Can You Say "No" to a God?

“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

I went back to my duties, ignoring the man whose face had just turned beet red. I picked up another twig, assessed its dryness, then added it to the bundle in my arm.

“You do realize that I just offered you the chance of a lifetime, right?” The man was, admittedly, beautiful. I mean gorgeous. Long, dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a face that might have been chiseled out of marble. Something about him repulsed me, though. Something familiar, as if he brought up old memories of someone I knew, like an ex-boyfriend. He wore a toga that seemed to be made from liquid metal. It shimmered in the late afternoon sun, opalescent and silver fabric slung over one shoulder.

“Then I’m sure Mrs. Winslow down the road would love to take you up on it. I don’t think she’s been out of town since the mid-sixties. If you hurry, you can join her bridge game!” I told him, sarcasm dripping from my tone. I never turned to face him. He didn’t deserve the attention, and searching for good kindling requires a sharp eye.

He marched in front of me and tried to meet my eyes. “You, Cassandra, are the one spoken of in the prophecy, not your neighbor. It is your destiny to fulfill this quest and prevent the calamity that shall otherwise befall yo-”

“‘Calamity’? ‘Befall’? Dude, it’s 2018. The only ‘calamity’ that’s ‘befallen’ us was the last election.”

“But your ancestors were told by the Oracle herself that yo-”

I cut him off again. “My ancestors are dead. They were farmers, or shepherds, or some other peasant, and that’s all. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve decided to follow in their footsteps.” I gestured to the acres of farmland around me, the cows and goats grazing in the distance. My eldest son was running after the youngest of the animals, the ones who didn’t know better than to wander off, trying to herd them into the barn before nightfall. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s my home and my life,” I told him pointedly.

I turned around and headed back toward the house. The fire needed to get started before the sun set. I could feel it was going to be a cold night. I could hear the man sputtering in disbelief behind me. He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who was used to being rejected, and he obviously had no clue how to deal with it.

I was halfway to the house when he appeared in front of me. I don’t mean he ran up and passed me. I mean he appeared directly in between me and the house.

“Cassandra Philostopolus!” he boomed, using my maiden name, the sound so intense the lowing of the animals stopped in the background, creating the loudest silence I had never heard. The sky suddenly grew overcast, creating shadows in the recesses of his carved features. I heard a rumbling in the distance. “Thou insolent child! Thou art naught but a mortal! A babe in the eyes of me and mine brethren! Who art thou to deny that which was foretold millennia ago? You will accompany me to Olympus!”

I rolled my eyes, trying not to let any of the fear show on my face. I tried to step around him, but he held out his arm, stopping me in my tracks.

“You expect me to believe that you’re supposed to be a god? Oh, and not just any god, but Zeus almighty. You couldn’t have gone for a less conspicuous deity? Like maybe Apollo? Oh, you might have even pulled off a ripped Jesus!” The disbelief in my voice was tangible.

“Yes, I do,” he said, very matter-of-factly. “And don’t you dare compare me to a false god again. 

“Bullshit,” I said, and ducked under his arm and strode toward my back door.

I had just taken a step into my house when “Zeus” shouted from behind me, “You insolent, naïve little girl. You think just because you have a few decades of experience in this world under your belt that you have the right to defy the wisdom of the gods, of the Oracle… and your father.

I stopped. The door halted on its hinges, a mere fraction of a second away from separating me from the lunatic who now strode up the deck stairs toward me. I stared incredulously at him, at his wild dark hair, golden eyes, and a nose that, although it had obviously been broken in the past, still bowed in the same way mine had been made fun of for back in grade school.

“Y-you…” I stuttered. He gave me a warm smile, a smile that felt like the sun tearing its way out of the oppressing clouds of a gray, muggy day. Or was that happening in real life? He started to chuckle, the lines on his face deepening, though they seemed less shadowy than a moment ago. His laugh started softly, not so much at me, but rather at my reaction, it seemed. The chuckle grew louder and less controlled, and the sound was such a genuine experience that I couldn’t help but laugh myself, causing his laughter to redouble. We laughed and cackled and snorted for several minutes, sometimes slowing, only to climb again to new heights of boisterousness, our roaring beginning anew.

When the moment subsided, and we both had wiped the tears from our eyes and regained our composure, he looked me in the eyes that were so much like his own and said, “No, not I child.” My heart sank. I had never known my father, and my mother never had the chance to take a picture before he had abandoned her with little, unborn me.

Seeing my downtrodden expression, he gently lifted my chin so that my gaze would meet his own once again, and he said, “I may not be your sire, but I suppose it would be appropriate for you to call me ‘uncle’.”

“Then who-” I started, but it was his turn to cut me off. Rude.

“I cannot tell you that. Even the gods must abide by rules. Either he must tell you himself, or else you must figure it out on your own. I can, however, help you to begin your journey, if you are willing.” With that, he held out his hand, palm up, inviting me to take it.

“We would be going to Olympus, then?” I asked. He merely nodded his head. “Can I leave a note for my family? How long will I be gone? Am I coming back? What about my children?”

“Peace, Cassandra. You must decide to come with me now, but you may leave a message to your loved ones. You cannot mention specifics, but you shall return no later than dawn tomorrow.”

I looked up at him, searching his face for the hint of a lie, and, seeing none, I nodded and ran inside. I wrote my note, saying a friend of mine needed me to stay the night, and returned to the man who may or may not have been my uncle. I stared at his still outstretched hand for a hesitant second, then took it in my own.

My first impression was that the sun had changed its mind and reversed its course, and that an evening dawn had brightened the world. I saw how small my hand looked in his, which seemed gnarled and scarred, as if his had had been burned by something a thousand times over. Then a searing sensation took over my senses, white hot, though not at all painful. Then, black.