Antigoddess

by Kendare Blake

  The entreating touch was the last straw. It had been many centuries since humanity had bowed to Athena, but these were Circe’s witches. These were the descendants of her people, and they had no right to refuse. She looked at Celine’s small, pale hand and felt pity. Felt guilt. She would have liked to be strong enough to do as she asked, to go and fight her own battles. Celine’s repeated words, “You are immortal, you are immortal,” stung her ears. Suddenly she reached into her mouth and grasped the short, exposed quill of the feather. When she yanked, it tore free with a long, meaty sound. Behind her, Hermes moaned.

  Blood drenched her tongue and teeth. The feather hung limply from her fingertips, and she slammed it down onto the bar top. It was disgusting, coated with blood and bits of her skin. Celine put her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide and losing their reason.

  “I am a walking wound,” Athena hissed. She swallowed red salt and came close to retching. “And still I’m asking. The ones who come after me won’t be so polite. So make your choice. But don’t fool yourself. You’re going to have to get off your ass and help someone.” She spun and struck the bar chair, sending it flying, and headed for the back of the warehouse. When she saw the exit door, she pushed through it and pounded her feet against the steel stairs. She didn’t stop until she’d shoved her way out into the brick-walled alley.

  Stupid.

  She touched the ragged hole in the roof of her mouth with the tip of her tongue. It felt like setting her whole head on fire. She spat blood onto the pavement. With the adrenaline wearing off, it was starting to sting and throb. She bared her teeth. Tearing it out had been so easy.

  “Athena.”

  She didn’t turn. She didn’t want to betray her surprise, but she’d been so preoccupied with the pain that she hadn’t heard the door open behind her.

  “Don’t sound shocked,” she said. “You already knew.”

  “I knew you were dying,” Odysseus said. “I didn’t know how.” He placed hesitant fingers on her arm, like he was afraid to feel another quill breaking the surface. She jerked.

  Yes, I’m hideous. Get the fuck away.

  He cleared his throat.

  “They’ll heal you,” he said. “They’re right good at doing that.”

  “I don’t doubt it. You’re looking downright spry for just taking on a Cyclops.” She turned and met his eyes. He looked so concerned. It shamed her. And it touched her. He’d always been her favorite hero. She’d never given much thought to whether she’d been his favorite goddess.

  He grinned and held up his fingers.

  “Two Cyclops.”

  “Whatever you say. But Circe’s witches can’t heal this.” She gestured to her mouth. “This I will have to bear. And if I can’t stop tonguing it, it’s going to turn into one mother of a canker sore.”

  He stared at her, and she watched his mouth open and close, words and phrases trying themselves out in his head. It was amusing to watch someone with so quick a tongue try to find the right thing to say. In the end, he didn’t say anything. He just lifted his hand and gently wiped away a dot of blood from her lower lip.

  “That was awful of me, in there.” She gestured toward the door.

  “Gave Miss Celine the fright of her life.” Odysseus smiled. “I thought she was going to faint dead away. But desperate times call for desperate measures. You did what you had to.”

  “That’s what these are, I suppose.” She looked at him carefully. He could meet her gaze like so few were able. But just then he couldn’t quite manage it. “How did you know?”

  He paced away and shrugged. “I don’t know. Up until I was six, I was a carefree lad growing up in Stoke Newington. Still had this ridiculous name, of course, but everyone around home just called me Ody, which I wish that you would do.”

  “That’s Garfield’s dog’s name. But if you insist.” She swallowed gingerly. It hurt when anything touched the roof of her mouth. Keeping her voice normal was difficult.

  He grinned and went on. “Anyway, one summer I was on holiday with my family at Brighton Beach. My older sister and I got to messing around. I hit my head on something and went over the rail. I maintain that the something I hit my head on was actually a rock that she threw, but she denies it. The point is, I almost drowned. Stopped breathing, stopped pumping blood. I was dead. And then I wasn’t dead, if you get my meaning.”

  “You were yourself again.”

  He raised his eyebrows and ran a hand through his brown hair. It was a tangled mess, and his fingers snagged in it. Probably on a sticky patch of some kind of massage oil from his time in the room of many bosoms, was Athena’s guess.

  “I was myself again. Remembered everything. Ithaca, Troy, everything. That fucking endless journey home.” His face grew serious. “And you. I remembered you.”

  Athena dropped her eyes. How many times had she thought of him, over the centuries? Every clever human who wasn’t as clever as he was, every pompous act of bravery that wasn’t as brave or as pompous as his would have been. Now he was there, eighteen again, young and strong with the same quick, dark eyes and the same sideways smile. Asking her to protect him when it was the last thing she had time to be doing, and she couldn’t even find it in herself to be angry about it.

  “Thought I was plum crazy, for the longest time. But I kept my mouth shut and I watched, and I listened. I lived like a normal bloke, played some rugby, scammed on the Tube. And then three months ago, she came for me.” Odysseus cleared his throat.

  “She?”

  “Everything all right out here?” The door behind them opened, and Hermes popped his head out. He looked from Odysseus to Athena and handed her a glass of water.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Everything’s fine.” She glanced at Odysseus. His hands were stuffed deep into his jeans pockets. The look was decidedly awkward, almost guilty.

  What must Hermes be thinking, finding us like this? He’d better not be thinking anything, if he knows what’s good for him.

  She took a swish of water and spat onto the sidewalk. The water came out clear. The ragged channel on the roof of her mouth stretched from just behind her teeth to nearly down her throat. She didn’t know what was going to hurt worse: talking, or having her tongue sit on it idly in a constant, hot pressure.

  “Well you’d better get back in here,” said Hermes. “Celine has finally grown a spine. The coven’s going to help us. She’s assembling them upstairs.”

  “Can we trust them?” Odysseus asked.

  “They were frightened, but they’re not idiots. I’ve convinced them that they can back us and live, or back Poseidon and live as slaves.”

  Athena smiled. “Well done, Hermes.”

  * * *

  Celine met them when the elevator doors opened on the top floor. In one hand she held a clay bowl, filled with dark, steaming liquid that looked like unfiltered tea. When Athena stepped out, she gave it to her. It smelled of strong, bitter herbs.

  “What’s this?” Athena asked.

  “Please, accept it,” Celine said. Her mild smile was gone, replaced by a nervous, distracted intensity. “It is only a simple potion, to help with your pain.” She motioned for Athena to drink. The taste was faintly lemony. It stung the roof of her mouth; she had to clench her jaw to keep from wincing. But as the initial acid sting wore off, a calm numbness spread within her mouth.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You are welcome. And please forgive my cowardice.” Celine’s eyes met hers, unwavering. “It will not happen again.”

  Athena nodded. They walked quickly together down the hall. When they reached the conference room, Celine extended her arm to direct them inside. At a glance, at least fifteen girls of varying heights and features stood around the long, oval table. They had arranged themselves attractively, so that the different shades of blonde, brunette, black, and red moved through the room like a mellow rainbow. Each wore a well-cut suit and a silver necklace. It was a sharp contrast to Athena’s well-worn t-shirt and
cardigan and Hermes’ brown hoodie. Still, none of the witches regarded them with disapproval. The mood was serious, fearful, and tense with power.

  “I have assembled everyone I could.” Celine motioned for them to join her at the head of the table. “Bethe, Jenna, and Harper are out of the office today, working on consultations.” She nodded to the women, who moved forward and sat down in their chairs. Then she held her hand out to Athena. “Please,” she said, and sat herself. “Tell us what we must do.”

  Athena could feel Hermes and Odysseus standing just behind, one at each of her shoulders. They expected her to talk, to make a speech, to rouse the troops as she had once done. Part of her resented it. She hadn’t been a general for two thousand years. The blank row of faces that lined the table seemed miles away, viewed across mountaintops. These were modern women; mystical or not, how could she talk to them about the wars of gods? This wasn’t anything like it had been in those days. This was no great hall where kings drank and feasted, where braziers burned late into the night. It was a damn boardroom.

  She took a deep breath.

  “I trust that Celine has told you who we are.” She regarded them gravely. “And now I will tell you why we have come.

  “There is a war being fought among the gods. It’s not like other wars, wars that conquered cities or which were staged for our amusement. It’s the Twilight, the death of us all, and you know that there are those who would not accept that without a struggle.” Not a single eye moved while she spoke. No one made a sound. “I won’t accept that without a struggle. The gods, my family, are set to consume each other. My aunt Demeter has favored us, and told us of tools, weapons that will help.”

  “Who are the enemies?” The voice came from the left side of the table. Athena recognized the blond girl from the room where they had found Odysseus, but just barely. She looked different fully clothed.

  “Poseidon,” Athena replied. Then, hesitating, she glanced sidelong at Hermes. “As well as Aphrodite … and Hera.”

  Hermes shifted his weight, but stayed quiet.

  The witches exchanged glances.

  “Hera has always been a friend to women,” said a redhead with striking green eyes. “And Aphrodite has ever been a friend to the coven. Why should we help you over them? You’ve always chosen the causes of men over us.”

  Athena swallowed. She wasn’t exactly wrong. But times had changed. “Not always,” she whispered.

  “Look.” Hermes stepped forward. “You don’t know Hera like we do. And don’t forget what I told you about Poseidon.”

  Celine raised her chin. “What do you need from us?”

  “We need to find a prophetess. The reincarnation of Cassandra of Troy. That’s why we came to you. Poseidon and Hera are seeking her as well. We don’t have much time.”

  “What can she do for us?”

  Athena swallowed. “We don’t know. Not for sure. But Demeter thinks she’s a weapon, and I believe her.”

  The redhead shook her head and looked across at the blonde. “It seems reactionary. And blind. Not at all a winning battle plan.”

  Odysseus bumped Athena’s shoulder as he moved to the front.

  “Don’t forget who you’re talking to,” he said darkly. “This is Athena. She knows strategy better than anyone. She’ll tell you what she wants to tell you. Hell, she might even be lying. But what choice do you have?”

  “How can you want us to do this?” asked the blonde, who Celine whispered was called Isabella. “You ask for our help and offer us no protection in return. After you go, your enemies will become our enemies. What’s to stop them from burning us to the ground?”

  “The chances that they’ll even come to you are slim,” Athena replied. “They don’t know we’re here.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “Isabella,” Celine cautioned, but the girl looked at her like she was mad.

  “The gods will tear us apart. They will send things after us.” She looked at Odysseus imploringly. “Can’t you stay at least? Can’t one of you protect us?”

  “No,” Athena said.

  A number of protests rose from around the table, but Celine hushed them.

  “This is not for us to question,” she said mildly. “The gods would do more if they could.” She looked each of the girls in the eye. Physically, she looked no older than any of them, but the fact that she was their matriarch was plain. “The coven of Circe will support Athena. We will help her locate this prophetess. And then we will worry about ourselves.” The witches around the table lowered their eyes in silent compliance. Celine snapped her fingers.

  “Mareden,” she said, and the trim receptionist stood from where she sat at the end of the table. “A map on the projector, please. Lilith, we will need candles.” A buxom redhead pushed her chair away and quickly left the room. It was less than a minute before she returned with a silver tray laden with white pillars. As she passed, each witch took one and set it before her.

  “What’re they doing?” Hermes whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

  “They’re doing what they do,” Athena replied. She touched both Hermes and Odysseus on the arm and walked them back a few steps. She had only a vague understanding of magic, but whatever was happening, they weren’t a part of it.

  Behind them, on a large white screen, a stretched map of the world appeared from the projector. It always looked so odd to Athena, miles and miles of sand and saltwater, rocks and ice and green, represented in lines and labels. Mareden stepped away from the laptop and returned to her place at the table, taking a candle from the tray as she passed. Once she was seated, the witches linked hands, beginning with Celine and moving counterclockwise. It had an odd visual effect, almost serpentine. They closed their eyes.

  “Light,” Celine said softly.

  An almost inaudible puff sounded as the candles produced flame all at once. Athena took a quiet breath. It was beautiful and strange. Each small tip of fire was identical to the one beside it.

  “Now,” Celine said. “Find me Cassandra of Troy.”

  For a long second, nothing happened. Then the whispering started, whispers of words long forgotten. The sounds came on together, as if the women shared one brain. Whispers quickly became quiet chants, twenty intermingled voices, and Athena thought she heard Circe be invoked; she thought she heard them call the Moirae, the Fates, but she couldn’t be sure. The air in the room grew colder, even as the candle flames grew. They grew until they were spears of light flashing across the women’s cheeks. Then the chanting stopped, all at once. Together, twenty heads turned to the image of the map. Their eyes were coal black, and blank.

  Athena looked. On the map, one tiny sparkle of light shone, like a gem embedded in the screen. She walked closer. The sparkle was in the northeastern United States, in New York state. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Kincade,” she said, and looked triumphantly back at Hermes. “Someplace called Kincade.”

  Odysseus smiled his lopsided smile, his expression both relieved and disbelieving. Around them, a collective exhale rose as the women came back to themselves. The candle flames shrunk. Several of the witches blinked their eyes rapidly. Celine licked her thumb and forefinger and snuffed out her candle. She stood as the others extinguished theirs.

  “You have your answer, goddess,” she said.

  Athena nodded. Kincade, New York. On the map it looked like a small town in the middle-upper part of the state. The population couldn’t be that large. Maybe they were finally catching a break.

  “Thank—”

  She didn’t get a chance to finish. Her words were cut off by the wooden, rickety sound of the elevator door being pulled up. Celine’s brow creased curiously. Everyone in the warehouse was collected in the conference room, and the front doors to the building had been locked. “Mareden,” she said.

  “I’ll see to it.” Mareden rose quickly and left. Her footsteps clicked toward the reception area, and then they heard her voice, asking if she could be of serv
ice. There was no reply before she started to scream.

  Athena and Hermes exchanged a glance, but Celine and her sisters reacted without thinking. They shrieked Mareden’s name, charging from the conference room in a struggling, panicked wave. Athena, Hermes, and Odysseus were left in their wake. Hermes’ eyes moved toward the back of the warehouse, toward the emergency exit and fire escape.

  “We can’t just leave them,” Athena said, and started moving, following the sounds of gasps and cries. Behind her, Odysseus asked Hermes what was happening, and Hermes replied that he didn’t know. But she knew. A cold certainty wrapped itself around her heart. They’d been found.

  As much as she wanted to run, she forced her legs to be slow, to creep up onto the scene. At first only the backs of the witches were visible, rigid with fear, as they stood in a semicircle around Mareden and her attacker. But even before she saw a face, she heard familiar laughter, throaty and full of malice, that made her pause. It sounded like an echo out of a deep well.

  Hermes froze. Athena moved forward again, slinking like a cat. Between the frightened bodies, she glimpsed a tall, ivory shoulder and a head of shining dark blond hair, like ancient gold.

  “I’ve been all up and down your floors, daughters of Circe,” Hera said. “You’ve set yourself up quite nicely. What a pity that I’ve come too late for you to choose the correct side.”

  “We do only what the gods tell us,” Celine said. She lowered her eyes in a gesture of piety.

  Clever. But it won’t make any difference.

  “What do you want?” This came from one of the other girls. Hera’s head snapped to the left sharply like a snake’s, and the left side of the circle shuddered. But no one stepped back. Every set of eyes stayed carefully trained on Mareden, who stood motionless in Hera’s grasp, the back of her head held in the goddess’s hand.

  Athena wondered if she could feel the power in those fingers, if she knew that in one crunch of Hera’s knuckles, the back of her skull would cave in like it was made of sugar.

  “I want you to tell me what you have told Athena,” Hera replied.