The water level was just high enough to coat the last two steps and wash over the lip of the cave. I pulled out the torch and turned it on before we walked hand in hand into the cave’s mouth. We splashed water with every step we took, but at least nothing came to challenge us. There was a slight incline. We climbed out of the water and then deeper into the cave until the torchlight played over something that flashed.
I stopped and panned the torchlight back over the cluster of stalagmites partially hidden by a curtain of low hanging stalactites. Blue and gold paint shone beneath the light, still visible despite years in the cave. As we approached, it was clear that a painted tarp had been placed over a circular object propped on a plain pedestal that was partially covered by stalagmites. Using the torch, I broke the fringes of stalagmite that had started to encompass the tarp covered object. Then, I pulled the tarp off.
Lauren gasped as the shield was uncovered. Time and weathering should have left the designs unrecognizable, but somehow the paints were still intact save where nicks and cuts were left by weapons that had tried and failed to pierce the shield. I studied the shield closely. The round concave shield spanned a little more than three feet in breadth and painted bronze covered its front. The reliefs formed three layers moving from the center of the shield out. In the very center were the earth, sky and sea, with the sun and moon surrounded in turn with the twelve chief constellations. The next ring showed the mirror images of a city at peace with a wedding and a law case, while the other city was at war with soldiers encroaching and a battle depicted. The outer ring of images was divided into smaller sections of life, the ploughing of a field, the harvest being reaped, a vineyard with its workers, a herd of cattle attacked by lions as their keepers rose to their defense, a sheep farm, and men and women dancing together. Finally, the border was formed of a strip of bronze painted blue to represent the surrounding ocean.
“It’s a hoplon or aspis. Almost exactly as Homer described.” I shook my head and then cautiously reached out to pull the shield free. The shield was a little heavier than I expected, probably closer to twenty pounds than fifteen, but it was also solidly built. Turning it around, I could see the inner layer was covered with leather while the center was most likely treated wood. There was a grip at the edge of the shield and a leather strap still hung in the center of the shield.
“That doesn’t look very practical for a functioning shield.”
I smiled grimly. “Achilles wouldn’t have cared. This,” I gestured to the decorations, “is all for the purpose of reminding his enemies that he was favored by the gods and the greatest man to walk the earth, the greatest warrior who carried peace and war in his hands. It was designed so that the soldiers of Troy would see it and know that Achilles had come for them. It was well made and functional, otherwise the damage from fighting would have been more significant.”
“It won’t be easy to carry out of here, not with those steps.”
“Hand me the rope.”
Lauren took the length of rope out of her bag and watched as I knotted it around the shield to form a sort of net before tying it into a makeshift strap. I slung the shield on my back, securing the strap as it hung across my body, and then nodded to Lauren. “Let’s get back.”
“Where do you think we’ll need to go to meet the elder?”
“I’m not sure. It’s possible we might need to travel to Larissa to find anyone.”
“Why there?”
“It was once the capital of the Myrmidon people.”
Lauren didn’t say anything else as we slogged through the seawater to reach the bottom of the stairs once more. The wind was blowing harder now, and I could smell rain even before I noted the dark rainclouds gathering overhead. I motioned for Lauren to go in front of me, not wanting to take my eyes off her.
We were halfway up the stairs when a particularly strong gust swept over us. It caught on the shield, tugging hard, and nearly sending me stumbling backwards. I heard scraping and then Lauren screamed. Her scramble to grab onto anything ended with her legs dangling over the edge of the stairs. I lunged forward nearly falling myself when the edge of the shield knocked against the cliff side. My pulse was thundering even as cold flooded through me, lending a precision to my movements, as I caught Lauren’s wrists with both hands. The shield scraped against the cliff as I hauled Lauren up by her wrists until I could get a grip on her belt to better leverage her up.
Her bag knocked against me with a solid weight as she scrambled to get her feet planted on the stairs. I grabbed her shoulders and held her still, not quite believing she was there. “All right?”
She nodded, leaning her forehead against my shoulder. After another moment, she pulled away and then carefully turned around so that she could climb again. This time I followed much more closely, resting a hand on her back or hip as needed. In that particular instance, I had the very strong feeling that we both needed that little bit of reassurance.
We made it to the top of the stairs without further incident, but we had no sooner collected my go bag than we were surrounded. Six centaurs, five males and a lone female, formed a semicircle around us, spears and bows at the ready, leaving us stuck between them and the seaside cliffs. I stepped in front of Lauren, but kept my hands out at a slight angle. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of fighting them, but a group of centaurs would be . . . challenging to best even for a Myrmidon unless I gave in to the ice still lurking in my veins. Lauren’s hand brushed against mine, and I forced the idea away. Fighting now would only condemn us both.
Deliberately choosing to address them in English, I gave a curt nod. “Guardians, we mean no harm to you or yours.”
One of the centaurs holding a spear braced against his shoulder studied us. His pale brown coat gleamed under the sunlight as did his even lighter hair and tail. The light brown eyes regarding us hardened when they landed on the shield. He spoke in very precise and clear English with only a faint hint of accent when he addressed us. “You say you mean no harm and yet the evidence on your back claims otherwise. Stealing relics of the past is a crime that we have long stopped in Thessaly. Or does Weard still conspire to rob the paranormal community of history?”
I frowned, however, it was Lauren who answered as she edged around to my left. “We do not come here for Weard. We have been, umm, returning lost relics to their proper resting places.”
The centaur’s hard expression didn’t soften as he turned his attention to Lauren. “The shield of Achilles does not have a proper resting place. The cave you stole it from was the nearest thing to be granted. Return it.”
“We can’t take it back,” Lauren said with quiet firmness. “With respect, we must continue on our quest to return the armor of Achilles to its proper resting place.”
As the centaurs exchanged looks, Lauren stiffened next to me no doubt realizing her slip. Any small hope that the centaurs hadn’t noticed died as the speaker echoed, “Armor? How many relics have you stolen?”
“We have stolen nothing,” Lauren insisted. She glanced at me, an unspoken question in her dark eyes, and I knew she would have argued further if she hadn’t been worried about revealing the Myrmidon connection.
I looked from her to the centaurs, my gaze focusing on the leader. “There is no thievery involved in the Trials of Achilles.”
“Myrmidons,” muttered another centaur, his draw on the bow going tighter as he pulled the arrow further back.
The leader raised a hand as he lowered the butt of his spear to the ground. “The female is not, Nestor.”
“The male is ice bound,” Nestor countered, not relaxing his stance at all. “You know the laws.”
“He is not attacking us,” came the firm reply. “Put up your bow, Nestor, before something regrettable occurs.”
As Nestor grudgingly relaxed his stance, the female centaur that stood to the leader’s right returned her arrow to its quiver. She had been watching Lauren closely before she slipped into Greek as she said softly, “Demetrius, the
female is dying. If this is the Trials, she doesn’t have much time left. We should take them with us now.”
Demetrius gave her a look before turning back to me. “There is always proof of the Trials. Show us your forearms.”
Shoving my sleeve up, I knew the instant the centaurs saw Lauren’s mark. One of the more stoic races among paranormals, even they were unable to disguise their shock as their attention fell on Lauren. Following their gazes, even I was hard pressed not to react to the sight of two completely black spirals with the third steadily darkening. That was not how it had looked that morning.
Demetrius gestured to his female companion. “Cassandra, do what you must.” As she approached Lauren, he turned his attention back to me. “We will take you to the nearest trading post. Come.”
Despite the act of invitation, the way the males all kept their hands near their weapons made it clear that we had no other choice. Cassandra kept Lauren at her side while Demetrius insisted I walk beside him, which unfortunately meant that Lauren was further back in the group and at least one centaur was always between us. As I struggled to keep from glancing anxiously over my shoulder for the tenth time, Demetrius abruptly broke his silence. “Cassandra is one of our best healers. If there is anything to be done to help your mate, she will find a way.”
“Thank you.” I hesitated, struggling with the cold and with the habit of keeping things close, then forced the words out. “She has one task left, but we do not know what it is. If you know of any elders of my people who still live in Thessaly, we need that information.”
The centaur was silent before he murmured, “There is an old one, a man whose lethalness still lingers, but we tolerate his presence because he is alone in the world. When we reach the trading post, I will arrange a meeting for you.”
“Thank you.”
The rest of the journey passed in silence. We traveled from the seashore to the forested foothills of Mount Pelion to reach a cluster of stone cottages and several open air booths. A handful of centaurs were manning the trading post when we arrived, their gazes watchful and occasionally curious, but none attempted to approach. Those that made eye contact with Demetrius, however, all made the same gesture of placing their hand at the center of their chest and then rotating it palm up as they bowed their heads. It seemed the leader of the local centaur clan was escorting us.
He passed our care to Cassandra and two others of our escort, who I strongly suspected were there to protect the healer not us, then left. Lauren remained pale and had grown quieter in the hour and a half it took to reach the trading post. Even the light meal of bread, cheese, and fruit didn’t seem to help her. I insisted she lay down for a little while and immediately approached the healer. One of our watchers shifted his grip on his spear, eyes narrowing at my approach, but I ignored him and kept my attention on the healer. “Is there anything you can do to help her, slow the process?”
She shook her head confirming my fear even before she spoke. “No. The most I would be able to do is make her comfortable at the end.”
I dropped my gaze, curling my fingers into tight balls, as I struggled to control my reaction. Watching her as she prepared a tea, I quietly asked, “Is that what you make now?”
“No. I may recognize the . . . fragility of someone nearing the end, but there is still strength in this one.” Cassandra steeped the mixture in a teapot as she continued, “This is an old recipe handed down through the school. Asclepius himself created the recipe, one meant to bring strength to ailing or exhausted paranormals. Traditionally, it has been used for those on a quest.”
I watched her movements critically. Healers could be as dangerous as they were helpful and it would take little to exchange one for the other. “Are you certain this will help?”
“As I said, there is nothing I can do to stop a death curse. However, she has a strong spirit and should be able to handle the tea.” Cassandra gave me a measuring look as she handed me the teacup. “Give this to her. She will need as much strength as possible for what lies ahead.”
I would have questioned her on what she knew of the path ahead but she left the cottage, one of the males trailing in her wake. The other stood in front of the door, blocking it with the front half of his body. As much as I wanted answers, I couldn’t excuse any neglect toward Lauren. The tea didn’t seem to have the promised effect on her as she remained pale and quiet even after finishing the drink. Cassandra did not return, and our guard ignored my every request for an audience or an update on Demetrius’ return.
Icy thoughts calculating how much damage would be required to remove the obstacle of the centaur in the doorway raced through my mind. The centaur shifted his stance and his grip on his spear, not quite lowering it, as he met my gaze. A haze settled over my vision, cold and calculating, as we locked eyes. Then, a touch of warmth on my hand slowly and stubbornly thawed the ice enough that I was able to break the staring contest.
Dark eyes shone with concern as Lauren tugged on my hand. “Sit with me.”
Allowing her to pull me back toward the little cot, I sat beside her even as I clung to her hand. It was foolish of me to believe that I was free of the icy rage. It was merely growing subtler and even devious in how it overtook me. My gaze fell on the shield resting against the head of the cot and the bag holding the helmet and spearhead resting next to it. How Lauren could be expected to carry it all wherever she needed to go next was a question I couldn’t answer.
We sat in silence for another twenty minutes before our guard was rejoined by his fellow, and we were instructed to follow them. I made them wait long enough for us to gather the armor of Achilles before we left the cottage. They led us to the outskirts of the trading outpost. A place that would be more than suited to audiences, banishments, or . . . executions. Cassandra’s black body and hair stood out in contrast to her fairer complexion and the blue tunic with a purple border running along the hem provided additional contrast to Demetrius and his simple leather vest. They stood together again, confirming what I should have realized even before she was given guards.
However, the person standing on Demetrius’ left grabbed my attention. An older man dressed in somber black short sleeved button shirt and pants, but stubbornly clinging to a splash of color by wearing a bright green beret watched our approach. His craggy features broke into a smile as he addressed me in Myrmidon, “You seem to have chosen wisely, son of Myrmidon. You have brought the armor of Achilles together for the first time in centuries, which proves the girl’s worthiness of the final task.” His gaze shifted to Lauren and the smile faded as he murmured, “If you have not taken too long. The others did not warn you of the time limit, did they? Of course not. Mustn’t be too helpful to a quest. Pah, utter foolishness if you ask me.”
Lauren’s lips turned up in a faint smile when I finished translating, but she didn’t sound quite as strong as I would’ve liked as she stated softly, “If you please, grandfather, what is the final task?”
The elder came closer to us and held out his hand to her. Lauren let go of me in order to pull up her sleeve, revealing the blackened tattoo. I bit back a gasp or curse at the sight of the completely blackened spirals; only the fox’s head remained a molten reddish orange. The elder’s craggy brows swept down toward his nose as he studied her mark before pronouncing solemnly, “You have little time, but I will give you the task for you have earned it. You must locate the grove of golden apple trees sprung from the apples Heracles stole from the Hesperides. It was planted in the heart of Larissa where some say Achilles was born. It is there that you must leave the armor of Achilles, affording him the honor of a homecoming hard won for him. As proof you have done so, you must bring back three golden apples.”
Lauren nodded and asked, “How long do I have?”
The elder studied her mark once more before releasing her hand. “If you do not succeed by dawn tomorrow, I am afraid your time will run out.”
* * *
Lauren
We arrived on the outski
rts of Larissa over an hour past midnight. The journey from the outpost run by Demetrius’ clan to the capital of Thessaly had taken longer than I had hoped since we had been forced to wait on the old man to bring two more horses to the outpost. Then, we had been sent on our way with an escort of five centaurs. The passage from forest to plain would have been pretty if I had the luxury to enjoy it but knowing my life, as well as Mathias’, hung on the slender thread of completing the third task by dawn took away that luxury. As it was, arriving in the centaur section of town was nerve wracking on its own when more warriors emerged to surround us and Nestor was among their number.
The old man swung out of the saddle with a groan that seemed more for drama than anything else given how easily he transitioned from horseback to ground. I let Mathias help me down and clung to his arm for a moment longer than strictly necessary as I fought to keep a clear head. Then I shrugged my go bag over my head, the helmet smacking solidly against my hip, before Mathias helped me adjust the shield’s makeshift strap across my body.
Once we had finished, the old man took his green beret off and rubbed a gnarled hand over his scalp. He spoke softly in Myrmidon and Mathias translated with an almost detached coolness. “Here is where you leave your Myrmidon behind. The centaurs have agreed to watch him while you attempt your task. There will be an hour’s grace period after the dawn breaks but if you do not return by then, it will be assumed you have failed. Bid him farewell, and take the armor of Achilles as you follow Nestor. He will guide you to the place where the grove’s entrance is rumored to be hidden.”
Staring into Mathias’ eyes, I couldn’t help an absurd wish for better lighting than that provided by moonlight and a few streetlamps. I wanted to see him better. Resting a hand against his chest, I rose on my toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “No matter what happens, Mathias, know that I love you, and I am so glad you disrupted my plans at Halliman’s.” I kissed him again, fingers curling in his shirt, as I leaned into it. When I settled back on my heels, I added a tad breathlessly, “I will be back. I promise.”
Trials by Numbers Page 20
