Hekate discovered that from the market she could not only reach Leto's home but also that of almost every other Olympian. Most of the dwellings of the greater "gods" were clustered around Zeus' palace. Not really surprising because nearly all of them were tied to him in some way, some were his children, others his siblings. Leto had been his mistress, and Artemis and Apollo were his children by her.
Leto had no Talent at all—so she said. Hekate didn't believe it; she was reasonably sure that Leto had suppressed whatever abilities she had for so long that they were all but smothered. However, like Hermes, she had not been able to see the man/dog dichotomy in Kabeiros.
Only about a third of the gods could sense it, and who could and who could not was totally unpredictable. Hebe, a pretty, plump creature with seemingly no wits, who had come on an errand to Leto and met them by accident, had burst into tears as soon as she came into the room with Kabeiros. She had run to kneel beside him, weeping profusely over the trap in which he was caught, but when Hekate had asked if she would be willing to try to free Kabeiros, she had refused almost hysterically. It was magic, she had cried; she would have nothing to do with magic.
That was disappointing in one way but very hopeful in another. If worse came to worst, Hekate thought she could bend Hebe to her will. Not yet, not ever if she could avoid it, for what she would have to do might change Hebe forever. But it was helpful in another way. Leto, who had been very doubting of Hekate's tale, was now convinced and agreed to make arrangements with other Olympians to examine Kabeiros.
Some whom they sought out with high hopes felt nothing. Paieon, whose Gift was healing, and who could sense the smallest irregularity in the health of the body, was amazed when Hekate told him of Kabeiros' problem. He had not felt the man in the dog and, although he tried, after he learned the truth, he could not find the entangling spell nor even Kabeiros' organ of power. Asklepios, also a healer, worked with magic, and Kabeiros was as opaque to him as he was to Hekate.
Aphrodite instantly knew Kabeiros was a man—she could even talk to him, which few others could do, and playfully made Hekate burn with jealousy—but she could not sense the spell disrupting his organ of power. Eros could. Eros was so beautiful that he took away Hekate's breath . . . until she looked into his eyes. They were the eyes of a reanimated corpse. Hekate could think of no way to bend Eros to her will; what could you offer a dead man? with what could you threaten him? She wondered how Aprhodite could bear to live with a walking, talking dead man.
But hope was kept alive. Hestia could sense the spell. Indeed, she almost fainted when she sought it out. Leto had asked Hestia to visit Hekate to judge how many servants she would need and to suggest where to obtain them. Hekate decided to use the visit for a double purpose, since she had no desire to draw Zeus' notice and Hestia lived in Zeus' palace and kept house for him and Hera. So far either Zeus was willing to ignore her or he hadn't yet become aware of her—which was likely enough, Hermes told her, if the king of the gods was pursuing another native maiden. It seemed safer to ask Hestia's help in Gration's house, which Hekate did.
"It's a draining spell," Hestia whispered, turning pale. Hekate rushed to support her to a chair. "Zeus used such a spell on our father Kronos. It was terrible. Terrible." Tears came to her kind blue eyes and ran down her cheeks.
"Zeus used a draining spell," Hekate whispered. "Does he still use it?"
"No, no." Horror darkened her blue eyes. "Only that one time. The sorcerer from whom he took it . . . died. And no one knew of your renewing spell, so after Zeus used it, the spell was gone." Hestia shuddered hard and said more firmly, "And it's good that it's gone. I shouldn't have told you about it. We've all agreed that such a terrible spell must never be used again, must never be mentioned."
"It is terrible," Hekate agreed, holding the distraught woman's hand. "And poor Kabeiros is trapped in the form of a dog. He cannot speak or . . . or do anything a man does."
Love me, Hekate thought. If he were free of the need to stay with me, surely I could make him love me. We are good companions. We laugh at the same kind of foolishness. We both love to travel. I desire him. . . .
"Will you help him?" Hekate pleaded, and the dog came forward and rested his head on Hestia's knee.
Hestia turned even whiter. "I cannot," she whispered. "Oh, don't ask it of me. I haven't the power. If I touched the spell, it would drain me dry. I would die. Oh, I'm so sorry for poor Kabeiros, so sorry, but I'm afraid . . ."
Hekate soothed her; Kabeiros licked her hand. But when she was gone, Hekate said to Kabeiros, *We can't push her now, but she might be able to do it.*
*No.* Kabeiros lay down on the floor, head on his paws. *No. She's a good woman. I won't have you torment her for my sake, and I certainly won't take the chance that drawing the spell out of me will kill her. She doesn't have much power—*
*Oh, power! There's enough power here in Olympus to fly to the moon, or pull it down to earth. I could feed her power. The trouble isn't power, it's her fear. Unfortunately in magic fear can do what nothing else can do. Until I can convince her that the draining spell can't hurt her, it might kill her.*
*Let her be!* Kabeiros exclaimed.
*For now,* Hekate agreed, *but there's hope, Kabeiros, there's hope.*
There was enough hope to sustain them both through the spring burgeoning into summer, through the summer and the long autumn, through another winter. It wasn't that there were so very many Olympians, but they had their own lives and their own affairs. Nor could Hekate and Kabeiros spend all their time hunting a cure for him. They had to live.
Weeks were spent finding servants and months in training them to behavior that satisfied Hekate. And they all had to eat and drink. Hekate bartered spells for supplies, for hay and grain for the mule, for beer and wine, for bread and meat. Kabeiros went hunting with Artemis—they both enjoyed that; she was willing to accept him as long as he acted like a dog—and he brought home game. They settled into life in Olympus.
No one could predict who would react to Kabeiros' entrapment. Hephaestos saw the spell and the power organ the most clearly. He told Hekate that the spell was not, as she had thought, mingled with Kabeiros' power but, like her binding spell, clung to the organ and sent tendrils down into it. But when Hekate offered any spell in her collection, any ten spells, any hundred—offered herself—if Hephaestos would only remove the spell from Kabeiros, he shook his head.
"I'm not unwilling, I'm unable." He limped away from her and sat heavily in a beautiful leather chair. "I can't think of a way to loosen that dreadful thing except by pulling the tendrils out one by one . . . but before I could loosen many, they would grow back, seeking to eat Kabeiros' power."
"You're a master artificer," Hekate pleaded. "I know how great you are. I saw the palace in Colchis. It is a wonder beyond wonders. Don't let this stupid spell defeat you. Think of a way to seize it and lift it away from Kabeiros all at once."
Hephaestos blinked at her. "An artificer. I never thought of dealing with a spell as an artificer . . . But a sphere? How to pull something off a sphere all at once without tearing the sphere apart?" He nodded. "I can't promise, but I will certainly think on it."
Hekate and Kabeiros flicked back to Gration's house filled with satisfaction, talking about whether there was any way Hekate could help Hephaestos. Over the next winter they worked on the problem with occasional amused assistance from Hermes, who was always willing to fetch esoteric magical supplies from distant lands. Hekate constructed spell balls and covered them with the binding spell, which Hephaestos tried to lift away from the spell beneath. He had not yet been successful, but he wasn't discouraged. With each failure he found himself more fascinated by the problem and with new ideas for solving it.
Thus Hekate was less enthusiastic than she might have been a few days before the vernal equinox when Leto sent a message to say that Apollo had agreed to see them. He had been very reluctant to admit them to his presence, for which Leto had apologized profusely, assuring them that he wasn't usually so difficult, at least not as difficult as Artemis . . . and then she had blushed and said that wasn't what she meant at all.
She was all excited when Hekate and Kabeiros arrived, flushed with pleasure because Apollo had come and told her to invite them, all on his own without any urging. And if they would come with her . . . She gestured them toward the door of a small side chamber but didn't enter herself.
Hekate immediately raised her shields and reinforced them. She was prejudiced against Apollo because Hermes didn't like him and she adored Hermes—when she wasn't fighting an urge to murder him. As for Apollo, she was surprised when she saw him, not because of his beauty—all Olympians seemed to be beautiful—but because Apollo was the first Olympian she had met who actually looked like a god.
His features were much like those of Artemis but coldly composed. His hair was a bright gold and his eyes a piercing gray and he stood perfectly still when she entered the room, his bow in one hand, his lyre in the other, examining her gravely. A very short, dazzlingly white tunic was pinned on his left shoulder with a brooch in the likeness of a rayed sun. It covered him to midthigh, leaving his long legs, strong arms, and right shoulder bare.
"You have been troubling my beloved mother," he said softly, face and voice devoid of any expression beyond dignity. "Others have died for less." His lips thinned. "Unfortunately, I haven't the right to destroy you."
Beside Hekate, Kabeiros voiced a full-throated growl and crouched to leap. Hekate laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. She said nothing, silver gaze fixed on Apollo.
"Man-dog," he said, "I'm sorry. I see your twisted power and the thing that eats away at it. Evil magic destroying the good and natural . . . but I am constrained from helping you as I am constrained against interfering with the witch Hekate."
Constrained from helping. Hekate's heart leapt. Surely that meant he could help if the constraint was removed . . . or a stronger constraint was applied? But with this Olympian, Hekate's courage failed her. Her mouth went dry at the thought of trying to force Apollo to her will.
To find time, she said, "I am a witch, but why should you wish to interfere with me? I am careful to do no harm."
"Your existence is harm," he said, distastefully. "A necessary evil. You will bring change to Olympus, perhaps a necessary change, but one I hate."
Hekate blinked. "The use of magic," she said.
Apollo nodded. "Witch. Wielder of magic. But you will leave Olympus soon."
"No," Hekate protested. "We must find a cure for Kabeiros . . ."
She let her voice fade, recalling Apollo's implication that he, too, saw the draining spell and power source and that he was "constrained" not to separate one from the other. She glanced at Apollo and away. She had dismissed the idea of bribing or intimidating him, but he had also said he hated the use of magic in Olympus. What if she offered to leave Olympus, never to return . . . She was surprised at the pain, at the lump that rose in her throat when she thought of leaving Gration's house, of leaving her soft-footed, soft-voiced servants, who smiled whenever they came across her or Kabeiros, of leaving Hermes, Hephaestos, Aphrodite, and even dead-eyed Eros. But she would do it if Apollo would return to Kabeiros the use of his power.
"No," Apollo said, as if he had read her thought. "There is another way."
Whereupon he walked right by them, ignoring Kabeiros' bared teeth and resounding growls, and went out. In the corridor, he kissed his mother—and disappeared.
Once that might have impressed Hekate. Now it eased her pounding heart to know that Apollo was "human" enough to need to trade with Hermes. She wondered what he offered Hermes in exchange, entertaining for a moment some thoroughly lewd ideas, but Leto appeared in the doorway and diverted her thoughts.
Hekate thanked Leto profusely, but Apollo's mother shrugged. "He said he couldn't help you, but I thought it would be better if you heard that bad news from him. I hope he wasn't . . . rude. He doesn't like to admit that he isn't all-powerful and it makes him a little . . ."
"No, he wasn't rude," Hekate said, smiling and wondering what word Leto would have chosen if she hadn't leapt into the breach. "Thank you again, Leto, for your great kindness and for all the help you've given us."
On the words, she gripped Kabeiros' nape and leapt back to Gration's house where, as they landed, Kabeiros said, *Arrogant bastard.*
That made Hekate laugh aloud. *Now, now, Kabeiros,* she said mentally while giggling physically. *You know that's quite literally true. Apollo is a bastard. But since the blame for it would fall on Leto, who's really been very kind, I hope you won't use that particular epithet any more.*
*If you like.* But Kabeiros' mental voice was vague, as if he was thinking of something else, and then he said, *But which is true—that he could draw off the draining spell but won't, or that he didn't want to admit he couldn't?*
Before Hekate could answer, the elderly native man that Hekate had bought from Athena for a bargain price because he had lost his youthful good looks poked his head around the edge of the archway. He served as Hekate's porter and greeter, and he knew every one and just how to treat every person who came to her house.
"You are back, my lord and my lady." Philo understood Kabeiros was not merely a dog and always addressed him as a man and his master. "Good. I was beginning to worry. There's a messenger from Zeus waiting."
"Zeus!" Color rose in Hekate's cheeks, but she shook her head at her servant's suddenly anxious question and told him to fetch the messenger.
To Kabeiros she said, *Apollo told us we would leave Olympus. Perhaps he's a better seer than Hermes was willing to admit and he Saw . . . But we can't leave now! You know that if we don't keep after Hephaestos, he'll start another project. I swear if Zeus tells us we must go, I'll freeze him solid, bind the renewing spell to the freezing spell, and bury him under his own palace. And I'll add that spell that Artemis wants so he knows every minute . . . *
*Hekate!* Kabeiros' mental voice laughed, even though Hekate could feel his anxiety. *Don't borrow a measure of barley.*
Now Hekate had to laugh. That was an old, old tale about a man who was sent by his wife to a neighbor's house to borrow a measure of barley. On his way, he began to think of a polite way to ask for the barley, from which his mind expanded the conversation to the neighbor's wonder at his needing to borrow barley and his own resentment that the neighbor should question him about his husbandry, going though a long passage of "and then he said," "and then I said," ending in his neighbor refusing to lend the barley. At that point, the man reached his neighbor's door, and when the man opened it, shouted at him for refusing to give him one rotten measure of barley and struck him in the face. Kabeiros, of course, was warning her not to work up a rage at Zeus before the Olympian did anything to offend her.
Thus she was polite to Zeus' messenger, a very pretty boy called Ganymede, and when he said Zeus wanted her to come to the palace, she and Kabeiros followed him on foot through the streets—since the child didn't seem to have a leaping spell. Coming up the walk from the market, she was almost blinded by the glitter of the sun on the polished white stone. She knew the place was as magnificent within as without; there were things more wonderful than in the palace at Colchis. However, Hekate was too anxious to appreciate them, and the moment Zeus walked into the small, private chamber to which she had been led she forgot everything beyond the sudden aching need that filled her.
"Dionysos!" she cried, the binding cutting her heart.
In all but the too-large eyes and an expression that Dionysos had never worn when he looked at her, it was the face of the boy she had nurtured she saw. Zeus stopped just inside the doorway, eyeing her warily. Blue flickers showed at the tips of the fingers of the hand he had half raised.
"Who or what is Dionysos?" he asked.
Hekate caught her breath. The binding had place and purpose. Dionysos must come here.
"Dionysos is your son," she replied. "Semele was his mother." Her voice grew cold. "Remember Semele? You covered her with a shower of gold. Unfortunately that didn't save her. She was sacrificed to the king of the dead."
"Poor Hades," Zeus remarked blandly. "He doesn't deserve Semele. Even I didn't deserve her. What of the gold?"
"I have no idea, but I saved your son."
Zeus shrugged. "I have many sons."
Hekate stared at him; Kabeiros growled. Suddenly Hekate felt a roiling in the sea of earth-blood beneath the palace floor and sensed around Zeus the faint pulsing that denoted a shield. So Zeus, at least, knew magic as well as being Gifted, sensed her fury . . . and was afraid.
"Not sons like Dionysos," she said. "He bred true. He is pure Olympian, greatly Gifted."
"You mean he plays magic tricks like yours?"
Hekate smiled slowly, unpleasantly, at the attempt to prick her into showing her magic was no set of cheap tricks. But he knew that already, or he wouldn't have erected shields against her. Her sense of his suppressed fear made her calm.
"Magic? No. Dionysos has no need of magic. He has Gifts enough without. For one, he is a seer of uncommon strength and can See both immediately and far into the future. And I have never known his Seeing to be wrong."
While she answered him, she prodded at the shield and found it weak and with lapses she could put a shaft through. For just a moment she was tempted, and then recalled the measure of barley. Zeus had done no more than open the door and look sour. She would be better off if she could pacify him. Besides, the sour expression had faded from his face.
"A seer! Truly?" Zeus' expression now betrayed a lively interest.
"Truly," Hekate assured him.
She didn't bother to tell him that interpretation of Dionysos' predictions, particularly those for the far future, was sometimes very difficult. More than two thirds of the time she had guessed wrong and only understood what he had been trying to tell her after the event had taken place. Nor did she tell Zeus that Dionysos could drive others into frenzies of hate, panic, and terror.
That Dionysos was a seer had interested Zeus enough so she only added, "He is very young. I had to leave him in the care of his aunt and had no chance to test all of his abilities. The other Gift I know best, I don't understand. It has to do with a fruit used to make wine, not dates but a small round fruit that grows in bunches—"
"Grapes," Zeus said, but he wasn't terribly interested in that ability.
"I need to bring Dionysos here," Hekate said. "He Saw that he would come to Olympus after he had established this fruit, this grape, in Ka'anan and other lands."
Zeus frowned and shook his head slowly. "I would like to see my son, since you say he is well Gifted, but it would be dangerous to bring him here. My wife, Hera, is not very welcoming to my children born of other mothers."
"No?" Hekate laughed aloud. "Then be sure to warn Dionysos that Hera is your beloved wife and you don't wish harm to come to her."
"Harm to come to her?" Zeus echoed, stared at Hekate hard for a moment, and then asked, "So if Dionysos is as powerful as you say, why didn't he make his way to Olympus as have my other true sons?"
"I told you he was too young and, besides, he had Seen the time when he must come to you. You Olympians do not count years, since they matter little, but Dionysos is—" she hesitated and looked down at Kabeiros, who said, *Less than twenty years, but not by much. I've lost count myself.*
"Who is that speaking?" Zeus asked sharply, and his shields tightened, although Hekate thought she could still get though them.
It was interesting that he "heard" Kabeiros but could not determine from where the "voice" came. How fortunate that he had betrayed the ability before she and Kabeiros engaged in some less-than-diplomatic comments. Hekate took warning never to judge any Olympian's Gifts before she was able to test them in some way. She allowed herself to look surprised.
"That voice is Kabeiros'," she said. "He wears the guise of a dog because a spell has got tangled in his organ of power and prevents him from shifting to a man. I understand that you are a master shape-shifter—a bull, a swan . . ."
Zeus cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, the black dog with white eyes," he said, but then he brought his brows together in a black scowl. "You tell the same tale to everyone, and Artemis, Hephaestos, and others—even little Hebe—confirm that the tale is true. Nonetheless, I find it hard to believe. I think you had other purposes in coming to Olympus. You're a Titan, aren't you?"
"Lord Zeus," she said, now completely sincere and hoping he could sense it, "I swear I don't know. When Lady Artemis asked, I said 'no' in good faith, but I didn't even know what a Titan was at that time. I thought they were some kind of giants. When Hermes asked, I was more doubtful. I told him the truth, that my mother was not. She was of a well-known family in Ka'anan."
"And your father?"
Hekate looked away and put a hand on Kabeiros for support. "I know nothing of my father's antecedents," she said in a low voice. "To tell the truth, he is a truly mighty sorcerer and I am afraid of him. He accepts no restraints; he indulges in blood magic and calls and binds otherplanar creatures to his will."
"That was exactly what Kronos said of the Titans of Olympus. He said their power knew no bounds, that in only a little time their magic would overwhelm the Gifts of the Olympians. I didn't believe him. My mother Rhea had no dangerous magical powers. She had a few small spells, which she used to hide us from his wrath. And Leto has no magic at all. But you . . . you are a different thing entirely. I can easily imagine you spreading magic through Olympus and setting one of my turbulent children against another until this peaceful valley is a shambles of blood and death."
"I never would!" Hekate exclaimed. "Lord Zeus, with your permission and approval, I deeply desire to make Olympus my home. I have come to love some of the Olympians and I have a house I love and I am oath-bound to bring Dionysos here. As to the spells, you know I have been careful. I have given to your people in trade only that which fits with their Gifts."
Zeus's lips parted to voice a denial, but he closed his mouth and thought. "So you haven't," he said, sounding suprised. "And why is that?"
Hekate smiled, with gentle amusement this time. "For the same reason that you objected to my teaching them magic at all. It had come to my attention that most Olympians, even some of those I love best, are . . . to say the least, willful and accustomed to having their way. To give them a whole new way to enforce their will . . ." She shuddered.
"That sounds very sensible," Zeus said, "but you could not have known and loved Olympians when you first made your way to our valley—and I would like to know how you pierced the illusion and escaped the punishment spell."
"I have no wish to offend, but the illusion was child's play to me. I can offer you a far better illusion, bonded to the blood of the earth so it will never need renewal. As to the punishment spell: it could not pierce my shields and Kabeiros is immune to magic." She sighed. "If he were not, I could have freed him of the evil spell that binds him."
Zeus continued to frown, but more thoughtfully than angrily. "What you say is tempting and reasonable, but I still think you had another purpose in coming to Olympus."
"I had several," Hekate admitted. "I had to come to a place where shape-shifters are not anathema. I wanted to live in a city that accepted magic. And I had to leave Colchis in a hurry because I offended Princess Medea. Moreover, I am beginning to think that fate had a hand in my coming. I had almost forgotten Dionysos, but it was like a bolt through my heart when I saw you." She smiled at him again. "If you wanted to be rid of your beard, you wouldn't need a mirror if Dionysos was in the room, so much alike you two are."
Zeus immediately looked interested. "So he resembles me in feature?"
"Exactly, except that his eyes are larger and a little staring. You are the handsomer for that, but still, hair, forehead, nose, mouth, chin, the shape of the face . . ." She hesitated, frowning. "Now I remember, too, what he said before Seeing he must come here. I felt terrible when I knew I had to leave him, and I asked if he wished to come with me to a place of refuge, and he said, 'I can't go there now. I must meet you there some other time.'"
"He Saw that? How long ago?"
Hekate looked down at Kabeiros. "How long?"
*Five years. Perhaps six.*
"Six years foreseeing," Zeus said with satisfaction. "That's a sensible kind of interval. One could do something and hope for some success." Zeus nodded. "Dionysos may come. I will test him, and if he is truly my son and strong enough, he may stay—if he can protect himself from Hera. But that brings us back to the original problem. What can you do about the magic spells that you've sold Olympians?"
In the excitement of realizing where Dionysos belonged, and gaining Zeus' permission for him to come to Olympus, Hekate had temporarily forgotten Zeus' objection to magic, or, rather, to anyone except himself using it.
She said, "I can do nothing about the spells I've already bartered for goods. I'm sorry if it was forbidden. No one who traded with me admitted it was forbidden."
"It's not precisely forbidden, although I explained why I'm not very happy about the use of magic."
"And I agreed with you. My lord, I told you I wish very much to make Olympus my home. I'm happy here and there is the possibility that one of your people will find a cure for Kabeiros' condition. Can we come to a compromise?"
"What kind of compromise?"
"You have agreed to receive Dionysos. I will go to fetch him from Ka'anan. That will take almost a year, I think. For the privilege of being allowed to live in Olympus, I will give you a new illusion to cover the valley."
"And a new deterrent spell? Ours didn't seem to deter you."
Hekate reviewed her spells and shook her head. "Mine would kill. I'm sure yours will be sufficient. And I promise that during the year I am traveling, I will seek for a better spell of deterrence or, perhaps, create one. Also, during the year I am gone, you will have time enough to study those Olympians to whom I have sold magic and see what effect the spells they now own have had upon them. If there is some type of spell you think particularly dangerous, I would even agree not to sell that."
"But when you return, you will continue to sell spells although you know I don't like it. Why?
"Why?" Hekate repeated, looking amazed. "Because I need slaves to keep my house, I need food and drink to feed them and to feed Kabeiros and me, I need hay and grain to feed my mule. What else have I to trade?"
The expression that Hekate had noted Dionysos never wore when looking at her returned to Zeus' face. "You are a very beautiful woman," he said. "You could have come to me and I would have seen that you were supplied with your needs."
He stepped forward and put out a hand to lift Hekate's chin and she shifted to the crone.
"Beautiful?" She cackled with laughter as Zeus pulled his hand back and stepped away. "When my body is lusted after by a man, this is what happens to me."
"Surely you can control it," Zeus snapped.
Kabeiros growled and took a step forward, his hackles rising, his teeth bared. Zeus waved a hand at him and began to speak a spell. Hekate pointed and said, "Mha thon Dia!" Zeus stopped speaking, his mouth open but wordless. His eyes bulged until he was completely the image of Dionysos.
"Stop, Kabeiros!" Hekate said sharply. Then, to Zeus, "Forgive me. I couldn't let you try to bespell Kabeiros. I believe he is immune to magic, but you are very powerful. I have done you no harm. If you agree not to attack us, I will remove the impediment to your spell-casting."
"I am shielded," Zeus gasped, eyes still staring. "How did you get through my shields?"
"Your shields are not very strong," she said quietly. "And there are . . . spaces through which my magic can pass."
There was another silence during which their gazes clashed. Then, diplomatically, Hekate looked down.
After a moment, Zeus turned and went to sit in a high-backed chair against the wall. Hekate stood quietly with her head bowed. Finally Zeus asked, "Could you have killed me?"
For perhaps ten heartbeats Hekate considered the consequences of both yea and nay. Then she said, "Yes."
"So, why didn't you?"
Involuntarily Hekate's arms went around herself, and she huddled in, making herself small in rejection. Terrible memories flashed by, memories of horrors she had seen and heard, of Dionysos' vision of her father making blood sacrifice.
"No," she breathed. "I do not kill with or for magic. Never. There are other ways if killing is needed, a bow, a knife, Kabeiros' teeth." She swallowed hard and stood tall. "Besides, I am not an idiot. Your people love you, Lord Zeus. Oh, I know they argue and complain, but every one acknowledges you as king in Olympus and is satisfied with your rule. One by one I might withstand, but if harm came to you they would all band together, and I would never survive." She pointed at Zeus again and said, "Metatheto mha thon Dia." Zeus drew a long breath. "I know the spell again."
Hekate nodded. "I've done you no harm," she said. "You are as you were before."
He stared at the crone, shuddered slightly, and said, "Rid yourself of that disgusting form. I will not force you. I have seduced many women and with some I used deception, but I have never forced one." And when Hekate stood before him as the woman again, he asked, "Where are your shrines, your worshipers?"
"I have neither shrine nor worshipers—as far as I know," Hekate said. "I'm no goddess, nor near to being divine." Now it was her turn to shudder. "I can think of nothing more horrible than being responsible for doing something about the prayers and pleas of people wholly unknown to me."
Zeus laughed. "You don't have to listen, you know."
"I'm not an Olympian," she said tartly, and then as the full meaning of the words struck her, tears came to her eyes. She sighed. "No, I'm not an Olympian," and she bent and hugged Kabeiros to her. "I will go," she whispered.
"No. I'll not banish you, but I need some assurance . . . Whom do you worship?"
A very slight hesitation showed that Hekate knew what she was about to say would not be welcome. Then she shrugged. "I worship the Mother," she said defiantly.
Zeus winced very slightly. "You would," he muttered, but then his expression cleared and his lips pursed thoughtfully. "You truly believe, don't you?"
She made the sign of completion. "I do."
"Then you will swear, by the Mother, that you will never knowingly harm me personally or bring harm to Olympus."
Hekate thought that over and then said, "I can swear I will never knowingly bring harm to Olympus, but I cannot swear not to harm you. I can swear never to direct at you a spell that will disable you or kill you, but you might be harmed by a passive defense I erected."
"What kind of passive defense could harm me?"
"I have used a mirror shield as a defense. If you cast lightning at me and it bounced off my mirror and struck you, you would be harmed. Certainly a spell Princess Medea cast at me gave her a severe shock when it bounced back."
Zeus sat quiet, watching her. Hekate guessed he no longer regarded her as a personal threat, that he accepted as true her claim that she would only defend herself, not attack. Now, she thought, he was weighing the risk of having her remain in Olympus against the uses he might make of her skills in the future.
"Let me hear how you would word the oath," he said at last.
"By the Mother, I swear I will never knowingly bring harm to Olympus or its inhabitants, and in particular I will never knowingly work a spell that will disable, injure, or kill the Lord Zeus nor affect his power, although I do not swear to eschew passive defense against him if he attacks me or Kabeiros."
Another thoughtful silence, then Zeus nodded sharply. "Done," he said. "Now swear."
Hekate brought to mind the ruined temple and the stone that stood on the altar there. When it was clear in her mind, the strange eyes that were not eyes fixed on her, she repeated the oath. For a single instant the well of power within her was utterly empty; the floor beneath her feet was only polished white marble, the faint red glow of the earth's blood of which she had been constantly aware was gone; her sense of Kabeiros as a man, as anything beyond a dog was gone; only her physical senses remained. Terror stopped her breath, but before she could cry out or fall unconscious, struck down by horror, everything was back to normal.
"I understand," she whispered, trembling, not speaking to Zeus. "I understand, Mother. I will not again take Your name in vain to confirm a silly swearing."
Oddly, Zeus must have felt something too. He had a hand raised to his cheek, as if he had been sharply slapped. His face was white and his lower lip caught between his teeth. He stood up from his chair, but kept one hand on it for support, and he gestured at Hekate.
"That's all," he said. "You are free of Olympus, to come and go as you please. Now go!"