Ring of Gyges

by Ines Johnson

  “Ari, Thag?” said Hestia.

  “Yes, my goddess?” Two older men stepped forward. I’d seen them the first time I was here in Athens with Nia. I knew they were Aristotle and Pythagoras. “I need one of you to answer this correspondence from the World Bank. It seems the Euro is slipping again.”

  “We’re on it, my goddess,” said the white-haired Ari.

  Hestia made to move around her sister, but Demeter grabbed her arm. “Tia.”

  Finally, Hestia looked up and directly at her sister. “You don’t have to yell, Demi. Just say you want my attention. What is it?”

  Demeter let out a huff of air. “We're looking for Plato.”

  “Whatever for? Are you and Bet on the outs again? You haven’t had a thing for philosophers for centuries.”

  “Not for me. For them.” Demeter jerked her thumb over her shoulder at me and Geraint.

  I waved my fingers in greeting to Hestia. Geraint gave a courtly bow of his head.

  “I’ve hired Plato out as a jury consultant,” said Hestia. “He’s on the helipad about to take off.”

  Geraint and I looked at each other, then we looked up to the ceiling.

  “Is there an elevator?” Geraint asked.

  Hestia pointed. Geraint and I shoved ourselves into the metal box. It ticked away slowly up four flights until it reached the roof. We sprang forth once the doors released us.

  The chopper’s wings had just begun to spin as we came upon the helipad. We waved down the pilot. When he paid us no heed, I summoned a magical fireball with my hands and tossed it into the air.

  I’d meant to toss it in front of the copter. Unfortunately, my aim wasn’t so good, and it hit the nose of the conveyance. Beside me, Geraint sighed. I could only shrug my shoulders. Technically, I’d accomplished what we raced up here to do. The engine of the plane cut, and the blades came to a halt. The doors to the chopper opened, and a pale-haired, wiry thin man peered out.

  “Plato?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “We need your help. We’re looking for Baros.”

  Plato’s pale eyes darkened ever so slightly. There were externally visible signs of an inner war as the philosopher of morality struggled with his bloodlust. Baros had participated in the stolen death of his honored friend earlier this year. With Baros’s help, Hera had stolen Socrates’s soul and made him a demon.

  Plato climbed out of the helicopter and walked to the side of the roof with us. He looked over his shoulder before he spoke. “He’s likely gone to ground. If Zeus were here, he could tell you, if it was his prerogative.”

  Now, I saw why he looked around. It was to make sure he wasn’t heard. It wouldn’t do to disparage the brother of the goddess who held your soul in the cornea of her eyes.

  “I know what Baros is after,” I said. “If I can find the object, I can find him.”

  “I’ll help in any way I can.”

  “What more can you tell me about the Ring of Gyges?”

  Chapter Ten

  “Socrates loved to hear himself talk. Imagine how thrilled he was when I wrote a book that was about his discussions.” Plato laughed as he spoke. His pale eyes shone bright in the dawning moonlight as we stood atop the roof.

  When Nia and I came here months back, it was during Socrates’s wake. He was likely the only man in the history of the world to attend his own going home celebration. It had come as no great shock to his many friends. Socrates had been ready to pass on for some time. It had been his choice to move on from this world as he grew wary and weary of the new generation. In a time where information was so readily at hand and opinions were so wide and available at such a speed, he’d felt like the modern society was less and less like a democracy and more like a hive mind. He’d insisted that his usefulness was up, and so he decided to leave this world.

  I’d attended his actual funeral, as had he. I’d watched as Hestia, with a glisten in her bright eyes, had returned the essence she’d imbibed back into Socrates’s body. When his soul was returned, his pale eyes closed, and he fell down dead as hundreds of years caught up with him. But only an hour later, his eyes reopened, black as night, as a demon. Baros had helped to do that to him.

  “Socrates’s favorite topic was the meaning of justice; specifically, whether a just man is happier than an unjust man,” Plato continued. “We were discussing this when it caught the ear of the one called Gyges.”

  “The shepherd?” I asked.

  Plato shook his head. “He was no shepherd. He’s not even a man. He’s fae.”

  “Fae? As in fairies?” I turned to Geraint. “You didn’t tell me they were real.”

  “They’re from another realm,” said Geraint. “They don’t come to earth often. Mainly because they look down on humanity, but also because the doors aren’t easy to pass through.”

  “There are cracks,” said Plato. “Every once in a while, the fae come here for mischief.”

  “You mean like a Spring Break?” I asked.

  “Gyges decided to test Socrates’s theory of justice,” said Plato. “People have long believed that The Republic was based on hypotheticals. The truth is, all the stories happened. Gyges put each of the debates to the test. He pitted friend against friend, sibling against sibling, even husband against wife. All for his cruel enjoyment.”

  Plato’s pale gaze was haunted. But he shook himself.

  “Why didn’t you write that?” I asked.

  “Fae are powerful creatures. They scrub all truth of their existence from human record. Most supernatural creatures and deities who don’t care to be bothered by mankind do so. Gyges is a being you’re better off not knowing.”

  “Can you tell us about the Ring of Invisibility?” I asked.

  “Invincibility,” corrected Plato. “It’s the true story of how Polemarchus obtained his wealth. Gyges sent him into a cave. Inside the cave was a tomb with a bronze horse that contained a dead man. On the finger of the dead man was a golden ring—the Ring of Invincibility. The question posed was if no one could find out, and if you would not get punished, would you do an injustice? Polemarchus took the ring and asked it to grant him invisibility. Once he was no longer seen, he killed the richest man in Lydia whose wife he’d once loved. Polemarchus stole the man’s fortune and no one was the wiser. Proving even a virtuous man had his vices.”

  “The moral being that crime pays?” I asked.

  “For a time,” said Plato. “Polemarchus was later executed during the political upheaval of the Thirty Tyrants after they stole the ring from him.”

  “So, the Tyrants have the ring?” asked Geraint.

  “No,” said Plato. “Gyges has it. The ring won’t work unless you earn it in one of Gyges’s tournaments. Baros has entered before and lost. He nearly lost his life trying to attain it.”

  “But why would Lenny want to become invisible?” I asked.

  “Not just invisible,” said Plato. “Invincible. With the ring, he could break the hold the gods have on him and never be brought to justice. Then I’m sure he’d turn his sights to Persia. As a Spartan, he’s never gotten over that defeat.”

  Plato waved us back into the building. “It won’t be too hard to find where he’s holding the tournament. Magical beings like technology because they don’t have to do any of the work.”

  We walked into a room that was decked out with high tech computers. The smell of coffee, sugar, and caffeine clung to my nose hairs making it hard to inhale. When the air finally got through my nasal passageways, I felt my brain light up like it had been hit by a ping pong ball.

  Plato made his way over to a woman with skin the color of sand and the high cheekbones I’d only seen in Egyptian pyramids. All she needed was a tall crown, and she could’ve been Pharaoh Nefertiti.

  “Hypatia,” said Plato. “I need a favor.”

  The Hypatia? No way. I’d done a paper on her during my short stint in private school. She was from Alexandria, Egypt. She was believed to be the first female mathematician, bu
t all her works were lost.

  Luckily, she wasn’t. Hypatia sat at a computer terminal that had funny symbols instead of letters and numbers on the keyboards. On the multiple screens were lines of code, which reflected in her translucent eyes.

  “I’m busy hacking into North Korea’s mainframe,” she said. “They’ve made a bit of progress in their nuclear endeavors. I’m introducing a few kinks to set them back a couple of years.”

  “I just need a second of your time,” said Plato.

  “I’m kinda saving the world here,” she said.

  “It’s to do with catching Baros.”

  Hypatia’s fingers paused. She must’ve been close with Socrates, too. With a single press of a button, the screen blanked. “What do you need?”

  “We’re trying to determine where an underground, magical tournament might be being held. Likely in a remote area or on an ancient site.”

  Before Plato had finished talking, Hypatia’s fingers were flying across the keyboard. Images and code flashed faster than my mind could comprehend.

  “Aha,” said Hypatia. “A lot of electricity is being used beneath the Roman Colosseum. Deliveries from Apple have been noted in the vicinity as well. It has to be there.”

  Which meant that Baros would be there. If Baros got the ring, he would be free of Zeus’s control and wouldn’t be dealt his hand of justice. Which would be bad because I was on the side of justice, not on the side of seeing my ex go free so that he could come groveling to me. I had my priorities totally straight.

  “Loren!”

  I turned my head to Geraint. It sounded like he’d been calling my name for a moment. “What?”

  “Are you paying attention?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I said having not a clue as to what he’d said. “We’re totes on the same page.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “You don’t like flying. You don’t trust my magic. This is the next best way.”

  I crossed my arms as I stared at Geraint. A fire blazed before us. Geraint stared at the flames, grimacing as they licked up the sides of the brick hearth. He planted his feet wide on the hardwood floor and crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

  “I’m not getting into a fire,” he said.

  “It’s perfectly safe,” said Desi. “As long as you hold onto me.”

  The Greek god of the underworld leaned against the far wall. The orange flames shimmied in the palm of one of his tanned hands. The fingers of his other hand toyed with the ginger beard at his chin.

  We’d left the think tank twenty minutes ago on our own. Demi had forced Tia into sister bonding time, dragging Hestia out to dinner for some quality time. Hestia had gone, kicking and screaming and clinging to all of her devices. As that drama played out, the Chosen had put us in touch with Desi to get us on our way to Rome sooner.

  The middle son of the Titans was a noted Hollywood film producer. But you wouldn’t know him if you saw him. He did his magic behind the scenes, mostly producing his brother, Poseidon’s, children’s books. Their most famous one was about a group of orphans who were the children of the gods and the hijinks they got into trying to save the world from mythical creatures. It was complete fiction as the Greek gods couldn’t have children of their own, being that they weren’t exactly human.

  Anyway, though Desi worked in Cali, he lived in Athens. The flights back and forth would’ve been murder on his wallet, but he had an entirely different way of traveling. That was through fire. And where did humans keep most of their fire? In fireplaces, of course.

  “I thought you said he was one of Arthur’s knights,” Desi said jabbing his thumb towards Geraint.

  “He has trust issues,” I said. “I’m working on them.”

  “I don’t have trust issues,” Geraint said. “I have intelligence. Walking through fire equals getting burned.”

  “It’s like a ley line,” Desi sighed. “You witches and knights go into a dark void with no problem. Walking through fire, works the same, just with less magic and more adrenaline.”

  “And a higher degree of temperature,” mumbled Geraint.

  Desi shrugged. “Gets me into far more places than a witch can travel. Fire is everywhere.”

  Geraint uncrossed his arms. He took a step forward. An ember escaped the fireplace and landed on a rug on the floor, burning a hole through the material. Geraint took two steps back.

  “Listen,” said Desi, “I’m all for helping you track Baros. Zeus may not give a damn, but I care about what happens to the people under my protection. I’m prepared to help get you closer to him…whenever you’re ready.”

  I looked to Geraint, but his chin was still steely. I threw up my hands in exasperation. “I’m going to go through. You have to protect me as a witch. That means you have to follow me.”

  “I thought you were a knight,” said Geraint.

  “Witch? Knight? You label me conveniently depending on whether you want me to do something or not do something. Now, I’m doing the same.”

  I stepped up to the hearth and faced Desi. The god shrugged, kicking off the wall and coming to join me. We both turned and faced Geraint.

  The knight balled his hands into fists. He scrunched his face up, making me certain this is what he’d look like as a young squire performing the undesirable duties he put the current batch of squires through. Finally, he shook out his hands, unscrunched his face, and joined me and Desi. Luckily, we hadn’t needed to go back to the hotel since we each carried our luggage over our shoulders in satchels. Geraint adjusted his pack, holding the straps until the tension nearly snapped it in two.

  I grinned up at him. “Look at it this way, if something goes wrong you get to blame it all on me and say I told you so.”

  “I’m more than certain that will happen before this is done,” he said.

  Before I could respond, the fire flared up. The flames lifted my hair and consumed us. Fire travel was nothing like ley travel. Ley travel was an energy exchange. Desi’s fire took a bite out of me.

  We stepped out on the other end. Geraint hopped out of the fireplace, patting his clothing and hopping around in his boots. I took note of his eyebrows and saw that they were singed. The fire had taken the edge of the points. It totally worked, and now I saw what the women of Camelot saw in him.

  A feminine gasp broke my attention from the knight, and I focused on our surroundings. We’d turned up in a luxurious bedroom. A woman lounged on a four-poster, queen-sized bed. She lay naked, her pale skin drowning in deep, red sheets.

  “Desi is that you?” She drawled in Italian. Her gaze fixed on me and then Geraint. “Naughty boy, you brought friends.”

  Desi turned to us and grimaced unapologetically. “Sorry. I was aiming for the formal living room’s fireplace. But my mind was here in the bedroom. Just go down the stairs and out the door. I’m sure you’ll find your way to the Colosseum.”

  Geraint and I turned to the door. The naked woman frowned as we headed toward the exit. Well, she frowned as Geraint headed toward the exit. She barely spared me a second glance. But her gaze quickly fell upon Desi, and the heat of desire between them burned brighter than the fire creeping up her chimney.

  Geraint and I took the stairs to the first level, found the door, and spilled out onto the streets of Rome. Geraint shut the door behind us and then he turned to me. He glared for a full minute.

  “I’m ready to say I told you so,” he said.

  “Nothing happened,” I insisted.

  He raised his brows, but the point was lost.

  “In my opinion, that went really well. You came out the better for it.” I reached for his brow, but he swatted my hand away. “Dude, now all the women will want you.”

  “I don’t have any problems with women.” Geraint shrugged past me and went into the street.

  “Obviously.” I fell in step with him. “I saw you and Percy with your little tag team game on knights’ night out.”

  “Those women don’t count. I’m no
t interested in something superficial and carnal. I’m looking for …”

  I waited with bated breath. “What?”

  He clamped his mouth shut.

  “Tell me. We’re bonding here.”

  He sighed as we continued down the street. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “See, we are bonding. That’s exactly what I’m not going to do.”

  Geraint sighed again. “My parents' marriage was arranged. But it worked. They made a commitment to each other, and they were happy.”

  “So, you want to be set up? Oh, let me do it!”

  “That’s not what I said.” Geraint shook his head. “Besides, you don’t know anything about me.”

  “Yes, I do,” I said. “You’re from Northern Africa originally, but you grew up in Victorian England where you’ve been in the cultural minority. Though no one in Camelot treated you differently, I’d be willing to bet whenever you stepped outside of the city grounds, people looked down their nose at you. I know you’re special because a magical sword chose you above your two older siblings. But that also made you feel isolated in your family. You enjoy classical music, which tells me you’re more of an introvert. That says to me that the girl for you will need a quiet strength and a strong sense of morality. She’ll be someone who stands apart from the crowd but doesn’t try to draw attention to herself. She’ll be someone who understands your isolation in a crowd of people. How am I doing so far?”

  I looked beside me and there was no one there. I turned around and Geraint was a few steps behind me staring at me. His eyes were wide with both disbelief and vulnerability.

  “See.” I grinned. “I listen. And I’m very intuitive. Do I get the job?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up the pace. He didn’t say another word until we were outside of the Colosseum. It was after hours, and the gates to the attraction were closed.

  “Can your intuition tell us where the fight is and how to get in?” Geraint asked.