Titan_Kingdom of the Dead_An Epic Novel of Urban Fantasy and Greek Mythology

by Daniel Mignault

  “Why not?”

  “He wants us to free Hades, remember? It’s all a game to him, and a test for me.”

  Hannah snorts. “Fine, then this is your final exam, Rock Boy. Make it good, my dad’s waiting. I’ll have Shadow keep an eye out, just in case you’re wrong.”

  “When have I ever been wrong? Wait, don’t answer that.” I kneel down, examining the rocky center of the island.

  “Well?” Hannah prompts.

  “Gimme a second, I have to attune myself to the land.”

  “Well, can’t you do it faster? Or do you need me to slap you?”

  “No, you’d like it too much. And I meant ‘gimme a second in silence.’ I need to concentrate…” I reach out with my mind, becoming one with the rock, with the frozen heat of the long-dead volcano that made it. Working my way down, working until I feel the prison. “It’s there,” I tell the Olympians as I come out of my trance. “Same kind of warded stone cage as last time, but you’re right. There’s something about the wards… something different.”

  Hannah and Ares exchange a look.

  “Can you do it? Can you move the rock out of the way?” Hannah asks. She crowds forward, voice trembling with eagerness.

  “Yeah, no sweat. There’s a lot of it though. Cronus buried your dad deep, a lot deeper than Cerberus.”

  Hannah kneels down so we’re at eye level. She reaches out to cradle my face with both hands, pulling me close with her eyes, her lips, her voice. “Thank you for this, Andrus. You’ll never know how grateful I am.”

  “Try me.”

  She does, brushing her lips to mine, so soft, so sweet, then pressing harder. I lean into the kiss, drawing strength from it. It’s over too soon, like a lot of things.

  Hannah gives me a mysterious smile, then backs away, dark eyes gleaming.

  I dig. It takes the better part of twenty minutes to excavate the prison. I could have done it faster, but I wanted to hold onto the moment. Right now, I’m the hero. Right now, Hannah needs me. But after… Who can say?

  Finally, the wards are uncovered. They’re similar in appearance to the ones we dealt with before, but far more complicated. I have no idea if I can break them. I look up, a hundred feet or more to the top of the hole I’ve dug. They’re all looking down at me in anticipation.

  “Got it!” I call up to them. “These wards are crazy.”

  “We’re coming down,” Hannah says. “Don’t try to break them.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Just don’t, all right?”

  I shrug. Now who wants to draw things out? I guess I can’t blame her. She wants to be right up close when Hades is released. I would too, if it were my dad. The thought calls up the image of Cronus, the dream-conversation we had…

  ‘Once you see what Hades is really like,’ my father had warned, ‘once you see how badly you have been used by the Gods, then you will come to Cronus.’

  He’d been trying to trick me, of course. Make me paranoid, like him. But as Hannah, Ares, and Cerberus come down the concave side toward the unearthed prison at the bottom, I begin to get a bad feeling. A shivery feeling like maybe Cronus knows something I don’t…

  The King of the Titans promised ‘hard lessons,’ and told me how hard they would be depended on me. Now there’s nothing I can do but find out if my father was right.

  35

  SOME THINGS CAN’T BE SACRIFICED

  “Why didn’t you want me to break through?” I ask Hannah when she joins me at the bottom of the hole.

  “Because brute force isn’t always the answer. The prison could be trapped, or any number of things. Would you climb a mountain without studying it first? Knowing which is the best angle to ascend the peak?”

  “Good point. OK, take a look.” I step away from the center wards, the mystic symbols in the ceiling of the prison cell. I’d been standing close to them, but not quite on them, so Hannah was right. We shouldn’t take any chances.

  She squats down and studies the wards, brow furrowed in concentration. I can only imagine what she sees, because it’s all witchy nonsense to me. Sprawling lines, some thick, some thin, some interlocking, some apart, and all in a language older than time. Some of the wards are engraved, some painted, while others appear to be burned or clawed into the stone. That’s the other thing—the prison stone is different from the basalt that makes up the rest of the island. It’s granite, thick and gray, like Cerberus’ cell. It was obviously imported and buried here, covered over to make it blend in with the rest of the rock formations near the Cliffs of Pain.

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Hannah says as she finishes her inspection.

  “So it is true,” Ares says. “I had hoped you were mistaken, but nonetheless, I stand ready.”

  “What do you mean, you’re ready? What are you two talking about?”

  “The wards,” Hannah explains.

  “Yeah? What about them?”

  “Cronus made them so they can only be broken in a specific way.”

  “Just tell me where to focus my energy. I’ll get us through.”

  “No,” Hannah says, “you won’t.”

  “A sacrifice is required,” Ares adds.

  “Sacrifice? What kind of sacrifice? What the hell is going on? And how did you know and for how long?”

  Hannah shrugs. “You know I talk to ghosts. Back on Earth, I’d summon them from Tartarus for help, for company, and to keep me informed of what was going on in Tartarus.”

  “Yeah, like Dr. Herophilos. I remember.”

  “Well, one of those ghosts worked in the quarry where the granite for the cells was being mined. It had to be mined in a certain way, an unusual way. So I had him look into it, and he told me Cronus used it in some special construction project years ago, at the end of the Gods War. Naturally, I was curious, and desperate for any leads into what he had done with my father. So I got the miner to give me the name of the project architect, and from him, I found out the granite was for cells—cells warded by Cronus himself.”

  “So you figured your father was in one of them.”

  She nods. “I didn’t just suspect, Andrus. I knew. I got confirmation; the only thing I didn’t know was who the other cells were for,”—she pats Cerberus on his nearest head—“or where the prisoners were being taken.”

  “OK, that makes sense. And the sacrifice?”

  She looks from Ares to me, a look of sorrow on her face.

  “You mean we have to sacrifice a God to break the ward?”

  “Not just a God, Andrus. A mortal too.”

  “You mean Mark?”

  She nods.

  “Well, we’re not going to do it! There’s got be a way, some other way around this bullshit!”

  “There isn’t,” Hannah says. “I did warn you not to bring him.”

  “Yeah, you did, but I thought you meant so he wouldn’t get hurt, not so you wouldn’t have to sacrifice him!”

  Ares says, “It’s not her. She can’t be the one to do the sacrifice.”

  “What? So you mean you have to do it? Commit some kind of ritual suicide?”

  The War God shakes his head. “It can’t be me either.”

  I stare in shock at the two of them, shock and horror, as the truth dawns on me. “It’s me,” I say. “You want me to kill my best friend.”

  “It has to be a Titan who makes the sacrifice,” Hannah says. “It has to be you, just like it has to be Mark, just like it has to be Ares.”

  “There are no other Gods left,” Ares says. “No other mortals in Tartarus. And there’s only one you. It has to be someone of Cronus’ bloodline.”

  “I told you I needed you,” Hannah says. “I just never said how much.”

  I back away from them, my “friends,” the people I thought I knew. I back away from the quest, fate, destiny, and all the rest. “No! This can’t be happening. I trusted you…” I trusted her with my heart, I trusted Ares with Mark’s life!

  Cronus was right.

&nbs
p; My father was right!

  Cerberus prowls forward, three heads nuzzling me, attempting to give comfort in his monstrous way. But the big dog is also whining, wanting me to free his master. I push the beast away, not hard, so he comes back and I push harder.

  “Hannah! Will you please do something with your damn dog?”

  The witch calls Cerberus to her side and he obeys reluctantly.

  My thoughts race, my heart aches with hard lessons: Anger. Betrayal. Confusion and despair. But more than that, failure. Failure to protect Mark, the same way I failed to protect his sister, the same way I failed my foster parents. And if I don’t do this horrible thing—if I don’t betray Mark—then my failure will apply to the whole human race.

  “Andrus,” Hannah begins, “I know this is hard, but—”

  I cut her off with a snarl. “No, you don’t know! You don’t know shit! you don’t know about me, or Mark, or mortals! You only know you, Hannah. You only know you want your father back. You don’t care how it happens, you don’t care who gets hurt.”

  “I care,” she says, “but you’re right. I care about my father more.”

  “You care about your father, sure, but about freeing him. What about me, Hannah? What about my father?”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “Of course not, because you don’t have to worry about becoming your father! I do. I have to worry about becoming just like Cronus, or worse! And I won’t do it. I can’t do it, even if it means quitting the quest. Some things can’t be sacrificed.”

  Hannah and Ares take a step toward me, and I can’t let them. Can’t let them force me, or convince me, or get anywhere near me. I say the secret code Mark and I invented to free him from his possession: “Aristea! Aristea! Aristea!”

  Both Olympians stop moving: Hannah in confusion, Ares in pain. The War God doubles over, clutching his sides as if to keep his divine essence locked inside.

  “Cousin!” Hannah cries in alarm. “Cousin, what is it?”

  “The vessel… fighting for control…”

  Hannah whips her pale face toward me, anger flaring. “Andrus, what have you done?”

  “A little magic of my own. An exorcism.”

  Ares stumbles to one knee, still bent over, still struggling to possess Mark.

  “War has no friends,” I tell him coldly, “only allies. Our alliance is over!”

  Ares screams, head rising, neck muscles bulging, going taut. His red-gold energy pours from Mark’s mouth. The emptied body collapses and looks dead.

  36

  DEATH’S WAITING ROOM

  I rush to Mark’s side. Hannah yells—curses at first, then what sounds like a spell. Cerberus growls. I don’t pay attention to either of them. I only care about Mark, that he’s alive and all right.

  I shake him until his eyes open, then shake him again when he doesn’t respond. Finally, he says, “Ouch.” It’s one word, but it’s a start.

  “Mark, buddy! You OK?”

  He half-nods, half-groans. “What… what happened?”

  I glare up at Hannah and Cerberus. “They wanted to sacrifice you! I used the code word to expel Ares.”

  Mark swallows, trying to form a response.

  “Yeah, man!” I go on. “Can you believe it? And they wanted me to do it! They wanted me to kill you, buddy. I couldn’t. I’m gonna get you back to Earth, to Lucy. We’re getting out of this crazy Kingdom of the Dead!”

  Hannah’s muttering magic words, but whatever spell she’s casting, it doesn’t seem to be an attack. She’s not even looking at me. Instead, she’s looking up. That’s when I see Ares isn’t gone. His red-gold energy,—his divine essence—is swirling high above, not quite out of the hole. The witch is holding him here, preventing him from dissipating, disappearing off to wherever Gods go when they have nowhere else. It’s not death, I guess, but some kind of Limbo.

  Death’s waiting room.

  “Andrus!” Mark gasps.

  “Yeah? What is it, man?”

  “It’s… OK.”

  “Of course it’s OK! I told you, everything’s going to be fine. We’re going to get you well, and then we’re going to march out of this place. We’ll hitch a ride with Charon, or I don’t know, we’ll find some other way back if we have to.”

  “There is… no other… way.”

  “Of course there is! You just get some rest now. Everything will make sense soon.”

  “No,” Mark says, his voice growing stronger. “I meant there is no other way. You have to do it, Andrus. You have to sacrifice me… me and Ares.”

  “No, I don’t! You’re delusional. You’ll snap out of it. You’ll snap out of it, all right, and some day, we’ll both have a good laugh about this… The crazy time you asked me to kill you.”

  “Not kill,” Mark stresses, “sacrifice.”

  “Call it whatever you want, I’m not doing it! Get that through your head. I’m not doing that to you. End of story.”

  “The story really will end if you don’t,” Mark says. His eyes flick to Hannah. “She can’t hold Ares’ energy long, and if she loses it, she’ll never get it back. He’ll be gone, and then Hades will never be free, and neither will you…”

  “No.” It’s all I can think to say. I hold Mark tighter. “No! It’s not gonna go down that way. I’m not a monster! I’m not evil, not Cronus… Don’t you see? If I do this thing, I’ll be just like him. It’s only a matter of time. This is what he wants… He wants to twist me, tear me from my friends till I have nothing left but him.”

  “You won’t,” Mark says. “You won’t be like him. Believe that!”

  My vision blurs as I fight back tears. Maybe this is part of being the Bridge Between Worlds, crossing from the old me to the new.

  “Let me do this,” Mark whispers, “for Lucy, for you, for everyone! Let me save the world my own way.”

  “No.” I say it again, but I can feel the fight going out of me. I know he’s right. As much as I don’t want him to be, as much as I want this whole thing to go away, I have to face the terrible truth: I’m going to sacrifice my best friend and my teacher to bring Death into the world. To bring Death back, so Life has a chance to mean something again. “All right,” I say. “All right, damn you! I’ll do it, but this is your decision, not mine!”

  Mark nods. “It is. It’s good you asked. Good you tried to stop it, but now it’s time. Hannah can’t hold Ares much longer…” He turns his head toward her. “I’m ready,” he says. “I want this.”

  “Do it,” I hiss at the witch. “Do it, damn you! Do it now!”

  Hannah, sweat dripping, hair plastered from the strain of holding the War God, redirects the divine essence down.

  “Goodbye,” Mark says, “and thanks.”

  “For what?” I ask.

  He grins. “Letting me die a hero.”

  Red-gold mist funnels into Mark’s mouth. His eyes roll up in his head, his body convulses, and then Mark is submerged inside himself. Possessed. It is not Mark, but Ares who rises. Ares who says, “It seems our alliance is not broken after all.”

  I get to my feet, feeling like I’m in a dream. No, not a dream—a nightmare, but one that will be over soon. “How do you want me to do it?” I ask them. “Sword? Stone? What?”

  “It should be your choice,” Hannah says. “The only requirement is their blood and energy must be spilled over the central ward.”

  Ares hands me his golden sword, the twin to the blade I’m carrying. “Here, I won’t need this where I’m going.”

  I take the blade, studying the exquisite, otherworldly workmanship, and wonder how many have died on its edge, the way I feel like I’m dying now.

  “It’s fitting I should die by my own weapon,” Ares says. “He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword. There’s poetry in that.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “In my own way, I did.”

  He’s right, but I didn’t listen then, and I don’t want to listen now. I plunge the sword into Ar
es’ chest. Wanting this to be over.

  Mark’s blood spills. Ares’ energy spills. Over the ward. Into it. Slick and shimmering. The ward absorbs it all. The ward eats it up. It eats it up and chokes on it. Cracks appear. Fine lines at first, like wrinkles, then widening, spiderwebbing in all directions. There’s a rumbling in my ears, a hole in my heart—a hole where agony lives, and can never die.

  My father did this to me.

  My father did this for me.

  It’s all so horrible… As awful as any of the myths and legends about the Gods and Titans I was taught in school. Only I’m living it. I’m living my own legend and someday, someone will teach a class about me, and what will they say? That Andrus Eaves was a hero? That he did what he had to, no matter the cost? Or that he was just like his father, selfish and cruel?

  Every man’s hero is someone else’s villain.

  Hannah and Cerberus scramble back from the chaos, but I just stand there. I made this happen, I should own it, and maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll die too. I’ve never lived in a world with Death before. Will it be any better than the world we have now, or just a different kind of pain?

  I look up, perhaps for the last time, and see Hannah’s raven circle, see the gemstone “stars” in the cavern ceiling like a million judging eyes. What I don’t see is the prison under me explode. I don’t see it, but I feel it. In a way, it’s like those souls in the river… the souls submerging themselves for their sins. Only there is no flame here, only freezing dust, smoke, and shadow—the shadow of Hades, God of Death, King of Tartarus.

  “Free!” the ancient God shouts in a voice like a tomb. “I am free! Let the people die, let the Titans tremble, for Hades shall have his revenge!”

  It’s true. Hades is free, and Death is free, but I am not. I’m a prisoner of all that I’ve done, and all that I’ll do, from this moment to eternity.

  A SUPER-IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHORS

  Did you enjoy this book?

  If you did, please write a review of Kingdom of the Dead to help other readers discover the magic of The Gods War series. Thank you!