Page 1 of The Trickster's Heart

Prologue

“I am looking for the one I can’t fool.” ?Kamand Kojouri

No one understood the trickster.

It was in human nature to be confused by their actions. Whenever they spoke, we second-guessed their meaning. We found ourselves wondering if they were using a language we’d never heard. The trick was revealed and often met by anger and frustration.

The rage was misplaced; the distraction was unwarranted.

The games only revealed the parts of ourselves that we wished had remained hidden. Our response to the ruse unveiled bits of our souls that should have remained in the dark. There was nothing but truth in the hands of the trickster—truths so blinding, they could block out the sun.

What else could we do but hide our eyes and turn away? We could not face ourselves, so the stones were thrown and the lots were cast. The devious one became the scapegoat for our sins, as if we forgot that we had started the game.

Hermes did not become the trickster.

He was born into it—but the greatest trick he ever played was one on himself.

* * *

When he was born, Zeus decreed Hermes was the ‘Herald of the Gods’ and his fate was sealed. How could anyone become anything other than a trickster when their day consisted of relaying the messages of the gods? The gods were fickle, and their messages were full of deceit. It wasn’t long before the gods’ reactions to Hermes’s messages became synonymous with their responses to Hermes himself. His immortal life turned into a never-ending game of ‘shooting the messenger.’

He flocked to those who might need him the most—the travelers, the thieves, the merchants, even the orators—and became their patron. The winged sandals were bound to his feet, and he put them to good use, attempting to accrue all the goodwill that he could. In the end, it was for naught.

The gods had no desire to put their faith in the hands of the messenger. In the cruelest twist of fate’s ironic blade, they trusted Hermes with their secrets but never believed a word he said. Hermes found himself at the beginning of an everlasting life with an already impervious reputation.

It was the trickster’s world, and he didn’t have a friend in it. Slowly, he cultivated bonds with those in the Underworld as he ushered souls to Charon. They were more comfortable with the grey matter in life, which suited Hermes just fine. He became a dealer in magic, tricks, and secrets, becoming adept at reading mortal and immortal emotions alike. It wasn’t as though Hermes didn’t understand love or companionship; he witnessed it every day.

He simply didn’t think it had a point.

Life moved fast and then you died.

Hermes was caught in this never-ending loop of quick talking, quicker movements, and a daily reminder as a psychopomp that everything comes to a close.

After the events of Apollo’s attempt at a massacre on all of mortal Greece, the gods pulled rank. They nestled closer to one another, forming alliances and strengthening their bonds. Even the gods of the Underworld, whom Hermes had the best chance of relating to, were beginning to fall in love. It started with Nyx and Erebus’s great reconciliation, then it trickled down to Hecate, Thanatos, and even Hades.

Love, that fickle thing of mortal men and his fellow Olympians’ favorite weakness, was about to prove itself even more swift-footed than Hermes.

1

“Keep going… Yes, that’s it. There’s only one road. You can’t miss it. You’re on it now. That’s…great. Have fun!” Hermes waited patiently while giving directions to a freshly dead mortal soul. He did this everyday but always took time to remind himself that humans didn’t.

The apparition disappeared down the short sandy path towards Charon. As soon as it vanished, Hermes released a long exhale and let the smile drop from his face. It was becoming more and more exhausting to keep up appearances—a fact that frightened him more than it should have.

Hermes always did his job without complaint, and he knew that it was best for everyone if he avoided boredom. It was one of the reasons he took on so many jobs. These days, none of them seemed to have the same effect they once had, and he found himself struggling to keep up with the workload. He wasn’t tired; it was just dull now. It was as though everything he’d once loved was slowly slipping away from him, and it was driving him nearly insane to figure out why.

Hermes disappeared on the wind, leaving behind a slight smell of crocus flowers and a pale cloud of golden magic. He hurtled through the Underworld with one destination in mind—the only place that still welcomed him with an open door and only one raised brow instead of two.

Okay, maybe ‘welcome’ is a strong word.

All the same, when Hecate’s courtyard came into view, Hermes felt part of the knot in his chest begin to loosen.

The unpretentious home was probably the smallest out of all of the god’s residences, but it was the most comfortable—only Hestia was a better host. The courtyard was framed with columns, with a small lit altar in the very center. It was surrounded by mosaicked tile that gleamed in the fire’s glow. Hecate maintained the last ritual space for Nyx, the Goddess of Night and her closest friend. Hermes prepared to drop down in front of the altar. The moment he pulled back his magic and started to descend, he slammed into an invisible wall.

Hermes let out a surprised yelp and went flying through the air, landing in the soft earth a stone’s throw away from the courtyard’s entrance. He picked himself up slowly and shook out his limbs, smirking as he dusted dirt off his shoulder.

“That was a cruel trick, putting up wards!” Hermes sauntered towards the archway. “You know an aerial descent was my preferred entrance. Doors are for mortals!”

As he approached the house, he conjured a stick of incense from thin air and tossed it into the altar basin, but not before making sure no one saw him. Three large black dogs came running out of the main house, jumping up on Hermes and fighting for attention while covering his face in kisses.

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