“Anya should be here,” she said.
“She is coming,” replied Zeus.
No! I wanted to shout. But I could not.
“The Golden One is on his way, also,” said Hermes.
Zeus nodded gravely.
“He’s in a bad way,” Aphrodite said. “Look at how emaciated he is! His skin seems burned, too.”
They stood solemnly inspecting me, their creature. They did not touch me. They did not try to help me to my feet or offer me food or even a cup of water.
A sphere of golden light appeared to one side of them, so bright that even the Creators stepped back slightly and shielded their eyes with upraised hands. The sphere hovered above the misty ground for a moment, shimmering, pulsating, then contracted and took on the form of a man.
The Golden One. I had served him as Ormazd, the god of light, in the long struggle against Ahriman and the Neanderthals. I had fought against him as Apollo, the champion of ancient Troy.
He was my creator. He had made me and, through me, the rest of the human race. And the human race, evolving through the millennia, had ultimately produced these godlike offspring who called themselves the Creators. They created us; we created them. The cycle was complete.
Except that now I was a weapon to be used against them. I would kill the Creators, and begin the destruction of the entire human race, through all spacetime, through all the universes, expunging my own kind from the continuum forever.
My creator stood before me, proud and imperious as ever. Golden radiance seemed to glow from within him. He was tall and wide of shoulder, dressed in a robe of dancing winking lights, as if clothed in fireflies. His unbearded face was broad and strong, eyes the tawny color of a lion, a rich mane of golden hair falling thickly to his shoulders.
I hated him. I adored him. I had served him through the ages. I had tried to kill him once.
“You were not summoned here, Orion.” His voice was the same rich tenor I remembered, a voice that could thrill a concert audience or a mob of fanatics, a voice tinged with taunting mockery.
“I… need help.”
“Obviously.” His tone was scornful, but I saw something more serious in his eyes.
“He seems to be injured,” said Aphrodite.
“How did he get here if you didn’t summon him?” asked Hermes.
Zeus’s eyes narrowed. “You did not give him the power to translate through the continuum at will, did you?”
“Of course not,” the Golden One answered, irritated. Turning back to me, he demanded, “How did you get here, Orion? Where have you come from?”
Instantly I wanted to obey him. With instincts he himself had built within me, I wanted nothing more than to tell him everything I knew. Set. The Cretaceous. I spoke the words within my mind, but my tongue refused to form them. Set’s command over me was too strong. I simply stared at the Creators like a stupid ox, like a dog begging its master to show some love even if it failed to follow his commands.
“Something is definitely wrong here,” Zeus said.
The Golden One nodded. “Come with me, Orion.”
I tried, but could not get to my feet. I floundered there on that ridiculous cloud-covered surface like a baby too weak to stand erect.
Aphrodite said, “Well, help him!” Without taking a step toward me.
The Golden One snorted disdainfully. “You are in a bad way, my Hunter. I thought I had built you better than this.”
He made a slight movement of one hand and I felt myself being buoyed up, lifted as if by invisible hands, and held in a half-reclining position in midair.
“Follow me,” said the Golden One, turning his back on me. The three other Creators winked out like candles snuffed by a sudden gust of wind.
I hung in midair, helpless as a child, with the Golden One’s swirling cloak of lights before me. He began walking, yet it seemed to me that we did not truly move—the view around us shifted and shimmered and changed. I felt no sense of motion at all. It was as if we were on a treadmill and the scenery on all sides was rolling past us.