“Yes, but it’s not the same as a mortal body. Nothing’s the same. I’ll have to die to get back to being a god. It’s the only way. What you should do, if you want to be a god, is to find something to be responsible for, something you can take charge of. That’s what my sons who are gods did. It could be something that no god cares about now, or it could be something of mine that I’d devolve onto you. It would have to be something that needed a patron, something you cared about. And then after you died, instead of going on to Hades your soul would go to Olympos and you’d become a god. But you might prefer to stay mortal and go on to have new lives. You get to start again and forget. And there are things humans can do that gods can’t—humans can do whatever they can, but we’re bound by Father’s edicts—or, if we break them, we are subject to punishment. There’s a lot to be said for being mortal … but it is also awful, I’ll admit.” He wiped his hand over his eyes and tried to smile. “I would still grieve if I were my proper self, but it wouldn’t swallow me up this way.”

“If it’s awful for you when you know what happens after death, think how awful it is for everyone who doesn’t know!”

“I have thought about that a lot, since I talked to Sokrates and Simmea about it, and of course since Athene admitted it to everyone at the Last Debate.” He looked at different spots in the garden, as if he could see where they had sat for that conversation. “But while it might be better for individual people to know, it’s better for the world for people not to be sure.”

“If people knew for sure that they had immortal souls, and that they needed to pursue—” I stopped, because I heard a sound from inside. I thought it was probably the other students come for the calculus class, and I’d have to tell them that Mother wasn’t here and the calculus class was canceled not just for today but for always. There wasn’t anyone who could take it over, either, not that I could think of.

But it wasn’t a student who came out, it was my brother Neleus. He looked almost as bad as Father. His face seemed entirely bloodless. I was delighted to see him—anything to relieve the burden of being alone with Father in this state. I got up and hugged him tightly. “You know?”

“Sophoniba told me,” he said. “An art raid.”

“Nobody knows who,” Father said, without moving from where he sat, staring at the space by the tree where I had been.