Chapter 15 - The Father Who Left
Zeus stopped within arm’s reach of Felix.
Up close, the pressure around him felt like standing beneath a storm that had chosen a single place to break. Felix’s wounded shoulder ached. He kept both feet planted.
“Move,” Zeus said.
“No.”
“You cannot hold me here.”
“I can stand here long enough for you to listen.”
Zeus looked beyond him. Betsy had taken Apollo into the doorway. Mrs. Hart remained beside the steps, gripping her hammer, though her hand trembled.
“This child’s power could save thousands,” Zeus said. “You are delaying us.”
“Then explain the danger to his mother,” Felix answered. “Tell her what it will cost him.”
Zeus’s jaw tightened. He had come expecting fear, perhaps obedience. Felix could see he had not prepared to speak to people who knew Apollo as a child.
“The breach is growing,” Zeus said. “If it opens fully, the power beyond it will tear through this valley.”
“How do you close it?”
“With the keeper’s seal and the fire in my son’s blood.”
“Will Apollo survive?”
Zeus looked away.
Betsy came forward. “Answer me.”
“I believe so.”
“You told me you believed he would die after he was born.”
“I was wrong.”
“You were absent,” she said. “You had no way to learn what he needed.”
Apollo fussed in her arms. Betsy touched his cheek beneath the blanket and he settled. Zeus watched, expression unreadable.
“There may be no other way,” he said.
“Then we find out together,” Felix replied.
“You speak as if you have the right.”
Felix felt heat rise in his chest. He had avoided a fight with armed men. Now he faced a god who saw no difference between caring for a child and owning his power.
Zeus’s gaze dropped to Felix’s horns. “You are just a beast.”
The yard went silent.
Felix had heard the word from strangers, hunters, and men who knew nothing about him. Hearing it from Apollo’s father made him look back at the small child in Betsy’s arms.
“Maybe,” Felix said. “But I stayed.”
Betsy’s eyes filled. Zeus said nothing.
Then a bell began to ring in town.
It was the old warning bell by the fire station. Once, twice, and then without pause. A pale seam of light appeared along the northern ridge. It stretched upward into the clouds, thin as a crack in glass.
Zeus turned toward it. “The threshold.”
Felix went to the porch steps. “How much time?”
“Less than I thought.”
The seam brightened. Everyone in the yard could see it now. Lightning moved inside it, though the sky around it was clear.
Mrs. Hart lowered her hammer. “Tell us what needs doing.”
Zeus stared at her. “Mortals cannot stand near it.”
“Then we’ll help the ones who can,” she said.
Felix asked Betsy to bring the stone from the kitchen. She returned with it wrapped in a cloth. As she passed it to him, gold lit the grooves.
Apollo reached toward the ridge.
Felix drew the child’s hand away gently. “We’re going to do this carefully.”
Zeus heard him. “The opening may grow while we prepare.”
“Then help us prepare faster.”
For the first time since arriving, Zeus took direction from someone else. He described the old boundary, the place where it lay, and the force pressing against it. Felix listened. The shape of the ridge came back to him: a hollow his mother had forbidden him to enter as a child.
“I know a path,” he said. “It follows the creek.”
They gathered what they could carry. Mrs. Hart asked the townspeople to warn farms north of the ridge. Betsy wrapped Apollo against her chest. Zeus stood apart, looking at the bright seam, while Felix checked the truck.
Before they left, Zeus approached Felix.
“I cannot change what happened when he was born,” he said.
“No.”
“I can keep him alive now.”
“Then listen when Betsy tells you what he needs.”
May you like
Zeus looked toward the porch, where Betsy stood waiting with Apollo. He gave a single, reluctant nod.
Felix climbed into the truck. The old stone warmed in his hand as they drove toward the northern ridge.
