“Where’s the rest of him?” Mark asks.
Again, Hannah shrugs. “During the Gods War, several of the Gods split themselves into multiple avatars to carry the fight to Earth, each focusing on a different aspect of the war. Some of those Gods were killed.”
“And their avatars?”
“The avatars are all that’s left. They’re divine essences trapped in mortal shells. Most were hunted down by the NGT and destroyed before Hades was captured. Ares is the only one left, at least the only one I’ve been able to find.”
“What happens to Ares if his host body is damaged or destroyed?” Mark asks.
“Without his God body to return to, his essence would have no place to go. He’d be lost, doomed, and slowly fade away.”
“Oh,” Mark says, then manages the courage to peer over the boulder again. “What if Ares found another host?”
“The host would have to be willing, and would have to be magically prepared to receive him.”
“Could Ares go into one of you?”
“No, because Andrus and I have our own essences that block possession. There’s no room for others to come in.”
“I see,” Mark says. “What about me?”
“What about you what?”
“Could Ares come into me? Could I be his avatar?”
“Sure,” Hannah says, “but Ares’ current avatar would have to be close, and so far as we know, he’s still back on Earth.”
“What if he was here?” Mark asks. “Like how close would he have to be?”
“The closer, the better.”
“What about a half-mile? Would that be close enough?”
Hannah and I look at each other, each getting the same idea, so when we join Mark in peering over the boulder, we’re not surprised to see we’re right. We know why Mark is asking all these questions: The Garden of Bone is getting a new arrival.
Captain Nessus, my old enemy, gallops in ahead of his Night Patrol. He’s a centaur: part-man, part-horse, part-ram. His shaggy face is gray, wild-maned, with glaring yellow eyes, sharp teeth, and long, curling horns set atop a high, hard-ridged forehead.
He brings with him a company of centaurs, including his brothers, Democ and Ruvo. The centaurs carry long barbed harpoons in their clawed hands; each weapon tethered by a rope to their utility belts. A centaur’s favorite trick is to stick their harpoon in you, then break into a gallop, dragging you behind them. But they’re famous for something far worse, and that’s grabbing their victims by their necks, lifting them up to watch them strangle, then head-butting them to crack open the skull. Then they eat your brain…
Above the centaurs, a flock of harpies fly. They’re black-feathered scavengers: half-woman, half-vulture, with razor-sharp beaks and talons.
But it’s not the centaurs and harpies that draw my attention. It’s the prisoner in the bone cage-cart they’ve brought with them: Mr. Cross. Our gym teacher is Ares’ current avatar. He’d had to blow his cover to save us back on Earth, and the last we’d seen, he’d been holding off Captain Nessus and the Night Patrol. That had bought us enough time to make it through the gate to the Underworld. Hard to believe that was yesterday…
Yesterday, when we were on Earth. Yesterday, when everything had seemed so full of hope. Hope that turned to horror. Horror that turned into this mad quest. I’d lost confidence when I’d seen Gyges, but now, maybe, with Mr. Cross we have a chance.
“They’re going to imprison him,” I say. “Do we free him, or do this ritual to make Mark his new avatar?”
“Hang on.” Hannah sends Shadow to scout out the situation. As she does, her eyes roll back in her head and her body goes still. She’s seeing through her familiar now, getting a real “bird’s-eye” view.
“You sure you know what you’re asking, Mark?”
“Well, no. Not a hundred-percent. All I know is I’m not much use in a fight, and Mr. Cross—I mean, Ares—is. I could be a lot more helpful if I was Ares.”
“You’re plenty helpful now,” I tell him. “Don’t be so down on yourself. Pretty much all the best ideas we’ve had have come from you. We’ll lose that if you become Ares’ avatar.”
He shrugs. “But you’ll gain another fighter. A powerful one. Brains can only get us so far with what we’re up against. There’s no way we’re going to be able to sneak a three-headed dog out of the enemy camp. And I’m not sure we can even free Mr. Cross. Better to have Ares out here with us when we go in.”
Mark makes a good point, but it’s not one I’m ready to concede. “I don’t know if it’s going to come to that. Hannah’s got her cloak; she can just mist out and sneak in. She could probably free Ares that way.”
“Maybe,” Mark concedes, “and I know it’s blasphemy, but I always wanted to be a God… or a Titan.”
I shake my head. “Trust me, it’s not that great. At least you know what you are.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem. I’m only human. If I wasn’t… if I wasn’t maybe I could have done something back at the gym. I could have stopped Anton. I could have saved Lucy!”
“Hey, you don’t know that. It all happened too fast. There was nothing anyone could do.” I say the words, but as I do, I wonder. Is there something different I could have done? If I’d known what I am, if I’d understood my powers better, maybe… maybe things didn’t have to play out the way they did. But I see Anton’s mace swing. I see it swing and come down on Lucy’s head. I hear the sound, the sound no one should hear. And I see Lucy fall.
I shut my eyes against the pain. Against the memory burned into my brain. I replace it with another memory, a sweeter one…
To the night I first met Mark’s sister, to how Lucy and I had stayed up late together. We’d talked, and done more than talked. I remember her telling me how she’d done so much to save her brother’s academic career by sacrificing her own. ‘I’m no hero,’ she’d told me. ‘I just did what I had to do.’
And I’d told her, “I’ve been thinking maybe being a hero isn't about saving the world. Maybe it's about the small stuff, saving one person at a time. Including yourself.’
Lucy had come into my arms then. Eyes wet, lips trembling. We’d kissed. There was heat in it, passion, and we’d let it linger. When it was over, Lucy said, ‘That was nice, but it doesn't have to mean anything.’
But it did mean something. We tried to fight it, but the attraction was too strong. And when she’d ended up in my bed, I remember that night too…
I remember Lucy’s smile in the darkness, remember her reaching down and pulling my hand to her face. She’d planted a kiss on my palm, then pressed my hand to her cheek. ‘I wanted to be with you tonight,’ she’d said, ‘because tomorrow… well, we don't know what's going to happen. I don't want to have any regrets.’
‘Yeah,’ I’d said. ‘I don't want any either…’
Only that’s as far as it had gone. And I did have regrets. Regrets we hadn’t made love, regrets I hadn’t been able to save her, and I wonder if things had been different… Well, I wonder a lot of things.
“Hey,” Mark says, “Andrus, you all right?”
I open my eyes and let go of the past. It can’t help me now. I don’t know what can.
“What’s wrong?” Mark asks.
“Nothing, man. I was just… Don’t worry about it. Why, what’s up?”
“I wanted to ask you something before Hannah gets back.”
I look at the witch, but she’s still frozen in place, eyes pure white. “What is it?”
“If I… If I become Ares’ avatar, it’s like being possessed. I’ll still be in there, but deep down, buried. I’m not sure how much I’ll be aware of what’s going on.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well…” Mark’s eyes dart from me to Hannah and back again. “I might not want to stay possessed forever. And if anything were to happen…”
“Like what?”
Mark shrugs. “Like anything, I don’t know. We just met Hannah and Ares and they saved us, but I’m
not sure how much I trust them. I mean, I trust them, but not necessarily in everything, you know? She wouldn’t even tell us how to escape Tartarus without her.”
“I noticed.”
“Exactly,” Mark says. “Maybe it means something, maybe it doesn’t. All I know is the Gods and Titans have a long history of hatred and betrayal, and I don’t want to end up on the wrong side if things go south.”
The truth is, I’m glad Mark is being cautious, glad he shares a little of my paranoia, but I don’t want to tell him I’m worried because I don’t want to worry him. I also don’t want to believe it’s true. “So what are you saying?” I ask.
“I’m saying, I trust you, Andrus. I was raised to be a priest of the Titans, not the Gods. And just because things haven’t worked out with Cronus, doesn’t mean things have to work out bad with all the Titans.”
“You mean like Prometheus? The Titan who helped humanity before the Gods War? Fat lot of good it did him!” I remember his story, how he’d been the most clever Titan, a trickster yet a diplomat. He’d stayed out of the first war between the Gods and the Titans, playing one side against the other, somehow coming out smelling like a rose in the end. He’d been one of the few Titans Zeus hadn’t punished, but the Sky God’s mercy hadn’t lasted long.
Prometheus had stolen sacred fire from Mount Olympus, and that was bad enough, but he had given it to mortals, and no amount of raging by the Gods could take it back. That fire changed the course of humanity, from being at the mercy of the Gods to striving to become them. Ambition, industry, everything had come out of that gift. It had been the beginning of the end for the Gods, a slow decline into obscurity and spiritual disrepute. And it laid the foundation for the Titans to be freed from their icy prison. Prometheus must have known that, and revenge, rather than altruism, must have been his motive.
Regardless of why he did it, Zeus had punished the rogue Titan, chaining him to a rock and setting a giant eagle upon him. An eagle that ripped out and ate his organs every day, only for them to grow back. No one knew where the rock was, and no one cared. Prometheus was forgotten, nor did his brothers and sisters come looking for him after their release. They blamed the renegade Titan for not siding with them during the first war, so they wanted no part of him in the second. ‘Let him rot,’ seemed to be the general consensus, at least so far as the NGT preached.
For all I know, Prometheus is still out there, still chained, still tortured. It’s a lesson, a harsh one, and makes me wary of siding with Gods, even ones I know. Sure the circumstances are different, but who knows what could happen after we win? I just have to tell myself Hades is not Zeus, and I am not Prometheus.
Everything’s going to work out and be “happily ever after” except that’s how fairy tales end. Not myths and legends.
“No, man,” Mark says. “Not Prometheus! What he did is great and all, but he’s old news. I’m talking about you. I could be a priest of you.”
I start to laugh, but when I see the sincerity in his eyes, the faith, it stops me cold. “We’re friends,” I say. “That’s all I need you to be.”
“Still,” Mark says. “I think we need a code word.”
“A code word?”
“Yeah. Something you wouldn’t accidentally say. Something that I might hear when I’m possessed, and know that means you need me to force Ares out.”
“You can do that?”
He nods. “Possession has to be willing or it doesn’t work. So unless I hear you say the word, I’ll know it’s safe to stay possessed.”
“OK, but I’m not sure we’re going to need it.”
“Neither am I, but just in case. You brought me along for my brain, remember? And this might be the last time I get to use it.”
“So what’s the code word?”
Mark thinks a minute. “Aristea. It’s the Greek word for ‘day of glory,’ and it’s tied to the legend of King Agamemnon, who led his army to triumph over Troy, only to be betrayed by his friends and allies. And there’s another reason. Agamemnon was the only hero in the Trojan War who never needed or asked for help from the Gods.”
“I remember.”
Mark raises an eyebrow. “You do?”
“I didn’t sleep through all of Mrs. Ploddin’s history lessons. If it was about war or fighting, I paid attention. But all that other stuff, who married who, and who wrote this or that, it just didn’t hold my interest.”
“And you’re paying attention now?”
“Sure.”
“Then say the code word.”
“Aw, come on, man…”
“This is important! Say it.”
I feel foolish, but say the word, “Aristea,” then repeat it.
Mark nods. “OK, thanks. Don’t use it unless you need to.”
“I won’t.”
“Won’t what?” Hannah asks.
We both turn to stare at her as she comes out of her trance. “Nothing,” I say. “I was just wondering if I should wake you because you were taking so long, but Mark talked me out of it.”
Hannah stretches and yawns as her eyes roll back to normal. “Good. It’s bad luck to disturb a witch from her trance.”
“So what’d you see?” I ask.
“They’ve broken Ares’ vessel,” Hannah says, then when she can tell we don’t know what she means, adds, “His arms, his legs, his ribs. They’re arguing about how they’re going to eat him. Alive. Captain Nessus wants the brain, Gyges wants the divine essence, and the harpies… well, they want the eyes and… the parts that make him a man.”
I make a face that looks how my stomach feels. “Not sure we needed all those details.”
“I didn’t tell you what the cyclopes want… Anyway, they hadn’t figured out the best way for everyone to get what they want—it’s not every day you get to eat an avatar, and there’s some concern about whether Ares might taste better pre- or post-essence. I left Shadow to keep an eye on things. He’ll let me know if the monsters come to an agreement on the menu.”
“Shouldn’t we go in now, while they’re distracted?” I ask.
“Never get between a monster and its meal,” Hannah says. “I’m sorry about Mr. Cross, but he’s not getting out of this. Ares still can, if Mark becomes his new avatar.”
“So let’s do it,” Mark says.
And we do.
10
THE RITUAL
The ritual involves stripping Mark down to his shorts while Hannah paints his body in mystic symbols. She’s chanting the whole time and asked me not to interrupt her, so all I can do is play lookout. I hope Hannah knows what she’s doing. I hope Mark does too.
I wonder what Mr. Cross is like—the real Mr. Cross, a man I never knew, but only thought I did. He was always Ares, God of War.
I know Ares must want this ritual, but I wish I knew Mr. Cross wanted it too. But he’d agreed to let Ares in, to become his avatar, so he must have known this day would come… Although I’m sure he envisioned a more glorious death, not being eaten by monsters. That must be horrible! But maybe Mr. Cross is buried down so deep he doesn’t know what’s going on. Maybe he won’t feel anything… at least, not until after we remove Ares’ essence and end the possession. Then he’ll know. Then he’ll know and worse than know, he’ll feel every inch of those fangs and claws ripping into him…
Should I save him? That’s not really the question, though it’s a good one. Of course I should. The real question is, can I? The answer is no. I can’t save anyone, not even myself, not until after we free Hades. Then everything changes.
Anyway, after this is all over, I’ll petition Hades to let Mr. Cross live in Elysium, or the Fortunate Isles, someplace nice. A place for heroes. I hope I won’t have to petition for anyone else. Mom, Dad… Lucy… even Mark. I feel so powerless! And that’s the worst kind of pain, especially when you’re like me and you have all these abilities, all this magic, and it’s still not enough.
It’s never enough.
There’s always someone stronger.
Someone who wants what you have, or wants to prevent you from having what they have. Even when it’s in their best interest to share. If Ouranos, the Sky-Father, hadn’t been jealous of his children with Gaia, the Earth-Mother, then the Titans wouldn’t have rebelled. And if Cronus hadn’t worried that his children would usurp him, then the Gods War would never have happened—not the first, nor the last. None of this would have happened, and a lot more people would be alive, and me… Well, I wouldn’t be a Titan, would I?
No, I’d still be a rock. A damned rock!
So as much as I hate everything that’s happened, I can’t hate it all. Not completely, or I’d have to hate myself. The Gods War made me. All I can do is learn the lessons Ouranos and Cronus never learned, and the lesson Zeus should have: When you have the chance to kill your enemies, you kill them. You don’t imprison them in ice in another dimension because someday, they’re going to get out. Everything bad thing gets out sooner or later. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be, because once evil rises, good rises too.
And I am good.
I have to be, but I’m a Titan too… Like Gyges, but not like him, and not like Cronus. I imagine myself to be more like Prometheus, friend to man, God, and Titan alike. That’s the kind of Titan I want to be. Otherwise, what’s the point? There’s enough evil in the world without adding mine to it. Yet I wonder… What if I absorbed not just some of Cronus’s power, but some of his evil as well? I can’t think about that. Not now, not ever.
I shake my head to clear it. Hannah is still muttering her incantations over Mark. Time to get back to work. Guard duty…
In the Garden of Bone, the monsters are still there, still arguing, though there’s cruel laughter peppered between the hard words.
I remember when I tried to win an argument with Captain Nessus after Mark and I were caught breaking curfew last week. It didn’t go well. Monsters enjoy arguing even more than people. It’s another kind of hunt to them, stalking prey with words, seasoning meat with the juices of fear…
I sneak a glance at Hannah, so intent on her witchcraft. Mark is out of it now, in some kind of trance. He must really be deep. Hannah’s chant rises, a language even older than Greek. Mark’s chest heaves, his spine arches, and his eyes snap open. First white, then glowing gold, then blood-red. The glow holds like that, then the unnatural color fades. Mark’s body goes limp and his eyes shut.
Titan_Kingdom of the Dead_An Epic Novel of Urban Fantasy and Greek Mythology Page 5
