“Return to Sparta and prepare for battle.”
“But our brothers are dead!” The young soldier’s face was covered with blood and dirt, and myriad wounds on his arms and legs made standing difficult, but he rose proudly before his commander.
“Spartans never surrender. You can still hold a sword. Do as your god commands!” Kratos reached out and gripped the soldier by the cuirass, then pushed him back to emphasize his orders.
“And what of you, my lord?”
They both turned as the sound of heavy wings beating against the air came from above. A few yards away a fiery-winged Pegasus came to a landing, hooves scraping across the stone. Its wings stroked downward a final time and then folded as the creature patiently awaited its rider. Another gift from his new allies.
“I am going after Zeus.”
Kratos turned from the young soldier and mounted the fiery steed. With a powerful surge, Pegasus became airborne with its rider securely astride.
“THEY MEDDLE AGAIN!” Atropos complained. She crossed her arms and tapped her long talons in pique. “How dare they challenge their fate?”
“Yes,” agreed Lahkesis, “the fate we decreed for them.” She settled back, looking pensive. As her sister angrily tapped her long fingernails, so she ran her hand up and down the scepter that ended in the scythe used to cut the threads of destiny. It took considerable effort on her part not to give in to her own impatience. Then she pushed aside such rash behavior and thought more deeply. “Perhaps it is not such a bad thing for the Titans to challenge the gods again.”
“We settled this matter centuries ago. I won’t have my work undone.”
“Why not, dear sister? The world has become complacent. I would call it boring. This could add spice to an otherwise bland meal.”
“Meals, spice, I don’t understand you at times, Lahkesis. We decided the matter of supremacy of god over Titan. There is no second chance.”
“Because it has never occurred before doesn’t mean it shouldn’t now,” Lahkesis pointed out. They toyed with the lives of mortals, gods, and Titans and always decided in the same way, eon after eon. There ought to be some variation to give a moment’s thrill to their ceaseless work.
“What has gotten into you?” Atropos demanded. “Do I need to consult Clotho? She would agree with me that we have reached a final decision.”
“Yes, yes, the Titans were banished and the gods rose to Olympus, triumphant. It hasn’t been the same with Cronos and Gaia and the others in exile.”
“Nothing stays the same.” Atropos tugged on a thread and ended a life.
Lahkesis stifled a yawn. She almost pointed out to her sister that Kratos had avoided the fate they had set for him but held back the tasty tidbit. If Atropos and Clotho were going to be such drudges, it wasn’t her fault. She could have a bit of fun with the mortal turned god and finally returned to mortal. Such delicious fate!
“You need to attend your chores more closely, Lahkesis.” Atropos rolled up the thread into a tight ball, let it rest in her palm for a moment, and then it whooshed out of sight. Atropos might enjoy such petty displays but Lahkesis longed for more—and she would get it.
Reaching out, she found the thread controlling Hades’ destiny. A few tugs and a little stroke along the thread produced the effect she desired. The Lord of the Underworld was roused now and feeling the effects of a wellspring he did not even acknowledge. He was only the first of the gods that Lahkesis touched, since their fate was so exciting to manipulate.
“This is wrong. Clotho must weave new destinies. We cannot—”
“Oh, Atropos, you remember what gifts they brought. Why, Poseidon alone heaped riches up to the sky in an attempt to sway us.” Lahkesis chuckled. “When the gods triumphed, he thought his tribute had bought the day for them.”
“He is a foolish god. I never liked him, with that seaweed beard and bad manners.”
“Is Zeus better? His beard is spun from clouds and storms,” Lahkesis said. She cared little what the gods’ beards looked like, though Kratos’ was fetching. The small, neat triangle of a beard offset his strong-boned cheeks, and the darkness contrasted with the bone-white of his skin and shaved head.
“It was a nice touch having the oracle of the village forever stain Kratos’ flesh with the bone ash from his dead wife and child.”
“Kratos? You have real work to finish,” Atropos said. “We decided his fate. By now he ought to be safely in Hades’ embrace.”
“Yes, by now he ought to be in the Underworld.”
Atropos returned to her measuring of destiny for what would seem a chance meeting between Dionysus on the isle of Laconia and the king’s daughter, Carya. A smile curled her lips at the potential for a thrilling love affair, but Lahkesis rested her agile fingers on a particular strand. An ebony-black strand.
Kratos’.
It wouldn’t hurt the scheme of things if she toyed with him awhile longer. After all, he was only mortal, even if he could provide such a diversion. There would be ample opportunity for her to weave a new destiny for him and then return him to the fate decreed by Atropos and Clotho.
Lahkesis chuckled as she worked.
“YOU ARE MEDDLING!” raged Hades. “He was almost in my grasp and you let him go—again!”
“I did nothing but send him to the Underworld,” Zeus said, frowning. Was someone meddling? Athena? She knew better than to go against his wishes, though where Kratos was concerned, he felt a growing knot of skepticism.
Zeus looked up when Hades growled deep in his throat, more animal than god. He found his brother’s ire increasingly difficult to tolerate. He fingered the Blade of Olympus resting against his throne and considered how quickly this problem might be removed. A quick slash and Hades would follow Ares into the sky, dissipated and no longer annoying.
But he had decreed that one god could not slay another, so that he had to turn Kratos mortal again before running him through with the Blade of Olympus. Thus far, Zeus had enforced this edict and had agreed with Athena that it applied to all gods, the Lord of Olympus included. Still, Hades was unbearable.
“You rescued him. How else could he avoid the fall to the banks of the River Styx? I vow that he never arrived.”
“He does not lack for work,” Zeus said, his hand resting on the Blade of Olympus again. The power within it thrilled him and reminded him of the final battle against the Titans. With that memory came an anger that knew no bounds. Cronos had not suffered enough. Zeus had chained Pandora’s Temple to his father’s back and forced him to crawl endlessly through the Desert of Lost Souls. After Kratos had killed Ares, it had been such a pleasure to banish Cronos to Tartarus for still more torture. He could revisit that decision, perhaps dangle a bit of hope out to Cronos that he would no longer suffer, then find a punishment even worse than Tartarus. To give hope and then snatch it away was the worst—the best!—of all tortures.
“You mean all the Spartans you sent to my realm?” Hades stroked his long, sooty beard.
“Many will be crossing the River Styx,” Zeus said. He wished Hades would leave so he could ponder the matter of Cronos. The renewed energy in the Blade of Olympus reminded him of the Titanomachy and the greatest day for the Olympian gods. His greatest day of victory.
Since then, there had been nothing but petty squabbles among the gods to mediate, and the more serious matter of Ares wanting to kill his father to sit on this very throne had occupied too much of his time. Zeus had thought manipulating Athena to offer Kratos the God of War’s throne would have returned peace to Olympus. If anything, it had made discourse impossible and battle inevitable.
“You can send all the armies in all the cities to me and it won’t be enough, brother,” Hades said. “Twice! Twice Kratos has cheated his fate.”
“Cheated his fate,” Zeus murmured. “That is impossible. The Sisters of Fate do not make mistakes.”
“They favored us against the Titans. How can they favor Kratos, a mortal upstart, against us? They can’t
! It is your intervention that has rescued him. I know it.”
“You know nothing,” Zeus said coldly.
“I am sovereign in my realm yet you meddle in my affairs. Kratos is mine, and you stole him away. Twice!” Hades puffed out his chest and allowed fires to glow in his coal-like eyes. Smoke curled away from his body to the point that Zeus almost sent a lightning bolt to give reason for such behavior.
“Return to your domain, and let me deal with Kratos and matters of greater import in Olympus.”
“You order me away like some scullery maid? I am your brother, Zeus. You cannot—” Hades stepped back and glared as the Sky Father stood and grew until his head brushed the dome of his throne room. His eyes flashed like deadly beacons, and he fought to keep from violating his own decree against one god killing another. Hades read the message in his brother’s eyes. Zeus almost laughed when the Lord of the Underworld backed away, then bowed deeply.
“You have your own concerns,” Hades said. He looked up, and his submissive attitude evaporated like fog in the morning sun. “Don’t meddle with mine!” Hades stormed away.
Zeus took a step forward, arm cocked back to unleash a lightning bolt, but stayed his hand when he saw Hermes at the doorway, watching intently. The Messenger of the Gods retreated, then let his winged sandals lift him away.
Zeus started to order Hermes to return, then sat heavily on his throne.
“Kratos,” he said, his fury growing. “This is your doing. You will never return to Olympus to sit on this throne. On my throne!” Zeus then released his lightning bolt and blew a huge hole in the wall. Shards of stone and precious gems cascaded down, leaving behind a dusty cloud. With a huge intake of air, Zeus exhaled and blew it away in a furious windstorm, then sank back on his throne in a dark choler.
THE PEGASUS FLAPPED furiously to gain altitude, giving Kratos the chance to see the destruction that had been meted out to Rhodes. A coldness gripped his heart. His army had fought well. But it would take more than their strength to stand against the Blade of Olympus. The fires burning across the city caused huge curtains of choking, greasy black smoke to rise, but the Pegasus constantly banked to avoid the worst clouds.
Kratos saw the slaughtered army that had tried so unsuccessfully to defend Rhodes; then the flying horse spiraled upward enough for him to look directly down into the harbor. Kratos reveled in the sight of the bronze Colossus stretched out beneath water made so murky with shed blood that it was difficult to make out the statue’s form. But he saw the severed left hand. The stump still radiated a dull red heat, but the head had been blown off and the bronze torso was crisscrossed with deep dents and more than one substantial gash.
Kratos reached over his shoulder and touched the Blades of Athena sheathed at his back. Those trusty swords had done great damage to the Colossus, but the real injury had come from the Blade of Olympus. Kratos’ hands shook as he thought how Zeus had duped him into draining his godly powers into that blade.
The Sky Father’s words rang mockingly in Kratos’ ears: Wield this weapon and all on Olympus will see you for who you are.
Kratos could only wonder if Athena had approved. She had lied to him as egregiously as Zeus had. Was she laughing at him for assuming the eagle that had stolen his power and infused it into the Colossus was her totem? He knew now that Zeus had been responsible.
But Athena had to have known.
His strong knees pressed into the flying horse’s shoulders, guiding the Pegasus away from Rhodes and toward Olympus. Distance still cloaked the immense peak in mist, but he imagined the outline. Atop the peak stretched the palaces of the gods, and the one on the highest elevation, the finest, the most opulent, belonged to Zeus. He would storm that palace and kill Zeus, no matter that the King of the Gods held the Blade of Olympus still infused with his own energy. Kratos’ anger choked him and made him sure he could defeat any god, even Zeus.
“They will all fear me for what they’ve done.” His lips drew back into a thin slash.
The powerful horse’s wings began to flare. Before, the feathers along the trailing edges of the wings had emitted sparks, but now long streamers of fire exploded from the entire surface and swept back to leave a fiery outline in the sky.
“Faster,” Kratos urged the Pegasus. He hunched over and gripped the mane with a ferocity that caused the Pegasus to neigh loudly.
The winged steed spiraled higher and then struck out away from Olympus. The more Kratos tried to force the Pegasus toward Olympus, the more the horse resisted. As a bird sheds feathers, the winged horse spewed additional sparks from its wings as its agitation grew.
“To Olympus,” Kratos ordered. “I must face Zeus!”
The Pegasus refused to yield to his powerful direction.
“You defy the God of War?”
He pressed his knees hard into the animal’s flanks to coerce its obedience, but he froze when the air began to boil about him. The sensation was like that he had felt while suspended high above the Underworld. And the voice speaking to him was instantly recognizable.
“You are no longer a god, Kratos,” boomed Gaia’s resonant voice. “Zeus, Olympus, and the blade that holds all your power will forevermore be out of reach. Your only hope is to find the Sisters of Fate and the Island of Creation and travel back through time to the moment Zeus betrayed you, for only then will he be truly vulnerable.”
He settled down astride the Pegasus and glowered. Zeus would suffer for his treachery. Kratos would make certain of that—but what did Gaia mean about the Sisters of Fate and returning to the instant that Zeus had driven the Blade of Olympus through him?
Kratos touched the livid scar on his chest where the blade had penetrated and ripped a huge hole—and remembered how that wound had healed before he fought his way out of Hades and back to Rhodes. To heal him as she had done showed Gaia’s power.
She had done more than heal the wound. She had afforded him the chance to escape Hades’ clutches once again. He would not waste such a gift.
He stared ahead as the Pegasus flew with a steady, powerful beat of the wings. Kratos had no idea where the winged horse was taking him, but he knew it would not be a destination easily reached.
As his mind considered possible dangers, three griffins appeared in the air behind him.
ATROPOS STARED at the vast tapestry that was the world’s destiny, but she didn’t see the clever knots or intricate warp and woof that she and her sisters had created. What Lahkesis said bothered her. Lahkesis was always unsettled and unsettling, never getting down to the serious work of choosing the ultimate destinies for those most deserving. Still, what her sister had said caused Atropos to think more carefully about Kratos.
Nothing about his fate had worked out precisely the way she or her sisters had intended. More than once she had checked the strength of the thread binding the Ghost of Sparta to his fate, only to find fraying along the sides. Repairing those small imperfections had done nothing to alter his fate, of course, but it had changed the path to his eventual death.
“How long should I make his life before allowing Lahkesis to snip the thread?” she murmured. Atropos knew she was better at details than either Clotho or Lahkesis. Clotho viewed the whole and understood what was necessary to achieve their goals, while Lahkesis showed too much impetuosity for decent fates to play out according to plan. But Atropos knew she had to contribute the small points for the most detailed of the destinies. She was a tactician, and both her sisters were strategists. This had satisfied her until Lahkesis had taken such an interest in the mortal Kratos and had apprenticed him to Ares.
Atropos could only think that Lahkesis had wanted Kratos to become God of War and further disturb the serenity of Olympus. The gods and goddesses had become too complacent in recent centuries and had come to believe the Sisters of Fate were their allies. She sniffed. She and her sisters did not take sides. Letting the gods triumph over the Titans had nothing to do with the merits of one side played against the deficiencies of the other.<
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But what was it that Lahkesis saw in this Kratos?
Atropos wound a few more strands around his thread of destiny to strengthen it and make his fate more certain. Sloppy work got them nowhere, not that her sister cared. She favored chaos over definite conclusions.
She watched the way the thread vibrated and expertly interpreted the countering shakes and quivers needed to produce an outcome more in keeping with the Sisters of Fate’s overall view of the world. Removing Kratos might be necessary, though he had avoided such fate and had climbed out of the Underworld.
Again.
Atropos frowned at that. She carefully examined the first escape from Hades’ clutches and saw that Zeus had intervened on Kratos’ behalf.
“The gravedigger,” she said. “An appropriate disguise and not lacking in irony.” Without Zeus’ aid, Kratos would have been forever consigned to some dark, dangerous corner of the Underworld. From the way Hades acted when Kratos’ name was even mentioned, he would have consigned the Spartan to Tartarus.
This thought produced an even more intense frown to crease her face. Kratos imprisoned and tortured where so many of the Titans had been sent. That would not have been a good decision. Had Zeus realized this and saved Kratos because of it, or had the Sky Father simply acted from short-term petty motives? Killing Ares had been paramount. Zeus would not go against his own edict and allow one god to kill another, but Kratos had not been a god then. What more perfect instrument for the old God of War’s destruction than to use the weapon he had so carefully forged? Ares’ mistake had been in forcing Kratos to kill his wife and daughter. Rather than temper the steel of his mighty sword arm, it had broken him for use by the god. A very costly mistake.
Atropos scowled as she studied Kratos’ black thread. Her talons measured his life and saw that the thread had become distended from the original spinning. That could not be due to him losing his godhood. If anything, his thread of destiny would stretch even longer as an immortal. Why hadn’t it shortened? She measured, then scowled more deeply. Zeus had killed Kratos. That had not been part of Kratos’ destiny—nor his contact with Gaia. Atropos shifted position, rose on her pillar of black smoke, and bent almost double to peer more closely at the smaller threads spun together to form the larger.
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