The Immortal Game
Page 24
They hadn’t spoken of his love confession, but he felt it hanging there between them. And he was happy to leave it there for now. Until she processed her grief and decided what she wanted, he would give her all the space she needed.
At least she knew.
Iyana’s power had increased tenfold with what she’d gained from the Gryphiekin. He could still picture her besting the creature in his mind’s eye, white-blonde hair swirling as she hovered in the midst of a storm.
She quickly proved to be a newfound master at target practice, using her detailed control to perfect every throw of her spikes. From there, they had moved on to offensive combat.
“There’s only so much I can teach you, you know,” Braxtus reminded her. “You’re going to have to adapt everything to your abilities.”
“I know,” she said, flipping one of her long spikes in her hand. “I can get out of reach of any opponent easily if I need to. I just want to gain confidence up close.”
“All right.” Braxtus settled back into his fighting stance, raising his broadsword in a two-handed grip. “Come and get me.”
Iyana’s face became incredibly focused, her mouth pulling to a thin, determined line. She spread her hands out, ran a few steps, then leapt into the air. Wind swirled around the arena, battering Braxtus as she got close. She tried to drop down above him, but he swept his blade up. She dodged him nimbly, then dropped to the ground on his other side.
Braxtus turned and struck out, but she caught the blow on her long, thin spike. Using the momentum of the hit, she spun around and stepped inside his reach—a maneuver he had just taught her.
Excellent, he thought proudly. Let’s pick up the intensity, then.
He backed up, trying to keep her at bay, but she went for him again and again, matching his pace. He deflected a spike, then saw an opening on her right and struck.
Wind caught his arm like a rope, holding his swing back. He gaped, and Iyana swung her spike up, stopping it at his neck.
“Point for me,” she said sweetly.
Braxtus let out a low whistle. “With tricks like that, you’ll be lethal on the battlefield.”
She positively beamed at him. “Next time you should use—”
A warning horn rang out, echoing down the mountain. Two short blasts, repeated three times. Braxtus’s stomach jolted. It was a signal: enemies were approaching Olympus.
Commotion rose from the neighboring gods and goddesses. Braxtus sheathed his sword. Iyana met his gaze with wide blue eyes, then called the wind again.
He lurched as powerful ribbons of air wound around him, pushing up against his arms and feet to lift him into the sky. His hair blew upward, and Iyana rose beside him. He felt a brief rush of exhilaration, somehow trusting the supporting wind. A smile broke across his face.
They rose above the arena, then higher. The wind under his feet seemed to twist, turning him to look across and down the mountain, southeast. With their view now clear for miles, his joy vanished.
Approaching the base of Mount Olympus was a vast, unorganized army. A monstrous army, built from the exiled, the forgotten, the legendary. The very gates of Tartarus seemed to gawk open before them. The creatures came in every size and shape—enormous, small, winged, fanged, horned, snarling, and screeching. He scanned the masses, picking out the largest of the monsters: cyclopes, minotaurs, chimeras, dragons.
Braxtus knew about monsters. He had studied them, fought a few, built his own in Beast Maker … but what he saw now made his knees want to buckle. Every creature trapped in the avyssos must have been there. With one glance, he knew that Olympus was hopelessly outmatched.
Iyana’s face froze in an expression of terror and dread. He reached out, but was too far away to touch her and dared not shift too much while standing in the sky. “Iyana,” he whispered. “Let’s go.” She didn’t move. He tried again. “We should go.”
She nodded slowly, turning around in the air. The wind began moving them again, lowering them in a steep descent toward the path outside the training grounds. They dropped faster, and the air was snatched from Braxtus’s lungs. They hit the ground running.
Iyana could have flown to the infirmary faster than he could run, but Braxtus was grateful they were together when they burst through the door to Kostas’s room.
Kostas sat up in bed, wincing. Galene rose to her feet beside him. “We heard it.”
“We saw it,” Iyana told them, catching her breath.
Galene sank back down onto the edge of the bed. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“It’s really bad.” Braxtus’s stomach churned. “I didn’t know how many people and creatures had been trapped in the avyssos.”
“How soon will they get here?” Kostas asked.
“They’re practically here already.” Braxtus met Kostas’s eyes. He knew his best friend well enough to see the agitation there, as best as he tried to hide it.
The door swung open, ethereal light entering the room. They all turned as his father, Apollo, stalked in in a rush of power, a golden cape around his shoulders, bright brown eyes lingering on Braxtus before moving over the rest of them intently.
“Father,” Braxtus said respectfully, dipping his head as everyone else bowed.
Apollo stopped. “So. You’ve heard.”
“We saw it ourselves,” Braxtus explained.
Apollo breathed out through his nose. “Your story has been confirmed, at least to some extent. Galene Unnamed, consider yourself temporarily exonerated. Since what you have told us has so far proven true, we are lifting all punishments until we get to the bottom of this.”
Temporarily exonerated? As though an army marching on Olympus isn’t proof enough? Braxtus almost opened his mouth to protest, but Galene caught his eye with a soothing expression.
She nodded. “Of course. I assume you intend to question Poinê or Demitri personally?”
“We do,” Apollo growled. “Your exoneration will be made public after we have done so. And Iyana Unnamed, you will not be bound to the law that keeps you exiled from Olympus.”
Iyana stepped over to Galene and clasped her hand.
“Report to Athena’s temple for battle assignments,” Apollo continued. “We need every able arm.” He eyed Kostas, who set his jaw. No one needed to tell him he wasn’t fit to fight.
Galene rose, looking sympathetically at Kostas. He wouldn’t meet any of their eyes, staring at his linens. Apollo gestured them out, and Braxtus stepped aside to let them pass him until he was left alone with his best friend.
“Are you going to be all right?” he asked.
Kostas leaned his head back. “I’m not a fighter at heart anyway.”
“That doesn’t matter. Of course you’d want to stand with us, after everything.”
Kostas ran a hand through his hair, nodding. “It just doesn’t feel right, somehow, to not finish this. Like I’m letting down my team, or leaving a game of petteia one capture from a win.”
“Kostas, you’ve done enough. Maybe this time you can let us win without you.”
Kostas frowned at that, and Braxtus left him to his thoughts. He stepped out, finding Iyana and Galene waiting for him. Together, they left the infirmary and started up the mountainside.
It wasn’t easy—the recent mayhem of Olympus had reached a critical point over the past few days. Camps had been erected in the fields, between temples, and off the paths. It seemed he could hardly move without bumping into gods, goddesses, demigods, or other allies of Olympus hustling up and down the path. Dryads gathered at one end of Demeter’s wheat field; gods sparred at the other end. Directions were shouted out, supplies were moved, and there was a quiet urgency in the way everyone prepared.
Iyana touched his arm, and his skin tingled at the contact. “Look,” she murmured, nodding her head to someone farther up the path.
Braxtus observed the broad shoulders and long, dark hair. “That’s not … is that … Perseus? The demigod?”
“That’s him.”
Perseus strode through the open, gilded doors. Inside, Braxtus could see golden tables strewn with scrolls. Athena convened with Zeus and Ares, pointing to various pages and speaking intensely, wearing her battle-helm. Hermes shot around the room in his winged sandals, passing information.
There was Orion, the Nephelai with their strangely translucent skin, and a regal centaur he thought might be Chiron. A tall, thin god with smoke trailing from his tunic caught Braxtus’s eye, darkness seeming to emanate from him, contrasting the Olympians’ light. He sucked in a breath. “Hades is here!”
“What?” Both goddesses turned to stare through the open doors, looking for the God of the Underworld.
“I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him before!” Iyana hissed, gaping.
“Come on, let’s not gawk.” Galene tugged on their arms, and Braxtus reluctantly turned away, following her to join the other Unnamed.
There were nearly a hundred of them. He was older than the majority of the Unnamed, but they still seemed particularly small. Weren’t some of them a little young to be summoned to battle?
He caught a few of their eyes, smiling at some of his friends and acquaintances. A few smiled back, but most shifted away, eyeing Galene. Murmurs spread through the group, and a few disgusted glances were shot their way.
Braxtus felt his face go hot and glanced at Galene. The animosity was not lost on her. She stiffened.
“They haven’t been told you’re innocent yet,” he said quietly.
“Combine that with the news that my brother is partly responsible for the attack, and they have plenty of reason to hate me.” She kept her eyes forward, holding herself with dignity.
Iyana scowled at them. “They’ll know the truth soon enough.”
A few minutes later, Aphrodite came out to address them. Her strawberry blonde hair was clipped back, and she looked around at them all with eyes that matched Demitri’s in shade, but were somehow so much softer.
“I’m here to assign you to your battle positions,” she said, pulling open a scroll. “Those of you fourteen and under, return to the Common Temples, collect some supplies, and move to Hestia’s temple. You will be housed there until the battle is over. No exceptions.”
Braxtus let out a breath of relief as the youngest broke away and headed back down the mountain.
“The rest of you have been sorted by your ages and declared abilities.”
She began to read aloud from the scroll. Some were assigned to medical, some were to join the archers. Braxtus was one of the few assigned to be in the direct waves. Galene was put on a strike team. Iyana was the only one called to be a sentry.
Aphrodite rolled up the scroll. “A reminder. Poinê, Goddess of Retribution, is leading this army. She has refused all messengers. She is ruthless. She holds the avyssos, and if she, Chrysander Unnamed, or”—a flash of pain crossed her face—“Demitri Unnamed are spotted, you are to report them to a superior. Do not engage them.” Braxtus glanced at Iyana, but her face was stoic. Aphrodite paused. “As for the rest of the army, they are mostly the daemons and beasts we sealed in the avyssos, paired with several dozen exiled gods and goddesses. They were all sealed or exiled for a reason. There will be creatures like you haven’t seen before. We will need to fight in large groups to take them down.”
The Unnamed were still, stiff with anticipation. Aphrodite looked around once more. “They’re making camp for the night and gathering the full might of their army. We suspect they will attack at dawn.”
41
GALENE
The sun still hadn’t fully risen when Galene left Kostas’s room. She tucked her helmet under her arm as she walked out of the infirmary to where Iyana waited in the cool morning air. The rising sun barely touched the wispy clouds high above.
“How did that go?” she asked, falling into step beside Galene as she headed to the main road. They were dressed to match—short tunics shielded by Olympian breastplates, stripped leather skirts, arm and leg guards strapped tight. As a sentry, however, a helmet would only hinder Iyana’s view, so she simply wore her silken hair braided back.
Galene sighed, shrugging. “He’s so unhappy about having to stay behind. I feel like a traitor just leaving him there.”
“If the situation were reversed, you know he’d do the same.”
“I know.” Galene chewed on the inside of her cheek. She still wondered if the Olympians should have brought Kostas in on their council or something. He would have been useful. Everything is a game.
She shifted topics. “How are you feeling?”
Iyana’s eyes were ablaze. “I’m ready for a fight.”
Galene didn’t doubt Iyana would bring a storm to the battlefield. “You’ve grown so much.” Galene grimaced. “If only it hadn’t taken all of this to get us here.”
Iyana wrapped her arm around Galene’s. “Blessings in disguise,” she murmured. “It would have taken me forever to figure out Demitri’s true nature, and to break free.” She paused, then added quietly, “It still might take me a while to recover.”
“Take your time,” Galene told her. “A betrayal like that is going to leave scars.” An image of Chrysander rose in her mind, and she pushed it away.
With the roads so empty, it felt like they were the last ones making their way to the battlefield. Down the winding roads and through the temples, Galene could see Olympus and its allies, gods and creatures alike, gathered, starting to organize and move into formation. Dryads, satyrs, and several centaurs were scattered throughout the ranks. They passed through the barrier like it was nothing—the Olympians had removed the restrictions for all allies today. The clamor and chatter of the gathered soldiers sounded above the distant roar of the enemy.
After a few more paces, Galene pulled Iyana to a stop. “I could never ask for a truer friend, Iyana. And … I’m so grateful you came with me.”
Iyana grinned. “I told you you wouldn’t regret it.” Then her tone grew more serious. “Not even the Fates could end this friendship.”
Galene pulled Iyana in and hugged her tightly. “Stay safe…”
“… but fight hard,” Iyana finished.
With a last smile and a nod, Iyana called her winds, launching herself into flight toward the gathering sentries.
Galene turned, searching through the crowds for her assigned strike team.
* * *
GALENE DARTED THROUGH the trees on the slope beyond the boundary line. Around her were the dozen other comrades chosen for the strike team led by Dionysus.
Though not known as a fighter, the God of Wine and Madness was as physically fit as any of the other Olympians, and his sword looked just as sharp. When she’d joined them, he’d held each of their gazes. “Remember, you were chosen for this because of your unique abilities. Use them to wreak havoc any way you can. Confuse them, torment them.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “Move into enemy lines to unleash your gifts. That is your only order.”
She allowed herself a rueful smile. Causing chaos—her specialty.
They kept out of sight as the two armies marched toward each other across the fields to her left. Though Galene could hear only drums and pounding feet, she knew the air would soon be filled with cries of pain and the clash of weapons.
Dionysus signaled for a halt. He scanned the scene with narrow eyes.
Looking between the branches, Galene caught her first real glimpse of the battlefield. The golden armies of Olympus faced the ugly, dark forces of the avyssos.
Galene’s strike team was equally spaced between the two, waiting hidden on the invisible line where they would meet. Far away on the opposite tree line, somewhere in the deep morning shadows, another group waited like them, preparing for the battle to start and chaos to ensue.
Ares himself led the armies of Olympus, standi
ng at the front of the first of three waves. Columns of warriors were stationed behind, ready to advance after the waves charged. She squinted, trying and failing to pick Braxtus out of the identical soldiers lining the front of the second wave. Her gaze shifted up, above the battlefield. Several dots in the sky marked figures flying, and among them was a slight goddess with white-blonde hair.
She looked toward Poinê’s army, scanning the front lines, but though dark gods and goddesses were scattered between the creatures, Poinê herself was nowhere to be seen. Coward.
Galene took a deep, steadying breath. Closing her eyes, she quickly made a mental note of the larger water sources nearby. Behind them was a river that tumbled toward the base of Olympus. There were also smaller streams and ponds scattered around that she could also pull from.
She drew her scimitar.
Ares drew his sword. From somewhere at the front, a long, loud blast sounded. Ares raised his blade, looked behind him, and thrust it forward, crying his fierce, thundering battle-cry. Olympus charged.
Like a shadowy reflection, Poinê’s army advanced.
A blaze of light shone behind Olympus’s soldiers, and Galene looked back to see Artemis floating above her ranks of archers in a silver chariot. She raised her bow, the arrow tip glowing with fire. One hundred hands moved as one, drawing their bowstrings back, every arrow dancing with flames. That’s where Kostas would have been. The archers shifted their bows, raising them to target the sky, then a wall of flames rose toward the clouds just below Iyana and the other sentries. The volley arched down and plummeted into Poinê’s ranks. A few dozen enemies fell.
Ares charged before the others, the army narrowing to a point. With a thunderous crack, the armies collided.
Another volley of flaming arrows fell upon their foe. More fell. Some creatures roared in pain, raging forward.
“Now!” Dionysus cried.