Downfall of the Gods by K. J. Parker Page A

didn’t fail. And you succeeded.” I smiled. “You’ll be a hero now,” I said. “The stuff of legend. They’ll write epics about you. Your name will never die. Won’t that be nice?”
    “But—”
    I grinned at him. “The second lamb.”
    “What?”
    I sat down beside him on the step. “You remember the second lamb.”
    “Yes.”
    “That,” I told him, “was no lamb. That was my brother Polyneices, god among other things of shapes and illusions. While I was making my big, futile, impassioned speech and everybody was looking at me, Pol stopped being a lamb and turned back into himself, only invisible. He grabbed Lysippus’ ghost, folded it up really small and stuffed it down inside your boot. Then he turned himself into the spitting image of Lysippus’ ghost, while we made a quick getaway. Piece of cake,” I added. “The old distraction routine. It never fails.”
    “Then your brother—”
    “Is still in there, yes. But don’t worry, he’ll be fine, unless he eats or drinks anything, and he’s too smart to do that.”
    “But the Lady of Death—Won’t she be angry when she finds out?”
    “Livid,” I said. “Spitting feathers. But screw her. She was mean and she wouldn’t help me when I asked her nicely, so nobody’s going to have the slightest bit of sympathy. And Pol will just walk out through the wall and go home.” I paused, expecting a torrent of praise. It didn’t come. “Well?”
    “You cheated.”
    “What? Well of course I cheated.”
    “It was a trick,” he said bitterly. “It was a stupid trick. It was meaningless. It was stealing .”
    I shook my head. “Theft is taking with intent to permanently deprive the owner,” I said. “In sixty years, she’ll get him back again. Not theft, just borrowing.”
    “It’s childish .”
    I realised I wasn’t angry with him, in spite of his ingratitude. “I suppose it was, rather. But we’re all a bit childish in my family. I guess childhood’s the closest you mortals get to being us, when you’re still too young to appreciate the implications of your own mortality.” I smiled at him. “It’s a shame you have to grow up, really.”
    He stood up. “I’d like to go home now, please. If you’ve finished with me.”
    “Of course. Close your eyes and you’ll be there in two seconds.”
    “No,” he said, “I didn’t mean back to the City. I want to go home . There.”
    He was pointing at his stupid little hut, with the goat-pen out back. “You aren’t serious.”
    “That’s my home,” he said. “I built it with my own two hands, and it rests on the five pillars of happiness. Four pillars,” he amended. “I’m never going back. That’s all right, isn’t it?”
    “Suit yourself,” I said. “Oh, and you’re forgiven.”
    “Am I? That’s nice.”
    “That means,” I said, slightly nettled, “that you won’t suffer eternal damnation.”
    “No,” he said. “Instead I’ll end up in there, with her.” He jerked his thumb back over the bridge. “Big difference.”
    “Aren’t you at least going to thank me?”
    “Thank you,” he said. “Goodbye.”
    O N MY WAY home, I noticed a huge crater, just north of Perimadeia. I flew closer, and saw a small, sad-looking figure slowly climbing over the rim.
    “Hello, Pol.”
    “Oh. It’s you.”
    “Dad was cross, then.”
    “Yes. Dad was very cross.”
    “Sorry about that.”
    “It doesn’t matter.” He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Actually,” he said, “you were quite right. I don’t feel particularly bad about it. In fact, I couldn’t really give a shit.”
    “Mphm. What about when all the others laugh at you and call you names?”
    “Like I care. And besides, they won’t. They’ll be thinking, the old fool’s losing it, it’ll be my turn next.” He looked at me. “The twilight of the gods, sis.”
    “Oh well.”
    “It’s a pity, though. With honour and shame, we were just about viable. Without them—”
    “No great