Goddess

by Josephine Angelini

  Helen nodded, staring at her hands without seeing them. She wrapped her arms around his chest and let the tears come . . . for Orion, for herself, and for Lucas, but mainly because she was so sick of it all. She had power over the most magnificent forces on Earth, but she still didn’t feel like she had power over the most important thing of all—her own heart.

  Orion lay back on the sand and pulled her down on top of him. He banished the water soaking their skin and hair so they were immediately dry, and stared up at the stars while Helen cried a few frustrated tears. When she’d settled down, he piled their discarded clothes over them, still holding her on top of him to keep her off the cold sand. She was too tired to think straight anymore.

  “So are we friends?” he asked after a long silence.

  “Doesn’t seem enough, does it?” she said as sleep quickly set in and started to paralyze her. “We’re more than friends. We’re brothers. Blood brothers.”

  His chest shuddered with a little laugh under her cheek, and she felt him whisper “brothers” to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

  The last thing Helen thought before she drifted off after him was that she’d slept on a beach like this before with another boy. But this time there was no Helen-shaped dent for her to fit inside.

  “Uncle?” Helen called out.

  “I’m here, niece,” Hades replied kindly. Helen turned around and found him walking up the infinite beach in the Underworld—the one that never led to an ocean.

  She smiled tentatively at him as he joined her. “Thank you for coming. I have a lot of questions.” Her voice was quivering with uncertainty. “When I’m sitting across from myself, and other people are calling me names like ‘Guinevere,’ I’m having a memory, not a dream, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “How?”

  Hades’ dark helmet glimmered. “The dead have choices. They don’t have to stay in the Underworld forever if they don’t wish to. But in order to leave, they must wash their memories away in the River Lethe, before they can be reborn.”

  “And when I touched a few drops of that river water?” she asked, following up on a hunch.

  “Life experiences are never annihilated. The river remembers. Your soul called to those memories in the water, and they joined you in this life. It’s rare, but it happens sometimes,” he said, and then turned his cloaked head away. “Why don’t you clothe yourself?”

  “Oh. Right,” she said. Embarrassed, she crossed her arms over her lacy bra. “I don’t know how.”

  “Yes you do. Think, Helen.”

  “I want to be wearing warm, clean clothes,” she said distinctly. Helen pictured a sturdy outfit, complete with the lined galoshes that she usually wore in the Underworld, and it instantly appeared on her body. Helen raised her eyes to the place behind the shadows where she guessed Hades’ eyes would be. “Okay, first question. How can I do this? How can I control the Underworld?”

  “Because you have a talent in common with me, and with Morpheus and Zeus, to name a few,” he said firmly. “Each of us can make one world. I made Hades. Morpheus made the shadow lands. The Furies made the dry lands. Zeus made Olympus, and Tartarus created Tartarus eons before any of us existed. And Tartarus left the boundaries of her land open for all who share in this power, although none of us have ever seen her.”

  “But what has this got to do with me?” Helen blurted out, feeling like she was in way over her head. “I’ve never made anything. I’ve never even made the honor roll.”

  “You haven’t made anything yet. But you will if you choose to,” he said with a small chuckle that was hauntingly familiar. “There have been other Scions with this talent before. You call them Descenders, but that is not the correct name, really, as it only describes the allowance I made for Scions of your kind to be able to come to me for help. What help I can offer, at any rate,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “So far, I have failed you all.”

  “My kind?” Helen’s palms started to sweat. “What kind am I?”

  “You are a Worldbuilder, Helen. You have the power to sculpt a land for whomever you wish to enter it. A world of your own that abides entirely by your rules. Eternal youth. Fulfillment. Or eternal trials and suffering—whatever you think will serve best.”

  A thin silence wreathed around them as Helen absorbed this.

  “But . . . that’s . . . just . . . terrible!” she stammered, the air knocked out of her lungs for a moment. “Have you seen my pottery? I can’t ‘sculpt’ a new world—it’ll be a disaster! Can’t you find someone who can at least draw or something?”

  “I’m sorry, Helen, but the Fates do not dole out this particular talent often.” Hades smiled before he grew serious again. “In fact, there have only been two Scions before you who learned how to use the talent well enough to create their own lands, and even then those worlds only lasted a short while.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Morgan and Atlanta. One created Avalon, and the other Atlantis. Both their worlds dissolved into the mists or beneath the waves when their creators were defeated, but Scions remember those lands to this day. Especially Atlantis. They die for it still.”

  “Wait. You’re saying that Atlantis doesn’t exist?”

  “Not anymore. Every Worldbuilder must be able to defend his or her lands against any challenger. Morgan and Atlanta both lost.”

  Helen sat down on the seeping wet of the damp sand, her head in her hands. She’d shouldered a lot of responsibility because she’d had no other choice, but this was beyond her.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t do this. I’ve done a lot, but this is too much.”

  “And what’s that?” Hades asked. “What can’t you do?”

  Helen raised her head and regarded Hades with blank, desperate eyes. “I can’t go back to rest of the Scions and tell them that all this murdering they’ve been doing so they could get to Atlantis has been for nothing!” Her voice took on a hysterical edge. “What was all that crap from the Oracle about there being only one House left, and that ‘One House’ being the key to Atlantis? They’ve been killing each other off for decades now, and you want me to go back to them and tell them it was all a lie, that there is no Atlantis? I can’t do it!”

  “It’s not a lie. Just a misinterpretation of the prophecy,” Hades said calmly. She stared up at him, numb with shock.

  “That’s not good enough,” she replied in a surprisingly level voice. “You need to tell me more.”

  He sat down next to her on the sand, near enough that the shadows parted a bit so she could see the bright green of his eyes and a familiar beauty mark that hung like a dark tear high on the slope of one of his perfect cheekbones.

  “The prophecy has been fulfilled. The Houses are one, Helen.” Hades took her hands between both of his, cradling them in warmth. “You will raise Atlantis, or Avalon, or Helena—whatever you wish to call it—and once your world is made you can decide who may enter, who must stay or go, and how each inhabitant experiences your land. It really is all up to you.”

  “That’s too much for one person,” Helen said, shaking her head like she could keep her responsibility at bay by rejecting it vehemently enough. “It’s too much power.”

  Hades pushed back the cowl covering his head, removed the Helm of Darkness, and banished the shadows that clung to him. Staring back at Helen was a face she knew and loved dearly.

  “There will be many Scions who will agree with that statement. Many beings, both mortal and immortal, will stop at nothing to keep you from claiming your true power.” Hades’ bright green eyes were dimmed by sadness. “If you build a world, many forces will try to rip it down. You and your Scion alliance will have to fight to defend it, and many of you may die, just as the gods want.”

  “So I won’t build a world.”

  Hades took her hand. “The Fates will make sure you have no choice.”

  “No,” Helen said, shaking her head stubbornly. “I refuse to believe three cr
ones run my life. I won’t build a world if the cost is that my friends and family must go to war. If I never build my own world, the gods won’t challenge us, and no one has to fight.”

  “You are brave and compassionate, as a Worldbuilder should be, and I am very proud of you. But a war is coming to your shores, niece,” Hades said sadly. “You, like your namesake before you, must decide how to meet it.”

  SEVEN

  The shrill chirp of a cell phone parted Helen’s reluctant eyelids. It was still dark out, and dawn was a long way off. Underneath her, Orion shook himself awake and reached for his jeans that were draped over Helen’s back like a shawl. His fingers fumbling with cold and sleepiness, he finally managed to dig his cell phone out of his pocket and answer before it stopped ringing.

  “’Lo?” he grumbled, his voice still half asleep. “Hey, bro. Yeah, she’s safe. She’s right here with me.”

  Helen focused her hearing so she could listen in.

  “Oh. Good,” Lucas said over the phone in a leaden tone. “Can you both come back to my house? Cassandra is about to make a prophecy. She’s been asking for you specifically, Orion. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

  Helen’s eyes met Orion’s as they flared in understanding.

  “We’re on our way now. Luke, wait. . . .” Orion said, but it was too late. Lucas had hung up. Orion gave Helen a sheepish look. “Sorry ’bout that.”

  “Why? Maybe it’s better if he thinks we slept together. Maybe he’ll . . .” She trailed off when she saw the doubtful look on Orion’s face.

  “He’s not going to get over you, Helen. Doesn’t matter how many men you spend the night with.”

  Helen nodded, accepting this. Orion looked Helen over and changed the subject.

  “Where’d you get the clothes?” he asked.

  “I sort of called them into existence in the Underworld.”

  “How long were you down there for?” he asked, starting to get concerned. “What happened?”

  Helen debated telling Orion everything that Hades told her. But after the night they’d just had, how was she supposed to tell Orion that his mother had fought in a war that drove her insane because of a misunderstood prophecy about a place that didn’t even frigging exist anymore? She didn’t know if she would ever be able to tell him that. Instead, she just shrugged.

  “Let me guess,” he said, turning away so he could shake the sand out of his jeans. “It’s another long story. You’re going to have to start telling me some of these long stories of yours at some point, you know.”

  “I know,” Helen said as she stood and brushed herself off. “I just need some time to sort through it all first.”

  Helen knew that Orion could see the confusion swirling around inside of her, but he didn’t push her to confide in him. Instead, he dressed and then turned to her with his arms out.

  “Can I get a lift?” he asked with a cheeky smile. Helen wrapped her arms around him and got them airborne, chuckling as she did so. Encouraged by her laughter, Orion kept joking. “Captain? Are there drinks on this flight? I think I have a fake ID here somewhere.”

  “A fake ID? Why would I serve you if you just admitted you were underage?”

  “So there are drinks,” he persisted in a mock-serious tone. “I’m not surprised. Look at all the pockets you conjured up for yourself.” He started frisking Helen, humorously cramming his hands into her cargo pants and digging around in her jacket like the nation’s security depended on it. “Of all the getups in the world you could have imagined for yourself and you pick something I’d go hunting in. Never knew you had an L.L.Bean fetish.”

  “I was cold!” she said, nearly shouting with laughter.

  “Cold, and apparently predisposed to pick flannel over fur.”

  “What can I say? I’m from New England. We like flannel.”

  By this point, they were hovering over the Delos backyard, and Helen had to force herself to stop giggling so she could concentrate on landing. Serious again, she swung her feet under them.

  “Ooo. Rubber boots. Very sexy,” Orion said. Helen lost it again at the last second, and they tumbled to the ground in a goofy heap.

  “Are you okay?” Matt shouted in a worried voice.

  “No, it’s fine. We’re good,” Helen shouted back to Matt, who was standing up behind the door of his new car, the engine and headlights still on, like he had jumped out of the driver’s seat a second ago.

  Helen tried to untangle herself from Orion and look presentable, but he kept grabbing her by the knees and ankles so she couldn’t stand.

  “So that’s what happened to the in-flight drinks,” Orion said musingly as he tipped Helen over for the third time. “The captain drank them all. What a lush you are, Hamilton.”

  Helen tried to plead her innocence, but since she couldn’t catch her breath she never got a coherent sentence out in her own defense.

  “Are you two finished yet?” Matt asked. “What are you, nine?”

  Helen and Orion stopped goofing around and settled down. “Did Ariadne call you?” Helen asked Matt.

  “Hector did,” he replied, helping Helen to her feet.

  “Where’s Claire?” she asked.

  “Locked in her room. Her grandma wouldn’t let her out of the house at this hour,” he replied with a chuckle. “Any idea what Cassandra foresaw?”

  “She asked for Orion. That’s all we know,” Helen said. The three of them made their way to the garage and the side door that led into the kitchen.

  “Huh,” Matt said, looking over at Orion with a creased forehead. “Hector mentioned something about the Tyrant.”

  Helen felt Orion stiffen and glanced over at his chest, trying to read his feelings. He was rolling them over too quickly for Helen to make any sense out of what she saw, but she could tell by the way he pinched his lips together that he was steeling himself for some kind of fight.

  Helen made up her mind right then that if anyone tried to say anything negative about Orion, she would walk out. His whole life he’d been treated like a bad omen, and he’d never done anything to deserve it. The words born to bitterness welled up in Helen’s mind as she recalled some of the criteria for the Tyrant. After what she’d seen in Newfoundland, Helen knew how well that description fit, but it still didn’t make Orion the Tyrant.

  Orion’s only mistake had been being born to the wrong parents with the wrong talent. But apparently, that was enough to make everyone shun him. And over what? Another misleading prophecy, just like the one about Atlantis? There was no way Orion was this Tyrant monster, and Helen intended to say so.

  Before they even got inside, Helen could hear the haunting, multivoiced chorus of the Fates speaking through Cassandra. As she walked through the kitchen door a horrible screaming started. Three voices were tangled together into one, and Matt, Helen, and Orion ran toward the source of it—the library where Castor and Pallas had their joint office. In half a second, all three of them were at the door.

  “Nemesis sends her vessel to blind us! Darkness comes!” wailed the chorus of the Fates, their voices filled with fear. “He must be killed, or everything will be destroyed!”

  Orion, Matt, and Helen burst through the door to find the Delos family assembled and staring up. Cassandra hung in midair, glowing bright purple, green, and blue with the tri-part aura of the Three Fates. She was thrashing and howling with pain as the Fates pushed their way through her and forced her to be their messenger. Cassandra, her face wrinkled with extreme age, raised a clawlike hand and pointed directly at Orion.

  “Kill him!” one of the Fates shrieked through Cassandra’s mouth.

  “He will ruin everything!” another voice said as Cassandra’s face bubbled and rearranged itself into another old woman’s.

  “Why does he still live? He should have been killed as a baby!” said the third Fate peevishly.

  For a moment, Cassandra wrested control of her body away from her tormentors. “No!” she said forcefully. “Go away!”

/>   “You are OURS!” all three of the Fates shrieked. “You will not disobey us!”

  Cassandra started tearing at herself with her nails, leaving long, bloody welts in her skin. Her face was a mask of fear, but her fingers kept digging. The Fates controlled her hands, but the rest of her was aware of the punishment her possessed hands were inflicting on her. Helen took an involuntary step back in revulsion and realized that everyone else in the room had done the same. Except for Orion.

  “Enough!” he commanded, striding forward until he was under Cassandra. “Leave her alone.”

  The Fates screamed, and in a rush of strange wind and a flare of purple, green, and blue, they abandoned Cassandra, leaving her to fall out of the air. Orion caught her before she could hit the ground and cradled her in his arms. She buried her face in his chest and started sobbing.

  “It’s all right now. Shhh,” he said soothingly. He carried her to the couch and sat down, holding her in his lap. He looked around at everyone in the room accusingly. “You all just stand there and let those hags do that to her?” he asked, his eyes zeroing in on Castor.

  “It’s not like that,” Jason said, shaking his head. “We’ve tried everything.”

  “Every time we’ve tried to stop it, they just hurt her more,” Lucas said.

  Orion looked over at Lucas, and his angry gaze softened. He nodded apologetically, accepting that he may have been too quick to judge.

  “So why do they leave when Orion tells them to?” Pallas asked. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at Orion. “Why are the Fates so afraid of you?”

  “Maybe because I’m not afraid of them,” Orion countered defensively.

  Helen tensed herself for a fight and felt Lucas and Hector go on the alert with her—all three of them ready to argue for Orion.

  “The Fates fear Orion because they can’t see through him. Something about their sister, a beautiful woman with a veil over her eyes. She covers their eyes when he approaches,” Cassandra said tiredly, ending the fight before it could begin. She drew a hiccupping breath and sat up in Orion’s arms and looked at him. “You’re like a blank wall to them. Or a dead end.” She wiped her hand across her face. “I don’t know exactly what they think. All I get are glimpses here and there. But I do know that whenever you’re part of the equation, they can’t see the answer.”