Backward, Turn Backward

Backward, Turn Backward, Part 5/?
By Scribe

Arrival

Cupid stared at Strife in horror. "Babe, no," he whispered, shaking his head. "You can't mean what I think you mean."

Strife nodded slowly. "I'm goin' back to about ten months before I was born. I think I can figure out who my Dad is an' maybe why Mom got so screwed up if I just watch what goes on closely enough."

Cupid's mind worked rapidly, searching for arguments to keep his lover from pursuing this mad, DANGEROUS plan. "It won't work, Strife. If the Olympians won't talk to you about it NOW..."

Strife cocked his head. "Cupie, I won't EXIST then. They won't have any reason not to talk to me."

Cupid seized on a new point. "Yes, they won't know you! You know how suspicious the Pantheon is. You'll be a stranger, and they aren't likely to welcome and open themselves up to a complete nobody."

"How about to a fellow god in need?" He touched one of the scrolls. "What do ya know about the history of the Irish divinities?" Cupid wrinkled his brow. "Right about the time this started, they went through a REAL bad time. Their worshippers waged war on them, an' the gods LOST." Cupid sat back in surprise, and Strife nodded. "Yeah, that's right. What kinds of gods lose a war with their own worshipers? Pathetic. It was a huge scandal. The Gallic gods went to live underground--for safety from their former followers, yeah, but in shame, too. They couldn't bear to show their faces to the other divinities of the world."

He started to pace. "The situation is perfect! You're right when ya say our distinguished relatives wouldn't be inclined to take in a common stranger--but what about a refugee god? What about an Irish godling trying to get away from an intolerable situation for a little while? Someone they could patronize, while pickin' for gossip about..." he sneered a little, his voice falsely sympathetic, "those poor things in Ireland?"

He struck a pose, weight nonchalantly on one foot, hip cocked, and rested a hand on his chest. His longer hair fell over his brow, half shading his eyes, and he smiled impishly. "Meet Erin, Irish God of Humor and Pranks."

Cupid gaped. "Is there--WAS there such a person?"

Strife slouched into a more familiar stance, and shrugged. "I don't think so, but it hardly matters. It ain't likely the Pantheon would know. I think they were even more self-absorbed back then than they are now."

"But Strife, what if they're NOT? What if they suspect something? They could... It's DANGEROUS."

Strife went to him, and took him in his arms, holding him closely. For a moment Cupid hoped against hope that he'd gotten through to him, but then Strife whispered, "It don't matter, Cupe--can't ya see that?"

Cupid clutched him, feeling tears come into his eyes. "No, I can't." He turned his head and kissed Strife fiercely. When he pulled away he said, "But I CAN see that you won't be dissuaded." He kissed Strife again. "For Zeus' sake, Strife, be careful. Come back to me." Then he left.

Strife found himself with empty arms, surrounded by pink sparks and rose petals. He caught one of the petals, bringing it to his face to smell the sweet scent--one thing that always reminded him of Cupid. He jerked his head back. There was a dryness--a mustiness about the aroma, as if the flower had been plucked a long, long time ago, and had begun to decay. Unnerved, he dropped it, and it melted into nothingness with the others. "Cupe..." he whispered. " Ah, babe, I'm sorry, but I have to. I have to."

* * * * *

It was an obscure mountaintop, for good reason. Long ago, during the battle with the Titans, it had been devastated, wiped clean of all vegetation. Not even Gaia could coax green things to grow in the gray, rocky soil. It would be centuries before the earth had healed enough to supporte. e. No one ever came there, but now two figures stood on the bare peak.

"Are you ready, dear?" Gaia looked kindly at the young man standing nervously before her.

He looked quite different from the God of Mischief who'd come to live in her valley a month ago. Instead of his customary head-to-toe black leather and shiny steel, he was clad in a rainbow of colors. He wore tight trousers of fine scarlet linen, tucked into high, polished boots. His shirt was also linen, but cut loose, with flowing sleeves, and it was jet black. The neckline was deep, giving glimpses when he moved of his smooth, well-defined chest. There was a short cape of peacock blue, and it fastened at his shoulders with matching pins of silver and garnets. The bright colors complimented the light gold of his tan.
His hair gleamed like the wing of a raven, falling in waves to just brush his shoulders. A thick lock fell across his forehead, and he brushed it back with a gesture that was fast becoming a habit. "Yeah, I'm good to go." He glanced around at the desolate landscape. "I just kinda wished we could do this closer to home. This place makes Asphodel look cheerful."

Gaia shook her head. "You know why we can't. The Chaos Stone isn't really pleased about this, even though it IS cooperating. There's a chance that reality may react, er, harshly--and we can't risk being close to anyone or anything that might be endangered."

Strife sketched her a brief salute. "Gotcha." He glanced down at the sliver of Chaos Stone where it rested against his chest, dangling from the silver chain. He'd practiced wearing it, because it gave him the heebie-jeebies at first, making his skin crawl, puckering with goose pimples. He still wasn't comfortable with it, but he wasn't obviously unnerved by it, either. "Is this thing gonna put me down in the right place?"

"Yes, dear. It can work with both time AND space. All you need to do is concentrate on the appropriate time and place. I'd suggest that you set down just outside Olympus, and have yourself officially admitted."

He scratched his chin. "They might not wanna let me in."

She smiled gently. "Oh, I don't think that will be a problem, dear." She reached out and stroked his hair. "You're quite fascinating, you know."

He grinned. "You're my great-grandma--you have to say that." He blew out a breath. "Okay, just outside the gates of Olympus, one hundred-seventeen years and ten months ago." He looked at her. His tone was almost nonchallant, but there was worry in his eyes. "You might want to vacate, if it's gonna be all rough, and stuff."

"No." She took a step back. "I'll see you off." Strife took the Chaos Stone amulet gingerly between his thumb and forefinger, cutting his eyes down at it. Gaia said, "Just remember--ask it NICELY."

Strife cleared his throat, and closed his eyes. He hadn't spent much time around the gates of Olympus--being a god he usually just transported to and fro--but he was familiar with them. He pictured them in his mind--pictured a spot just outside them. Then he thought of everything he could that might symbolize time running backward. Apollo driving his chariot from West to East. Dried, brown leaves drifting up to fasten to branches and grow green with sap. An anonymous mortal, wred aed and grey--his hair darkening, back straightening, and skin smoothing...

Under his breath he whispered fervently, "I know I ain't done much to recommend me in the past, but I need this. I need it bad. Please."

He waited, eyes tightly closed. He felt a small, cool breeze lift a strand of his longer hair against his cheek. It had been silent, save for the dry ticking of crumbling earth being moved by the wind, but now he heard distant birdsong.

He kept waiting. Nothing else happened, and he felt his hopes sinking. It hadn't worked. The Chaos Stone had, after all, decided not to fulfill his request.

He sighed. "It didn't work."

"What didn't work?"

The voice was not Gaia's but it WAS vaguely familiar, and it sounded suspicious. Strife opened his eyes.

He blinked in surprise. Instead of the blasted landscape he'd expected, he found himself staring at a blank wall of creamy marble. He looked around quickly. The wall stretched into the dim distance in either direction, except for a massive, brazen, barred gate a few feet to his right. He glanced quickly over his shoulder. Yes, behind him was smooth grass... until you came to the expanse of clouds. He was, indeed, standing just outside the gates of Olympus.

"I said 'what didn't work'?" The voice was even more suspicious now. "And I also want to know who you are, how you got here, and what your business is. This isn't a place for loitering about, you know."

Strife slowly approached the gate and peered between the bars. A pale, handsome face, half-obscured by a sheaf of blood red hair peered back at him. Janus--God of Doorways, and (naturally) Gatekeeper of Olympus. He was studying Strife intently. Strife considered Janus one of his few friends, but there wasn't a hint of recognition in his expression.

*Fuck. This may just work.* Strife smiled charmingly and swept him a bow. He added a slight lilt to his voice, saying, "As to what didn't work, it was me plan to keep me destination secret from me family. Alas, they know where I am. The good thing is that I don't think any of them will have the grit to come after me--provided they WANT me back home. In answer to your other questions: How I got here--the usual way." He transported from the left side of the gate to the right and back again, all in the blink of an eye. Not Janus' eye--he watched this commonplace occurance without winking. "Who I am--" He swept a low bow, being sure to make his cape swirl dramatically. "Erin--God of Humor and Pranks."

"We don't have one of those."

"Of course ya don't. I'm a god of... well, Erin."

Janus' single visible eyebrow rose, as if this were very significant. "I've heard that things are a bit... unstable in your land."

Strife let his smile sour a bit. "Would you be the Grecian God of Tact? Unstable is a kind word to describe the totally fucked-up state of my homeland." Janus' lips quirked briefly at Strife's wry tone. "Since you seem aware of what has been going on, please spare me the relating of the sorry tale, at least for awhile. I just want a quiet place away from all the pain and humiliation currently thrumming through my family, and my home. I'm hopin' that the Greek Pantheon will have mercy on a poor refugee."

Janus cocked his head, considering. Sanctuary could be granted only by Zues himself. The King of the Gods did not want to be bothered except on important matters, but he was capricious--you never could tell WHAT he would consider important. *And he's always interested in anyone who might prove amusing.* Janus swept his gaze appraisingly over the young godling before him, taking in his lean, well formed body, peacock attire, and quirky handsomeness. *This one is decorative the the very least, and his vocation is humor.*

Janus touched the gate. There was a short sizzle of energy, and the gate slowly swung open. "Enter, Erin, Ireland's God of Humor and Pranks. I can offer you only temporary sanctuary. Zeus himself has final say." Strife stepped through the gate, sweeping Janus another bow as he did. As the gate swung closed behind him, Janus continued, "If you will come with me, I will arrange quarters for you."

As they started away, Strifid, id, "Quarters? I thought you said I'd have to be approved first."

Janus snorted. "You don't think you'll be able to just waltz in, do you? I'll have to petition for him to grant you an audience, and you'll have to be a true favorite of Fortune for that to be granted within a day or two. I'll settle you in temporary rooms, and you'll have to remain in a restricted area till your status is official."

*Crap! How'm I supposed to find out what the fuck is going on if I'm cooped up all the time?*

Janus noticed his dismay. "Don't worry--it isn't as if you're going to be imprissoned. There'll be no bars or chains..." He thought. "Unless you manage to royally peeve a visiting god. They WILL visit you, as soon as they learn of you." He gave Strife a cynical look. "I'll warn you right now--your hopes of escaping painful memories about what went on in youmelameland are futile. Gossip is second only to Ambrosia as a necessity of life as far as the Pantheon is concerned. Now, let's see... Where would you be most suited?" He eyed Strife's vibrantly colored clothes. "Definitely not the House of War. I'm sure that Apollo would welcome you into the House of Intellect, but he's full of himself already, and being given the honor of a possibly interesting guest would make him insufferable. That leaves the House of Love."

The layout of Olympus hadn't changed much in a century, and Aphrodite's gleaming pink marble temple was exactly as Strife remembered it from a month before. The priest on duty eyed Strife with lively interest as Janus explained things to him. He bowed, saying, "Lady Aphrodite is at home now, and I'm sure she would wish to be informed immediately." He gestured toward a bank of comfortable chairs. "If you will have a seat, I willorm orm her directly."

As the mortal bowed his way out, Janus turned to Strife. "I have things I need to do, but you should be fine. In the unlikely event that Aphrodite feels that she can't put you up, just send Hermes for me, and I'll figure out something else. If push comes to shove, I can find some space for you at my place."

As Janus left, Strife thought, *No, THANK you. You never know where the fuck you're going to end up when you go through a door at your place, Janus. I might get up to hunt a chamber pot in the middle of the night and end up in Asphodel.*

He settled himself comfortably in a chair, slinging a leg over one arm, then resting his elbow on that leg and propping his chin in his hand. He let his eyes wander around the room idly. There WERE a few minor differences. That tapestry, for instance. It actually had more red than pink in it. Was Dite getting pinker as time went by?

There was a flicker of motion at the corner of his vision. Something behind that tapestry had moved. A lifetime of paranoia and House of War training kicked in, and Strife was suddenly standing before the sheet of fabric, a dagger held behind his back, reaching for the tapestry with his free hand.

For some reason he hesitated, though every instinct screamed at him. He looked down, to where the tapestry cleared the floor by a scant inch. He could see bare toes--TINY bare toes. He fought down a smile. *Well, it's either a kid, or the first midget assassin I've every run across.* He made the dagger disappear, saying, "It's rude to hide from a visitor unless an official game of Hide and Seek has been declared."

There was a rustle, and an interested voice said, "You play Hide an' Seek?"

"Sometimes--if I'm asked nicely."

The tapestry was pushed aside. The little boy was about mid-thigh tall to Strife. He was wearing nothing but a swatch of white cloth wrapped around his middle, and had messy blond curls--and wings. Strife felt a dizzying moment of unreality. "Bliss, what are you doing here?"

The child frowned, crossing plump arms. "I live here, an' I'm not Bliss--I'm Cupid." Strife blinked hard for several moments. "Mister, you okay? You look funny."

"So I've been told," Strife said faintly. "But I'll grow on you--trust me on that."