Olympian Challenger

by Astrid Arditi

  “Brother, it seems our challengers will face each other tomorrow,” Hades gloats.

  Zeus’s thunder roars overhead. “She got out, but did she complete her quest?” He seems confident I’ve failed.

  Bellerophon hands me the horn.

  I throw it at Zeus’s feet, pleased with my perfect aim. “She has.”

  The gods’ king looks tempted to smite me for my insolence. It’s lucky I’m still needed to compete, or he surely would have. When he resumes his usual affable smile, I don’t know if I should be relieved, or more worried. It sings of the calm before the storm.

  “It seems we will have a final quest then. I look forward to see how you fare against my cunning challenger.”

  Zeus uses cunning as if it were a compliment. I could try to teach him the difference between cunning and clever, but I would be wasting my breath.

  Aphrodite frowns as she takes me in. “No. This won’t do. You look like you just walked through hell.”

  Didn’t I?

  She waves both her hands and sends her glitter my way. My loose hair weaves itself into an intricate up-do. The grim armor is replaced by a pristine white gossamer dress that shows about everything my modesty begs to be kept hidden. But I don’t cower in shame or try to cover my breasts showing through the transparent fabric—I’ve seen naiads displaying even more flesh. Instead, I hold my head, crowned with a laurel garland, high and climb onto the dais so I can take my rightful place next to Heath.

  Disdain radiates from me as I sneer at the boy who thought he stole victory. As long as I’m alive, I’ll fight to make sure he never gets it.

  “How did you get out?” he asks me, his previous startled expression replaced by a cool composure.

  “Why did you steal my stones?” I counter.

  “You will lose eventually. I only wanted to put you out of your misery.”

  I grip the arms of my throne, my knuckles turning white. “Is that so?”

  He shrugs. “You’re only making this worse for yourself.”

  I eye the wine cup in his hand, dying to taste it for myself. The alcohol’s merciful numbing effect has never been so appealing. And yet I hold onto my sobriety, aware of tomorrow’s final task still awaiting me.

  “Is there anything you wouldn’t sacrifice to win?” I ask him.

  “Nothing. And if you truly cared about your mother the way you’ve been clamoring about since getting here, you wouldn’t either.”

  He has no right to bring up my mother. By merely mentioning her, it is as if he’s sullied her.

  “All this blood on your hands. I wonder how you sleep at night.”

  Instead of answering me, Heath drinks some more. He may be using the wine to keep the ghosts of his sins at bay. I won’t allow him the respite he’s seeking.

  “You’re nothing but a murderer. You killed Bob Jr. and Gabriel, but you failed to kill me.”

  “There is still tomorrow to rectify that.” Haziness swims in his navy eyes. “I won’t stop until I win.”

  That he can own up to his plans to murder me with such cold detachment strikes me. It makes me curious about his motivations.

  “Why do you want to win so badly?”

  “For my wish, of course.”

  “What is it?”

  He glowers. “Why do you care?”

  “You just admitted to wanting me dead. I think I deserve to know what makes my life so expendable to you.”

  “Have you ever loved someone, Hope? Loved them even when they forgot how to love themselves, even when the person they love is destroying them?”

  “I think I know more about love than you ever will,” I snap.

  “That is where you’re wrong. You love yourself, your precious moral standards more. I’ve sacrificed everything for my mother.”

  “I don’t know your mother. But I doubt she would condone your actions, no matter how much she needs you to win.”

  “She doesn’t know what she needs!” he yells, attracting curious stares from the partygoers. “She still thinks she needs my father. Even after everything he’s put her through. Do you remember the square I jumped from that night?”

  I sigh. “How could I forget?”

  Tears gather in his eyes. “My home was there. Our home, until my father lost it gambling that day. I thought this is it—she’s finally going to leave the scumbag behind.” He looks me straight in the eyes. “Do you know what she said?”

  I couldn’t begin to guess.

  His voice takes a high pitch falsetto as he continues his story. “Your father is sick. If you can’t support him, you should find your own place to live. As if she still had her own place! But she’s now homeless thanks to him. She kicked me out of her life and stuck with him!” Heath seethes. “She traded her own son for a lying, cheating bastard.”

  I barely register his laments, still hung up on his father’s alleged sickness.

  “Do you think your father’s sick?”

  “No. I think he’s a selfish jerk. But he wasn’t always like that.”

  The latter comment suffices to convince me. “I think your mother is right, Heath. Your father is sick. All demi-god descendants fall to the madness eventually. Their powers turn against them when they are not recognized.”

  Heath looks confused as he processes that information. He’s like a little boy who’s ready to face the monster under the bed but finds dust bunnies instead. In a couple of sentences I slayed his dragon and replaced it with a sickly sheep. I stole the source of his hatred, so he directs it against me instead.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” he snickers. “A worthless lie to rattle me?”

  I grit my teeth. “I’m not lying.”

  “You asked for my story, but now I’m going to tell yours. It starts like this: Pathetic girl with sick mother and miserable life lands on Mount Olympus by mistake. She then fails at everything and only finds herself competing because she’s a cheap whore who found a god dumb enough to screw her. By some miracle she makes it to the finale and meets a tragic death. The end.”

  The ember of compassion I’d begun to feel for Heath snuffs out. There are elements that are true in his story—my landing here by mistake, the miracle that has kept me in and alive through the competition—but he’s misjudged my strength. I don’t need to defend myself to him.

  A daring smile creeps across my lips. “Let’s see who gets to write the ending, shall we?” I extend my hand toward him. “Now give me back the diamonds so I can try to fix Amy’s damned necklace.”

  Chapter 39

  I spent the night again in Amy’s bed, but I didn’t cry. Instead I used most of my time trying to fix her necklace, using my healing powers to coax the diamonds back into the platinum claws.

  The remaining hours were spent in fitful sleep, with nightmares of Heath chasing me through a labyrinth trying to spear me with his vicious horns.

  I am exhausted but relieved when the melodious chiming sounds a new dawn. Today, whether I’m victorious or not, I leave Mount Olympus. The time for the final quest can’t come fast enough.

  A folded invitation, on the same silver vellum as the one that got me here in the first place, awaits on my smooth pillow. I’m forced to admire the gods’ sense of theatrics. In less than a month we’ve gone full circle. As we came in, now we’ll leave with the invitation as our exit pass. I unfold the paper reverently.

  For your final quest…

  Seek the Pythia, and be prepared

  To find the truth within your heart.

  Courage and virtue, Fears and sins,

  To embrace or to abate.

  At noon, Achilles’s quest awaits.

  Sounds like a marvelous program. I have five more hours until the quest starts, but there is no chance I’ll sleep now. There is no one I want to see before I go, save for the one person I’m forbidden to seek out, so I take my time getting ready.

  First, I take a long soak in the tub, where chamomile essence has been added to the usual jasmine bubble bath.
Then I braid my hair into a crown so it won’t get in my way. I forego the makeup, keeping my face bare as a tribute to Amy.

  Naked of artifice, my face is a map of my emotions—my red eyes and the hard set of my mouth bear testament to my grief but also to my resolution to win, to never bow again to anyone, gods included.

  A light smudge, not more than a shadow, stains my cheek. I try to rub it off without success before remembering Kieron’s visitation in the labyrinth yesterday. This is where he caressed me in his shadow form, and this must be a lingering remnant of his touch. I cup the stain with my palm, hoping it never goes away. Kieron really was there; he braved his father’s wrath to lead me out of the maze.

  With this warm certainty nestled in my heart, I look into the closet for my simple black dress that has been replaced by a long vaporous gown of inky silk. It has long see-through sleeves, a heart-shaped neckline, and the skirt below my hips is transparent as well so that it shows my lean legs. I take no pleasure from my reflection in the mirror. I look like Hades’s queen, a mournful rival to Persephone.

  Breakfast is served inside my bedroom by a ghostly servant. I’m grateful I don’t have to take it downstairs in the atrium. I couldn’t face the long, empty table that used to buzz with gossip and laughter.

  I nibble on a piece of toast while studying Achilles’s story in one of Ariadne’s books. Despite what Heath has been hoping for, it doesn’t seem like we’ll be expected to duel today. If I learn more about the hero’s story, I might get an edge in this quest.

  Achilles was the son of mortal Peleus and sea-goddess Thetis, the story begins. The prophetic goddess, daughter of Nereus and Doris, held her babe by the heel and dunked him in the River Styx to render him invincible.

  The reference to the kindhearted couple that saved my life twice captures my interest. I’ve met some of their daughters but never thought to try and differentiate the Nereids, except for Amphitrite, Poseidon’s wife. They are so much alike, all of them, that I never considered their singular powers. I flip through the book, looking for more information about Thetis.

  Thetis’s grace and beauty were so remarkable that Zeus and Poseidon both sought an alliance with her; but it had been foretold that one of her sons would gain supremacy over his father. Afraid of the prophecy, both gods relinquished their claims on Thetis, and she married a mortal man, Peleus, instead.

  Their nuptials were celebrated with the utmost pomp and magnificence, and every single divinity was invited to witness their vows, with the exception of Eris, the Goddess of Discord. Eris so resented her exclusion from the marriage festivities that she produced the golden apple that started the Trojan War.

  The reference to the Apple of Discord brings me back to our second quest in the Garden of Hesperides. Everything is interconnected on Mount Olympus—Nereus and Doris with Thetis; Thetis with Hera through the apple, and then with Zeus, Hera’s husband who sought to marry the sea-goddess. And now me, the challenger who stayed clear of the Apple of Discord and will soon compete in Achilles’s quest; simple me who descends from Asclepius and some other unknown divinity.

  I’m glad I’ll see the Pythia one last time before all of this is over. I’m finally ready to discover the identity of my secret ancestor whose powers saved me from the labyrinth yesterday.

  I return to my study of Achilles with more enthusiasm. I finally understand what Bellerophon said about mythology. It is in fact, history, and an infinitesimal part of this history is mine.

  When I finish reading Achilles’s tragic story that ends with his heroic death brought about by an arrow through his vulnerable heel, I leave the empty villa never to return. There is nothing I will miss here save for memories that have been tinted the drab gray of loss.

  I wear Amy’s diamond choker around my neck, the one piece of her the gods haven’t stripped away from me. It is now infused with my healing powers and it radiates warmth against my skin, a protective talisman I swear never to take off again.

  The Pythia’s clearing is empty save for the heroes forming a guard of honor on both sides of the steps leading to the temple. I would have expected a more grandiose send-off for the last quest, but it’s better this way. Their faces are the only ones I’m happy to see.

  I smile, thanking each one of my teachers for their support. Bellerophon is last, with Ariadne across from him.

  I hug him without waiting for his permission. “I hope I never forget you.”

  “Whatever happens today, you won’t be forgotten, Hope. May the omens shine in your favor.”

  The archer runs a thumb at the corner of his eye to catch a lonely tear before breaking our embrace. I squeeze his hand one last time then climb the steps to the temple without fear. Despite what Heath said, my being here isn’t a coincidence. Whether I am meant to win or lose, fate brought me to Mount Olympus for a reason, and I’m finally ready to face my destiny.

  “We’ve been waiting for you,” the Pythia welcomes me.

  Heath is already kneeling before Poseidon’s altar, dressed in a formal pale blue toga similar to the one he wore last night. The old seer holds the battered bronze cup that she used during the Unveiling Ceremony between her gnarled fingers.

  “You can kneel next to Heath, Hope.”

  The gauzy fabric of my dress does little to protect my legs from the cold marble floor. I leave as much space as I can between Heath and me. Dark circles shadow his eyes from yesterday’s heavy drinking. It makes his glare even more menacing.

  “Why is Heracles not coming in?” Heath asks her. “He always explains the rules.”

  “There are no rules today, young boy.”

  “So what? Are we just expected to kneel all day and see who dies of boredom first?”

  “That would be an idea…” She chuckles. “But I think we can do better than that.”

  I don’t participate in their banter. I don’t want to play guessing games, and I’m aggravated I didn’t come sooner so I could ask my questions about my ancestor to the Pythia. Now that Heath is here, I’ll have to wait for the end of the quest to ask her. If I’m still here.

  “There will be no fighting, no parlor tricks, no clever escape today,” she says, her milky eyes seeing much more than they should. “I trust you studied Achilles’s story. He had a vulnerable heel, but it isn’t this heel that caused his fall, wouldn’t you agree?”

  I recall the details of the story. The book never mentioned another reason for his passing and yet I trust the oracle is right. What matters isn’t how he died but why.

  Intoxicated by his success, Achilles grew overconfident, which led him to storm the city of Troy at the helm of his army, forgetting he was still mortal. His arrogance let him forget to protect his heel and in turn, made it possible for Paris to shoot the fatal arrow.

  “Yes, Hope. Arrogance was Achilles’s true vulnerable spot. For others it is burning ambition, a thirst for revenge, or sometimes it comes from a desire that is pure—like love. Your fears can make you vulnerable as well. But to thrive, a hero has to protect his Achilles’ heel and if he can, eradicate it.”

  She smells the contents of the cup she holds and her face takes on a dazed expression. Whatever is inside this cup must be incredibly potent.

  “Challengers, are you ready to find out?”

  Heath snorts. “Is that all? We drink your potion and talk about our feelings? How is she going to lose? How do I win?”

  “You’re not facing each other, but I’m fairly certain only one of you will remain,” the seer says, impervious to Heath’s taunts. “I will stay to guide you into the trance. When you wake up, a choice will have to be made.”

  “But—”

  The Pythia holds her palm up to silence Heath. She hands him the cup first.

  “Drink, boy. And try to relax, for Olympus’s sake!” She stops him before he can drain the whole glass. “There, there. That will be enough.”

  “Hope, your turn.”

  I keep an eye on Heath’s lax shoulders and mellow grin as I sniff
the contents of the cup. I detect laurel leaves, chamomile, and something more powerful, like incense.

  “Crushed poppy seeds,” the Pythia answers my silent question. “Now drink. This is a heroic challenge, not a cocktail mixing lesson.”

  I choke on that first gulp, wondering how I can even feel like laughing. I finish the delicious brew to the last drop.

  As my muscles relax, the seer whispers. “Someday I’ll teach you, Hope.”

  The brew trickles down my throat and warms up my stomach. My whole body goes softer, lighter, while my mind turns cloudier. I’m here but I’m not. I’m the girl kneeling on the cold floor and the breeze fluttering inside the temple. I’m so much more than me; I’m the Universe.

  The Pythia’s voice reaches my ears through a veil of fuzziness, as if I were submerged in water once again.

  “Forget who you are and seek who you might be,” she says.

  Drunken giggles escape my lips set into a foolish grin. The world is a beautiful, absurd place. My fears have evaporated, replaced by a rainbow of colors that I try to grasp with my fingers. Actually, they are more like iridescent soap bubbles, and every time I catch one it bursts. I try to stand up so I can tackle one, but the seer stops me.

  “Stay where you are, Hope. Your journey is only starting.” I tumble back down, laughing at my own clumsiness. “Look inside. What is stopping you? What fears linger that stand in your way of achieving greatness? Face your fears, challengers.”

  The bubbles explode all at once, and the temple’s white walls disappear. I’m in a barren place, leached of all colors. I can’t see the sky or a ceiling. This is a non-place, a frightening place. My small body trembles, and a low wail comes out from my lips. I don’t see myself but I know I’m a child, no more than three or four. And I’m terrified.

  A dehumanized voice fills the air. “The little Hope Diaz is looking for her parents. Please come retrieve your child...”

  This place I don’t know, but the voice brings back a memory. I got lost in a supermarket once. I remember the kind lady who took me in while we waited for my mother to find me. “Your daddy and mommy will be here soon,” she’d said over and over, accentuating my panic as I tried to explain there was no daddy.