“How do you know that?” Pressing him for more information, I tried to think of how this thing would know anything about the power of the gods.
“I can see it, plain as day!” Gesturing to me as a whole, he frowning, grumbling and crossing his arms. “You look like a ball of yellow, all that energy pent up in there.”
“Wait. You can see the lightning inside me?”
“Of course I can, idiot. I know everything there is to know about that power. It could be hidden behind stone walls, buried hundreds of feet underground, and lost for millions of years, and I would still know exactly where it was and how to get to it. Who do you think gave it to Zeus in the first place?”
“Hold on—you’re saying that you gave Zeus his lightning powers?” The conversation was moving much faster than I’d intended and I was feeling a little clobbered by what he was insinuating. “That would mean you’re one of the original three cyclopes. Older than even Kronos; a child of Gaea and Uranus.”
“So you’re a blockhead who knows his family history.” Chuckling, the man smiled some, nodding, seeming pleased that I knew something about him. “Yes. I and my two brothers were the originals. Alas, I am the only one remaining in this life. Brontes.”
“Brontes?”
“My name, numbskull.” Rolling his eye, he shook his head, apparently reverting to the opinion that I knew nothing at all.
“Of course,” I replied quickly. “Right. And you gave Zeus the lightning. How?”
“You’re a curious little one. It’s not an entirely unearned question, though. I’ve watched you battle the Lord of the Dead for weeks now, the electricity building up in you more and more. You must feel ready to burst from wanting to release it.” Sighing, he nodded, seeming to mull over whatever it was he wanted to share before continuing.
“I have been alive a long while,” he finally started, smiling wryly. “It’s a shame to know that so much of my life has been spent in this prison. My father locked me in here, followed by Kronos when he took over. Zeus was different, though.
“He came to my brothers and I before he went to challenge Kronos. It was a sight to behold, that’s for sure. Such a tiny man, with so much strength and drive. The lightning practically begged to be given to him as he swept through the gates, clad in leather armor and wielding a sword. He attacked the prison, besting every guard that came his way, until even the Titan Lord of the Underworld lay dead at his feet. It was the first time anyone had ever come to us for help, treating us as equals.”
“So you gave him the lightning as a thank you.” The knowledge, while interesting, didn’t do much to help my current situation. Frustration rippled through me and I bit the inside of my cheek, holding down an order to talk faster. Something told me that my displeasure was showing on my face, though, because the creature laughed, tossing his head back.
“Not at all. The lightning picks who it wants to inhabit, Olympian. It was clear that it had chosen Zeus, so we gave him the lightning bolt to help control it. He didn’t understand it, much like you don’t right now. If he’d gone off without some kind of way to channel the energy, he would have blown up the first chance he’d gotten. Or, like you, he could have been impotent, frustrated, and unknowing of how to solve his condition.”
Processing his words, I frowned, brow furrowing as I stared him down. Zeus, unable to use his powers? The idea was ludicrous. And yet, it made sense that he hadn’t always been the master he was now. Everyone had to start somewhere, even the King of the Gods. The cyclopes had given him the bare minimum of what he needed. The knowledge of that painted a clearer picture of my father’s powers in my head. However, that picture showed me something I’d never considered before. “The lightning bolts are . . . training wheels?”
Brontes smiled again, seemingly pleased that I was catching on. It suddenly struck me that this was a creature of great knowledge and power, locked away where his mind was being put to waste. He wasn’t just goading me—he wanted me to work through it, to stimulate both of our minds at the same time as I spoke with him. It was anyone’s guess how long it had been since he had actually spoken with someone. When his voice rumbled toward me once again, it held a scholarly tone to it, as if he were instructing me on the simplest of things. “In a sense, yes. They are the safest way to channel the power. While they are dangerous in their own right, the bolts aren’t needed to control the energy. Surely Zeus has called for the light without having a bolt with him?”
“Of course,” I quickly replied. “I just never realized he didn’t exactly need them.”
“You don’t need them, either.” He replied offhandedly, obviously knowing that was exactly what I’d been about to ask. “You’ve used the power without them already. The whole world heard about it.”
“But it would help if I could have at least one,” I argued back. “Couldn’t you make me one?”
A booming laugh replied, an actual tear rolling down the side of his face from the strength of his amusement. “No! I would need my brothers for that. You might as well let that dream go.”
Stuck, I tried to think of how else I could get a bolt. Maybe we could steal one from Zeus . . . or maybe I could just sign my death warrant now. There was no way anyone would be able to steal a bolt from the King of the Gods.
“You don’t need the bolt if you understand how the power works.” Going back to his swaying motion, the cyclops seemed to be nearing the end of how much he wanted to share with me. Locked up or not, he was definitely more than content to keep his secrets to himself.
“Will you teach me?” It felt like grasping at straws, but it was a chance I needed to take.
Halting his movements, Brontes stared at me, the intelligence in his gaze almost shocking. Slowly, he got to his feet, stepping forward until he had dwarfed me at the gate. “Your father is the only god who ever let my brothers and I roam free. When Apollo killed my kin, Zeus offered his condolences to me, but did nothing to enact justice for their murders. The world changed; things that didn’t look like humans were locked up. Despite the assistance I gave the king, I still found myself included with the monsters when it came to my freedom. Here I am again, in Tartarus, sent away by another god. Tell me, Adrastia. Should you succeed in your endeavor, what will happen next? Will you over throw your father, in the tradition of the gods? Will I find myself hidden away by another king who fancies himself too good—too fearful—to allow me to once again roam free? Or will you allow me to do what I will?”
Swallowing hard, I pressed my mouth into a thin line. I had no intention of overthrowing Zeus, if I could help it. All I wanted was Avalon. We could live on the moon for all I cared, as long as we were together. The fate of an old cyclops was the last things I was worried about. That answer wouldn’t satisfy Brontes, though, and we both knew it.
“If I become king,” I started, hesitating slightly. “I swear you will be free to do what you wish. Within reason.”
“Reason?” Snorting, he raised his one eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate.
“If you go on a killing spree, I’m going to have something to say about that.”
A low, crushing laugh rumbled in his chest as he nodded, slowly sitting back down. “Fine, then, Would Be King. I will teach you.”
Chapter Seven
Hades
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Hearing her in there, locked in her old room, was enough to make me want to stab myself in the ears every day. Maybe then, when I couldn’t hear Katrina any longer, I wouldn’t feel so pitiful.
Doubtful.
However, I’d known what I was getting myself into when I went out in search of her soul. There were no daydreams of peaceful nights sitting by the fire, cozied up with a good book and a glass of wine while she sat calmly beside me. No, I’d know it would be my own literal Hell, that I would wish for my own death every day while her soul was near me.
But, I was getting ahead of myself.
Glancing around the hallway, I was alone, like usual. Ever since Cristos had arr
ived, though, it seemed the Underworld had a little more life to it, and I wasn’t left alone so much. Sometimes I missed the solitude. Others, I craved for someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off of. Since there was no one to fulfil that need now, I leaned against the wall, sliding down it to the floor, and resting the back of my head against the stone barrier that kept Katrina and I apart. It would be enough to go over everything by myself now.
Closing my eyes, it was more than easy to recall the memories of how I’d gotten to this point in my life. Reliving them every day was my own way of making sure I didn’t lose my own mind over all of it.
Frowning, I thought of Zeus and how he’d banished me into house arrest for nine years. Nine years. If I didn’t have more important things to do, I’d march right over to Olympus and punch him in his perfect teeth nine times. So much time had been wasted while I was in confinement. That hadn’t hurt me, though; it was the Olympians who suffered because of that. I, on the other hand, had learned everything I needed to know about my love and the life she’d led.
The book had been somewhere in the depths of the library, hidden behind an old dusty volume on medical practices in the city of Alexandria. Normally, I would have enjoyed flipping through the pages of such a thriller, but at that point, I’d been consumed by nothing more than finding a way to bring Katrina back. Even so, the tiny notebook caught my eye, the name “Kat” scrolled across the front of it in loopy writing.
Excitement rushed through me as I carefully wrapped my fingers around it, pulling it from its hiding place. There was almost no chance that it had belonged to Katrina, but still . . . The library had a copy of every book that had ever existed, magical or not. As miniscule an opportunity it was, there had to be something she had written hidden in the massive space.
Bringing the pad back to the table at the front of the room, I studied the green and black speckled cover, taking in the beat up corners and oddly folded papers slipped between the pages. It was obviously a journal or diary of some type, which brought a slight decision on morals to the forefront of my mind.
A slight decision on morals that I quickly brushed to the side as I opened the book.
The first page was empty, save for one line.
Property of Katrina Saul. Do not read!!!
Laughing in amazement, I tightened my grip on the novel, suddenly feeling like it was a gift greater than gold. As I flipped through the pages, it quickly became clear that it was a journal from her younger years, probably around thirteen or fourteen, from the sound of it. Most of what she’d written had to do with life on the farm her family owned, or boys at school. The folded papers were notes she’d passed between classes with her friends. They felt just as precious as her own writings, giving me a glimpse into her life before I’d known her.
Come to think of it, I’d never really known her at all. Not the real her.
Anxious, I put the diary down on the table, turning back to the rows and rows of writings laid out ahead of me. For the first time in the three years since my banishment began, I wanted to search for something other than a way to join Katrina’s mind and soul once more. I wanted to discover her life story.
Thousands of questions flooded me as I went through stack after stack of material. What was her favorite color? Favorite food? Did she like living on a farm? What were her parents like? Did she do well in school, or did she abhor it? What were her plans for the future? What had she wanted to do with her life as a whole? What did she look like normally? I’d fallen in love with her mind and personality, after all, not her looks. I’d seen her as herself before, but I wanted more, from all times in her life.
Many candles burned low, countless hours spent searching, until I possessed what I felt to be a good background on the woman I loved. It had taken weeks, the shelves left in disarray around me, but I finally had what I wanted. The main table of the library stretched out at the front of the room, covered in journals, yearbooks, newspapers, photo albums, and all other sorts of correspondence involving Katrina and her family. It was enough to keep me busy for at least a month, if not more.
Pushing the sleeves of my hoodie up, I smiled, surprisingly excited.
“First things first,” I mumbled to myself. “Put it all in order.”
Heading over to the mess, I carefully picked up a newspaper, checking the date on it. There was an announcement about the birth of a tiny Saul baby—Katrina.
Chronologically arranging the items turned out to be harder than I’d imagined. After around two months, I had an entire family line built for her, stretched across the table and pinned to boards. Strings connected items together, photos pinned in their respective places, my own notes scrawled over slips of scrap paper here and there. It looked like some type of crime scene investigation, but I had such a thirst to know her.
I did know her, then. Or at least, I knew what the papers told me. Her ancestors had emigrated from Europe in the 1800s. Katrina was named after one of her grandmothers. Her father’s journal had told me her favorite junk food was jelly beans when she was nine. It was baked chicken and potatoes when she was in high school. Mrs. Saul stated that Katrina’s favorite color was a deep purple, which is why she’d gotten her purple flowers for her junior high graduation. Even her boss, who owned a bar in town, had kept perfect records of all his employees’ schedules. She was a good worker, from what his notes said. She took time off to go to a music concert in the city once.
They were all tiny pieces of information, but I couldn’t have been more grateful for them. I felt as if I knew my Hurricane—that was her nickname when she graduated, I’d found—on the most intimate of levels.
And the pictures! I would’ve given up my powers freely just to have the pictures. She’d grown from adorable child into a beautiful adult, and someone had thankfully documented the whole thing for me. There was at least one picture of her from every year of her life. If I could’ve left the castle, I would have gone out to the spirits of her relatives and kissed every one of them in thanks.
It wasn’t all good things I found, though. The end of my timeline was riddled with newspaper articles and police reports, all claiming that she was a murderer who had fled the state, maybe even the country, to escape being arrested. These items painted her in a light that was so different from the rest of the accounts. They were hateful and scared—and completely false. It didn’t take long for me to pin point the exact moment Erebos had appeared in her life and offered her the deal that brought her to me.
That had been a rough day for me.
Still, it felt as if Katrina were with me again, her life story swirling around in my head at all times. Finally, after a week of rereading everything I had, it was time to go back to my main task. If I could discover everything I wanted to know about her in this library, I could find a way to actually bring her back to me in person, not just on paper.
And so, I continued on with my search, every day spent in the library. Some nights, I even slept there, looking until I physically couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. Years passed, and still I kept searching.
And then I found it.
I remember my stomach had been growling, alerting me to the fact that I hadn’t eaten in a very long time. Looking down at my midriff, I snorted, dropping the book I’d been flipping through back on the desk and leaning back. I’d forgone the jacket that day, opting instead for just a plain black t-shirt. Rubbing my hands over the fabric, I stood and stretched, yawning. In total, seven and a half years of my banishment had passed. It felt like nothing, after all the years I’d been alive. However, it was also seven and a half years without Katrina. The thought made me want to weep and lay on the floor, succumbing to the helpless feelings washing over me. No one else was going to help her if I didn’t, though, and so I pressed on.
The smell of the fire filled me with a hearty warmth, my mind traveling to the kitchen and the ham that was waiting there for me. At least my brother had been kind enough to make sure I had food while I was in confinement. I
t would only take a moment for me to go up there and get something to eat.
To this day, I wasn’t sure what had caught my attention as I turned to go. Perhaps it was a single word, or the way a phrase sat on the page, but my eyes were drawn to a tome that had been knocked open when I dropped the book I’d been studying. It was another ancient text, written in mostly symbols and strange scribbling I’d never seen before, the pages crinkled with age and yellow. The text I could understand was talking about sacrifice and despair, the beginning and the end of life, and a whole bunch of other spiritual crap that made no sense, but when I flipped the page, it was as if I’d been struck by lightning.
It was all there. The order and laws for the Underworld, laid out in the hieroglyphics and ancient Greek and Egyptian scribbled in the margins, were plainly displayed and constructed, leaving no possible way to confuse what they meant. As I scanned over the material, my heart pounded in my chest, all the years of panic and pain flowing into this one moment.
Finally, I came to the section on Lost Ones. After reading through the section on things I already knew, I lighted upon the one item I’d been searching for.
The ritual to bring Katrina back to me.
A scream brought me out of my memories and back to the present, my mind feeling like it had been yo-yoed through space and time at the quick transition.
Katrina’s soul was reliving her murder, once again. The thumping earlier had been her twitching, after “dying” once again. Now, it sounded like she had come full circle, her shouts and cries wrapping my heart in a thorny vice.
“We’re almost there,” I whispered, talking more to myself than her. “All the pieces are coming together.”
Chapter Eight
Hades
Shoving to my feet, I took a deep breath and pulled the key to Katrina’s door out of my pocket. Quickly, I unlocked it and slipped inside the dark room, allowing my eyes to adjust before I moved any more.
Exoria (The God Chronicles #5) Page 5
