AFTER CASS’S CONFESSION THERE’S NOTHING to do but run. She picks up the pace enough that I don’t have breath to ask anything else, and I half wonder whether she planned it that way. I’ve never seen much emotion from Cass, but there is definitely an energy about her right now that seems kind of excited.
But what’s she excited about?
We zigzag through the trees as quickly as we can, while my brain turns over our conversation. The Nyx. It’s a childhood story my sister used to tell me, the shadowy vættir equivalent of Santa Claus. Mom wasn’t one for fanciful stories, or bedtime stories at all. Her idea of entertainment was letting me color battle maps of past victories.
But Whisper? She liked to dream.
Thinking about my sister takes me back to our small house in the Aerie where Whisper and I shared a room. Like most houses in the Aerie ours was small, consisting of only two bedrooms, a practice studio where Mom drilled us on hand-to-hand combat, and a bathroom. There was no kitchen because all meals were delivered by the Aerie, rations allotted according to status. Since Mom was a general, we ate pretty well. We were even lucky enough to own a television, an uncommon luxury in the austerity of the Aerie.
At night when I was too restless to sleep, Whisper would tell me stories about the creation of the realms or the latest gossip about this Æthereal or that one. I don’t know how old I was when she first told me the story of the Nyx. Young enough to still be afraid of the dark, but old enough that I shouldn’t have been. I’d watched the shadows from the tree outside our window move against the wall, imagining it to be some kind of ravening monster when Whisper had called out in the dark.
“Peep, are you okay? You smell like a lemon meringue pie that’s gone bad.”
“I’m scared. Can I come sleep with you?”
Whisper sighed. She was a teenager and too old to want to share her bed with an annoying little sister. “Yes. Come on.”
I’d vaulted out of my bed and into hers, burrowing under the covers. She pushed my wings out of the way until we were lying side by side. “You know, you don’t have anything to be afraid of.”
“I know. Fear makes me stupid, and as long as I know what’s making me afraid I should be able to dismantle the emotion with fact.” It was what Mom told me all the time.
Whisper laughed, her voice low. “No, you don’t have anything to be afraid of because the Nyx will protect you.”
“My teacher says the Nyx isn’t real. She says it’s just something that weak people use to feel better about their circumstances.”
“The teachers here don’t know everything, Peep.” And then Whisper’s voice had taken on the dreamy tone that meant she was telling a story. “Long ago, before the realms were split, gods and men lived in harmony. Their children, the vættir, united the best in each of them. The vættir had the abilities of the gods tempered with the emotions of mortals. But Cronus was a jealous god and despised humans. So he commissioned the drakans to split the worlds, and that is what they did.
“The dark Æthereals retreated to the Underworld, where the erebos was strongest. The bright Æthereals rose up to the Æthereal Realm, where they looked down on those who couldn’t manipulate æther like they could. And the vættir were bound to the Mortal Realm with their human relatives, their mortal blood preventing them from freely crossing the Rift separating the realms.”
Whisper shifted in the bed, her head resting against mine. “For a time things were good, but the bright Exalteds weren’t happy just ruling over their weaker cousins. They wanted more. They wanted to rule over the Mortal Realm as well.”
“What does this have to do with the Nyx?”
“I’m getting to that, Peep. Just give me a second.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Where was I?”
“The Æthereals were about to start the Æthereal Wars.”
In the dark I couldn’t see her nod, but I could feel it. “That’s right. So the Æthereals went to war, which you know because it’s all we learn about in school. But eventually the vættir won the war because of the Nyx, a warrior who was able to use the erebos, the deepest shadows, like a weapon. He swore that as long as he drew breath, vættir would never be oppressed by the Æthereals. He was the champion of all vættir, and if someone was in trouble, he would save them.”
“Oh yeah? So where is he now?”
“He’s dead. He was betrayed long ago by his beloved, and killed by a sword made of bright. But as he lay dying, he swore he would return, that not only would he avenge his murder, but that he would slay the bright Exalteds who killed him.”
“But if he’s dead, how is he going to save me from the shadows?”
Whisper tickled my side, and I had to fight to suppress my giggle. If Mom heard us playing around, there was no telling what she’d do. “That’s the point of the story, Peep. You don’t need the Nyx to save you. The Nyx used the dark to protect the vættir. So why should the vættir fear the shadows?”
Cass halts suddenly and I run into her back, the memory evaporating like smoke. There’s an ache in my chest, and I miss my sister all over again. Does it ever get any easier?
“We need to rest a little,” Cass says. I just nod, too out of breath to do anything else. I lean over, my hands on my knees while my body tries to recover. I haven’t run like that since the night Whisper died. I didn’t really miss it.
After my heart rate returns to something close to normal, I straighten. I still clutch my shovel, and when I loosen my grip on it, my knuckles ache. “Ugh. How far did we go?”
Cass shakes her head. “Not far, but we need to find something to eat, or we’ll collapse.”
I nod, because she’s right. Thirst and hunger aren’t felt in the Underworld like they are in the Mortal Realm, but they still affect us. I’ve seen people drop dead while working on the line because they were too scared to take a break to eat or drink.
I look around, taking in the creeper vines and the black trees. We’re in a different part of the forest than we were when the chimera attacked. The trees are farther apart, and a few are heavy with a strange, prickly fruit. They look like an eggplant with spikes, weighty and tear shaped. “Can we eat those?”
Cass looks up and shrugs. “We won’t know unless we try.”
I reach for one of the fruits, and Cass grabs my wrist. “Use your shovel to knock it down, just in case.” I think of Venus flytraps, and how they emit a sweet scent to attract bugs. Cass is right. The trees are carnivorous. Maybe the fruit is just a lure to attract prey.
Cass raises her shovel and swats at some low-hanging fruit while I do the same. The heavy fruit falls off the trees easily enough, landing in the leaf litter covering the ground. Cass uses her shovel to split hers open, and I do the same. As soon as we do, the creeper vines dive down, devouring the fruit.
“If you actually want to eat them, you’re going to have to make sure you’re free of the tree line first. The nudges love them.”
I spin around, shovel raised, while next to me Cass takes up a similarly aggressive stance. A blond-haired guy with too-blue eyes raises his hands, his surprise hitting me in waves of black licorice.
“Whoa, whoa, ladies. I come in peace. I’m just looking for something to eat too.” There’s no scent of a lie to his words, and I lower my shovel while Cass keeps hers raised.
“Where’d you come from?” I ask. Not Tartarus. He’s entirely too clean to have worked the Pits. His jeans and T-shirt look new and modern. Plus, I definitely would’ve remembered his eyes, a metallic blue that glows with an inner light. If he isn’t a full-blooded Æthereal, he’s got to be close. Maybe that’s why Cass is giving him some serious stink eye.
He grins sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. “Actually, I come from a small town called Ulysses’s Glen. It’s in Virginia.” Now that he mentions it, I can hear the slightest hint of an accent in his voice. I look at Cass for guidance. She says nothing, so I continue the interrogation.
“How’d you get down here?” And why would any
one willingly come to Tartarus? Maybe I’ve been in the Underworld too long, but suspicion curdles my stomach, and I’m about one bad answer away from clobbering pretty boy with my shovel. Or letting Cass hit him with her shovel. Whatever.
“Um,” he looks around and then lets out a sigh. “My brother. He can trip the Rift.” Cass gives me a confused look, and the blond guy hurriedly explains, “You know, travel across the Rift. Anyway, we came down here looking for someone, but then there was a chimera stampede, and we got separated. I’m Blue, by the way.”
There’s no hint of a lie. He smells as honest and open as his smile, and any lingering doubts evaporate. “Nice to meet you, Blue. I’m Zephyr, and this is Cass. So the fruit? They’re okay to eat?”
“Yeah, but we should probably take them beyond the tree line.” He points to where the trees open up to a blood-red sky.
That sky stops me. “What’s going on?” I’ve never seen the sky in Tartarus look so . . . violent. Sure the rain sucks, but on clear days the sky is usually gray like a permanent twilight, that moment in the Mortal Realm just after the sun sets and before the world is plunged into darkness. But this red sky? It’s terrifying.
“My brother said it’s a sign that war is brewing,” Blue says, jumping up to pull one of the heavy, spiky fruits down. Since he’s much taller than us he doesn’t have to rely on the reach of the shovel to pick the fruit. He tosses it to me, and then does the same for Cass before getting one for himself.
“How would he know?” Cass asks as we walk to the tree line and that bleeding sky.
“Well, he kind of grew up down here. He knows the Underworld better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
I’ve never heard of a vættir growing up in the Underworld, but I spent my entire life in the Aerie until I was arrested and sent to Tartarus. There’s a lot I don’t know.
Outside the trees the land looks different from the Pits. The ground is hard, not the soft mud I’m used to. Blue grass grows in waist-high clumps, and black boulders dot the landscape. It’s a lot warmer here than the Pits, and even without a sun it feels nice. This part of the Underworld might look like something out of a nightmare with its red sky, but it doesn’t smell bad. There’s none of the scent of offal that clings to the Pits, and without a bunch of other vættir I’m not overwhelmed by the scent of emotions. It’s actually kind of okay, if you can call hell nice.
Cass points to a far-off yellow river that winds through the landscape. “That’s the Acheron. We’ll follow it until we get to the Styx.” Her voice is low, her words only for me. I remember that the Styx is where Charon, the Ferryman, plies his trade. If we want to get across to the Mortal Realm, he’s going to be our best bet.
We sit on a couple of the boulders and eat our fruit. Cass waits until Blue tears into his before taking a bite. I follow her lead. And promptly gag. The inside of the fruit is meaty, like eating a too-rare steak. It’s also salty, and the flavor is somewhere between a hamburger and a rotten pineapple. It’s all I can do to choke it down.
“No telling how long until we eat again,” Cass says, her meaning clear. We have a long way to the Ferryman. And at the pace Cass sets, I’m going to need every bit of sustenance I can get.
Blue grins as I try to force myself to eat the foul fruit. “It’s a bit of an acquired taste.”
“No joke,” I say. I chew a mouthful and swallow it. “How long have you been down here?”
“Oh, since school ended. I’m not sure how long that’s been. You know time’s all weird here.”
I nod, thinking of my lost year. It’s hard not to be bitter about losing so much of my life. But I guess it could be worse. I could be dead.
His words suddenly sink in, and I turn to him. “Wait, did you say school? What kind of school do you go to?” I’m not asking because I really care, more because I’m wondering what kind of vættir he is, and it would be rude to ask him directly.
He shrugs. “Just a regular norm school. The town where I live, Ulysses’s Glen, is made up of all vættir. Well, vættir and their families. There are a few norms in town, but most of them are married to vættir. Anyway, we go to school like human kids and everything, but it’s an all-vættir public school. I’m a junior. Well, I’ll be a senior when I get back. Assuming I ever find my brother.”
I stare at my fruit as I consider his words. A town full of vættir living normal lives. No killing. No wars. That sounds heavenly.
In a place like that I could be more than just a failure.
Cass shifts on her rock, her green eyes boring into Blue. The metallic shine is brighter. “What are you doing down here, again?”
Blue grins at her, ignoring the narrowed glare she shoots at him. “I told you—I’m looking for a friend.”
Cass watches him. “I thought you were looking for your brother?”
“I’m actually trying to find both. My brother and a friend of ours.”
Cass pushes off her rock, flipping the peel of her fruit away from her. “What does he look like? Maybe we’ve seen him.”
There’s a mischievous glimmer in Blue’s eyes. “My brother or my friend?”
“Let’s start with your friend.”
Blue leans back. He radiates the cut-grass scent of curiosity. “Maybe you have. But I’m looking for a her, not a him.”
Cass crosses her arms, her gaze steely. “Vættir?”
“Of course. But she’s not going to be in the Pits.”
I take a small bite of the fruit and swallow it with some effort. This time the meaty taste of it makes my belly roil with nausea. “Why, is she dead?”
He shakes his head. “No, she’s a Harpy. You really think one of the killing kind is going to muck around in the Pits?” He asks it in a teasing tone, but his words turn my blood cold. Is he talking about me?
Blue keeps talking in between eating bites of his fruit. “I figure she’s probably still in the Underworld, though. Maybe hanging out in the Killing Fields or even one of the lesser hells where the dark Æthereals stay, like the Du’at or the Folkvangr or something.”
Cass gives me a meaningful look. Blue is too intent on finishing the rest of his fruit to catch it. But I know what she’s trying to tell me. I’m most likely the only Harpy in Tartarus. My kind are big rule followers, and we don’t end up in Tartarus as much as the other races of vættir. This golden boy with the too-blue eyes is probably looking for me.
But why?
As I watch Blue toss away his fruit peel, I think maybe he’s playing with us, that Cass and I walked into a trap. But then I realize that I don’t have wings anymore, and he hasn’t seen my talons since my hands are covered in muck and fruit. There’s no way he knows that I’m the only Harpy in the Pits.
Blue finishes his fruit and jumps to his feet. “You guys want some more?” I shake my head, but Cass nods. He grins. “I’ll be right back.” As soon as he darts into the tree line, Cass is on her feet.
“Come on, we need to ditch the pretty boy while we can.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I DON’T MOVE, AND CASS grabs my arm, trying to pull me along. “Zeph, we need to get a move on before he gets back.”
I throw the remainder of my fruit on the ground and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Why?”
She blinks owlishly at me. “Are you joking?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not. Tell me why we should ditch him.”
She stares off into the woods. “I don’t trust him. Did you see his eyes? Brighter than new coins. How do we know he isn’t Æthereal?”
“He’s not. Trust me. His emotions stink way too bad for him to be a god. I wouldn’t be able to smell anything if he was Æthereal.”
“So you trust him?”
“Well, no. But I don’t distrust him. It’s more I’m just waiting to see what happens.”
Cass turns to me and stills. She’s strangely intense, more so than usual. For the first time since I’ve met her fear uncurls slowly in my belly. “What?”
“What d
o you smell from me?”
“What?” It’s not the question I’m expecting, and the sudden change in direction catches me off guard.
“You’ve been by my side for a long time, and I’m just now learning that you can smell emotions.”
Crap. I swallow a sigh. “That’s because it’s not really something Harpies brag about.”
Cass is still looking at me like I’m a bug under a magnifying glass. “How’s it work?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a Harpy thing. Like our talons. Emotions have similar scents. Like fear? It’s usually some kind of spoiled citrus. And happiness? Always smells good, like cookies or cake.” I don’t add that I’m sort of uncomfortable about the gift. All Harpies can scent out emotions, but some are better than others. I may have failed at every last thing related to battle, but I rocked the sniffing out emotions part. The problem is most people don’t really like you to know what they’re feeling. It’s a bit like reading minds: It’s best if people just don’t know you can do it.
Just when I think Cass is going to let it go, she says again, “So what do you smell from me?”
I stand and wipe my dirty hands on my even dirtier pants. “Why, Cass? We’re friends. What does it matter?”
“I want to know. You’ve never asked me why you couldn’t smell my emotions.”
“I never said I couldn’t smell your emotions,” I say.
“Can you?”
I shift from foot to foot. “No. But really, it’s none of my business, Cass. I don’t care.” I don’t want to know why I can’t smell anything from Cass. Honestly, it’s nice to be around someone without knowing their every feeling.
“I’m not a god, you know.” She tugs at a loose string on her toga before dropping her arms down by her sides. “I’m a vættir.”
“Good. So drop it then. Blue’s going to be back at any moment, and I don’t want to have this conversation with an audience.” I might kind of like Blue, but that doesn’t mean I want him to know I can sniff out how he’s feeling.
Cass watches me, and then finally nods. “You aren’t going to ask me why you can’t smell my emotions?”
Promise of Shadows Page 6
