by Jasmine Walt
The lights dimmed. I noted there was no electricity down here and the orbs providing luminance weren’t hot. I had to assume the illumination was the work of the gods. And now that their attention was elsewhere, the glow dimmed.
The gods reached out to the humans. The humans’ eyes glowed brightly until they turned white. I felt it before I saw it. The room filled with energy. It flowed freely all around, but it did not land or touch anyone.
The humans tilted their heads back and the lights went out of their eyes. The swarm of energy swelled up and into the air. Like a tidal wave, it rose. Like a tornado, it funneled down into the glowing eyes of the gods. The floor and walls hummed like an electrical overload shorting out the grid of a major city. And then, all was quiet.
It took everyone in the room a moment to catch their breaths and return to a semblance of normality.
Then Hestia came forward, as did Socrates. He was dressed in his clothes of old, his feet bare. His face looked peaceful, a small smile playing at his lips. He was flanked by two men who I knew to be Plato and Aristotle.
One by one, the gods came and shook his hand. I had to assume this was not normal because a murmur of surprise buzzed around the room at this show of gratitude from the gods. Socrates’s eyes brightened while his friends’ eyes dampened with tears.
Finally, the gods took their places again. Hestia hesitated, staring into her devotee’s eyes. Some silent piece of communication went between goddess and Chosen. She seemed to ask him without words if he was sure. Socrates’s eyelids slipped down and then rose, as though night had quickly turned to day. Looking into his empty eyes, it was clear that something new and exciting was on the horizon. He nodded to his savior.
Hestia smiled sadly. She took a deep inhale, then she nodded in acceptance. “Any final words of wisdom for us, old friend?”
“I have spent my life curved in a question mark in search of knowledge. Now I find I have come to a single point of certainty, a period in the sentence of my lifetime. To fear death, my friends, is only to think ourselves wise, without being wise; for it is to think that we know what we do not know. For anything that men can tell, death may be the greatest good that can happen to them, but they fear it as if they knew it was the greatest of evils. And what is this but that shameful ignorance of thinking that we know what we do not know?”
He’d said these words before in his past life in ancient times. They rang anew in my head. Socrates’s gaze found me in the crowd, and he smiled.
“The hour of departure has arrived and, my friends, once again, we go our ways; I to die, and you to live. Which is better? Only God knows.”
He embraced his ancient brothers who stood at his side. Both Aristotle and Plato’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. They took hold of each of his forearms as Socrates turned back to his creator in this second life.
I thought I saw something glisten in Hestia’s eyes, but she closed them before I could be sure. When she opened them again, they were glowing brightly. The energy from her went into Socrates’s wide eyes. It knocked him and his companions back. Socrates’s body seized. His friends caught him before he fell to the ground. When they brought him back up, he was still. His eyes were closed. A smile remained on his face.
The room was silent. The jubilation from before was dampened by the death scene before us.
Hestia stepped forward, bringing Socrates’s limp body into the cradle of her slight arms.
“I’ll take him, sister.” Hera stepped up with her arms outstretched.
Hestia placed the deceased philosopher in her sister’s arms like a sleeping baby and turned her back. This time, I was certain I saw a tear slip down the stoic goddess’s cheek before she turned away.
“Let me help, my goddess,” Baros offered. The ancient warrior stepped up and shouldered the weight alongside Hera.
It was unlikely that Hera needed the help, but the show of support seemed welcome. If not from her husband, who stood watching impassively, then at least from one of her husband’s Chosen.
The crowd parted for Hera and Baros, allowing them a wide berth with their precious cargo. As they passed, the crowd closed. Slowly, the tension left the room and the jubilation from before crept its way back amongst the people—those long-lived and the newly reborn.
My gaze continued to stay down the hall. Baros came back within moments. But Hera was not behind him. My curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself walking down the corridor.
The passage was dark. The marble in this part of the temple was aged brown instead of pristine white. The air was damp. A fork presented itself up ahead. I wasn’t sure which direction to turn. I looked behind me, preparing to give up my quest. But then I saw Hera disappearing around another corridor. My feet moved before I had a chance to think.
She was headed back in the direction of the rites, but before she got there, I watched her reach out and pull a lever. A new passageway opened. She disappeared into another doorway, and it closed behind her.
Never one to resist a hidden passageway, I stepped up to the lever and pulled. I got nothing. I patted the stone around the walls, looking to see if there was a secret handshake. Nope. I dug my nails into the crevices, but there was no give.
“Nia?”
I jerked away from the wall and turned to find Loren behind me.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I looked back at the solid wall.
“You okay?” Loren reached out and rubbed my shoulder. “That was a bit much, watching another ancient person die.”
She must’ve thought I was having PTSD from Vau’s traumatic death. “No,” I said. “I’m good. I was just checking on Hera.” I looked back at the solid wall she’d disappeared behind.
“Okay, cool.” Loren’s voice was entirely distracted. “Listen, Lenny just invited me out for a couple of nights on his yacht. Yes, I said yacht,” she squealed. “Since everything looks good here, I figured I’d go hang out for a day or two?”
“Okay,” I said, still focused on Hera’s disappearing act. Then I ran her words through my head again. “Wait, what happened to hoes before bros?”
“Nia, honey, I’m going to go and ride that man’s boat. I suggest you do the same with a certain broody billionaire you’re meeting for lunch tomorrow. Because all play and no work makes for a grumpy Nia. Girl, go get your groove back.”
17
I looked out at the Temple of Isis on the Greek island of Delos. This temple was Doric in design. The workers raise fluted columns onto rounded moldings. Under the noonday sun, sweat poured off their brown bodies. A few staggered under the weight of the stone.
I wanted to go down and lend a hand. It would take me much less effort to raise the structure with my Immortal strength. But I couldn’t move. At least, I couldn’t move quickly. That often happened to me when I dreamed. I was often only a viewer and not an active participant. This dream was no different.
Arms came around me. I leaned back into the cradle of his chest, in that space just below his chin and just above his heart that fit my head perfectly for centuries.
“I watched someone die last night,” I said.
Zane made no sound. He only rubbed at my forearms and pressed his lips against my temple.
“He got to choose a second life, and when it ended, he got to choose when it would be over.”
“Do you want that choice, mon coeur?”
Did I? Was I ready to die? I felt constantly weary. Had I even examined my own life? I couldn’t remember over half of it. People remembered more about me than I did. Sometimes, I felt like I didn’t know who I truly was.
I looked again at the temple. The workers were chiseling out the body of Isis holding the Eye of Ra. The humans were dropping to the ground as the temple structure went higher and higher into the sky.
“What’s happening?” I left the cradle of Zane’s protection to get a closer look.
“There is always a sacrifice to the gods,” he said.
�
��Sacrifice?”
“The making of a deity is demanding work.”
I watched the temple being built in my name rise higher, along with the body count. Leaning forward, I saw blood pouring out of their black eyes, leaving behind a rim of red.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered.
“They are not doing it for you, ma petite,” he said. “They’re doing it for her.”
“Who?”
I turned to face Zane. He stood in profile, looking out at the horizon. I turned my head and followed the trajectory of his gaze. Floating above the temple was a woman.
“Tisa,” she called. “Tisa, wake up.”
She was dressed in a flowing white gown. Her wheat-colored hair rivaled the radiance of the sun. Her glowing eyes turned to me. The force of her stare knocked me back. But I didn’t fall. Zane caught me.
When I could stand again, I looked out to see that we were no longer in Delos. We were standing at the foot of the Acropolis. But it wasn’t the Parthenon as it stood today. This had to be one of the older versions of the building. The marble was a shiny white. There were no holes or craters. The columns stood erect and intact.
“I need you to go deeper, Tisa.” The woman stood in the entryway where the statue of Athena would one day stand. “Wake up and dig deeper.”
“What?” I asked. “Demeter? Is that you?”
She didn’t answer. It was getting difficult to hold her gaze. Her eyes were blindingly white, like she was sucking the life out of every human whether they offered their souls freely or not.
Behind me, I felt Zane stumble. He still had a hold of me, but he let me go lest I fall to the ground with him. I turned from the floating goddess and reached out for Zane, but his fingers slipped through my grasp and he kept falling. Down into the earth he went. The ground opened and swallowed him whole.
I leaned into the crevice. But I still couldn’t reach him. He seemed to fall farther and farther away from me as the ground covered him up, forming a grassy knoll over his body. I screamed his name, but no sound came from my voice.
I was wrenched awake by the sound of ringing. Sitting up in the hotel bed, I looked around wildly. The sun was shining through the window to announce a new day. The floorboards were intact with no man-swallowing hole, but I still felt unsettled.
The ringing continued until I realized it was my cell phone. I grabbed it and pulled it to my ear. “Zane?”
There was silence on the other end. “No,” said the deep voice. “I’m not him.”
I closed my eyes and said a silent curse. “Tres, I’m sorry. I had a nightmare—”
“No need to explain.”
There was an awkward silence where I wasn’t sure if it was purposeful or if the Immortal allergy was screwing with the connection. I took advantage of the hush between us to shake off the last dregs of the dream.
That was a dream, a nightmare and not reality. Zane was in Italy, likely setting up for his showing tonight. Likely not even thinking about me.
“I haven’t seen or spoken to him,” I said into the receiver.
“I believe you,” came Tres’s terse reply.
“It’s just that we were together for five hundred years. It’s going to take me some time to—”
“Nia.”
“Yes?”
“I said, you don’t have to explain.”
“Okay.” I still felt like I did have to explain, but I’d save it for later. At the moment, I was still having trouble getting the dream out of my head. What had the floating goddess meant as she hovered over the Parthenon? Dig deeper? Had she been Demeter? She’d looked like her, but something wasn’t quite right. I knew I should remember, but, as with most things in my life, I couldn’t. There was just too much going on in my head.
“You didn’t answer my text message,” Tres said. “I’d like to see you today, if you’re not out raiding tombs and saving history or whatever it is that you do.”
“Despite that little knock at my profession, I’d like to see you, too.” A new idea formed in my head as I spoke. But I’d need a little help putting the plan into place. Luckily, I knew just the man for the job. “Do you think we could make it a working lunch?”
Later that afternoon, Tresor Mohandis stepped out of a town car in a sleek business suit that fit his toned physique to a T. My mouth watered at the sight of him. I tugged at my lower lip as he swaggered through the tourist set. My stomach grumbled around a persistent emptiness when he came to stand before me smelling of all things edible. He carried a basket in his strong hands that smelled even better than he looked.
“When you said working lunch,” he said, looking up at the construction on the Parthenon, “did you actually mean work?”
“Only intellectually,” I said.
The workers were packing up for the midday meal. I spread a picnic blanket, and Tres set down the basket of delicious scents. Then he sat, folding his long legs like a pretzel. I had to blink and then shake myself before I stretched my tongue out to get a taste of his toasty skin.
“Thanks for bringing the food,” I said as I watched him unpack his bounty.
“I knew better than to rely on your cooking skills. Unless something has changed in the last millennium, I know that you’re totally undomesticated.”
I couldn’t even take offense. He was correct. I could survive out in the wild with a dagger or even my bare hands. But put me in a kitchen and I was useless. I dug into the sandwiches he produced. The perfectly spiced bite delighted my taste buds, but the ache remained unsatisfied in my belly.
“So,” Tres said, turning to me. “What are we doing here?”
I looked up at the Parthenon. “You built this temple?”
He nodded, taking a sip of bottled water.
“How many times?”
He grimaced. “Is this going to lead to another argument on sustainability, because if so—”
“No.” I reached out, my fingers brushing the cotton of his cuffs. It was only a glancing touch, but I felt sparks zap across my fingertips. “No, I promise. No arguments.”
He regarded me for a moment before answering. “Yes, I designed this building. I was in the thick of it, cutting the marble and bringing it up to the site. It took eight years to build. I consulted on the previous restoration as well. But they didn’t take my advice, which only accelerated the building’s demise. They’ve been at this particular restoration for thirty years, and they’re botching it even worse.”
“Why don’t you offer your expertise now?”
“Not everything is meant to last, Nia. This building was modern in its time when it was built thousands of years ago. But it serves no purpose in this day except to stroke the egos of long-dead humans. If it were torn down—”
I gasped and then choked on the last bite of my sandwich.
Tres waited to be sure my airway was clear before he continued. “If it were torn down, the people alive today could use this space to improve the lives of so many in this society. The building of a new structure could support the livelihoods of hundreds.”
I had nothing to say to that. The more I spoke to this man, the more his views surprised me. And worse, made sense. I’d seen him as a great destroyer, but he was a forward thinker, taking the masses into consideration.
I turned my gaze to the empty space where the statue of Athena once stood. “The gods, the Olympians, said Athena Parthenos was a mortal, one of their devotees. Did you know her?”
“I did know her.” Tres chuckled, but there was no humor in his voice. “The statue that was in that building was not of Athena.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know its maker. So do you.”
Tres stared at me, rubbing his thumb over his lips. He didn’t have to say who he meant. I knew without need of confirmation that Zane had made the statue, and that I had been his muse.
“He always seems to come between us,” Tres said. “No matter what.”
I’d devoured the food Tres ha
d set before me. I’d eaten my fill, scarfing down three halves of a sandwich. And now my stomach ached for an entirely different reason.
“No, that’s not true.” Tres shook his head, his gaze challenging me. “He typically stays where he is. You have a habit of running back to him.”
“I’m here,” I insisted. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Tres nodded, but it didn’t look as though his movement was one of acquiescence. “You make me miss the times of the barbarians, when it was acceptable to simply tie a woman up and take her.”
My breath caught. I opened my mouth to cry chauvinist, but some part of me found the thought of being at his mercy arousing. He tilted his head as though he knew it. I averted my gaze.
“Why did you bring me here, Nia? What is it you want?”
I lifted my chin. “I wanted your company.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
I took a deep breath and spit it out. “And because I wanted a tour of the Parthenon—a private tour. I know there are layers. I’ve seen two. I’m curious if there are more.”
He narrowed his gaze, and then he chuckled. “I have had women use me for my money, my contacts, but never my architectural prowess.”
“Do you think you can take me down a level or two?” I asked.
“I’ve been trying to do that for the last millennium.” He sighed, shaking his head as he gazed at me. “What have you gotten yourself into now, Dr. Rivers?”
“Nothing. Yet. Just a feeling. Do you know how to get down to the third layer?”
“Yes, I never forget a building I design. All those plans and schemes are tucked neatly in my head.”
He got up and offered me his hand. I wasn’t sure why I hesitated. Probably because the moment I took his palm, I felt another electric shock go through my entire body and settle deep in my core. We stood there. Our hands were all that touched. The air was charged. Only an inch between us. He didn’t lean in. Neither did I.
