Athena watched the land pass through the window. Buildings and metal and roads and people. So many cars. She’d stayed away too long. When she’d been there last, it had been another world.
Another world, in sixty years. Everything changes. Even gods.
Athena glanced at her wrist, bare now, the gauze gone. The feathers had all been plucked, and the scabs healed to faint curling scars that would disappear in a week. There hadn’t been any feathers since, except for the one she’d coughed out of her lung.
“No new feathers?” Odysseus asked, reading her mind.
“No. I must’ve used up my feather quota for the month. Maybe I should have Cassandra zap me more often. Feathers through the wrists aren’t so bad. I could bear an eternity of them, if it meant they’d stay out of my lungs.”
“That was stupid,” he said. “I should never have left you alone with her.”
“Don’t be such a dad,” she said, and set her foot up on the dash. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“Hmph.” Odysseus snorted. “You’re looking awfully chipper for someone who’s about to kill a boy.”
“I’ve killed lots of boys. And none of them were so wicked as the one I’m about to.”
“You don’t know him. He’s just a kid caught up in your mess like the rest of us. He went mad with grief, and you called him evil.”
“He behaved like a god, but he wasn’t one,” Athena said, annoyed. “Maybe it was you who didn’t know him.”
She looked back out the window and tried to relax, focus on the changing scenery. All that sunlight and wind in the brush. After the war was over, maybe she’d come back. She and Hermes could stand on top of mountains. But no. Hermes would want somewhere with satin and wine. Shirtless boys and roast meat on silver platters.
Still, Australia was a country she wanted more of. If they were wrong, and the war didn’t save them, it would be an excellent place to die.
“What are you thinking about?” Odysseus asked.
Athena blinked. “Shirtless boys,” she said. “No. Not really. I was thinking of the time I was here last. Has to be more than sixty years ago. When there was more wild.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of bits of Australia that are still as wild as you remember.”
“I’m sure there are,” she said. “I loved it here. The quiet. I swam for days in the Adelaide River with the crocodiles.”
“I’ve never heard you sound so nostalgic,” Odysseus said. “Maybe back in Chicago, when we talked about my travels. About the old days.”
“Well. Swimming with crocodiles is a strong memory.”
“I bet.” He glanced at her and shifted in his seat. “Of course you know I’m imagining it nude.” She reached across and slugged him. “Ow. They never tried to bite?”
“Never,” she said. “I think they sensed that I couldn’t be touched. Or maybe they thought I was one of them.” She peered at the speedometer to make sure Odysseus wasn’t stalling, and he cleared his throat and signaled to change lanes.
“I should have told you about Calypso,” he said.
Athena chewed the inside of her cheek. She wished they weren’t stuck together in the car.
“You tried,” she said. “When I found you at the Three Sisters, you said that ‘she’ came to you in London. She. I remember that. I just didn’t think any more on it. There’ve been other things for me to think about.”
“We’ve been busy, I know. But not always. I should’ve said—”
“Why should you have said? It’s none of my business.”
His fingers clenched on the steering wheel. “I thought you might say something like that. Despite the tattoos and holey jeans, you haven’t changed. The bronze helmet and shield are still there in spirit.”
“In more than spirit. They’re in a safe in Zurich.”
“Damn it,” he said. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I. Anyone robs that safe, they’ll have me to deal with.”
“She’s not in my room,” Odysseus said loudly, and Athena’s mouth clamped shut. “She’s in the guest room. And that’s where she’ll stay, if you’ll just—” He paused. “When I saw her in London, it was like on that island. She was beautiful, and she has that voice. And there’s so much history between us. When I left her to find you, I didn’t know. I didn’t know how I was going to feel when I saw you.” He paused guiltily. “But I think she knew. That’s why she came. She knew I was never going back.”
Athena’s heart pounded. Joy raced through her all the way to her fingertips, hearing the words come out of his mouth. He loved her best.
“Calypso is a good girl,” she said softly. “She cares for you. And she can give you things that I can’t. That I can never.”
“Athena.”
“Odysseus. I don’t want you to think of me like this anymore.”
* * *
The Snowy Mountains loomed in the windshield of the Land Rover. Since Athena had turned Odysseus away, they hadn’t spoken. Nothing about a love that could never be made real. Nothing about why she shouldn’t kill an innocent boy, already living in exile. Odysseus eased up on the accelerator, but it was no use. Athena did what she said she would, without exception. So Odysseus didn’t say stupid things like, “You won’t be able to, when you see him.” And she hoped he wasn’t entertaining the notion that if he threw himself in front of Achilles, he could stop her.
They pulled off the highway, into the town of Jindabyne at the base of the mountains and drove straight through, to a Jeep trail he and Calypso had found. He drove up the winding path until it thinned out and cut off, then killed the engine.
“I know you’re going to try to stop me,” she said. “I know you feel like you have to.”
“That’s how it is, isn’t it? You and I, we both do what we feel we have to.” He opened the door and got out. Athena followed, and the sun warmed her cheeks against the mountain air, cooler than in the lowland. Odysseus walked slowly into the trees.
“But you understand, don’t you?” he asked. “I dragged him into this, back then. Dragged him off to war. I won’t do it again.”
Athena slammed her door. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Down deep, he wanted to go.” She gestured up the thinning trail. Somewhere overhead, some kind of squirrel or glider shook the leaves of the low, broad branches of a gum tree. It was a skittering sound. The sound of prey.
Today I am a huntress, like my sister Artemis.
“Let’s go.”
* * *
They’d hidden him well, far up the mountain and off the trail. Athena and Odysseus walked miles through the trees. Achilles must be so alone, living on wallaby meat and talking to birds.
Athena closed her eyes. Pity was for later. After it was done.
“You’re not doing something stupid, are you?” she asked Odysseus’ back as he led her through the trees.
“Something stupid like what?”
“Like taking me the wrong way.”
“I’d only be able to stall you for so long. I’d starve before you would.” He grasped the twisting gray bark of an alpine ash, digging his fingers in and dragging himself by. He was tired. And he was right. He could only stall her for so long.
Finally, a faint hint of smoke and cooked meat touched Athena’s nose. Dull, chemical smells from cleaners and plastics. A few more steps and she saw it: a tiny house in the trees. Barely large enough to be called a cabin. Chairs fashioned from whittled wood sat in the yard around a small table. A boy sat in one with his back bent over, reading a book. Long, hanging blond hair obscured most of his face.
Athena moved behind a tree and let Odysseus go ahead. She didn’t recognize Achilles like she’d thought she would. And there was something peculiarly sad about the extra chairs. Like he was always expecting friends who might never show up.
Athena saw the exact moment Achilles realized someone was coming. Just a slight tensing of muscle and an almost imperceptible turn of his head. No other tells, and no f
ear. He didn’t turn until Odysseus called out his name, and then the smile on his face was broad. She noted the power in his stride and his sharp green eyes. The joy on his face at seeing his friend.
Don’t let him fool you. He’s an atom bomb. He’s got to go.
“Ody!” He held out his arms, and for a minute Athena thought she wouldn’t have to do much of anything, that Odysseus might fall in line. But then Achilles’ face changed from happy to wary.
“Run, Achilles,” Odysseus shouted. “Run!”
Achilles saw her before she sprang, before she burst out from behind the ash tree like a flushed bird. He spun and ran, dodging the table and chairs. He dashed around the corner of his shelter and sprinted farther up the mountain, lightning fast.
Her pupils zeroed in on his fleeing back. The scent of blood in her nose was so strong she didn’t see Odysseus throw the chair. It struck her shoulder, and she glared at him.
“Don’t!” he yelled. “Talk to him at least!”
But Odysseus was behind her already. She ran, following the glimpse of Achilles’ blond hair as it darted through the ashes. The first trap was a total surprise. Her foot landed square in the steel jaws, and it snapped closed on her ankle. She barely had time to inhale before the snare engaged and dragged her onto her back and into the air.
“Athena!” Odysseus stopped short below her. There was no pain in her foot yet, but blood was traveling the wrong way up her leg, soaking hot through her sock. She gritted her teeth, gripped the trap’s jaws, and pried them open. Then she swung her legs under her and dropped to the ground.
“Are you all right?” Odysseus asked.
“Don’t follow.” She knelt and assessed her foot. Not broken.
“What?”
“Don’t follow!” She stood and pushed him backward. “He’s rigged the path with traps, don’t you understand?”
“I can watch for traps as well as you can,” he said stubbornly.
There was no time to argue. Who knew where Achilles was headed, or how far ahead he was already. But she didn’t want to watch for traps. She wanted to run right through them. Only with Odysseus there, she couldn’t take the chance.
“Stay with me,” she barked, and took off again, slower this time. Achilles had built his traps well. It must’ve taken him countless days to dig the pits and sharpen the poles to line them, to figure out the ideal branches to lay his pulleys across. And he was clever. She jumped over a poorly hidden tripwire and nearly fell into a covered pit of skewers.
“Watch it,” she called to Odysseus. “He let that one show on purpose.” She nodded toward the concealed pit and held out her hand to pull him across. She evaded three more traps before a thin, half-buried tripwire caught on her foot. When the hundred-pound log fell toward them like a swooping hawk there was nothing she could do but take it, catch it, and keep it away from Odysseus. Her shoulder crunched and popped out of its joint. If it wasn’t broken, she’d put it back in later.
By the time she made it to the clearing, she was panting, bloodied, and pissed. But Achilles hadn’t lost them. The look on his face as she walked toward him was somewhere between surprised and disappointed.
“You’re not afraid,” she called.
“Not then and not now,” he called back. So he remembered the old days, and who he was. Achilles. Manslayer. That should have made it easier. But Odysseus’ voice rang through her ears. He’s my friend, Athena. He’s just a kid, caught up in your mess.
“How did you die?” she asked curiously. “How did you get your old memories?”
“An accident,” he said. “A fall. A long time ago. I was seven.”
Seven. He would’ve been a skinny towheaded kid with big green eyes. Dirt on his nose. Maybe a lizard in his pocket. A boy she would’ve liked. Damn it.
But the traps. He knew why she’d come. He was no deer in the headlights.
Odysseus grabbed her arm.
“I found him last year in Brisbane. I don’t know how. I just knew where he was. He took one look at me and laughed. Hugged me like we’d never been apart. When I told him about the war, he wanted to hide. So just … let him stay hidden.”
Her maimed shoulder and foot throbbed dully, like beacons on a far-off shore, and she’d be hurt worse before it was done. Let him stay hidden. But if she did, they would pay for it. Cassandra would pay for it. Hermes. Weapons like Achilles never stayed quiet. And the regret of that wasn’t something she could live with.
She pushed Odysseus away gently. Achilles wouldn’t die easy. Not the best of the Greeks. He held something in his hand. A hammer.
He ran at her and swung. The end of the hammer breezed inches shy of her cheek as she turned her head. He brought it back fast, and it caught her in the shoulder. The already dislocated bone cracked.
A mortal, cracking my bones. Am I getting weaker, or was he always so strong?
She wasn’t sure. She’d never fought him. But she’d watched him cut down men like wheat in a field. The hammer pulled back, and she could have grabbed it. Should have grabbed it and made him face her hand to hand. But he was still a mortal. Letting him keep his weapon felt fair.
She dodged the next strike, meant to bust into her rib cage, and kicked out, but what should have dropped him only knocked him backward. Not even off-balance. And he still wasn’t afraid. The light in his eyes was the same mad light she’d seen on the battlefield in Troy. Hector must’ve been terrified, looking into them.
She caught Achilles by the arm and threw him around her in a circle. He rolled to his feet unharmed, and so damned fast. He sprang forward and struck, his fist against her jaw. The clack of her teeth was loud and embarrassing. But he’d overplayed his hand. She reached around the back of his head and threw him to the ground, on him before he could regain his feet, her one good arm wrapped around his head. With brutal grace, she snapped his neck.
The body slumped to the side and rolled onto its back. Odysseus shouted, and the clearing went silent. It was over. Athena rose and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see the body, or Odysseus’ face. But when he tried to go past her, she caught him across the chest.
“I knew you would do it,” he said. “I knew. But I didn’t believe it.” He threw her arm off and turned back the way they’d come.
“Where are you going?”
“To get a shovel. To bury him.”
“I don’t have any shovels, actually.”
Athena spun around at the impossible voice. Achilles’ head rolled toward her and smiled.
“I broke the last one digging that bloody pit,” he said. “Haven’t made it down to buy any replacements.” He pushed himself up onto his elbows and twisted his neck. Broken bones popped back together with a hideous sound. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”
“I broke your neck,” Athena said.
He shrugged. “Been broken before.”
She looked at Odysseus, but he hadn’t known. His eyes were round as one of her owls’. Achilles stood up and dusted himself off, none the worse for wear. He didn’t even seem angry. The way his green eyes flickered from Athena to Odysseus, he seemed mostly embarrassed to have been killed. Except he hadn’t died.
“You still are what you were,” Athena said softly.
Invincible.
14
WEAPONS
Odysseus checked Achilles over as if he were assessing a horse. He lifted the boy’s arms and moved his chin back and forth. Another minute, and he’d open his mouth and look at his teeth.
“I don’t believe it,” Odysseus muttered. “You bloody can’t be killed. Unless”—he cocked his head—“what about your heel? Did your mum really dip you headfirst in the Styx and miss that part? If I cut it, would you die?”
Achilles smiled. “The legend’s not that literal. Not quite.”
“So you can be killed,” Athena said. “You’re not immortal.”
“The whole world knows my name,” he said, and shrugged. “If I’m not immortal, I’m damn close.”
r /> “What if I pulled you apart?” she asked.
“What if you could?” He nodded toward her ruined shoulder and foot, then turned back to Odysseus. “What’re you doing here, anyway? Why’s she all … after my hide?”
“Haven’t you heard? You’re the weapon of the gods. Or at least, you’re one of them.” Athena waited while Odysseus filled him in.
“Mm,” Achilles said. “Well, since killing me is out, why don’t I come back with you? Then you’d have both weapons instead of one.” He cocked his eyebrow at Athena. “Might’ve saved us all a broken neck if you’d just asked that in the first place.”
Athena glowered. Since killing him was out. What a thing to assume. But she was in no condition to try again. And the idea of Achilles dying and popping up over and over like some macabre prairie dog was just too awful.
Her eyes took in his wild blond hair and gray-blue t-shirt. He was built sort of like Henry, with broad, muscular shoulders and fast, narrow hips. But he was taller. And much more lethal.
“I would have been content to stay on the mountain,” said Achilles. “But you found me. And this is what I was made for. So make your choice, goddess. The side who has me lives forever.”
“He’ll be a help, I promise,” said Odysseus.
Athena sighed. “Shit.” Was he going to promise to feed and walk him next? “Fine. Never let it be said I’m not flexible.” He would come back to Kincade. And they could use Hera’s own weapon to cut her throat.
* * *
“Do you know how much alcohol it takes to get a god good and drunk?” Hermes swallowed beer from a red plastic cup. “Not as much as you’d think.”
But still, a lot. It was his twentieth cup.
“I’m out,” he said, and eyeballed the plastic bottom.
“Take mine.” Cassandra handed him her cup. The mortals, it seemed, didn’t feel like drinking. Not even amidst the whoops and laughter of what seemed to be half the school. An impromptu party jammed the bonfires at Abbott Park to near capacity, celebrating the suddenly rising temperatures. The mercury had risen above sixty that day, and the forecast said it would go as high as seventy for the remainder of the week. A strawberry spring. One little glimpse of paradise before winter’s fist closed back up.