The Sky Throne

by Chris Ledbetter

  “If you’re looking for nectar, you won’t find it,” Shade drawled.

  “Huh? Why?” I tore my eyes away from the table and back to Shade.

  “Since this is a Pantheon League-wide event,” Shade said. “We don’t serve nectar. Nectar is only for us. Not them.” Shade pointed to some people who were neither MO Prep nor Othrys students.

  I swelled with pride. Omega pride.

  “Let’s grab some food and find a prime spot so we can see the opening ceremony,” Shade continued. “Sometimes the Muses recite poetry or act out battle scenes. Ouranos has been known to rain meteor showers across the sky.”

  We took our food from The Forge back to the gym floor. The crowd had thickened in our absence. It was difficult to imagine that just a few hours before, I’d been through the Grinder in this gym. As we leaned against a rock at the far edge of the gym floor, I smiled to myself, giving it a playful push. It was the same odd-shaped rock I had seen Don and Shade tossing back and forth when I first arrived.

  It moved, if only a few inches. But it moved. I shoved it again just to make sure my eyes hadn’t deceived me. They had not.

  “Hey, genius, would you stop shoving the rock so I can lean back on it?” Shade joked.

  I was impressed anew with my physical transformation. Confidence swirled through me as I leaned back and anticipated the opening ceremony.

  “Interesting trivia about this rock,” Shade began. “The story goes that way long ago, Headmistress presented this stone to Kronos as a symbol of strength for being our intermural athletic director. In classic Kronos form, he rejected it as dispassionate and thoughtless. So now we use it to train with.”

  Pontus stepped to the center of the gym floor and threw a torch into the middle of an enormous woodpile. A roaring fire erupted. The crowd’s applause competed with the loud crackling of the flames.

  “Where are they supposed to wrestle if that huge fire is out there?” I asked.

  “Pontus calls that seasoning the grounds,” Shade explained. “We’ve done it for every championship match. It gets the ground good and charred—ready for battle.”

  The Muses serenaded the crowd on flutes and lyres. A girl from the Celtic Academy joined with her harp. Then three hooded women I didn’t recognize strolled up to the crackling fire with goblets in their hands.

  “Fire-spitters,” Shade said before I could ask him. “Also known as Oracles. You’ll like this.”

  The first woman turned her goblet up to her mouth and then spat into the fire. Blue flames rose majestically, retreated, and then streamed upward from the center of the woodpile. An image appeared of a stately man holding a long, slender, crackling shaft of yellow fire above his shoulder. He hurled it high into the air.

  I held my breath as the shaft pierced the heavens and then took a severe nosedive. Wide-eyed, I watched it descend toward me. I stumbled several paces away with uneasy steps and jumped backward just in time before it struck the ground near where I stood.

  The shaft burned and crackled for a short while, sparks falling to the ground all around it. Then it dissipated into the air like it had never even been there, leaving a charred circle of soil in its wake.

  The crowd fell silent. Everyone turned toward me. Goosebumps rose on my shaking arms. Applause circled the gym floor. Shade just laughed.

  “A-a-amazing!” I stammered as I tried to calm my racing heart.

  “Told you.”

  The first woman stepped back as the second lady stepped forward. She poured the contents of her goblet into her mouth, and then spat powerfully into the fire. Red flames spiked into the air, but the image fizzled before it could form fully. She stared into her cup as she stepped backward.

  “Awwwh,” the crowd groaned collectively.

  The third woman walked forward and spat her liquid into the inferno. A pillar of orange flames streaked high into the air, divided, popping and hissing, and eventually morphed into a picture of a beautiful woman. She looked oddly familiar. Almost like she was someone I knew, but a little older. The heat from the image caused me to shield my face. Then, it evaporated, surrendering to the dark night sky.

  The second woman approached the blaze again and spat her elixir into the flames. A column of red flames stretched toward the heavens. It fanned out to form the vision of a man sitting upon a throne. After a moment, the man disappeared, leaving an empty throne. The flames turned colors from reddish-orange to golden. Then, the entire picture dissolved. Sparks fell like shooting stars.

  Raucous applause erupted throughout the crowd. I clapped so hard my palms stung.

  “Absolutely wicked,” I said.

  “Sometimes the Oracles have straightforward messages when they perform their spitting image ceremonies,” Shade said. “Other times, like tonight, you just never know.”

  I remembered Ouranos’ earlier comment about the Oracles; “They speak with three tongues.”

  Pontus threw a humongous pail of water on the fire to quench it. Steam and smoke billowed. Then as if by deity magic, a gust of wind cleared the smoke from the gymnasium. Pontus then used a giant rake to pull apart the fire’s smoldering logs and arrange them as a square boundary for the wrestling circle in the middle of the gym floor. When he finished, Pontus leapt into the middle of the ring saying, “Thank you one and all from pantheons far and wide. It is our greatest pleasure to once again host the Pantheon League wrestling championships. Tonight’s combatants are as follows: From the Celtic Academy on the famed Emerald Isle, Dagda, the challenger to the crown of laurels.”

  The boy with swollen muscles that I’d seen earlier pushed through the crowd and bounded into the center of the ring. He had a prominent mark on his chest; three joined spirals. It jumped each time he flexed his muscles. Everyone applauded.

  Pontus continued, “And from our very own Mount Olympus Preparatory Academy, Po-Sei-Don!”

  “Don!” The crowd cheered over and over as he strode out. I was stunned that he had such a following from other schools.

  My gaze stopped on Metis as he strode past her. She looked like a flower being tossed in the wind as she glanced around the room, clearly looking for a place to stand and watch the match. When she found a wall near the edge of the gym floor, she walked over and leaned back against it, looking around like she expected someone. Atlas, perhaps?

  “Hey, Shade, hold my spot here,” I said.

  “Wha—” he responded. “Where you goin’? The match is starting.”

  I pushed my way through countless spectators. Soon, I stood within mere paces of Metis. I felt a tug at my body, pulling me closer to her. Gravitating gently. Nothing strong or overly noticeable. Just a feeling of being in her orbit.

  I hadn’t the foggiest idea what to say to her after the Othrys Hall encounter. Particularly after my recent conversations with my classmates. But as I drew closer, she looked up at me from under long eyelashes, her big, sad hazel eyes casting a pained gaze.

  I looked for the bruising I thought I’d seen earlier. “Metis?”

  She nodded, looking around warily. Her voice quivered, approaching a whisper. “Why are you here?”

  I was unsure how to answer. Was she asking about here at the school? Or here at the match? In the silence, I bounced back and forth as to what to say.

  “Well, I’m from Crete,” I began telling my life story. “And—”

  “I mean why are you here talking to me? I’m a mess.”

  I didn’t dare tell her it was because of how attractive she was. It didn’t quite fit the situation. But the dam broke. The words raced out of my mouth before I could contain them. “Because your beauty shines despite your tears. Despite your pain.”

  She looked at me all glassy-eyed. “Shut up.” She smiled. “You just wanted to play hero and save me from Atlas. Some things can’t be fixed. Some people can’t be saved.”

  As I glanced back toward the match, I saw Dagda and Don circling one another like a rhino pacing around a
lion. Thickly-muscled Dagda towered over Don even as they both crept in hunched, coiled postures. Swift charges resembled snake strikes. The combatants lunged for one another and locked arms. Strong stances punctuated the melee.

  “You like wrestling?” I asked in an attempt to lighten her mood. I glanced sidelong at her face, searching again for any bruises.

  She shrugged, hugging herself a bit tighter, rubbing her arms. Her hair shielded her eyes again. “It’s alright, I guess.”

  “Are you waiting for someone?” I switched tactics. “Don’t tell me you brought along your old ship’s anchor?”

  Her face wrinkled. “You mean Atlas?” She looked downward again. “I don’t think he cares about this match. Once Money got knocked out of the championships, Atlas lost interest. He’s all about War Games. He probably won’t even be here tonight.” Every word she spoke, she pronounced crisply.

  “So if you don’t fancy wrestling, why’d you come to the match tonight? You waiting for anyone else? Epic? Promo?”

  She cut her eyes at me. “My friend, Amphitrite. She moved closer to the ring to get a better look at the match. Funny thing, before she left she told me to stay out of trouble. And yet, here you are.”

  “I can’t even spell trouble.”

  That’s where I’d seen the dark-haired friend. Amphitrite was Don’s girl over at Othrys. Scanning the crowd, I leaned back on the wall beside Metis. Our skin almost touched. We watched the wrestling match. Together. In silence.

  Suddenly, Don and Dagda lunged forward, grasping one another behind the necks. After several circles around the ring, Don sank and threw Dagda over his shoulder. Dagda dexterously avoided hitting the ground hard and the crowd roared its approval.

  I closed my eyes momentarily, enjoying the floral scents emanating from Metis’ hair. I turned toward her again. She was actually engaged in the match. Or at least seemed to be. I slid closer to her on the wall. My arm grazed hers, sending a slight shiver down my spine. She didn’t move away. I turned back to the wrestling action. Dagda and Don had tangled arms and hands behind one another’s necks again.

  My hand fell to my hip. It was close enough to feel her warmth. I uncurled and extended my fingers. Stretching. Seeking. The first two knuckles of my right hand caressed her chiton-clad hip like a whisper. She inhaled sharply. Then I realized that my hand hadn’t actually moved. Had I imagined that whole sequence?

  “Oh great,” she uttered, snapping my moment in half.

  A large, imposing dark-haired older man and two slightly shorter blond guys parted the crowd. The rugged and chiseled dark-haired one walked with an uncommon swagger, as did his cohorts, all filling their red tunics to near bursting. You’d have thought they could at least have found clothes that fit.

  A trio of images sliced through my mind. Amalthea. Anytos. Two muscle-bound guys leaping off the back of a chariot. A sharp pain streaked through my head.

  I whipped my head back around. My eyes stung with anger. I clenched my teeth. There they stood. Laughing. It was them. I was certain. Although the tall man wasn’t Hyperion, the younger ones were definitely the attackers from Crete. My eyes darted between them as I tried to figure out what to do. Walk away. Fight them. Run away. Stand my ground. Kill them where they stood.

  “What’s wrong? Are you all right?” Metis asked, her arms still crossed. “It’s only Kronos.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Kronos.

  I’d stepped forward several steps before I even knew my feet were moving. My vision tunneled as I focused on the two guys beside Kronos. The people. The noise. The match. Everything faded away. I heard nothing except my thudding pulse. Rising. Racing. Rushing.

  “Hey, you never came back to the rock.” Shade appeared from out of the shadows.

  “What?” I jumped, looking at him blankly. “Huh?” I flashed a glance at the blond guys. Still there. I turned to Shade. “Where’d you come from?”

  “I saw you walking so I—hey, were you talking to Metis? Is that why you told me to—”

  “Hold on, Shade. My world just exploded. Again.”

  “Again? What are you talking about?”

  I turned toward Kronos and company. Their smirks and laughs churned my stomach. They stood with their arms folded across their massive chests, occasionally chuckling. They hadn’t see me. Not yet.

  “Where is the boy … ” Hyperion had asked.

  “You’re pale as a cloud. What’s wrong?” Shade asked. He then noticed where my gaze had been fixed.

  There was no mistaking who the guys were. My blood temperature rose. Coursing. Darkening. Inky veins webbed across my arms and clenched fists. I had no weapon except my hands.

  “Watch my back,” I said.

  “Wha—”

  I took off at a light trot, weaving through random spectators. All my senses went flat. I had no peripheral vision. I heard nothing. Felt nothing. Smelled nothing.

  My trot turned into a full sprint after several strides. I neared the blonde guy on Kronos’ right. Remembered him well. I cocked my arm back. My final steps shortened. Three. Two. I elongated my final step and snapped my arm forward, punching the closest guy’s ear. I threw every ounce of my weight through my shoulder and arm.

  My fist sounded like a hammer striking an anvil. His head flopped over. “That was for Tos, you bastard!” I yelled.

  He crumpled to the ground in a heap.

  Kronos whipped his head around. “You’re going straight to Tartarus, young man!” His thick eyebrows seemed to be a step ahead of the rest of his body as he neared me. Close up, he stood taller than Hyperion and Ouranos. Then he stopped abruptly. He narrowed his eyes and peered at me. Through me. Searching me. Studying me.

  I glared back at him, fists curled into balls of fury.

  The other muscle head scrambled toward me. He looked downward. “Pallas?” he called to his unconscious friend. Pushing his hair off his forehead, he glanced up at me and took another step forward. “You! I should’ve taken you—”

  I lunged for him, connecting on a punch to the jaw. He swung and missed. I ducked and launched into his midsection. His back hit the ground with a thud. He wheezed. Sitting on his chest, I hit him with a flurry of strikes to the jaw, nose, and temple.

  I was abruptly lifted into the air. When I touched ground again, some invisible energy field held me in place. The blond guy stood up and charged again.

  Kronos halted his progress. “Easy there, Perses,” he said without removing his gaze from me.

  Perses stood there, breathing hard through his bloodied nose like a seething bull. Pallas still lay on the ground, motionless. Perses and Pallas. Kreios’ sons. The ones Tia said were such nice guys. My breathing huffed in short bursts as I returned their glares.

  Shade caught up to me. “Great Gaia, boy! What’s gotten into you?” He asked over my shoulder. He grabbed my arms and pulled me back a few steps. I bristled at his grasp and pulled away.

  My gaze remained riveted to Kronos and Perses, but I couldn’t move any closer. Something held me in place. Another vision of Anytos flashed through my mind, his body flying backward from the force of the spear’s impact. I tried again to lunge for the other guy’s throat, but couldn’t move. Kronos stepped between us.

  “You have a lot of fire in you, boy,” Kronos said in a measured tone. “Reminds me of myself when I was your age. In fact, you look like me at that age, so raw with emotion.” He extended his massive hand to me. “In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, I’m Kronos.”

  “I know who you are. Did you send these guys after my mother?” I pointed at Pallas and Perses, leaving his outstretched hand hanging.

  Kronos’ eyes morphed from smug to concerned. Shock played across his face and his features softened. He narrowed his gaze a bit more, but still didn’t speak.

  “What are you talking about now?” Shade asked.

  I waved him off.

  “What do you want from me?” I demanded w
ith more force.

  He chuckled, “So you’re the one, eh? The Boy. Never quite knew what I’d do if I found you.”

  A throng encircled us. I swelled with confidence. Kronos looked back and forth, running his tongue over his bottom lip rapidly.

  “I’m the one what?” I growled.

  “Yeah,” Shade chimed. “The one what?”

  I turned to hush Shade again. I briefly caught sight of Metis’ concerned eyes gazing past Shade’s shoulders.

  “Clearly these boys here made a mistake.” Kronos chuckled again with a hint of nervousness. His gaze darted through the crowd. “I told them to find a boy I thought had stolen a goat of mine. I have no idea why they attacked your mother.”

  “Well they did!” I struggled toward him again. “And killed my best friend!”

  Perses chimed from behind Kronos, “We were just doing what yo—”

  Kronos whipped around and grabbed Perses by the throat. “Not. One. More. Sound.” He wheeled back to me. “So now, where were we? Oh yes.” He looked deeply into my eyes. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Zeus,” I hissed.

  “Well, Zeus, we should talk.” He stepped toward me.

  I backed away. “I have nothing to say to you. Not until you answer my questions.”

  “I told you,” Kronos spoke through clenched teeth. “These imbeciles made a mistake. They will be dealt with. I assure you. Now come. Let bygones, be bygones.”

  “Look, my friend is dead. And my mother was close to death when I left. I will not stop until I find whoever ordered that attack. Was it you?” I tried to step forward and was still held in place.

  “Strong words, boy.” Kronos’ demeanor swung back to smug. “I’d mind my tongue if I were you.”

  My gaze never wavered.

  “Besides,” Kronos continued. “You need look no further than the owner of the sun chariot to find the orchestrator of that attack.”