Titan: An Epic Novel of Urban Fantasy and Greek Mythology (The Gods War Book 1)

by Daniel Mignault

“That's the right call,” the warrior says. “You'll make a fine addition to the force someday.”

  I'm not so sure about that. I'm not even sure there was a right decision to be made. I'd been excited to be a warrior, proud to be put into a position where I could help people, but now I'm left to wonder if the only chances I'll be given will be to choose the lesser of two evils. It doesn't feel right.

  The warrior offers me his hand. I take it, careful not to jostle the old man as I get to my feet. The old man gives me a hopeless look, one that haunts me, but then the warrior is pulling me up and I turn toward the crowd. There's a face in it that's familiar. That girl! The one hiding outside school.

  “Hey, you!” I yell. “Wait!”

  The girl runs, which is something I'm pretty sure hallucinations don't do. I chase after her, but the crowd gets in the way. I try to push through when a strong hand falls on my shoulder.

  “You can't leave,” the warrior says. “I need to get your information for my report.”

  “I'm sorry, I just thought I saw someone I knew, that's all.”

  “A girl?”

  “Yes! You saw her?”

  He chuckles. “No, just a guess. A pretty girl is about the only thing that could make me move that fast when I was your age.”

  We return to his patrol car where Mark and the badly-shaken driver are giving the other warrior their information. The paramedics load the old man onto a gurney; a tall priest is with them. He's got cold eyes set in a cruel face.

  “Will he be OK?” I ask the paramedics.

  They look at each other, then the priest. Something passes between them, because neither answers. They load the gurney into the back of the ambulance. The priest brushes his blue cloak back over his shoulder and steps forward. “I'm sorry, did you say something, citizen?”

  “Yes, I asked if that man's going to be all right.”

  “And you are?”

  “Andrus Eaves. I'm a witness. I just want to know if you think he'll be OK. The hospital can fix him, right?”

  “Hospital?” The priest smiles thinly. “Do not fear, citizen. The old man will be taken care of.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That means I have answered your question. Unless you care to ask another?”

  I hesitate, then think better of it. “No,” I say. “No more questions.”

  The priest's smile widens, but doesn't get any warmer. “Then bless you, citizen, and remember, Cronus is watching!”

  4

  BE THE MOUNTAIN

  I don't mention the girl again to Mark. He'd just think I was crazy, and that would undermine his confidence in my ability to train him. So I shove it aside as best I can, shove her and the old man and everything else to focus on the only thing I'm sure of. The only thing I can control.

  We walk to the Harryhausen gym and I pay our admission. Inside, there are all kinds of people working out or wrestling on mats. Greek wrestling has become popular again, as you might expect, and even pankration is big. Pankration is a Greek word that means using all your power. It's like mixed martial arts combined with boxing and wrestling, with lots of takedowns, chokes, and joint locks. There are only two rules: no eye-gouging or biting.

  Warriors use pankration to arrest people who resist―that is, the ones they want to question. Otherwise, they just use their swords. As you can imagine, there's a lot less crime when you know the law is likely to chop first and ask questions later.

  Since I'm training to be a warrior, I have to take a second gym class, one that teaches pankration. Mr. Cross teaches that class too and he says I'm pretty good. It's harder for me to daydream in that class. I tried once, and the next thing I knew, Blake had me in a headlock. That was pretty embarrassing.

  “Looks like Blake and Brenda beat us here,” Mark says, pointing to two figures working their way up the rock climbing wall.

  We watch them. Mark sucks in his breath and I can tell he's not happy with how well they seem to be doing. As for me, I try to look beyond that to see any weaknesses we can exploit―both in how they work as a team and where Brenda's skills are. As Mark said, she's not very good, but she's not hopeless. What surprises me is how well Blake and Brenda work together. For once, Blake isn't being a jerk. He's actually trying to teach her. No yelling. No anger. Just smiles and encouragement. I glance over at Mark. He's staring at the wall like it's a Titan, maybe Cronus himself.

  I wonder if I can teach him in time. I'm not exactly known for my patience, and I'm so much better at climbing than him that I don't know if I can even relate to where he's at. Then I get an idea…

  Wrestling and pankration taught me grappling, which helps with climbing. I mean, instead of grappling some guy, I'm grappling a mountain. And I know I can't just “tap out” to end it. When I'm hanging off a wall, I can't let go. I have to keep going or fall.

  “Come on,” I tell Mark. “I've got an idea that might help.”

  He sighs in relief. “Great! I'm not exactly eager to tackle that wall, especially with Blake and Brenda watching. I don't want to make a fool of myself.”

  “You sure? Because if you mess up bad enough in front of them, they might get overconfident.” I say it like a joke, but now I'm wondering if maybe that's not such a bad idea. After all, any edge could make the difference. But no, I can tell by the way Mark reacts, he's not ready. It'll be better if I get his confidence up first.

  We go to an empty wrestling mat and I explain the basics of my plan. How learning pankration helped my climbing skills, and how he needs to learn to fight to hold on.

  “I don't know,” Mark says. “You sure this will work?”

  I shrug. “Look at it this way: At least if you fall, you won't have far to go.” That gets a laugh―a nervous one, but better than nothing. I teach him the proper stance, facing me with right leg bent and his hands raised. “Now turn your body slightly left.”

  “Why?”

  “You'll see in a minute. Raise your hands higher, like this.” I raise mine so that the tips of my fingers are level with my hairline, and my left arm is almost fully extended, while keeping my right bent. “Now lean forward, just a bit, and put your weight on your right foot.” Mark does as I ask. “OK, now the ball of your left foot should be touching the ground.” Once he's in position, I tell him, “The reason the left foot is like that is so it's ready to attack or defend, like this!” I lash out at him with a low kick, which he fails to block.

  Mark crashes to the mat grabbing his leg. “Ow, man! What the hell?”

  “Sorry! I'm trying to teach you to be ready for anything. Not just in combat, but climbing. You have to be ready to make a split-second decision. Come on, let's try again. I'll go slower this time.”

  “You promise?”

  “Of course. The point's not to hurt or humiliate you. It's to train your reflexes. That first kick was just to get your attention.” I help him up and we get into position. “So I'm going to kick you again,” I warn, “but in slow motion so you can see it coming, all right?”

  Mark nods and watches as I come at him with another kick. “Now block,” I tell him.

  Mark raises his leg just in time to make contact with mine. It's a weak defense and I could easily overpower him if I wasn't holding back. “Good,” I say, “but you need to do it faster, with more force.” I lower my leg and resume my stance. “Again.”

  We run through it a few more times, going a bit faster until Mark gets it. Then we try it with punches, then a combination of kicks and punches until I'm satisfied he's built up a little confidence. “OK, now let's grapple.” I move in, stepping around or knocking aside his blows until I'm close enough to grapple. Mark's pinned to the mat in seconds. “See how I'm holding on?” I say. “You've got to do the same to the wall. Never let go.”

  I let him up and then we go through it again. And again. Finally, I let him practice grappling me. Where to hold, how to hold, and how long. “You have to become an immovable object,” I explain. “You have to be the mountain
.”

  A male voice says, “Ooh! Nice form, ladies!” I look up and see Blake sneering down at us. “You two going to prom together?”

  “Shut up.” I easily break free of Mark's chokehold and jump to my feet. I'm in Blake's face in seconds. “It's a confidence building exercise.”

  Blake chuckles. “Well, don't let him get too confident, or you'll be the one wearing the dress.”

  I shove him, but Blake just grins and holds up his hands to show he doesn't want to fight. “Easy, tiger! I'm going. The wall's all yours since you guys were too chicken to face me and Brenda.” He swaggers off and joins her, putting his arm around her as he steers her toward the exit. Brenda looks back at us with a mixture of pity and disdain.

  “What a dick,” Mark says once they're out of earshot. “I can't believe that guy.”

  “Tell me about it. You ready to tackle that wall?”

  “In a minute. You really think I can do this?”

  “It doesn't matter what I think. Do you think you can?”

  Mark looks from me to the wall. There's some steel in his voice when he says, “Yeah. Let's do this!”

  5

  THE NIGHT PATROL

  The sun dips on the horizon as we finish training. I have a much better idea of what Mark can do on the wall and what he can't. The good news is he can take direction, the bad news is he likes to ask a lot of questions instead of just relying on his instincts. I learn by doing, by throwing myself into something new. I don't care about making mistakes or looking stupid because I don't really care what anyone thinks. But Mark does, and that's a problem. It's slowing me down, forcing me to explain every little why, when all he really needs to know is how.

  Just do this, I want to scream at him. Don't hesitate, don't overthink it.

  But that's all Mark does, and at first, I get really mad until I realize being a teacher is hard. I used to think Mr. Cross had the easiest job in the world, but it's clear now he doesn't. The trouble is, I don't know how to teach Mark the way he wants to be taught. I can only teach him the way I know how, and I don't know if he can, at least not in time.

  A female voice comes over the loudspeaker: “Attention, citizens! Attention! The time is now seven p.m.; the Harryhausen gym is closing. You have one hour until curfew. Please return to your homes, stay safe, and remember, Cronus is watching…”

  There's no time to shower, no time to go over our strategy for tomorrow. The employees want to be home before the Night Patrol comes out, and so do we.

  The Day Patrol are all humans, but monsters make up the Night Patrol―monsters created by the Titans to serve them. Weird hybrids of man and beast made by magic: centaurs, harpies, and worse. The only thing the Titans forbid the monsters to do is enter the homes of law-abiding citizens.

  “How did I do?” Mark asks as we make our way onto the street. People hurry by, casting nervous glances at the setting sun.

  “You did good,” I tell him. It's not exactly true, but I figure the lie will help him more than the truth. When he raises an eyebrow, I can tell he's not buying it. “Well, not too bad,” I say. “You had to start somewhere.”

  Mark shakes his head. “Damn. Tell me at least I made some progress.”

  “You did. You've got nowhere to go but up.”

  “Up,” Mark echoes. “That's where I've been trying to go my whole life. First, up from my caste to the Academy, now up that damn wall. You know I'm only at Axios because of my scholarship, right?”

  “Yeah.” I look at my feet rather than him, kicking a loose stone into the street.

  “My family's poor. I can't hide it, but the more I try to prove I belong in your world, the more the other kids hold it against me.”

  “Maybe you're trying too hard. Maybe you should be yourself.”

  “Myself?” Mark laughs. “I'm not even sure what that is. I don't fit anywhere. The other poor kids resent me for being smart, for daring to want more, and especially for having the chance to achieve it. For the longest time, I thought all I had to do was get into Axios and I'd finally find my place. But once I got there…” He shrugs, and I can almost feel the weight on his shoulders.

  “Hey, I get it. Believe me, I don't fit in either.”

  Mark stops walking. “You? You're Mr. Popularity compared to me! I always see you talking to people.”

  “That's because my family's one of the richest in New Greece. I'm sure some of them like me for me, but I'm not always sure which ones. So I've got the opposite problem: You're too poor, and I'm too rich. Plus, I'm adopted. I mean, for all I know, if my parents hadn't given me up, you and I could've been neighbors.”

  “I never knew you were adopted.”

  “It's not something I like to talk about.”

  “Do you know who your birth parents are?”

  “No. They didn't want me, that's for sure.”

  “Maybe they wanted a better life for you than they could give. That's possible, isn't it?”

  Now it's my turn to shrug. “Come on,” I say. “We're gonna miss your bus.”

  Mark gets the hint and falls silent as we head for the bus stop. It's just a few blocks, but feels like forever. It feels even longer as we round the corner and see the bus pulling into traffic.

  “Wait!” Mark calls, chasing after it. “Hey, wait! Stop!”

  We're too late, and the bus disappears into the pre-curfew rush. It feels like everyone is going somewhere but us. I scan the oncoming traffic, hoping for a taxi, and spot one.

  “There's a cab,” I say. “Everything's gonna be all right.” I step into the street to hail it, but the taxi already has a passenger. It flies by, blasting its horn, and almost hits me. That's when I look down and see the greasy red smear on the pavement. This is the exact spot the old man got hit. I can see him in my mind, lying broken and doomed in the gutter. That could have been me. Quickly, I step back onto the sidewalk and try not to seem too shaken. “So, um, where do you live?” I ask Mark.

  He looks away, not wanting to meet my eyes. “The east side.”

  “East Othrys? You mean Loserville?” I frown, not believing it. I knew Mark was poor, but I didn't know he was that poor. Most slaves live better than the people there. Now I remember Blake calling Mark a Loser and Mr. Cross telling him his lack of confidence was “Loser talk.” But I just thought they were using the term in general, like an insult. That's pretty much the worst thing anyone at our school can call each other. But I didn't know Mark was literally a Loser with a capital “L.” I'd never met one before, never thought I would. Real Losers were about as close to my social circle as monsters.

  I must be staring, because Mark sneers. “Yeah, man. You didn't know? I'm a Loser. Losers live in Loserville.” He says Loserville with the same contempt as the kids at the Academy, but without the smugness. There's anger in his voice. Shame. Despair. And more than a little fear. “But I won't be one for long.”

  “No,” I say. “Of course not. You're a smart guy.”

  “You mean for a Loser?” His eyes flash defiance.

  “I didn't say that.”

  “You didn't have to. But that's OK. And I am smart, only not smart enough, or I would have learned to climb walls and avoid this mess. I thought I could get by on my brains. I should have known they'd never let me. And now…”

  “Look, I told you it's going to be all right.” I reach out to pat his back but he cringes away.

  “No, it won't! Nothing will be all right!”

  “Hey, Mark. Listen, Monday's a long way off. We've got two more days to train and―”

  “It's not Monday I'm worried about! It's tonight. Don't you get it? I'll never make it home in time. I can't be caught out after curfew. Do you know what the Night Patrol does to Losers?”

  I do. They enslave them if they're lucky, and devour them if they're not.

  “What are we going to do?” Mark's voice is shrill, tainted by despair. “If I'm not home on time, it's all over for me! At least with the rematch, I had a chance!” He checks his
watch and shudders. “But now, there's no way.”

  “I'll walk with you. Maybe we can hail another cab, hitchhike, or something.”

  I've never been to Loserville, so I have no idea how far it is. East Othrys is one of those places rich people rarely talk about, and then only to make fun of. Hardly anyone I know has actually been there, and the ones who have only went to make trouble. “Slumming,” they called it. They get drunk, break things, then bribe their way out if they get caught. While warriors have been known to take bribes, monsters have no use for money, and social status doesn't impress them. All the drachmas in the world can't save you if you get caught by the Night Patrol. About the only thing that can is to flash them an Amulet of Safe Passage.

  The amulet is a gold disc stamped with the glaring eye of Cronus. For a fee, the Temple of the Unblinking Eye issues the amulets to the wealthiest families in case they get caught after curfew. It's not something you're supposed to use to break the law, but if you show it to a monster, it can't eat or enslave you. It even has to escort you home, but you'll be reported to the Temple and can expect a visit from the priests the next morning.

  An expensive visit.

  I pull my amulet out from under my shirt and show it to Mark. “Relax. You know what this is?”

  His eyes grow wide. “Whoa, is that thing real? I'd heard stories, but I thought it was something people made up.”

  “It's real.”

  “That's great for you,” he says, “but what about me? I don't have an amulet.”

  “No, but you're with me. I can explain that if we get caught.”

  “And that will protect me? You're sure?”

  I nod, but the truth is, I have no idea. It's not like this situation has ever come up before. Instead, I say, “We should hurry.” I hope Mark will take it to mean he'll be safe, but also so we don't waste time arguing.

  “All right,” Mark says. “Maybe we should have focused on exercising my legs today instead of my grip.” He says it with a half-smile, one that makes me think he's covering his doubt with humor and hoping for the best. It's not like he has a choice. Neither of us do.