Murphy did not seem surprised by the other party's appearance. He sighed. "You said the gods took his voice?"
"Yes." Apollo's expression turned sorrowful. "That great long poem frightened the gods. My father feared that its spread would bring an ill omen, so he used a cup of Nectar laced with poison to make him lose his voice."
"But you don't seem to think that way?" Murphy asked.
"You may have heard our legends. My father killed his father and thereby ascended to the throne of Mount Olympus, while his father gained authority only by killing his father's father," Apollo said.
"In the oldest prophecy, the throne of the Olympian Gods would be passed down in the same way."
"But that prophecy was stopped. My father has sat upon the throne for far too long."
Murphy understood. He smiled. "Apollo, son of Zeus, king of the gods. God of light, god of the sun, god of prophecy, god of art, far-shooting god of war, the most beloved and revered god on Olympus. Of course you're qualified to take up that authority."
"So what do you want me to do?"
Apollo waved his hand, and a pale golden halo spread out from around him until it covered the entire area near the tomb.
Murphy did not stop him. He knew this was a means of cutting off other people's observation and detection.
"Where did you hear the divine name Wotan?" Apollo asked.
The prototype for the story of the Nibelungs was Norse mythology. In the story, the chief god who built the temple of Valhalla, kept scheming behind the scenes, tried to stop Ragnarok, yet through a series of outrageous maneuvers ultimately caused Ragnarok to arrive, was named Wotan—who was, in fact, Odin.
However, at present, Norse mythology had not yet