trembled. Merchants of artificial sweeteners had whispered curses as they predicted the end of their businesses.

“Poison,” she repeated, “It feeds not the body, but the market. It fattens not the people, but the profits of those who package addiction in pretty colors.”

Zeus felt the weight of the storm in his gut. He had chosen her because she spoke the truth, spoke boldly, and sowed chaos among his enemies. But now? She had turned her fire toward the temples of comfort and commerce—his temples.

And worse still: she might be right.

This simply would not do. Not for him.

He turned as he heard the door open and saw his sister Demeter enter. This was a surprise, at the coming of spring she usually stayed on Earth to meet her daughter, her hands among her plants, her ears listening to the whispers of hopeful mortals and shifting roots.

“Zeus, I’ve been informed by our brother that the road out of his home has been blocked, and it can’t get open for another week at least. Tell him he cannot do this, my daughter is due back today.”

“Demeter, I cannot do this right now. I have my own problems to deal with.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he raised his hand for silence.

 “Demeter,” he continued, “Cassandra speaks her visions again—this time against sugar. She says it is poison. I gave her a trusted position, and this is how she repays me. What shall I do now?”

Demeter smirked. “You regret promoting her because her words offend the rich?” she asked. “Or because you see her becoming a mirror to your own excessive desires?”

Zeus flinched as if struck—by the truth. He started to lift a thunderbolt but stopped when she spoke again.

“She just might be the oracle the people need.” She continued. “I may have a solution that will keep me busy even after Persephone gets back.” She took a breath and continued.

“If sugar is poison, then give the people their cure. Build gardens. Community gardens among empty spaces in the neighborhoods. Sow herbs where there is nothing now. Let the people grow food instead of buying it wrapped in needless packaging. It will encourage community pride, make people part of something, and keep them moving and fit. Let children see where life comes from. Let communities break bread they kneaded themselves.”

Zeus nodded slowly, the storm in him quieting.

“A community garden,” he murmured. “A thousand of them.”

“A million,” Demeter replied.

And so the word went out from Olympus: where there were parking lots, let there be rows of peas; where there were sugar carts, let there be berry bushes. Cassandra remained in the government, as fierce as ever, and though many still scorned her visions, they grew tomatoes with her warnings in mind.

And Zeus? He never had to say aloud that he had been wrong.

“No, no, he cannot do this! Enough is enough!” The angry man reached for the vase on the table and flung it across the room to watch it shatter and leave a dent in the wall.

Behind him, his comrade reached out a hand to steady him. “Menelaus, we cannot openly defy the gods. Remember what happened when they wouldn’t let us leave for Troy?”

Menelaus snarled as he turned on Odysseus. “They made my brother sacrifice his daughter. And he did. They made up rumors about foreigners eating cats and dogs. Have you ever eaten a dog!”

“No, I loved my dog. He was so loyal, he waited for me for so long. The first thing I did after coming back from my father’s house was give him a funeral.” But Menelaus didn’t seem to have heard him. He was still ranting.

“Now they want even more from us. We can’t live without the wheat that comes from Asia, and they want us to pay more for it. Not to mention all the machines that we’ve been using to create ways of growing our own in this rocky land. They’re making feeding ourselves more trouble than it’s worth. Zeus may be the god of gods, but I cannot support this choice. Sparta cannot afford the taxes.”

“That’s not going to be a problem,” replied Odysseus, his voice soothing and full of confidence. “We can get around this. There are legitimate ways to get out of paying taxes.”

Menelaus’ eyes narrowed. “We trusted your plan to defeat those thieves who spat on our honor, and it worked. I’ll trust you again now. What do you have in mind?”

Odysseus smiled. “We send a large certain shipment of the machine parts that don’t go together to Miami. We don’t pay the import tax on it, so it’ll get impounded. When it gets impounded, it is retained for a certain amount of time and then sold at auction. Tell me, Menelaus, what kind of person actually wants a large shipment of legal machine parts that don’t go together and can’t be sold on the black market?”

“No one,” Menelaus responded. “It takes up too much space and can’t be used for anything productive.” His eyes went wide. “So we’ll win it with an extremely low bid! And we’ll do the same for the other shipments of machine parts, send shipments that are useless without something else no one has, not pay the tariff, and get them with a low bid at auction, then we’ll bring them together and assemble them. We are kings, we have the resources to find what auction they will be sold at. And we are Greeks, we can build anything!”

“It’s how we built the horse,” Odysseus replied, smiling as Menelaus figured out the plan. “Once we have the machines, we’ll use them to grow the wheat ourselves. We’ll need less from Asia, even less on the tariffs.”

“Are you worried about angering the gods again, that didn’t work out so well for you last time?”

“No, no it didn’t,” Odysseus said, shuddering at the memory. “But I praise Athena and Hermes for making me clever enough to come up with this plan, and since I’m home now, I don’t think they can try making my way back hard again.”

From Olympus, Zeus watched with anger and concern as the mortals made their plans to thwart his progress while still showing him the necessary respect. Behind him Prometheus, who was done supporting him after the balance of power had shifted, smiled as the tables turned.

The halls of Olympus trembled with the sound of Zeus’s voice. The great god of the sky lounged comfortably upon his throne, thunder curling contentedly around his fingers. Athena stood before him, arms crossed, her storm-gray eyes blazing with fury. Below them, on the mortal plane, an army stood on the edge of destruction—her army, warriors who had prayed to her for wisdom and courage, now abandoned to the mercy of fate.

“The invaders wouldn’t honor their side of the agreement…” she continued.

“Daughter, this is not my concern, and it is disrespectful for you to come here and demand I do something about it when you are forcing younger men to partake in the army, without the choice, simply as conscripts.”

“Have you even taken part in…”

“I’ve seen it all from Olympus,” Zeus cut her off again. “I enjoy keeping tabs on my favorite daughter. And I know you and these people you favor have had difficulties getting new conscripts for their army.”

“It’s war, father, everyone has problems. Including you. These people worship you, the invaders do not. There are a lot less of them now. You don’t feel it now, but you will…”

“Don’t tell me what I’m going to feel. You came to me for help solving your problem. You are in no position to dictate what I’m going to feel.”

Athena continued as though he hadn’t interrupted. “If this doesn’t happen, you’re going to feel it.”

Zeus leaned forward, his golden crown glinting in the firelight. “Is that a threat, daughter?”

“It’s a fact,” Athena shot back. “You think you can sit up here and ignore this? If you don’t act, Olympus itself will suffer the consequences. You cannot refuse to help them.” Athena demanded, her voice cutting through the charged air. “You are going to feel very…”

Zeus interrupted yet again. “Don’t tell me how I’m going to feel,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m going to feel very good. You have to be thankful that I’m even listening to you after the others you spoke to gave you the opportunity to stop the war. You are not in a good position. You do not hold the cards.”

Athena tried to make a point, but her father went on. “You are gambling with the worst war this world will ever see. And what you are doing is disrespectful to me, and to the people, after I’ve backed you for so long.”

Athena clenched her jaw. “Do you really think that speaking loudly about…”

Zeus picked up the talk immediately. “I am not speaking loudly,” he interrupted sternly. “You’ve done enough talking. Your worshippers are in trouble. They are not winning. You have a chance of survival because of me. If I hadn’t offered my help, they would have already been defeated.” He leaned back. “They are dying. They are running low on men and weapons. You do not have the cards. I gave them the javelins and they know it. I have done enough, and you need to be thankful I’ve done that.”

“You haven’t done enough. They haven’t won, and the fighting only made the invaders more aggressive.”

Athena stepped closer. “This is not just any war. This is justice, Zeus. And you know it.”

Zeus looked away, tapping his fingers against his throne. The clouds outside darkened, as if sensing the unease in their king. “Perhaps,” he murmured, “but my decision stands.”

Athena exhaled sharply. “Then don’t come crying to me when the balance of power shifts. When your name is cursed instead of praised.”

Zeus chuckled. “Let them curse. Let them pray. The storm will pass, as it always does.”

Athena turned to leave. “Not all storms pass. Something tells me this one won’t.” And with that, she vanished, leaving only the echo of her defiance in the halls of Olympus.

---

“What have you done!” Zeus turned to see Apollo approaching him. “Do you even realize what you’ve just done, father!”

Zeus stretched to his full height and looked back at his son. “I’ve done a lot of things for our benefit. I’m sorry that you don’t understand that what I do is necessary, but very bad things are happening, and I am the one the mortals expect to keep them in check. What is it that you think I’ve done wrong?”

“You’ve replaced the successors of my son, the greatest doctor the world has ever known, with that woman I rejected. And she’s telling them to avoid doing the protocols that stop them from being sick, endorsing medical practices that my son showed were phony. You are destroying his legacy!”

“Your son’s time was long ago,” Zeus replied, not changing his tone. “The world has changed, and many of his practices don’t work anymore. We need a different way of looking at it. And she was ideal for the job.”

Apollo shook with rage, then looked away. “Why are they even believing her, I made sure she would never be believed again after she rejected me.”

Zeus responded in a voice that sounded as though he was taking credit for a brilliant idea. “Prometheus emphasized how right she was about Troy, and that if the mortals had listened to her then, a lot more people may have still been alive. They were willing to listen to her after that.” He smiled. “Especially when I told Ares to get Phobos and Deimos to back her words up.” Apollo looked back at his father, the rage returning to his eyes, as the king of the gods continued. “You were the one who told us that regardless of what Paris did, it didn’t justify what the people he wronged did to his entire home. Like I said, the world has changed.”

“That may not be for the better,” Apollo replied glumly.

Apollo looked down as his son’s work was undone. Before long, an outbreak of a disease eradicated in his son’s time occurred in Apollo watched with concern, and knew he had to fight back. He went behind his father’s back to have Hermes send his own messages to the mortals, and the truth of what was happening spread faster than the disease could.

“Outbreak could be perilous for Cassandra”

“Some experts question Cassandra calling outbreak ‘not unusual’”

---

“They have done bad things. Very bad things,” Zeus said to himself as he looked down on the relief organization, Gaia’s Aid, as their leader signed an order to send a contingent across the ocean.

 “Yes, they have,” agreed Prometheus’ voice. Zeus had heard him approach, wondering what he’d want to do this time.

“What do you want,” asked the king of the gods.

“Only to help you,” Prometheus replied. When it looked as though Zeus would protest, he continued on. “I gave them everything they could have needed to rise above the other mortal creatures. Yet they cannot use these gifts properly, the way they were intended. Everything I did for them, everything I suffered for them, and this organization, to only help each other, instead of those who gave them everything, is how they repay me.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Zeus believed him wholeheartedly.

“This organization is a stain on my world. As I have said, they have done bad things. They must go.”

“I already have a plan,” said the Titan of forethought. “I gave them fire and everything they gained from it. I know how they think. And I assure you, they still trust me.” With just the right tone in his cackle, he added “After losing so much for them, so painfully, it’d be hard for them not to.”

Zeus smiled, knowing not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Then get going. I want results immediately.”

“It shall be done, my lord.”

Prometheus wasted no time. As soon as he left Zeus, he set his own plan in motion. By whispering to the people who still remembered him, who knew what he had given for them, the story spread through the population like the Black Plague.

“Gaia’s Aid Laundering Millions! Corruption in Washington: Who Profits From Climate Fear? Follow the Money – Straight Into Their Pockets!”

It didn’t take long for even the most devout to grow doubtful. The clamor of those who just wanted something to be angry about was too loud to be ignored. Prometheus waited for the group to grow large enough. And then, he made his next move.

It took only one year’s worth of knowledge from that advanced computer class he had taken (ok, he had gone above and beyond, but he represented forethought, he knew he’d need it one day) to take down Gaia’s Aid’s website and make sure it wouldn’t be restored any time soon. The organization was thrown off as its members were left unable to access their offices, their resources, or even their emails, from anywhere. Their headquarters were left abandoned until one brave employee tried to get in by breaking a window and was promptly arrested, upon which the building was declared a crime scene, not to be entered while the low-level authorities ran a slow investigation.

On a higher level, the chaos increased. The Senate erupted into debate. They also ran their own investigation over the matter, which struggled to separate the lies from the truth. While it happened, they struggled to keep the organization alive. And unfortunately for their enemies, humanity’s leaders had not been made leaders for nothing.

“We will not let this be the end,” Washington declared. “Not without proof. Not without a fight.”

For the moment, as neither investigation had gathered proof, the organization stood, struggling to maintain itself, but managing, for the moment.

On Olympus, Zeus turned to Prometheus, fury on his face, already raising a thunderbolt. But Prometheus spoke first.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen, perhaps I made them more resilient than they were supposed to be. Or perhaps they learned how to survive without me. No matter, it is only a temporary setback, you know this. You know me.”

Zeus frowned and raised his eyebrows, but lowered his thunderbolt, while still, on Earth, the mortals fought to keep Gaia’s Aid alive.

---

Zeus looked down on the land he wanted. It would be perfect for what he had in mind. He would give it to the richer class. And they would use it for their entertainment, and of course, to worship him. They might even invite him to spend time there. Of course, he’d go anyway, even if they didn’t. There were, after all, perks to being the most powerful one known to mortals. He stroked his tanned face as he imagined everything coming together.

“It’s not the right thing to do,” came the voice. Zeus turned to see Prometheus walking toward him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m coming to point out that you really shouldn’t take that land for yourself. The people there do not want to move. It’s their land, their home.”

“And it will be mine.” He turned to stare at the one who had helped him and betrayed him. “I let you join me when you abandoned your brother and your father. After you betrayed me, and my son freed
you, I let you stay free. And this is how you repay me.”

“I’m trying to help you, Zeus. You let me stay free because I helped you, not because of the goodness of your heart.”
“You’re a man who works by results, and the result is, I let you stay free.”

“And I’m trying to help you now. I guarantee, taking that land for your own private resort of rich worshippers is a very bad idea. So many people will die or lose faith in the process, you will feel it when you notice less burnt offerings, is it really worth it just to have a private place to enjoy yourself among professional ass-kissers?”

“It’s not just that, it’s for me too. And my family and close, personal friends. Besides, the sacrifices are just a show of respect, we don’t actually need them, knowing I have the power is enough. My brother will enjoy it as well.”

“The Rich One does not intend to take part in that. He knows that taking that land is going to mean a lot more work for him just as his wife comes back from work.”

“Yeah, well, it’s in the job description to work hard, if that’s what he’s really concerned about he’s just whining. Besides, we’re not that close, he rarely comes by. I meant my other brother.”

“Zeus, I am warning you. If you use this for your own pleasure, nothing good can come of it.”

Zeus slicked back his hair that he had dyed especially for the occasion, but said nothing.

“You look younger.”

“It’s the treatments.”

Prometheus sighed, and turned to leave. He had known that Zeus wouldn’t agree to stop this ridiculous plan, like he had known that he wouldn’t stop the other project he began that year, but he had to at least try.

---