Prophecy of the Most Beautiful

by Jones, Diantha

  "More human casualties, eh?" Hermes questioned, though it was clear he wasn't looking for an answer. "Seems to be happening all around." What? But his lordship wasn't elaborating. The Caduceus disappeared. "Consider your messages delivered," He said, as Janus brought the Whip to another unsteady stop inside the rocky canyon that was Olympic Station. "Janus and his deplorable driving…well, I really have to be going. Zeus doesn't like to be kept waiting. Good luck, godlings, and remember, the best discounts are made by five fingers!" He changed back into the priest and as soon as the doors opened, he stepped through them and disappeared into the regal crowd of toga-wearing immortals.

  *****

  Chloe tried not to let her mind get too boggled about how the Whip maneuvered around the heavens so fast. She was still reeling from her battle with the Graces, wondering if the Fates could've really meant for all this to happen. Future voice. Absolute prophecies. Chanting. Kismet. Killing. That one didn't seem to coincide with her other abilities and she wasn't as proud of it as she had let the demigods believe. She didn't want to be the taker of life. She was perfectly content letting the demigods handle the killing. They enjoyed it, lived for it. Killing was what they were born to do.

  But she was not.

  It wasn't long before they reached Los Atlas's Argonaut Station. It was entirely made of gold––like was the golden fleece stolen by Jason and the Argonauts––from its shining floors all the way up to its shimmering high-vaulted ceilings. She tip-toed through it not wanting to leave behind even the tiniest smudge.

  That's where the "normal" ended.

  Pushing herself to ignore Strafford who kept peeking out the corner of his eye at her, she let the eyeful that was Los Atlas take over. This province was the Las Vegas of the heavens, no doubt, modern and ritzy. It glittered and sparkled with lights and electronic billboards, sprawling casinos and posh hotels, and elevated right in the heart of the province was a glorious citadel surrounded by what looked to be acres and acres of vineyards. It, too, was lit up and added to the province's overwhelming shimmer. She could practically hear the slot machines going off as soon as they'd exited the station.

  The iceys were as flamboyant as they could get. Their clothes and hairstyles consisted of every color in existence and each of them tried to wear as many of those colors at once as they could. As they made their way to Swindle's hideout on the outskirts of the province, the iceys pranced around them in a state of pure euphoria like they were living the kind of life that everyone should want. They sang and laughed and danced to a rhythm only total bliss could play. She wondered what they could possibly be so happy about. Did it really feel that good to live in Los Atlas? Or were they all just high off of something other than life?

  Swindle's hideout was another ramshackle hut, but at least it was more furnished than the one in New Elysium and none of them were forced to sit on the floor. But their down time was short-lived. After consuming the meal Swindle had whipped up from some food he had stolen at some time or another, Strafford got right down to business.

  "Kismet time," He said, clearly at the point of total pissivity. "I want this over with now. I can't be bothered with this bloody prophecy for much longer. I've got important things to deal with."

  "I bet you do," She replied before she could stop herself.

  "Don't talk abou' things you know nothin' abou', Red," He snapped, "Felicity is our sister."

  Crap, she cringed. She tried to find some way to redeem herself, but in the end gave up. Whatever. There was still the girl in the locket. The one he wore right next to his heart. Why didn’t he feel the need to explain her too?

  "Dropper needs something to offer to Lord Apollo for the Kismet," Swindle said to ease the tension, removing his stadium jacket to reveal a funky Medusa tee by Crooks & Castles. "It has to be something that has meaning to him. We still don't have anything."

  A silence fell over them.

  "I think I may have something," Dropper replied less than a minute later after digging into his pack. He pulled out his bundled robe, unfolded it and held up something chunky and white. It looked like a gigantic tooth that was pointed at one end.

  Strafford grunted. "Wha' the hell is tha'?"

  "I am not quite sure," Dropper said, ignoring Strafford's attitude. "Here," He laid the chunk of ivory in her outstretched hands, "I found it in the villa in Corinth among some of the rubbish." She frowned, wondering when he could have picked it up. She had been watching him like a hawk. "I kept it because I thought it might be important later, though I do not know why I thought so.”

  Ace had a funny look on his face. "What's wrong?" She asked him.

  He didn't answer, but simply reached into his pack and pulled out another chunk of ivory. This piece, however, did not have a pointed end. "Found this outside the temple of Aphrodite." He gave it to her. "Thought it was a really cool rock. Sorry."

  Now she was mad. Dropper and Ace had both been holding out on them.

  Swindle approached to get a better look before Strafford could curse them both out. His expression contorted into utter surprise. "That's the tusk of the Ares Boar!" He exclaimed.

  "What's that?" She and Dropper asked at the same time. They all moved in to get a better glimpse of what Swindle was suddenly so excited about, even Strafford, who was beyond ticked off at this point.

  Swindle's took the two pieces in his hands and brought them together. They fit together like a puzzle––rather, a tusk. "It's the tusk of the Ares Boar. I learned about it in a Divine Symbolism forum during Winter solstice. The boar is a symbol of Ares' power, along with the vulture and a spear. The vulture represents his predatory-like nature; The spear, his zest for killing and war. The boar is the embodiment of Ares' rage. That's why boars are known to charge when threatened. But the Ares Boar is completely under Ares' command." Swindle then looked puzzled. "But what was part of it doing in Corinth near the temple of Aphrodite, or more importantly, at that villa, Dropper?"

  Dropper shrugged. He had no idea nor did anyone else. They still had yet to figure out who Dropper had been before he had been transferred to the stars. Had he been mortal? Immortal? A hero, even? Either of them were possible since it seemed any number of reasons could get you constellation-status, according to Swindle. She couldn't help but feel like she was missing some crucial element that could lead them in the right direction.

  "Strange…" Swindle muttered almost to himself, "He actually broke his tusk."

  "He?" She asked.

  Swindle sort of half-grinned. "Sorry. I forgot to explain. The Ares Boar is Ares. It's his favorite form to take, like Lord Zeus's is an eagle, or Lord Apollo's is a raven or, though he hates Bonkers, my father's is a crane." He frowned down at the tusk again. "I wonder how in the world he managed to break it…"

  "He mus've been pretty cheesed off to do it," Ace said.

  "Yes. But why? His tusk is his pride and Ares is just not any old boar. He wouldn't charge and risk his tusk if he wasn't absolutely pissed off."

  "What kind of things usually make Ares mad?" She asked.

  Ace snorted. "Everythin'. He's a hot head. A crazy, violent, jealous, blood-thirsty hot head."

  Jealousy.

  A lightbulb went off inside her head, and somehow, the pieces of this puzzle started to come together for her. She had no clue how or why her mind had decided that this was the moment that things would start to make a little sense, but she went with it.

  She dug into the past filed away in the Knowledge, looking for proof that her thinking was correct. She looked for memories of lovers, praying that she would find the one she had seen flash through her mind only once before. There were many passionate memories, a lot of them Apollo's. Though he looked different in almost every single one, just like the pictures in the music hall, his eyes gave him away. Those piercing eyes that were bluer than the sky could ever be.

  And then she found the knowledge she had been looking for and she understood why she had never recognized the mesmerizing woman in her drea
m, the woman with hair that hung to the floor. Gods liked to change their appearances. But Chloe knew this was the same woman, in her gut. She was cradled over the body of a dying man who was bleeding from his abdomen. Her auburn hair was long, but curly, and her majestic face was stained with tears.

  It was ironic to have death centered in such a lively scene. Surrounding the couple, the forest was bright and full of life. There were flowers and birds, and plenty of greenery and the sun was peeping through the tree tops in broken fragments.

  She noticed something else too. She had been in this forest before.

  It was the forest in Corinth.

  Aphrodite, she thought to herself, the patroness of Corinth and lover of Ares. Aphrodite was the auburn haired woman in the memory––-the statuesque woman from her dream. She could not see the person’s face or any distinguishing features, but he was a man and she knew who he was––the reason Ares had become angry enough to snap his tusk in two.

  The Most Beautiful wasn’t a thing. It was a him.

  Her heart thumped with excitement at the prospect of her being right, but before she said anything to the demigods, she had to be sure.

  "I think I should read your Kismet now," She said to Dropper. He swallowed nervously, but nodded. "Would the tusk work as a tribute?" She asked Strafford.

  He shrugged. "Apollo determines the value of tributes and he is a picky wanker. But who knows, it is Ares' tusk."

  "So how do we find this out?" Dropper asked.

  "Surprisingly, I think I know," Chloe said, taking the tusk back from Swindle.

  She cradled the pieces of the tusk in her hands, and thrust them towards the sky. She didn't know how she knew what to do––she just did. Her words came easy, like she had said them a million times before.

  "We offer this tribute to the great Lord Apollon Phoebus, lord of the Oracle, the one prophetic god." She paused, opening her mind, then, "We hope it is true to heart, and will forever hold value for the one that seeks your guidance. Accept this now if it pleases you."

  The tusk suddenly lifted from her hands, turned over and over in the air as if it was being examined by something they couldn't see, then an aura of bright light surrounded it. A moment later, the light consumed it and it was gone.

  Tribute accepted, she heard Apollo say in her head.

  "Wow, it actually worked," She said, bewildered that she’d known what to do. She listened and waited for Apollo to say more, but after a minute, she knew he had split.

  "Why do you doubt yourself, Red?" Strafford asked, "You're the Oracle. Your instincts and Intuition are everythin'. Always trust them." After a moment, he rolled his eyes and smiled at her. She smiled back, knowing they had reached a truce.

  She looked at Dropper. "Ready?" She asked.

  "Definitely not," He said with a smile that made her blush. "So how does this work?"

  Chloe contemplated for a second. "Ask me what you want to know. Exactly what you want to know. Then we'll see what happens." But something occurred to her. "Maybe we should discuss what that is first."

  "Can't," said Strafford, "The question has to be formed from his own thoughts and his own desire to know. Won't appear otherwise. It's his Kismet, not ours."

  "Sorry, Dropper," She said with a defeated shrug.

  Looking a bit deflated, Dropper held out his hand and she cupped it gently in one hand, placing her other palm over his. He thought for only a moment, though it seemed like an eternity, then took a deep breath and said, "Where is the Most Beautiful?"

  A warm glow emanated from between their hands. She pulled back and it happened then. The Kismet appeared.

  Just like with Strafford, it was as clear to her as if she had written it down herself. The foreign words leapt off of his hand and swirled around her, then through her, implanting themselves into the Knowledge, making her understand them.

  From one heart to another, the sacrifice must be pure

  A separation of souls, where only one must endure,

  the darkness of death and the bright light that is life

  The most willing of hearts you seek, is in the god's sight.

  As she spoke the last word, the Kismet disappeared and it was like it had never been.

  Strafford groaned. "These bloody riddles are gonna be the death of me. You should've been more specific, guy. Broad questions make the prophecies more complicated. Now we have two tha' don't make any sense."

  "I'm sorry, beautiful Chloe," Dropper said, looking genuinely upset, "I did not know what to ask."

  "It's okay," She replied, shooting Strafford a look, "If we put our heads together, I'm sure we'll figure it out."

  "Wha' we need is someone who can speed up the process," Ace said, snapping his fingers several times.

  They all fell silent.

  "I know someone," Strafford eventually spoke up, "He's the reason I brought us here in the first place. But honestly, I shouldn' have. He's trouble."

  Ace frowned. "Who's trouble?"

  Strafford looked like he couldn't believe he was about to speak the name out loud.

  "Tom Tipsy."

  *****

  XXX. Chloe

  "That doesn't look much like a nightclub," Chloe said, standing across the street from a building with the name Verdict lit above it in neon lights. Not that she had ever been to one before. But she knew that nightclubs didn't look like this.

  It was a giant bricked edifice with a grand entrance and a concrete staircase spanning the width of it, very plain and unadorned. Another awkward thing was the lack of windows. There was only one half-moon shaped window at the very top, which seemed rather pointless. Not much sun could get in through that little window and now, in the dark of night, it was useless and flashes of neon-colored light kept shooting out of it. It really was a strange sight to see in the midst of all the glitz and glamour, but so had been a million other things she had seen in the weeks she had been the Oracle. She was drowning in strange.

  "It's all a big joke, Red," Strafford explained as they walked towards it. "The Governor thought it would be funny to name his hottest nightclub the Verdict. He's full of jokes."

  "Who’s the Governor?"

  "Dionysus, god of Wine and Merriment." He replied, confirming that she had seen vineyards on the citadel. "This is jus' the type of thing he would do. It's his way of sayin' tha' he is the government, the law, the judge and the jury, all of it. In Los Atlas, at least."

  "But I thought you said the club was owned by this Tom Tipsy."

  "It is, but Dionysus, his Da, is his investor."

  Instead of pushing through the throngs of brightly-colored iceys and entering through the front of the club, Strafford led her down a side street to an alternate entrance––a steel door built more for a military stronghold than a nightclub. He knocked once, paused, then knocked three more times, another pause, then twice more. A ripple appeared in the center of the door, then morphed into a face. She almost groaned.

  It was Janus.

  "It's not Janus, wan," Strafford said, as though reading her mind, "Not exactly. It's like…a computer program of him. He's the god of Thresholds too, so sometimes his essence is used for security purposes."

  "Password," Janus's two steel faces, looking east and west, said as one.

  "Sobriety sucks."

  "Correct. Enter, Prince of the Sun."

  The door swung open and blaring music spilled out. After entering, they made their way down a short corridor and hit another checkpoint. A giant icey with orange hair and a purple suit was waiting for them. He smiled when he recognized Strafford.

  "Law. Heard you were back." He checked her out with a down sweep of his yellow eyes. "And you brought the Oracle."

  "Peto." They bumped knuckles. "Long time no see. But I'm sure you understand tha'."

  Peto nodded. "No doubt." And that was all he said about it.

  "Tom here?"

  "Yup. As always. Drunk. As always."

  "Great."

  Peto unhooked the
velvet rope and waved them through. "It's a madhouse in here tonight, so be careful." He spoke more to her than to Strafford.

  A madhouse was right.

  Verdict was three levels of pandemonium, strobing neon lights, house music, retro fixtures, and out of control emo-types. Literally. Out. Of. Control.

  They were practically climbing the walls in their overindulged excitement. There were iceys being tossed into the air, dancing on each other's shoulders and even on top of the numerous bars. Not to mention they were all wasted. Wasted.

  Strafford had purchased them new clothes at a nearby clothing store before coming. He'd suggested she wear a polka dotted mini skirt––the horror––but had convinced her to do it by shamelessly complimenting her legs.

  "You have beautiful legs, wan. You should want to show them off. They're maddeningly long. So shapely and…" He trailed off, but just kept staring at them. By the time his eyes had found her face again, she was so flustered, she'd happily agreed to wear the skirt just to escape his gaze.

  At least he hadn't insisted on high heels. What a disaster that would have been. Instead, he'd suggested a pair of black flats with specks of metallic pink in them. They went well with her skirt and fitted, scooped-neck purple blouse, and though she felt a bit exposed, she had to admit that she looked kind of cute.

  Strafford far surpassed cute. He was, at worse, drop dead gorgeous. He'd chosen all black for himself––crisp black pants and a black button down shirt that was rolled at the sleeves and fit him to perfection. Black leather boat shoes finished the look. She liked him in his t-shirts and jeans well enough because they expressed his more raw side. But this…this refinement…this was a side of him that made her want to propose immediate marriage. Down on one knee and everything. He was that mesmerizing.

  As they made their way through Verdict, everyone noticed him. As stunning as Strafford looked, she wasn't surprised. No one here cared who she was or why she was even there. She barely got a second glance, unlike Strafford, whom most clubgoers were shameless in gawking at. But maybe it had just as much to do with his so-called disgrace as it had to do with his looks.