by Diana Tyler
It was from Straton alone that Eione had heard of the dýnami. It became the ocean-dwellers’ chief source of gossip as rumors swirled about its owner and what he could do: fly like an eagle, swim like a dolphin, create tablets of clay from dry earth. He was a shapeshifter like Nereus and a sorcerer like Circe, able to turn into whatever beast he wished and craft objects out of air.
But Apollo, as was his nature, had failed to honor his end of the bargain with Straton. Straton had offered his blood—his life—in return for equality with Apollo and his brothers. But only a few weeks after the Dýnami was issued from Hephaestus’ forge, Straton was overpowered by the hounds of hell and dragged to Tartarus to molder along with his memory.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through the sea nymph’s veins as she darted and weaved through the waves, her keen eyes fixed on a faraway reef, behind which lay the entrance to the River Styx. A train of bubbles streamed from Eione’s nose as she laughed, envisioning the look on the gods’ faces when they saw her, dýnami in hand, sneaking into Tartarus to rescue them.
They would defeat Apollo. They would rule again. And the Ashers would fear their names once more.
For Aubrey, my beloved niece and fellow writer:
It’s been such an incredible joy, sharing my love of fantasy with you and seeing your passion for it grow with each passing year. I pray that you never stop imagining, and that you always keep writing so the world can be blessed by your huge, enchanting heart.
Love, Aunt Diana
CHAPTER ONE
EIONE
The sea nymph could smell the sulfur now. She was fast approaching the hidden gateway in the reef, a place no immortal free to wander the upper realm ever dared to go. But Eione had good reason, for in her hand she held the dýnami, the coveted seed-sized object forged by Hephaestus thousands of years before. She knew Tartarus’s prisoners would treat her hospitably. They would have to if they desired escape.
Eione jerked as a translucent eel slid out of its hole, brushing against her arm as it snaked its way past her. She took a slow, deep breath. She couldn’t startle so easily if she expected to make it down the River Styx where the flesh-eating serpent swam. You have the dýnami, she said to herself, so stop acting like a sniveling waif.
Her hand trembled as she reached through the anemones, feeling for the stone door behind them. A chill shot up her spine as her fingertips trailed across algae as slick as slime. Curious clown fish peered at her as if to ask what she was doing so close to Hades.
Mustering her courage, the sea nymph pushed against the wall. The response was a violent rush of fire-hot bubbles that sent her hurtling backward, and the clown fish with her. She looked up at the anemones swaying like saplings in a storm, their bright colors stark against the gaping blackness where her hands had been. The portal was open.
“It’s time,” she whispered, swimming forward, holding her breath as the mortals did, afraid of drowning, afraid of death.
The bubbles burned Eione’s skin, spurring her to swim faster toward the Styx. She could see and feel nothing; darkness clung to her like a shroud as the noxious scent of sulfur grew stronger, the unmistakable stench of death.
For what seemed like ages, she wandered blindly, unsure whether she was swimming, floating, or being pulled by the current. At last she saw light: the red glow of lava at the end of the tunnel that had led her from the sea. It spilled, churning and roaring, into the pitch-black Styx below.
Though Eione could feel her limbs again, she could not see them as they ripped through the water around her. She was invisible, just like the Asher called Damian, about whom she’d heard rumors on the beach. The dýnami was working, pulsing like a heartbeat in her hand. She sped ahead, diving headfirst into the lair of the serpent, whose job it was to incapacitate any visitors, save for the souls of the dead. But she escaped his notice easily, swimming freely through the world’s most hated river as though it were a summer stream on Olympus.
Cerberus’s nap was not interrupted as the sea nymph waded to shore, her dark dress dripping wet. His gray serpentine tail twitched only a little as she walked through Hades’ gates, leaving not a single footprint in the sand.
“You do not know what you are doing.”
Eione knew the voice, as did all the immortals. Her gaze rose to the top of the marble wall, on which Hermes, former messenger and captain of Apollo, sat watching her.
“And you do not belong here,” she hissed back, careful not to wake the sleeping hound.
Hermes removed his dog-skin cap and kicked his dangling legs. “I may no longer be allegiant to Apollo, but that doesn’t mean I cannot summer here if I wish.” The golden wings of his sandals fluttered. He floated down the side of the wall and stood before her, his copper eyes surveying hers before fixing on her fist, which was clenched tightly around the dýnami.
“How can you see me?” Eione asked.
“Duna’s power exceeds all other forces, for he created them. This thing you wish to do…” He twisted his cap in his hands as sharp distress fell like a shadow across his face. “Well, to call it unwise would be an understatement.”
“It’s unfair that Cronus, not to mention both our fathers, is locked inside the abyss.” Heat flooded Eione’s chest. She ground her teeth to keep from shouting. “Apollo was never fit to rule. He’s a tyrant. He—”
“None of us are fit to rule, Eione,” Hermes said, fitting the cap back on his head as he scanned the artificial sky that spread like a dull, dirty sheet above their heads. “His reign, like this world, is a sham. Nothing good has ever come of immortals pretending to be greater than the All-Powerful, nor will it ever.”
Eione’s mind flashed with images of her father, Nereus, on the day he’d taken his daughters and hid them inside the caves they now called home. In return for the promise of their safety, he gave himself over to Apollo, letting Apollo drag him away in chains through the halls of hell.
Of all the gods, Nereus’s appetite for power had been the least, yet his existence alone was threat enough for Apollo. And so, along with dozens of other ill-fated gods, Tartarus became his abode. The prisoners’ freedom had been an impossible dream for the spouses and children they’d left behind…until today. Now, with the dýnami found, there was a way, a flawless way, to save them, and nothing Hermes said could change Eione’s mind.
“I did not come here to be proselytized. Step aside, or I shall make you step aside.” Eione’s eyes narrowed as a ball of fire rose from the porcelain cup of her palm.
“And I did not come here to prevent you from carrying out your plan.” Hermes didn’t seem to notice the flame hovering dangerously close to his face. He wasn’t afraid of her, an observation that made Eione want to scream.
“Good.” She pushed past him, gliding effortlessly through the wall. “The smell of your burning flesh would no doubt disturb the dog.”
“You’re naïve if you think Cronus and our fathers will tolerate more peace in this world than Apollo has.” Hermes hovered above her head, following her closely as she trudged up the rocky hillside. “The ichor in their veins runs hot with selfish ambition. You’ve seen this with your own eyes.”
Eione stopped and shot her eyes up to him, her cold, ichor veins roiling with impatience. “And yet here you are, Hermes, a flawless example of one whose proud heart has been humbled. Surely you cannot tell me that it’s impossible for our fathers to be softened as well and to forsake the old ways.”
To her surprise, Hermes offered no reply, and neither did he continue to fly beside her as she swept up the excess fabric of her garment and ran ahead. She knew her reasoning was sound, and even he, master of tricks and schemes, could not deny it.
“Then I will pray for such a miracle,” Hermes muttered under his breath as he watched Eione disappear over the hill.
It was true, what she had said. Never in a million years could he have predicted that he would one day humble himself enough to lift his eyes heavenward. His stubbornness had been just as unyiel
ding as Apollo’s, his delight in deceiving just as great. And yet, despite his deeds and intentions, Hermes had been changed, transformed, and, more miraculous than that, forgiven.
No longer was Hermes a peon of Apollo, nor a reprobate ever on the run from the righteous wrath of Duna. He was a child of the All-Powerful, and a helper of mankind. Who was he to say that his metamorphosis could not be replicated in one, or perhaps all, of his immortal brethren, whose souls were no blacker than his once was. He knew better than to assume Duna’s power knew any limit; he could rip Tartarus from the heart of Petros and set it beside his throne if he so wished. Hermes only knew that his ways were immutably unknowable, a notion he was still getting used to.
Cerberus began to bark. Hermes could hear the guttural heaving erupting from the canine’s flanks.
“Oh, shush!” Hermes called to him. The dog grew quiet, as he always did when he heard Hermes’ voice. It had been two thousand years, Hermes reflected, and the dumb creature still didn’t know that Hermes was a traitor here.
Hermes soared back to the wall and sat upon it as he fashioned a honeycake with his wand and threw it down to Cerberus. The hound swallowed it whole and wagged his tail like a pup.
“If only the gods were as docile around me as you are,” Hermes said, throwing cake after cake into all three of the dog’s wide jaws. “Perhaps then I could speak to them civilly and diplomatically, as the Petrodians do.”
Cerberus whimpered and rolled onto his back, readying himself for a belly rub. Hermes chuckled and jumped down next to him. In a rapid blur of movement, the dog leapt to his feet and lunged toward Hermes, snarling as a large paw planted itself on his arm, ripping through Hermes’ skin as if it were wheat to be threshed.
Hermes sprang up onto the wall again, glistening ichor spurting uncontrollably from his forearm, falling like rain into Cerberus’s wide, foaming mouths.
“I taught you well,” Hermes said, wincing in pain as he waited for the wound to heal. “Feigning peace until ready to attack is one of the greatest strategies there is.”
Cerberus growled. His hackles were raised proudly as he stalked the length of the wall, daring Hermes to come down again.
“Thank you for the reminder, old friend.” And with that, Hermes flew across the sky toward Petros’s crust, leaving the Styx and its sentry behind.
CHAPTER TWO
MOUNT PELION
So this is where the Centaur came from,” said Chloe, her eyes surveying the woods around her. The crisp fall air soon swallowed the haze from the wormhole.
Ethan stood beside her, zipping up his hoodie and turning to Pelion’s snow-capped peak towering before them. “You couldn’t have brought us here during the summertime?” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, then chattered his teeth dramatically.
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Sorry. I’ll take your weather preferences into consideration next time we bend the fabric of space time.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Ethan smiled and drew Chloe to his side, the place where she simultaneously felt extremely small and extremely safe. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, savoring the silence and the scene of trees shedding their leaves around them.
They hiked the slopes for a solid hour. This was their most recent adventure since they’d returned nearly a month ago. Exploring the past as spectators instead of participants was proving an effective albeit strange way to decompress from the events in Ourania. They were both finding it a nice change, to say the least, one that provided both a peaceful date and a hands-on history lesson, not to mention a surplus of talking points for the dinner table.
So far, they’d observed Iris and Tycho sailing from town to town, telling their tale to all who would listen, watched Hermogenes reunite with Hermes, and witnessed Charis’ wedding to a strapping young shipwright. Today they wanted to learn the Centaur’s story, where his race had come from, and why he’d left it.
Chloe was thankful when Ethan stopped in a small break in the woods, still a long way from the peak. She guessed he had heard her begin to wheeze and was taking pity. She couldn’t complain. Despite her best efforts to think otherwise, she despised physical exertion. If not for Ethan, she would probably only time travel to places that had donkeys and horses at the ready. It was a good thing superhuman speed wasn’t her doma; she wouldn’t have used it. But, as it is with love, Chloe was happy to endure the relentless burning in her legs and lungs as long as she was with Ethan. It was ridiculous how happy he made her, even if she knew the feelings were too good, and too unrealistic to last.
Chloe sat on a rock and began kneading the tight muscles in her thighs. “This is fun to you, huh?”
Ethan tilted his head. “Being with you?” He flashed a grin. “Of course.”
Another eye roll, something she did when she didn’t want to admit how cute he was being. “No. Using your legs till they feel like they’re going to fall off.”
“Yours are the only human legs I’ve seen on this mountain.”
Chloe jumped, her heart pounding at the lilting sound of an unmistakable voice. “Hermes?”
The messenger’s cap fell onto the leaves as his sandals slowly materialized, followed by his hairy shins, purple tunic, and smiling ruddy face. He showed Chloe his palms. “It’s all right. I can travel to the past, too, as Duna allows it.”
“You’re the good Hermes, then?” Ethan asked, his eyes squinting with skepticism.
Hermes gave a bow. “Test me if you wish. You are wise to do so, given the record of my past.”
“What’s the square root of 841?” Chloe said.
“Twenty-nine.”
“What phylum do jellyfish belong to?”
“Cnidaria.”
“Where did you speak with Duna after you met us, and what did he say to you?”
“He found me at Kratíras.” Hermes’ tone changed to one of somber reverence that Chloe knew couldn’t be forged. But she waited anyway. “He showed me a future, a terrible future, in which my son Hermogenes would be sacrificed on Olympus by his mother, for the sake of her own power.”
Ethan nodded at Chloe. This was the “good” Hermes.
“I trust my answers are satisfactory,” Hermes said, as he stooped to pick up his cap.
Chloe cleared her throat, fingering the jasper stone hanging low against her chest. “They were, thank you.”
“And now may I ask what you two are doing here in the centaurs’ territory? Are you aware how dangerous it is?”
“We’re not aware of anything to do with the centaurs,” said Chloe. “That’s why we’re here. To learn.” She stood and looked around the motionless grove, which was as silent and still as a painting; not a single bird was chirping. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t think they’re here today.”
The ground beneath their feet began to shake as the sound of thunder vibrated through the forest. Ethan ran to Chloe and they crouched down as a stampede of centaurs galloped past, whooping raucously with spears and bows in hand.
“Their hunts grow more frequent as winter approaches,” said Hermes calmly. “Corncrakes, rabbits, deer… Trespassers are their delicacy.”
Ethan waited until the roar of the centaurs had faded before speaking. “They eat people?”
“Not entirely.”
“Then what do you mean by ‘trespassers are their delicacy’?” said Chloe, leaning back into Ethan’s chest.
“I mean they do eat them, but only parts. The toes, the belly. The ear lobes are their favorite. Don’t ask me why.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Chloe said, pressing her palms over her ears. “Got it. To them we’re prey, basically.”
Hermes drew his wand and tapped it lightly against his hand. “So do you see now why your presence here is ill-advised? And I’d rather not slay any centaurs coming to your aid.” He tossed the wand in the air and caught it high behind his neck. “My wand has much more useful things to do.”
Ethan nodded and helped Chloe to her feet. “Thanks for the warning, Her
mes. We’ll go back home now.”
A loud whooshing sound soared past Chloe’s ears, then stopped abruptly. She heard Ethan groan, and turned to see the shaft of an arrow protruding from his left shoulder. “Ethan!”
Hermes rushed to them, wedging himself between Chloe and Ethan. Then he quickly drew a circle in the air with his wand, creating a dome around them that shimmered like a wave in the sunlight.
The hunter stepped out from behind a tree, his black eyes large and wild. He puffed up his chest and beat it with his fist. He was just a boy, no older than twelve. “I could have killed him. And the next time I see you here, I’ll kill you all.” Then he nocked another arrow in his bow and loped out of sight.
Ethan dropped onto the rock, his jaw tight as he glanced down at his shoulder and the dark red circle forming around the shaft. “It’s fine,” he said to Chloe, his voice gravelly and weak. “I’m fine.”
Hermes laid a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “No, you’re not, my friend, but you soon will be.” He took his wand and touched its tip to the wound. “This will hurt.”
“Hermes, don’t!” Chloe shouted, but it was too late.
Hermes’ wand was chiseling a ring around the entry point, enlarging it. Ethan reached for her hand, and she let him squeeze until she thought her bones might break. Her stomach lurched as she watched Hermes’ finger run along the shaft, quickly disappearing in blood.
“It’s not in the bone,” said Hermes, not a hint of panic on his face. He probed a bit further, then removed his hand and stepped back. “This will hurt more.”
No sooner had he spoken his warning than the shaft and arrowhead were in his hand, dripping scarlet drops onto his sandals. When Ethan groaned in agony, Hermes promptly dropped them and applied the wand’s tip again, causing the blood to dry and the gushing hole to be sewn together.
Ethan loosened his grip on Chloe’s hand. “I think this qualifies as the worst date ever.”
