“They’re picking us off, one by one,” Odysseus said. “Just like she said they would. They’ll kill her if we don’t hurry. I’ll go by myself if I have to.”
“You will not.” Hermes stared him down and silently cursed Athena for leaving them. For getting him into this. The god of thieves was never meant to lead.
* * *
“Well?” Cassandra asked as Athena walked the edges of their chamber.
“Well, what?” Athena snapped. “They’ve separated us. Granted, if they had to do it, this is the way I would’ve wanted to be broken up. But Hermes and the others…”
“They have Achilles,” Cassandra said.
“Yes. At least they have that.”
“Look, can you get us out of here or not?” Cassandra flexed her fingers. The heat inside them ebbed with Aphrodite out of sight.
Athena stopped pacing and stared over Cassandra’s left shoulder.
“Don’t need to,” she said. “The doorway’s back.”
Cassandra turned. The doorway was back, leading to a familiar marble hall. But somehow she knew that it didn’t lead back to the others.
“Starting to think it was a bad idea to come here?” she asked.
“No,” Athena replied stubbornly. “There was only ever going to be one way out of here anyway.”
* * *
Leading Calypso and the mortals through the halls of Olympus, Hermes had never felt quite so glaringly inadequate. Athena would say a god should never feel inadequate.
“Athena,” he whispered. “Where are you?”
He turned a corner, and the hall changed from white marble to black. Sconces lit the way every few yards with small flames. An ominous hallway. Dark and gold. So ominous that when the growling started behind them, it almost felt appropriate.
“Do you hear that?” Andie asked. She shoved and twisted and tried to see.
“Andie, come up here by me,” Hermes said. He held his hand out.
The wolf struck as Andie moved through the line, clogging any route Hermes might have taken to get to the back before it did. And it was so fast. A flash of mangy gray fur, matted together with blood and pus. It rose onto two legs just as it hit Calypso, to sink its teeth into her shoulder. She screamed as it pulled her down.
The close corridor became a cacophony of shouts and shrieks, growls and the sounds of claws on marble, fangs ripping through skin. Hermes pushed Andie to the side, against the wall. Henry jumped for the gray wolf.
It was an impressive jump. He cleared ten feet with barely any momentum and landed straddling Calypso’s torso. He jammed the spear down, but the beast dodged, and instead of finding a home in its spine, the spear tip sliced deep along its rib cage. Henry pulled the spear free to try again, but the wolf leaped and fled through a door that hadn’t existed a moment before.
“Pain,” Calypso hissed through clenched teeth. Henry knelt to help her up, and Odysseus was by their side in an instant.
“I know,” Henry said. “Is it bad? Hermes, bring the med bag!”
Calypso waved him off and leaned against Odysseus.
“Don’t waste a dressing on me,” she said. “I meant that the wolf was Pain. Revenge for my saving you in the woods.” She put her hand on Henry’s chest. “Thank you.”
Odysseus glared at the blood. “This is bollocks. We can’t keep on strolling through their funhouse. We came to fight.”
“I’m all right.”
“You might not be, next time. None of us might.” He glanced at the shifting walls. Somewhere not far away, Pain growled again. Odysseus pulled Calypso closer. The damned wolf hadn’t given up. It wouldn’t give up, not until it got what it wanted, or until it was dead. And it could come from anywhere. From up under the ground, for all they knew.
More snarls sounded from the walls. And then a breathy howl behind Hermes.
“I’d lay odds that was Famine,” Hermes said. “And the other growl was Panic. That makes three.”
“What about Oblivion?” Henry asked.
“It won’t make any noise. But it’s here.”
“What do we do?” Andie asked.
Hermes clenched his fists. “I know how to kill a couple of elongated dogs!” Of the four wolves, only Oblivion was likely to give him much trouble.
“We know that,” Achilles said. “So could I. But these close quarters are a problem. Not even you could move fast enough to stop all of them before they bit through Henry’s neck. We could hurt someone ourselves, just shoving them out of the way.”
They waited and listened to the beasts.
“What are they doing?” Henry asked.
“They’re holding us,” said Achilles. “They’re only playing.”
“No,” Odysseus said. “They’re keeping us from Athena and Cassandra.” He pushed through the line to the front before Hermes could stop him.
Famine materialized out of the wall and dove for Odysseus, long white snout parted to tear his throat out. On two legs it stood taller than any man. Hermes tensed to spring, to intervene, but he’d be too late. The wolf would have Odysseus’ jugular stripped before Hermes closed half the distance, before anyone even had time to shut their eyes.
Odysseus twisted out of the way. He brought his knee up into the diving wolf, and the strength in his leg sent it rolling. He leaped after it, and his knife blade flashed as it slid under Famine’s thin jaw into its brain. Odysseus lifted the corpse. One jerk of his shoulder flung it neatly to thud against the marble wall.
He looked back at their shocked faces. “One down. Three to go.”
29
FATALISTE
“How did you do that?” Henry asked.
Odysseus led the way down the hall, walking fast up stairs and around corners, headed always toward the growls and snarls of Ares’ wolves. But none attacked. They must’ve gotten the message.
“You’ve never shown that kind of skill before,” Hermes said, “that kind of movement.” He wondered if Calypso knew, but she seemed as astounded as he was. Achilles, too, watched Odysseus warily, with a dark look on his face.
“That was only practice,” Odysseus said. “Why strain yourself training?”
“You didn’t show it in the field, either,” said Hermes. “When we faced down Ares in the rain forest, you were as much use as a dishrag.”
“Hey. I never said I could stand against the god of war.”
Achilles narrowed his eyes. “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything,” he said in a low voice. “All this time.”
“What? So she could run me to the ground in training like she does you?” He nodded over his shoulder at Henry and Andie. “Listen. I did it for you, right? If she knew what I could do, she’d figure it out. And you don’t want her to figure it out, Henry.”
“Figure what out?” Henry and Hermes asked together, and Odysseus smiled.
“Later. After we find your sisters. And after we all make it out of here alive.”
* * *
Cassandra’s legs thrummed with an impatient pulse. The halls of Olympus went nowhere. They walked down twisting halls, through doorways and rooms painted gold, filled with sculpture and ornately carved tables.
“How did you ever live here?” she asked Athena.
“What? You don’t like it?”
“I hate it. I feel like a mole trapped underground after some asshole tamped the opening to my burrow shut.”
“Yeah, but look at all this museum-quality shit,” Athena said, her voice dull. She walked partially crouched, ready for anything and only paying slight attention to Cassandra’s words. “Besides, we’re not underground. We’re in a mountain.” Athena threw open a door and stepped out.
They were outside. Under blue sky and yellow sun, with grass thicker and softer than Cassandra had ever felt beneath her shoes. All around them hills rolled and peaks soared, none higher than the one they had climbed.
“Cassandra, are you all right?”
“All right?” she breathed. “I’m in damn
Narnia.” She gestured outward, to the green splendor, silver mountains capped in mist. “What could be so abysmally, unnaturally wrong?”
“Good. Then let’s go.”
“Look,” Cassandra said, “I’m as impatient for a kill as you are. More, probably. But let me get my head straight.”
“All right,” Athena said. “But don’t take too long.”
Up the hillside a simple wooden door led back to the interior of the mountain. Cassandra wondered where Andie and Henry were. But they had Hermes, and Achilles, and Calypso. And she had Athena. She looked at the goddess, waiting impatiently.
The sooner I kill the lot of you, the sooner they’ll be safe.
Cassandra started to walk up the hill, and the voices came. Crashing through both ears.
(CAREFUL OF THE EDGE, CASSANDRA. THOUGH THERE ARE SO MANY WONDERS TO SEE ON THE WAY DOWN. MILES AND MILES AND MINUTES AND MINUTES BEFORE YOU BREAK ON WATER AND ROCKS. SO MANY WONDERS YOU WOULD NEVER SEE UNLESS YOU JUMPED. UNLESS YOU DOVE AND HELD YOUR EYES WIDE AGAINST THE WIND)
The voices were so strong she stepped back toward the edge and half expected her heel to land on nothing but air. Her stomach tumbled up into her throat, and the mountain tilted like a horse bucking.
“Athena!”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Laughter rang through her head. She could barely hear Athena through the racket.
(AWAY FROM THE EDGE, CASSANDRA, AND WALK QUICKLY. ONE FOOT THEN ANOTHER FOOT THROUGH THE DOOR AND TO OUR CHAMBER. WE WISH TO SEE YOU, OUR CHILD: THE CURVE OF YOUR CHEEKS, THE FALL OF YOUR HAIR. WE WOULD HAVE A WORD WE WOULD HAVE MANY SO HAPPY YOU ARE HERE)
Cassandra pressed her hands against her ears.
“Who are you? Stop talking!”
Athena tried to take her arm. But through her nausea, Cassandra lumbered past her, lurching like a drunk, trying to get to the wooden door and through to the other side. Hoping that then the voices would stop.
* * *
Something was in Cassandra’s head. Something Athena couldn’t see or hear. She followed close on the girl’s heels as she stumbled into walls and dragged herself forward. It was the Furies. It had to be. One more little trick Hera had managed to keep up her sleeve.
“What are they saying to you?” she asked. “Don’t listen, Cassandra. They’ll try to drive you mad.” Cassandra didn’t answer. There was nothing Athena could do besides make sure the Furies died first, when they got to where they were going.
Cassandra moaned painfully.
“It’ll be a hell of a thing if we have to do this alone,” Athena whispered. “Just us, and you half-mad. You’d better hope the others aren’t far behind.”
Lights lit up in Athena’s chest. They were close. The halls grew warmer and smelled sharply of herbs and smoke. Her pulse quickened, and her muscles coiled. Any door might be the last door.
“Cassandra, you should get behind me now,” she said, too late. Cassandra turned a knob and pushed through.
Athena burst in behind her and put her arm out across Cassandra’s chest. Athena’s eyes swiveled to take in everything, and came up short. Hera was there. The braziers burned and skittered orange against her stone cheek, all but healed. She smiled, and she could almost use her whole mouth to do it. But Hera wasn’t the most important thing in the room.
“What are you?” Cassandra asked.
“Who are you talking to?” Athena blinked. Something blurred her eyes and made her head swim. The room was lit only by firelight and the setting sun, but it was too bright. The air was too thick to breathe even though the far wall was open air, cut rock and columns, looking out over the sea. Her eyes watered. She barely made out the dark shape of Ares, standing on the opposite side of the room.
(WE SEE YOU, GODDESS OF BATTLE. NOW SEE US)
Athena’s grogginess disappeared, wiped clean like a hand swept across a fogged mirror.
There they stood. Or sat. With the tricolor silk laid over them she couldn’t tell. Three disfigured women, raised up on a platform of marble. Three crumbling, withered monoliths of women, twisted together. Athena’s eyes traveled from their red, black, and silver hair, to their arms, grown into each other’s stomachs.
“The Moirae,” she whispered.
Atropos, the black-haired one in the center, and the only one still beautiful, took her eyes off Cassandra. Her gaze made Athena want to crawl into a hole.
(KNEEL)
Athena didn’t think. She knelt with reverence and haste. Anyone watching would have thought she wanted to. That doing it was her decision.
She couldn’t look at Hera. Couldn’t stand to see her smug expression of triumph.
The Moirae were here, and they stood with her enemies. Fate had never been with her at all. It was too late to warn the others.
Too late to tell them that she’d been wrong.
* * *
Cassandra stood still in the center, between Athena and the Moirae. They ordered the goddess onto her knees, and Athena’s kneecaps struck marble as she obeyed.
They made Athena obey. It almost made Cassandra like them.
“I’ve heard of you,” Cassandra said. “The Moirae. The Fates. They Who Must Not Be Named. Is it true? Are you the gods of the gods?”
She didn’t really need to ask. Invisible leashes wound around the necks of every god in the room, from Hera to Ares, tethering them to the sisters. And the dark one in the middle had thrown a rope around Athena easy as roping a lame calf. It could be good. Leashed gods were easy targets.
(COME CLOSER, CHILD)
The words pulled her, but their voices were softer in her head. Whispering instead of ringing like cathedral bells.
(COME, AND BE GRATEFUL FOR THE GIFT WE GAVE YOU)
“What gift?”
(PROPHECY)
“That wasn’t your gift. It was Aidan’s, and it was a curse.”
(COME KNEEL)
“No.” The leash wouldn’t go around her, she realized. And now that she had her eyes on them, they could bombard her brain all they wanted. It would be no different than if they screamed in her face.
(NO?)
“That’s what I said. I don’t take orders from a Frankenstein monster in patchwork silk.” She looked back at Athena as the burning in her hands spread up her arms and into her shoulders. Soon, she’d be able to taste the fire in her throat. “I don’t take orders from anyone.”
(YOU ARE OURS)
“It would seem not,” she said, her eyes on Aphrodite’s deliciously terrified face, hiding behind a pillar. Time would stop while she watched it melt. So many gods, ripe for the picking.
“Athena, stand up,” she said, and willed Athena’s legs to move. Athena trembled and started to sweat.
(YOU WILL NOT)
“I will,” said Cassandra.
A door she hadn’t noticed flew open on the other side of the room, to the rear of Ares and Aphrodite. Achilles and the others spilled through.
* * *
The weight of the Moirae disappeared from Athena’s shoulders when the others burst into the room, and she slipped her foot under her and tensed, ready to spring. For the time being, no one moved. Hermes and the rest fanned out into the back, their arms out as if to ward off evil, their weapons raised. Cassandra lifted her arms, too. Even Ares. The two groups looked between each other, held in limbo, a Mexican standoff with no guns. Athena was very aware of the heart in her chest, and how the Moirae would explode it if she tried to move against them. But she would. The distraction might be their only chance.
“Finally found you,” Achilles said. “Orders or a plan might be good about now.”
“You think I have one for this?” Athena asked through clenched teeth.
(ACHILLES) The Moirae strained toward him. Atropos extended her lovely hand. (IMMORTAL ACHILLES)
“The Moirae,” Hermes whispered. His eyes were wide and rimmed with tears. Shame kicked Athena straight in the gut.
Achilles held his sword out, pointed
at Atropos.
“Cut them!” Athena shouted. “Kill them!” If Cassandra could disobey, Achilles could, too.
Clotho and Lachesis shivered in their husks. Atropos ignored her. She was too busy admiring her weapon. Achilles. The other weapon of fate.
(YOU ARE OURS. AS CASSANDRA IS OURS. WITH YOU, WE WILL DEVOUR THE GODS)
Across the room, a nervous wave passed through Hera, to Ares and Aphrodite.
“Don’t listen to them, Achilles,” said Cassandra. “We’re not theirs.”
But they were. The Moirae were the gods of the gods. Nothing could stand against them. And Achilles only fought for the winning side. He would never charge the cannons believing he would lose. He just wasn’t the type.
“Get away from them, mate,” Odysseus said, and walked slowly closer. “They don’t have anything good in mind for you.”
(COME, ACHILLES. COME TO US, AND RISE AS AN IMMORTAL. AS A TRUE GOD)
“A true god?” Achilles asked.
Athena closed her eyes.
(YOU ARE WHAT YOU ALWAYS WERE. KILLER OF MEN. KILLER OF HEROES. SHOW US. SHOW US)
Achilles looked down, dazed, at the sword in his hand. Athena didn’t even have time to scream before he turned and threw it.
But Cassandra did. Cassandra, and Andie, and Hermes, they all screamed and moved toward Henry. Only Henry wasn’t the target.
Athena’s heart beat once. The sword caught Odysseus in the chest, and came out his back.
* * *
Calypso screamed. Everyone screamed. Blood soaked into Odysseus’ hands and dripped from his lips.
Inside Athena’s head, the world slowed to a crawl. Wolves snarled. Calypso fell to her knees and tore at her cheeks. Someone shouted Athena’s name.
“No,” she said.
Odysseus slid to his knees, and something inside of her snapped. Everything else fell away: Hermes crouching low and fighting off attacking wolves with Andie and Henry stabbing spears beside him, Cassandra turning her murderous eyes back on the gods. None of it meant anything. Only Odysseus’ blood, and his fading heartbeat, mattered.
Athena sprang away from Hera, away from Cassandra. She crossed the room in three strides and pulled him into her arms.