"Welcome!" He said in an easy voice, waving them forward. "Come in, come in, all of you. Strafford, close the door, will you? As the Olympics grow near, the chaos here grows with it. I've been hiding out in my office all morning." He offered Chloe the only other chair in the tiny office, whose walls were covered from floor to ceiling with maps. "Please sit, Pythia."
"Thank you," She said and took the seat, happy to see Strafford had already calmed himself down. He was back to being gorgeous and olive again. Well, he'd never stopped being gorgeous.
He stood beside her chair and Dropper plopped down on a trunk sitting amidst stacks of books, scrolls, and piles of old armor and weapons. The Counselor gave Strafford a warm smile. "I asked you here because I wanted to see you. It makes me happy that you've returned to this life, hero. Four years is a long time."
"Yes," Strafford replied, not looking at her, "I accepted the guardianship of the Oracle."
The Counselor smiled. "A fine post indeed. There's much honor to be had in such a position." Strafford nodded and she got a sinking feeling that he had told her the truth. This gig was all about his honor and had nothing to do with her.
The Counselor's eyes found Dropper. "He is no demigod."
"No," Dropper said with a smile and twinkling eyes. "I am not a half-breed. I…do not know who I am actually."
The Counselor raised an eyebrow, then his eyes drifted down to Dropper's bare feet. "There may be a pair of shoes in that trunk that you're sitting on."
"Why thank you," Dropper replied, standing up. "You are very generous." The trunk lid creaked open and he began to rummage through it.
"I've got news," Strafford said, sounding impatient to discuss anything else besides the Dropper, "We were ambushed at the Chateau by the Bane Princess. Apollo withdrew his essence and let her in. Wha' do you make of tha'?"
The Counselor's smile was faint. "A god does not do what they do not mean to do."
"So he meant to expose his Oracle like tha'? We had to fight our way out of our own palace. Not tha' I didn' have a bloody good time doing it."
"Perhaps it was intentional, perhaps it was not." The Counselor still smiled, but never really answered the question. He and Strafford exchanged a long look which Chloe didn't understand, and after a time, the Prince muttered, "Bastard." He seemed to have figured out something, but didn't share.
"And him?" The Counselor gestured at Dropper who had managed to find two mismatched sneakers that fit him and was now fumbling through the pile of old swords.
"He's travelin' with us," Strafford explained, unenthusiastically. "Our Pythia's had an absolute prophecy, it seems, and he has a part in it. We jus' found him." He shot her a quick glance.
The Counselor's eyes widened. "So it's finally happened. The Oracle has come who possesses the gift of future voice." He smiled, “I'd certainly like to hear more about your prophecy. Maybe you could tell me about it as I check on things out there, Pythia?" After receiving a permissible nod from Strafford, she agreed. "Wonderful. Then it's settled." The Counselor pushed away from the desk and started to stand. Chloe watched with wide eyes as he rose. One. Two. Three. Four legs in total pushed him into a standing position.
He was half horse. Half man, half horse––a centaur, she knew. Not Strafford, nor even Dropper, seemed to find this strange in any way. His top half was the man they had been talking to for the past five minutes. His bottom half was a white stallion with a blonde tail that matched the ponytail on his head. It swished around as his hooves clicked and carried him around to the other side of the desk. The man, centaur, offered her his hand.
"My name is Chiron, by the way."
"Nice to meet you," Chloe muttered reaching up to shake his hand. A memory flashed in her mind. "You're the teacher and counselor of demigods. You're a son of Kronos, the old Titan king, but unlike him, you're known for being wise and good."
Chiron grinned. "I do love it when an Oracle receives the right Knowledge. Shall we?" And they all followed the centaur as he clip-clopped out of the office.
The chariot race had just begun and the stadium activities had come to a halt as the demigods turned their faces upwards to watch the riders and their pegasus careen through the air above them. All the demigods were paired up: Ace and Sam were together, and the Ares rider had been joined by the big, buff girl who'd carried Dodge off to be rehabilitated. The sounds of steel and weapons colliding filled the air as the riders tried to disable each other's chariots and put them out of the race. It was a lot more brutal than Chloe had expected of a chariot race. It seemed as though the demigods were really trying to kill each other, and after a couple of close calls where a few godlings almost fell to their deaths, she was sure of it.
Chiron led them to a small section of empty stadium seating where they would be able to hear each other. She wondered how he planned to arrange his horse body on the long benches, but didn't have to wonder for long as Chiron simply folded his legs under him and parked it on the stadium floor.
"So Pythia," He began, "I am very eager to hear your prophecy. Will you tell it to me now?"
"Um, sure." She recited it for him and he listened with concentration wrinkled in his brow.
"Do you have any idea what it might mean?" He questioned when she was done.
"Um…not really..."
"I was hopin' you could help us with tha', Chiron," Strafford said.
Chiron looked up as two chariots collided with each other, creating sparks in the air. "It's not my place to tell you what a prophecy may or may not mean. I only listen and guide. You know that, hero."
"I know," Strafford replied with a roll of his eyes. "Well, can you at least help us understand him?" He gestured at Dropper, who was sitting several feet away watching the brutal chariot race with acute fascination.
Chiron smiled. "You say you found him where exactly?"
"He fell. Landed right at our feet on the way here. How convenient, eh?"
This peaked the centaur's interest. "Fell from where?"
"He says the sky. But he can't really expect us to believe tha', Chiron. We're already in the bloody sky."
Chiron didn't respond right away. He stared straight ahead, his eyes not watching the race or anything else in particular. The chariots clashed and clanged above, and the sound of a chainsaw filled the air. There were screams. Sparks flew, pieces of metal crashed to the ground, but he paid none of it any mind. "There must be an imbalance in the heavens…"
Chloe and Strafford looked at each other. "Wha' d'ya mean? An imbalance?" He asked.
The Counselor's tail swished. "The gods are not happy."
Strafford snorted. "And? Wha' else is new?"
"New? Your destiny, I would say." He looked back and forth between the two of them. "All will become clear when the time is right, including what is to become of your new companion."
Strafford's eyes narrowed. "You know who he is, don't you?"
Chiron averted his gaze. "I could be wrong…but yes, hero, I believe I do know who he is."
"Tell us then!"
"I cannot," The centaur said, shaking his head, "I am bound by oath to the Olympians. I can only guide you."
"Then guide us," Chloe came in before Strafford could growl another word, "What's the next step? Where do we go from here?"
Chiron smiled. "Well, Pythia. As I would tell any of my heroes, look at your options. If you have been walking along only looking down––"
"Try looking up," She finished, not knowing how she had known what to say. Chiron nodded in agreement.
"Up?" Strafford said, then groaned, "You don't mean the––"
Cheers rang out in the stadium and they all looked up just in time to watch the chariot race come to an end as the riders crossed a floating finish line.
"Oh look," said Chiron, standing, "The children of Ares have won." And with that, he galloped off into the sea of rowdy demigods.
*****
XVII. Strafford
First mission out of retirement and he wa
s already being sent into the Billows. Och, this was definitely not a good start to reviving his honor.
It actually seemed the Dropper might be telling the truth about his little tumble from the sky. Chiron knew who he was, but he wasn't talking, as usual. Instead, he had suggested they look for answers somewhere else. And in the bloody Billows of all places.
The Billows of Elsewhere.
He hated the Billows and how at all times when inside them, you were at their mercy. Chloe had asked him what Chiron had meant by "looking up", but the Billows of Elsewhere were not easily explained with words. You had to actually see them to believe it, and Strafford was hanging onto the hope that they wouldn't have to see them at all.
Swindle's cottage was just obscure enough to ease his stresses––and the drone of Ace's constant whining about losing the race to the Ares' bastards––for one night. It was located amongst a long block of identical cottages with tiled roofing and small chimneys, with not one standing out above the others. It was the perfect place to go unnoticed. This was the low rent part of town, the Village, where the less fortunate iceys came to spend eternity. Why the gods even gave immortality to people they considered unfortunate was puzzling to him. But it showcased their vanity in its worst light. Iceys existed for the sole purpose of keeping the gods immortal themselves. Sure, they were powerful on their own accord, but the immortals that paid them homage kept them divine.
Since the beginning, mortals had been bloody fickle and unreliable. Their beliefs waned and changed with the wind. So the gods, who could not rely on their mortal indecision, created their own race of believers who then owed the gods for their eternal existences. The gods found a way to forever put them in their debt and for eternity, the iceys would be on their hands and knees before them, keeping them alive, keeping them immortal.
And as a reward for their eternal devotion, the iceys were allowed to lead the same crappy lives they had as mortals. What a prize.
Swindle was about as unwelcoming to the Dropper as Strafford had been, giving him a stone cold greeting and telling him not to touch anything, not that there was much to touch. Chloe spent most of the day in his company, however, talking and laughing and joking.
Flirting.
He'd stayed far away from their conversation––more for the importance of preserving the Dropper's life than his aversion to all things prophetic. The two laughed loudly together as the wanker showed Chloe the old crap sword Chiron had let him keep and his chest tingled. Was she really that bold as to flirt with the guy right in front of him? She clearly was. Ace and Swindle kept shooting the Dropper lethal glances, which he appreciated. They were territorial of Chloe too, though he was sure it wasn't in the same way he was. At least, it better not be.
Swindle eventually started showing Ace the things he’d picked up in the city. Strafford wondered if he’d paid for any of it. Probably not. Children of Hermes had some pretty sticky fingers.
Chloe giggled at something the wanker said. He looked away. To keep his mind off of murder, he turned his thoughts to other things. It was no secret now that Chloe was the Pythia. Iceys knew, demigods knew, Chiron knew, and there was no doubt in his mind that the gods knew. Which explained why Hades had unleashed his offspring on them. He wasn't so much worried about how Varney Bane had broken into the Delphic Chateau anymore. Apollo had been testing them. He’d taken away his divine protection and left them vulnerable on purpose.
Every situation you encounter will be a test of your will and strength, Chiron had told him many years before. At the time, he hadn't understood it entirely. But now, years later, with life testing him at every turn, he understood. Every mission, every encounter with a god or demigod, every battle, was a test of his will and strength to fight through it.
Now his biggest test had come in the form of a pretty copper top wan with a destiny so great that even the gods feared it.
He just hoped this wasn't going to be one more test he would fail.
*****
XVIII. Chloe
Swindle's cottage, located in what they called the Village, was one big living space with a tiny bedroom and a bathroom the size of a broom closet. Since Swindle was nomadic, there wasn't much furniture except for a bed and some dining chairs. Chloe was surprised. She had expected that every place in New Elysium would be beautiful like the Prince's Tower. But it turned out that some things in this heavenly province were no better than in the mortal world. She couldn't decide if that comforted or disturbed her.
She had talked with Dropper all afternoon and had discovered nada. His memory really was shot and before falling out of the sky, he didn't have a clue as to where he had been or what he had been doing. He still didn't know his name or how old he was, or even what he was. It was crazy creepy. The physical evidence suggested that he was an icey, but as to anything more than that, it was a mystery.
Everyone insisted that she take the one bed for the night. So after she had eaten the delicious dinner Swindle had cooked, some kind of African sausage, biscuits and pickled okra––and where Strafford had filled Swindle and Ace in on what Chiron had told them––she had showered and gone to bed. Exhausted and feeling safe knowing the demigods were right outside her door, she fell asleep right away.
Hours later, she woke with a start, feeling like something was wrong. It was a strong nagging in the pit of her stomach that flitted upwards into her chest. She felt a tug in her brain, like one of her thoughts was trying to get her attention, and then she felt another. She heard a familiar rustling in her mind and sat up in the bed.
The first thing she noticed was that Strafford was sleeping in a chair by her door.
And his left hand was glowing, and not bronze.
"Okay guys, what's going on?" She asked. "Why is Strafford glowing like that?"
Take a look for yourself, Trophy said. It's about time that you learned more of what you are to become.
"What do you mean? Am I going to be something more than the Oracle?"
Trophy sighed. The Prince was right. You do ask too many questions.
What Atropos means is that knowledge is best discovered by your own doing, dear, Madame Cee said.
That is not at all what I meant, Clothos, and you know it.
Go look, Pythia! LaLa chimed in. You will like this!
"You want me to go examine him?" She just had to be sure she was hearing right.
Yes, Pythia, Trophy pushed. No more talking now. Go.
She felt them leave her conscious thoughts and realized she was beginning to physically feel the void in her mind whenever they did that. It was like a tight pressure was being released, one moment there was a weight there, in the next it was gone.
But now was not the time to think about how the Fates moved around in her head. Strafford was still getting his glow on, and she had to admit, the idea of finding out why was beguiling.
As quiet as possible, she slipped out of the creaky bed and tiptoed the few feet to where he slept. She still didn't understand how the demigods managed it. Though she had attempted it often, she had never been able to sleep an entire night in a chair and still be worth something in the morning. These guys did it and woke up with swords swinging. It was impressive to say the least.
Strafford's grip was firm on his dagger, but with slow and meticulous care, she pried each of his fingers away from the handle and slipped it out of his hand. She knelt by his leg and used one hand on the ground to steady herself. She placed the dagger down beside her and shifted so that she could get a better look at the glowing.
She stifled a little gasp. There were words, like, real words, written in the curving palm lines of his hand. Each glowing word was clear as day, written in a foreign script she had never seen before, yet could easily translate. She searched around for words she understood, not believing it was real.
When she found some, her lips muttered each word carefully. "Shattered but restored, from the dark and the marrow gates abhorred, he will rise for the divine one's plight, they w
ho was once adored–––"
"Wha' the hell are you doing?"
The bedroom light flickered on all by itself, but only to a dim glow. Chloe scrambled to stand up, but Strafford's hand clamped down on her wrist, freezing her in place. She looked up into his face and met his fierce eyes.
"Wha' are you doing, wan?" He was calm as a breeze and that was scary as crap.
She tried to look as innocent as possible. "Your hand was glowing. I just wanted a better look. There were words and I could understand them––"
Strafford shushed her with a finger to her lips. "Quiet, wan." Adjusting his hold on her arm, he made her stand with him, and his thumb replaced his finger and ran softly over her lips. She trembled, a helpless victim of the chills hightailing it down her spine. Gods, he smelled good.
"I didn't take you for someone who was down for invadin' the privacy of others against their will, Red." He let go of her wrist. Guessed he knew she wasn't going anywhere.
"Against their…will…?" She could barely get a grip on his words. His fingers were stroking her cheek, then flicking her hair out of her face, and trickling down the bridge of her nose on the way back to her lips.
"Aye. Did I give you permission to read my Kismet?"
She frowned, despite the fact that his fingers were tracing patterns on her neck now. "What's Kismet?"
His gaze locked in on hers. "Sit down."
No way, dude. "I think I'll stand."
An eyebrow raised. Then, he brought his powerful body forward and pressed it up against hers. Thank the gods for the sweats she was wearing, because if his skin had made contact with hers in any way in that moment, she could not have been held responsible for her reaction.
"Park it, wan." His hands grabbed her hips and pushed down. Her body complied, dropped to the bed and stayed there. Only then did he give her a little space to breathe. Thing is, she couldn't.
Prophecy of the Most Beautiful Page 18
