The Olympia Chronicles

By: Lizzie Bundick

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“So, what did I miss?” Morpheus asked, sitting back down at the poker table. It was a huge table. Carved from solid white marble and decorated with gold inlay of women in various stages of undress. Green silk covered the middle of the table and the chips were real gold and silver. The cards were Bicycle. Like the table, Morpheus was a large God. Most of the time his midnight blue eyes were half closed with sleep. His salt and pepper hair always looked like he had just gotten out of bed. The sunset colored toga he wore was stretched across his girth and a belt with hundreds of tiny little multicolored vials, each containing a certain type of dream, barely held it closed.

“Ares is still winning, he’s up by fifty thousand,” Hermes explained, shuffling cards faster than the mortal eye could see, “But Poseidon won the last hand.”

“Well, deal me in,” Morpheus slammed a hand on the table making the chips jump, “Let’s see if I can bring the God of War to his knees.” Sitting across from the over-weight God of Dreams, Ares smiled. Completely opposite from Morpheus, Ares was all muscles. His toga, the color of blood soaked mud was stretched by broad shoulders. There always seemed to be a scowl on his angular face. Unlike the other Gods his hair was cropped short to his head, a dusting of black stubble on his tanned head.

“What did my dear fellow warrior want?” He asked casually, rearranging the cards in his hand. He was quite curious about what Athena had said that would drag Morpheus away from a card game. Before this only food and a crisis in the dream world had pulled Morpheus away from the table.

“Well, she and her gaggle of friends want to spend some time in the mortal world,” Morpheus chuckled and shook his head, “They heard about what some Celts did and wanted to try it themselves. I sent them through dreams to bind their souls to some mortals.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hermes stopped dealing cards and gapped at Morpheus, “Are you saying you just turned four of the most powerful Goddesses in the whole pantheon into mortals?” Hermes was a skinny man, built like a long distance runner and bald. He didn’t wear a toga like other Gods, just a long tunic with a gold rope as a belt. His traditional winged sandals occasionally made a little fluttering noises from under the table.

“Hey, it’s just temporary. They’re coming back when Persephone has to go back to Hades.”

“Won’t Hades be pleased to hear his wife escaped,” Poseidon laughed. His shoulders were almost as broad as Ares, but Poseidon was more of a swimmer than and body builder. His eyes were the color of sea foam and his white hair was always braided. He wore a toga the color of the clearest oceans, and a dolphin patterned belt circled his waist.

“Hmm,” Ares caught Poseidon’s eye, “An interesting development. Does Zeus know?”

“Nope, Athena asked me to keep it quiet from her Daddy dearest,” Morpheus shook his head, “Seems like a stupid idea to me. Why be mortal? They can die, and take great pleasure in killing each other. If I was going to become mortal I’d at least tell Zeus where I was going so he could keep an eye on me.”

“If you’re so gung-ho about their protection, why don’t you tell Zeus?” Poseidon asked, motioning to Hermes for two more cards.

“Tell Zeus? You’re kidding, right? Zeus would kill me, therapy or no therapy, for letting his precious daughters become mortal. Athena promised me she’d give me the dream knowledge of the ancient Gods for doing it. So, as long as Zeus doesn’t find out, I’m going to get out of this with the better part of the deal.”

“And if Athena and the others get killed?” Ares asked, discarding one card.

“Uh well,” Morpheus frowned, “They won’t get killed, they’ve got Artemis and Athena two of the best warrior Goddesses there are, they’ll be fine.”

“Let’s hope so, I’d hate for something to happen to them,” Ares smiled towards Poseidon.

“Yes, it would be tragic wouldn’t it?” Poseidon chuckled.

“And I win again,” Ares said, laying a royal flush down on the table. The other Gods groaned.