The Haunting of Guaritori Diolco, Part 7
The Haunting of Guaritori Diolco, Part 7
Hermes--Dead but not Forgotten
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“That’s. . .that’s impossible,” I said, looking away from the silver fire that burned in Thoth’s eyes. “Hermes is immortal.”
“That is what we believed,” said Thoth. “Yet I have received word that his body even now lies dead in Zeus’s throne room on Olympus. The first former Greek god who manages to manifest in this area will come to place you under arrest. We will be more than happy to turn you over.”
“Garth didn’t kill Hermes,” said Urania. She took a step toward Thoth, but the guards, behaving as if she meant harm to him and could conceivably inflict some kind of injury, raised their spears to keep her back. “We were in trouble, and Hermes was running out of magic too fast. Garth, at great risk to himself, offered to host Hermes in his own body, so that Hermes’s magic could regenerate.”
Thoth’s eyes narrowed, and his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “Such a thing might be possible for a short time, but it could not continue for long.”
“And it didn’t,” said Lian. “Garth’s body began failing soon after.”
“That is when Hermes, rather than leave us helpless in a situation in which we might die, endowed Garth with a portion of his power,” said Mateo.
“He was rushed, though,” I said. My voice was shakier than I would have liked, but I persisted. “He told me afterward that his unprecedented effort had unexpectedly reached for power all the way to his body on the Olympian plane, injuring him in the process. He was still weak when I saw him last. But he was recovering. Apollo said he would get better.”
Thoth’s eyes widened until they looked like full moons. “Do you. . .weep for him?”
I wiped the tears off my face. “He was like a friend to me. . .to all of us.”
“Garth is not responsible for what happened to Hermes,” said Mateo. “Garth had been in a coma for the first twenty years after the Catastrophe. When he met Hermes, he knew almost nothing about magic. All he did was offer himself as a host. The rest was a tragic accident.”
“The mortals have a point,” said Ptah, who had just appeared in the doorway. Pharaoh Alksandar was also there, with more guards following him.
“That is if you accept their words as true,” said Thoth. “But we have already been lied to. This one claimed to have healed Garth.” Thoth pointed an accusing finger at Mateo. “But I was watching closely. Garth’s wounds healed themselves. And he has other magic beyond what Hermes could possibly have given him.”
“There is an explanation—” began Mateo.
“You have had your chance to explain,” said Pharaoh. “Clearly, you have not been honest with us. You will be my prisoners until a Greek envoy arrives to claim you.”
“Are they not entitled to a trial?” asked Ptah.
“That is for our Greek brethren to decide,” said Thoth.
“But if they are to be our prisoners, is it not just for us to determine if they deserve such a fate? The ancient Egyptians described you as Thoth, the straight and true. And was not part of your job the determination of the fate of deceased souls? You were trusted with such responsibility for a reason.”
“You are both here in an assistive role only,” said Alksandar, his words hard as steel. “It is my decision to imprison them. You may not interfere.”
“If it is your decision, then at least, hear us out,” said Mateo.
“I have heard enough,” replied Alksandar. He gestured to the guards, who advanced upon us, spears raised.
“We claim diplomatic immunity!” said Urania. “While it is true that you did not invite us, we came in good faith as representatives of the government of New Colchis. I assume that a place as civilized as Alexandria has not abandoned the provisions of international law protecting diplomats.”
“Let us pause for a moment,” said Alksandar to the guards. “Yes, I do acknowledge the principle of diplomatic immunity—but I don’t know if it can be applied to a case of the murder of a. . .being acting as a special servant of God. What say you, Thoth and Ptah? Does international law apply when beings from other planes of existence are involved?”
I was getting a headache, but this time, it wasn’t from overuse of Hermetic magic.
“This is a question on which we cannot easily give advice,” said Ptah. “For there is no precedent to guide us. But from what I have heard, the ruler of New Colchis, Medea, could be a formidable friend—or enemy. Have not enough Egyptians died already? Pragmatically, it seems a mistake to invite another war at this time.”
“New Colchis could never defeat us in a war,” said Alksandar, looking offended at the very thought.
“Perhaps,” said Ptah. “But I hear she has allies among the faerie rulers, possibly also among the former Slavic gods. Her allies may not want to fight us, but we may give them no choice if we fail to deal correctly with her envoys.”
For the first time, Alksandar looked worried. “I see your point, but what of the former Greek gods? It seems we might offend them in this situation. How can we satisfy both New Colchis and the Greeks?”
“Your best course would be to keep Alexandria out of this dispute as much as possible,” said Thoth. “As the conflict’s nature is extraplanar, it could be argued that it is out of your jurisdiction. Let the delegation from New Colchis remains here as your guest until both New Colchis and Olympus send representatives here to argue their respective claims.”
That wasn’t as good a deal as being sent back to New Colchis immediately, but it was better than I might have expected from Thoth, who seemed willing to condemn me on the spur of the moment just a short time ago.
“Argue before whom?” asked Alksandar.
“Ptah, Apep, and I—assuming the chief rabbi is willing to reactivate Apep.”
My heart sank. I had the feeling that Thoth had already made up his mind, and Apep had seemed ready to condemn us on sight. Thoth’s seeming moderation was designed to protect Alexandria, not me.
“As the issue has religious overtones, I would propose adding the patriarch and the chief rabbi,” said Ptah. “We just need to make it clear they are serving in their religious capacity, not as representatives of the government. That will keep Alexandria out of the conflict and perhaps please God at the same time.”
I didn’t know the patriarch, but I was sure Elijah would give us a fair hearing. Maybe the situation wasn’t as dire as I feared.
Pharaoh nodded. “This idea pleases me. If there are no other suggestions, I will adopt this plan.”
Thoth nodded, and everyone else remained silent. No one asked any of us what we thought, but I figured we’d gotten the best deal we were going to get. In any case, it beat rotting in an Alexandrian jail.
“The Greeks could respond more rapidly if we could provide a body for their representative,” said Ptah.
Alksandar frowned. “Not a golem!”
“As long as appropriate oaths of secrecy bind them to silence, there is no danger in offering a golem,” said Ptah. “To the best of my knowledge, no one else has developed a long-term alternative. A Greek manifestation powered only by magic would require enormous amounts of power to continue functioning for long. And anything like an ordinary human body would burn out quickly in such a situation.”
I knew that last part from hard personal experience.
“Very well,” said Alksandar, sounding as if he would rather have all his teeth pulled without anesthetic. “But make sure whichever Olympian responds to our offer understands that the body is only a loan.”
We spent the next four days doing nothing. We stayed in luxurious guest quarters in the palace, and we were well fed, but guards surrounded as at all times, and they were the only other people—the only other sentient beings, in fact—that we ever saw. Alksandar, with an understandable concern about being too involved, made a point of staying away. He had, however, issued an order forbidding any of the designated judges from visiting us, either—or so we were told. In any case, none of them ever came to visit.
It was almost a relief when we were escorted to the hall of justice within the palace. As with most of the other rooms we’d seen, the walls of this one were covered with Hellenistic murals. But this room was different in one respect. At the front of the chamber, towering over the judges’ seats, was an enormous statue of a youngish man, hand-painted well enough that he looked more like a living giant than something carved from wood or stone. Brown-haired and bearded, his head was crowned with a golden halo. He wore a reddish-brown cloak over a white robe. A Coptic cross hung around his neck. In his hands, he held a scroll. Behind him, hovering protectively, was a winged lion as large as the man.
The imagery was unmistakable. This was a statue of Saint Mark, author of the Gospel of Mark and reputed founder of the Alexandrian church. Evident, the Jewish part of society hadn’t been given much input in the room’s design, though I did notice smaller images of Moses holding the ten commandments stood next to each of the two entrances.
The five judges had already been seated when we entered. The center seat was occupied by Patriarch Matthew, who I assumed Pharaoh must have assigned as chief judge. The patriarch looked alert, though he hunched over a bit, as if the weight of all the problems that had developed since the Catastrophe rested on his shoulders. His hair and beard were white, and even from a distance, his skin looked wrinkled. He wore garments that looked somewhat like those a Coptic prelate might have worn for public appearances before the Catastrophe: black headgear that looked like a turban, a black robe with some gold trim, and a Coptic cross, though his was smaller than the one Alksandar wore.
On the patriarch’s right-hand side sat the chief rabbi, dressed as he had been when we first met. Evidently, judicial robes weren’t used in Alexandria. Elijah’s expression was serious, and he didn’t look my way. Just to the right of him sat Ptah, looking almost grim. Either they had taken their roles very much to heart—or they were worried about the outcome.
On the patriarch’s left sat Thoth and Apep. The giant serpent summoner did look at me, his expression openly contemptuous. I was no more than a flea in his eyes, a minor annoyance he would soon be rid of if he could sway the others.
“Guaritori Diolco, come forward,” said the patriarch, pointing to a seat at what I took to be the defense table. “This court is now in session, its purpose to determine your culpability—or lack thereof—in the death of Hermes.” Not sure what the etiquette was for such a situation, I gave him a little bow and sat down, trying not to think of how much my heart rate had sped up.
“The chosen representatives of the contending parties may now enter,” said the patriarch. The side door closest to me opened, and Medea came in. As always, her beautiful features looked as if they had been carved by an ancient Greek sculptor, then brought to life the way Aphrodite had brought Galatea to life in the myth—or maybe it wasn’t a myth. Who could tell these days?
From Medea’s first step into the room, it was clear that she was trying to make a statement. Rather than wearing something more conservative, she wore a robe that best displayed her connection to the former Greek gods. It was the color of a dawn sky on the right side, gradually shifting to the darker shade of the sky just after sunset on the left. The right side featured an image of the sun sewn in golden thread. On the left was the image of a crescent moon sewn in silver thread and surrounded by small stars in an elaborate pattern. Anyone who knew her at all knew that the day side of the robe advertised her descent from Helios, the former sun god, while the night side reminded viewers of her role as a priestess of Hecate, one of the most powerful of former Greek goddesses. In fact, since her ancestors had all been Olympians, she might have been a goddess herself had she wished. But because she had been content to live like a mortal, she wasn’t trapped on another plan of existence or searching for a body through which she could manifest in this world.
Her stride was confident. Her midnight black hair, which she had chosen not to tie, swayed back and forth as she walked. Her face, often expressionless, had the slightest smile that somehow managed to radiate confidence. She nodded to me as if she didn’t have a care in the world, introduced herself to the judges, and took the seat next to me.
I heard the side door on the other side of the room open, and I turned to see which of the former gods had come to represent the Olympians.
The body wouldn’t provide any clues, since it was a golem, just as I had expected. Unlike the former Egyptian gods, their Greek counterparts didn’t have skin colors representing the nature of their powers. And this golem, which Alksandar had been so determined to designate as a “loaner,” had facial features which, though they were symmetrical and pleasing to the eye, were also generic.
The golem’s occupant wore a plain white toga, but he had evidently borrowed a small gold crown from Alksandar. That and the unmistakable power and type of his magic, which flashed like an electrical storm all around him, told me who it was.
Zeus had come in person to argue his case. He glanced at me for just a moment, but his look made me feel as if he had hurled a thunderbolt at me. I nearly fell out of my chair.
Medea was an expert at concealing her emotions, but her small smile vanished when she saw him. I doubted she expected the representative to be an ally like Hecate or an ancestor like Helios. But she might have hoped for someone a little more pliable than the king of the former gods. His every move hinted at his rigid determination. He would not be inclined to listen to reason.
“Zeus, you may address us first,” said the patriarch.
“As your honors are aware, my son is dead,” said Zeus. “And that man is responsible.” He pointed at me in a way that made me want to hide under the table. I felt as if I might be having a heart attack.
“Those of you who can see enough magic to distinguish types will notice that he sits there, flaunting his magic, so much like that of Hermes that there can be no doubt he stole it.”
I was usually careful about concealing my magic as much as possible when I was with strangers, but somehow, it had gotten away from me. Perhaps I was responding instinctively to the implicit threats all around me. But it was too late for me to do anything about that now. Trying to camouflage my power would only make me look more suspicious at this point.
“Objection!” said Medea. “The fact that Garth possesses some of the magic of Hermes doesn’t prove he stole it. In fact, I and others in this courtroom can attest to the fact that Hermes gave his magic freely.”
“Your objection is noted, but the plaintiff has the right to complete his statement before we question it,” said the patriarch, though he didn’t meet Medea’s glaring eyes. “Zeus, you may continue.”
“A god’s. . .a former god’s magic has never before been split in such a way. Eventually, the division caused his death.
“To prove he is dead, and to demonstrate the cause, Hecate has helped me prepare this record, which will hopefully be understandable even to those of you who lack magic.”
Zeus gestured, sparks formed in the air, and gradually, they formed a photorealistic image of Hermes, laid out carefully on a marble bench. His skin was pale, and his chest didn’t move even slightly. He wasn’t breathing.
Next to him stood another former god, golden haired and holding a staff around which a snake twined. That had to be Asclepius, former god of healing.
“None of us believed that we could die,” said Asclepius, trying to sound clinical even though I could hear a hint of grief in his voice. “But I have examined Hermes thoroughly, and no spark of life remains in him. Any treatment I could think of has failed. He has remained this way for hours.
“Even worse, we cannot find his soul. Hence, there is no way to create a new body and put him in it. He is gone.
“As to the cause, Hermes has no wound, no poison, no disease. The only possible cause is the splitting of his magic.”
As Asclepius spoke, a single tear ran down his face. The image dissolved into a thousand sparks and vanished.
After a suitably dramatic pause, Zeus continued.
“As you can see, his death is incontrovertible, as is its cause. All I must do now is answer Medea’s objection. And that is easily enough done. Hermes was trying to help the humans. That much is true. But this person, Guaritori, is not what he seems. I have heard his version of the story. But his claim that Hermes divided his magic to save Guaritori and his allies is not true. It is obvious from even the most casual glance that this man has more magic than that which he got from Hermes. Somehow, he concealed his true power from Hermes, that he might acquire even more, heedless of the cost.”
I found it hard to breathe. I could easily explain about the Philosopher’s Stone—but if I did that, I would become an immediate target. The stone could do many things, but unscrupulous people would see it only as a way to achieve immortality. Revealing that it was somehow merged with me would place my friends and me in considerable danger. At the very least, I’d become someone’s slave—if I didn’t die from someone trying to pull the stone out of me first.
But I could read the faces of the judges well enough. Apep smiled triumphantly. Thoth’s silver eyes looked at me accusingly. The patriarch nodded slightly, though I wasn’t sure he realized it. Elijah refused to meet my gaze. Ptah’s eyes were fixed on where the image of Hermes and Asclepius had been, as if he had been hypnotized by it.
If they had to vote right then, I guessed it would be 5-0 against me, maybe 4-1 if I got extremely lucky. I had no idea what Medea could say to capture three votes and free me.
The patriarch looked in Medea’s direction, presumably to call for her statement, but before he could do so, a pearl-gray glow appeared in the space between the judges and the defense table. I watched, my heart beating steadily faster, as the glow coalesced into a human form.
It was Hermes—no, his ghost, if I was reading the energy correctly.
His face was expressionless, but he slowly raised his right arm, and with a single, trembling finger, he pointed at me. I saw his lips move as if he were saying, “Help me,” and then he vanished.
“What more do you need?” asked Zeus. “The spirit of Hermes himself has condemned the accused. Did he not just point an accusing finger at him?”
“What do you have to say, Medea?” asked the patriarch slowly, as if stunned by what he had just seen.
For the first time since I’d known her, Medea was speechless.
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