Chapter 7

Just a note: All of these chapters are in very rough form, and I appreciate any feedback you could give me. This is written for the middle-school level, too--so keep that in mind. Thanks for pointing out the typos as well!

Chapter 7

It was several minutes before the god appeared again.

Philipp and his morose mount had continued their flight silently. He had no idea where they were headed. He hoped the ram did at least.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where we’re going, do you?” Philipp asked timidly.

The ram grunted. “How should I know? One minute I was about to take a bite out of the best clump of meadow grass I’d seen in ages—next thing I know, I’m soaring through the air with yet another adventurous brat on my back.”

“So, is that a no?”

He was actually relieved when he heard the poppings of the reappearing god.

“How about a break, boys?” Hermes said cheerfully. He did a lovely swoop through the air and landed crosslegged on a large pink patch of cumulus.

The ram rumbled something inside and flew the two over to join him.

“My—my what a glorious day!” Hermes beamed a radiant smile.

“The Underworld, again?” Philipp asked.

”No—no—this was more personal business.”

“Did it have anything to do with me? Did you go see the person who you stole me for?”

Hermes knitted his eyebrows. “All in good time, boy, all in good time. I thought maybe Colchi needed a little bit of rest. He is getting pretty old—even for an immortal.”

“At least I’ve got a brain in my head,” the ram grumbled.

“Do you? I assumed it was stuffed. So, tell me, Philipp, what do mortals do to pass the time? I find mortals most fascinating.”

“Except adults and shepherds, right?” the boy added.

“Oh, yes—adults always seem to want to stab one another—or carry this one’s wife off. Plus, they’re always yelling your name in the middle of the night. Hermes, Hermes, look at me. I’m stabbing a cow for your glory. Who cares?”

“But stabbing a ram—“ Colchi croaked.

“I don’t have to worry about that as much as some of my bigger relatives. They never get a moment’s peace. That’s one of the perks of being a nobody, I guess.”

“Why would you need to know how to pass the time?” asked Philipp. “With your staff I wouldn’t think you’d need to.”

“Aren’t you a clever one?” The god laughed. “It’s complicated.”

“So?”

“It would take forever to explain and besides we’re thinking of a way to pass some time!”

“That’s what we mortals do: we talk!”

The god wrinkled his nose. “I know—way too much—I think you do it just to hear yourselves.”

“Tell me! I really want to know!” the boy said eagerly.

Hermes reluctantly agreed. “All right, but I’ll have to dumb it down so that your mortal mind can comprehend it.”

“Please…” Colchi snorted.

“It’s like this: Chaos is the fabric of existence. It is made up of two things: Space and Time. Time and Space are great things, and they work together very well—but Time is tricky. I can’t just go punching a hole in Time every time I feel like it.”

“Anymore…” the ram hissed.

“Quiet, you! Let’s use Colchi for an example. Imagine his fluff is Space.”

“It’s called fleece.”

“Imagine his fleece is Space, and Colchi himself is Time.” The god held up a rosy pointing finger. “If I move from here to here, it’s no problem.” He stuck his finger into the ram’s wool and dragged it up his side. The fluff matted down for a second but then popped right back up.

“What does that show ?” asked Philipp.

“It shows us that Colchi is in desperate need of a bath” said the god wiping his finger on his tunic. “But mainly that nothing about him has changed. Now, if I were wanting to poke a hole in Time—“

The god stuck his finger into the side of the ram, and it suddenly sunk in and appeared on the other side. “That’s a different story!”

The ram cried out, “NO TICKLING!”

“If we do that, we poke a hole in our dear Colchi, and we have some serious problems.” The god pulled his hand back through.

“Never stopped you before, you bloodthirsty—”

“Do you understand?” Hermes asked the boy, ignoring the ram.

“I think so—is that the reason you stopped? Did you get in trouble?”

The god raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know…it just seems…”

“Well, when you hold an instrument of such power, people start wondering if you’re responsible enough to handle it—then you go and have one little mishap, and everything starts to get blamed on you.”

“Short answer: yes,” said Colchi under his breath.

“Who made you stop?”

“Who else? Dad. Zeus.”

“Totally?”

“On special occasions I’ve been known to fudge a bit. But I have a Time restriction only. Space is fine.”

“Like when you take me back to my mom—we can go back then, right?” asked Philipp.

Hermes looked into the eager eyes of the little boy and hesitated. “Sure, Sheepboy, sure.”

“Okay! Now, I’ve got one more question.”

“You are quite the question factory!”

“What about the future? Can you go into the future?”

“Sure—you could if you wanted to—I’ve tried it in fact. The bad news is that it’s not happened yet—let’s say that it’s a sculpture in progress—all blurry—a total mess—makes you sick to be there.”

“I see. I guess that’s a good thing.”

“Yeah, I guess so. We had better get going. This cloud’s not going to hold us up for too much longer. Plus, I think he’s gone by now.”

“Who’s he?”

“Oh, the Sun. We’ve had some bad business before—and it’s around noon, which means he’s directly overhead. I thought it might be better if we laid low for a while.”

“Why don’t we just appear where we need to be?”

“I’m only supposed to be using this thing for official Underworld business. I have to save up the juice for those trips. At least I got us this far. Now, Colchi, wake up—let’s get going.”

“I was imagining myself dead again. It suddenly doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Sheesh. Get a load of that smell,” the god fanned a hand at the ram. “Maybe we’ll fly through a rain storm to clear that up.”

Colchi drowsily flew back into the air, and the messenger god followed. They hadn’t flown fifty feet when Hermes commented:

“It is hot up here, or is it just me?”

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Philipp opened his eyes and looked down, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t.

All of Greece was laid out below him like a huge mat—each earthy brown, growing green, and billowing blue vibrantly alive as if painted with thousands of tiny hands. The only things in sight that seemed remotely close to their height were the tatters of clouds that occasionally obscured the view.

Something else was under him as well Philipp noticed—directly under him—so directly, in fact, that he was sitting upon it. The something was traveling at the same speed he was and consisted of two big lumps covered by golden fluff. From the front lump, two brown horns were curving up and out. The whole thing was giving off a strange smell that could barely be caught in the high wind—a scent of damp cloth.

Philipp heard a cough and turned his head. There was Hermes—flying hard against the wind. He had a bemused look upon his face as the wings on his cap flapped furiously to keep up.

“So, how do you like him?” the god shouted dimly across the gale.

“Who?” Philipp shouted—his own voice almost lost.

Hermes cupped his hands over his mouth. “Colchi!”

“Who?”

“By Zeus,” said something in a cracked and sour voice. “Amplify your voice!”

With a start, the boy realized that what was under him had just spoken.

“Just because I can pull strings, doesn’t mean I should,” replied the god—his voice becoming suddenly clear.

“And do something about this wind—I’m too old for this.”

“Fine.”

Philipp’s hair—which had been furiously trying to tear away from his head—settled. They were still flying—the ground still zipping by at an alarming rate—but the resistance was no longer there.

“I suppose you’ll want an introduction, too. Very well,” grumbled Hermes to Philipp’s fuzzy mount. “Sheepboy, this is Colchi the Golden.”

The boy saw the withered tip of a snout stick up over the front.

“How y’do,” said Colchi. “Don’t straddle the fleece too hard. You’ll wear it thin.”

“Sorry,” said Philipp—trying to figure out how to continue riding on the beast without actually touching him.

“Colchi is a flying ram,” Hermes said—his mind obviously elsewhere.

“Hopefully, the boy’s not fool enough to miss that,” said the ram testily. “And stop calling me that ridiculous nickname.”

“What would you prefer? Lamby? Goldy? Nibs? Watch him, Sheepboy, he’s the most cantankerous creature in existence.”

“You would be too if you had to go by that insufferable name!”

“What’s his real name?” Philipp asked the god.

“I don’t think he has one,” said Hermes irritably. “I think if he had his way, every one would just call him ‘Golden Ram’. Think of how horrible that would be.”

“No one’s ever bothered to ask me my name, now have they?” The ram was craning his neck viciously trying to get a look at his antagonist. “Here we have a creature that has existed for centuries—the paragon of wondrous beasts—the most glorious four-legged thing to grace the Earth! One more wily than the Chimaera! More agile than Pegasus! More mysterious than the Sphinx! What shall we name such a beast? I’ve got it! Let’s call him Colchi!”

“He takes himself a bit too seriously,” whispered the god.

“Tell us—Tell us—O Golden Ram,” Hermes began again richly, “What is thy name, Grandest of Beasts?”

“That’s beside the point,” he grumbled lowly. “I just wanted someone to ask.”

“Very well…Colchi.”

“You know,” Hoping to change the subject, Philipp turned to the flying god. “You’ve never asked me my name either.”

“Haven’t I?” Hermes cocked his head. “Sheepboy seemed to be good enough for me, I guess.”

The boy paused for a moment. “It’s Philipp.”

“Ah, is it now?” Hermes smiled and turned his attention back to his flight.

“Don’t expect any gratitude or common decency out of that one, boy,” said the Golden Ram. “Gods don’t understand mortals. They have no idea what we go through. They’re too concerned with themselves.”

Philipp made a faint nod.

“You’ll see, boy—you’ll see.”

Hermes was now flying feet first now—biting his lip and staring into the swirling clouds before them. “Now, Colchi, get ready,” he began. “Pay attention to how you’re flying. We’re going to have to go up a bit—over these clouds.”

“Thank you very much,” said the ram. “But I don’t need any lessons from you about how to fly.”

Hermes gave him a sideways glare. “Maybe not. But we don’t want another incident like the last time—“

Philipp balked. “What happened the last time?”

“Our dear ram bit off a bit more than he could chew. Two children were riding on his back—and, well, he lost one over the side.”

“Don’t you dare blame me for that,” shouted Colchi. “Single Occupancy! Single Occupancy! I told them! I told them! Stupid brats!”

“He feels really bad about it,” continued Hermes. “That’s just his way of showing it.”

The boy eyed the tapestry of the land below him nervously and thought of how quickly it could all be rushing toward him. “Perhaps you shouldn’t irritate him while I’m on here.”

“He gets more and more bitter after every trip we take—but I can’t blame him.”

Philipp could feel the beast fuming below him—his ancient sides heaving in out and heating up.

“Tell him why, you murderer!” cried Colchi in his worst voice yet.

“It’s procedure!” Hermes shouted back at the ram, and then looking apologetically to Philipp. “It’s procedure! After a successful run, you—well—you have to—y’know—sacrifice the ram.”

“Cut my throat! In cold blood!” came the shrill voice again.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! You get to come back! He gets to come back.”

“Getting knifed time after time doesn’t cause emotional scarring or anything—dying again and again and again and again—“

“Oh, don’t get your wool in a wad,” the god muttered. “I’ve had about enough of him.”

And then—with the popping as before—Hermes was gone.

The remaining two flew silently for a while. Colchi did not seem to notice or care about the god’s absence.

“What does it feel like,” Philpp asked the ram quietly, “dying?”

He could feel Colchi let out a dry wheeze. “It stings a bit at first—then it feels very cold—underwater in winter—you try to breath, but you just can’t—you go numb—and then it’s all dark and crowded…”

“The Underworld?” asked the boy.

“No, worse—the womb. Then before you know it, back out with you—back into the sun—back into the world—back into misery—but not without first making a big mess.” The ram sighed. “You forget what it’s all about for a while. You’re a lamb—you grow up a bit—start chasing the ewes—then one day this weird looking man in a funny cap shows up and ruins your life all over again.”

“At least, you don’t have to stay dead.”

”That would be a blessing.”

Hermes was right. The ram had gone sour.