Legacy of the Lost

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  There was something familiar about him, besides his general elvish-ness. I figured I must have seen him in one of Persephone’s memories, but I couldn’t quite place him.

  He wasn’t just a still image projected in 3D. He blinked. He breathed. He stared off into the distance, hands clasped behind his back, like he was waiting for something. Or someone.

  I took a single step closer, and that strange sense of familiarity multiplied. I could have sworn that I knew this man. And not just from the scattering of Persephone’s memories I had seen while dreaming. I felt like I knew him. Like I, Cora Blackthorn, had a connection with him.

  I felt unexpected emotions when I looked at him—sadness and longing. A hint of bitterness and betrayal, but also respect. So much respect. And so much desire.

  I swallowed roughly. It had to be coming from Persephone. She had to know him. And based on the things I was feeling, she knew him well.

  I took another step toward the hologram of the man, not sure I had intended to move at all. It was like the emotional gravity between us was drawing me to him against my will.

  The man’s stare shifted, his striking aqua eyes locking on me.

  I froze.

  “Congratulations,” he said, bowing his head slightly. He spoke Latin, and it took my mind a moment to switch over into translation mode. “You have proven your worth by successfully passing all of my challenges and reaching the end of the labyrinth.”

  I blinked, and suddenly I was somewhere else. Someone else. I was Persephone.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, voice breaking. A tear sneaks free from between my lashes and slides down my cheek. “I wish . . .” Hades’ knuckles brush over my cheekbone, stealing another stray tear, and my voice fades away, the words losing their meaning.

  “I know,” he says softly. “Me too.”

  I clear my throat and open my eyes, my gaze locking with his. My heart pounds against my sternum. “What are we going to do?”

  With the pad of his thumb, Hades traces the line of my jaw from earlobe to chin before lowering his hand. “The only thing we can do,” he says.

  I blinked again, and I was back in the labyrinth with the hologram of the same man—Hades—utterly disoriented. Persephone’s flashback of Hades had felt absolutely real to me, as if I had really been there. Really lived her life. Really loved this man.

  “Your reward awaits you,” Hades said, “but first you must choose.”

  He turned his head to the left, and another archway illuminated in the wall. “Eternal life,” he said, then looked to the right and said, “priceless treasure,” as another archway lit up in the opposite wall. He stepped to the side, turning to look over his shoulder as a third archway glowed in the wall behind him. “Or the knowledge of the ages.”

  Hades returned his attention to me. “The choice is yours.”

  I blinked, and once again, I was transported into one of Persephone’s memories.

  “Was it all a trick?” I stop within arm’s reach of Hades, fully connected to his mind. “Was I just a tool you needed to fix our broken society?”

  I’m both looking at Hades and looking into him. I can see his face, the tension hardening his handsome features, but I can also see flashes of his past playing out right before my eyes. He can feel it, all of the information I’m pulling from him. He knows what I’m learning, and he can react to it, but he can’t do a damn thing to stop it from happening.

  “Yes, Peri,” Hades says, well before I’ve reached the parts of his mind I’m seeking. “I was using you.”

  I take a step back, jolted out of his mind by the unexpected confession. I feel like he just punched me in the gut, and I stare into his eyes, sensing the truth in his words.

  The scene shifts abruptly.

  Now, I’m on my knees on rough ground, Hades kneeling in front of me. I hurt. Everywhere. And I’m not mad at him anymore. All I want is for him to hold me in his arms and tell me everything is going to be all right. I’m desperate for him to lie to me.

  “Peri,” Hades says, placing his hand on the side of my head and tilting my face up toward his. “Are you all right?”

  My chin trembles, but I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. To tell him I’m dying. “Yeah,” I say faintly, feeling short of breath and knowing it will only get worse. “I’m fine.”

  “Pathetic,” Demeter shouts, marching toward us.

  The Amazons who are still able to stand after the battle form a wall blocking her path.

  “Let her through,” I say. She can’t hurt me now, not when I’m already half-dead.

  The line of Amazons splits apart, and Demeter slides through, a sneer on her face.

  “All of this trouble, and for what?” Demeter says, stopping a few paces behind Hades.

  He turns on his knees partway, but he doesn’t move out from between us. It takes me a few irregular heartbeats to realize that he’s protecting me from her. A useless gesture, but sweet, all the same.

  “You failed,” Demeter says, her tone full of condescension, “and now we’ll all die at the hands of the Tsakali.” She sniffs. “Well, except for you. You’ll die here, and soon, from the looks of it.”

  Within me, the laugh starts small and choking. It travels up from my chest, making its way up my throat until it bursts out of my mouth, dry and thready.

  “What?” Demeter says, narrowing her eyes.

  “The chaos fragments,” I say, coughing.

  Hades grips my elbow, helping me stay more or less upright.

  “They weren’t . . . on the ship,” I tell Demeter, then take a shuddering breath.

  My heartbeat isn’t just irregular now, it’s weakening, too. The dark spots dancing around my vision close in, until Demeter and Hades are all I can see. A tear breaks free, streaking down my cheek.

  Hades’ grip on my elbow tightens.

  “What are you talking about?” Demeter snaps. “I saw Hades take them onto the ship . . .”

  “Escape pod,” I say, voice breathy. The ship may never have left this planet’s atmosphere, but the chaos fragments had. “Long . . . gone . . . now . . .”

  Demeter’s stunned expression is the last thing I see before my vision goes black. My heart seizes, and I collapse forward.

  Hades catches me, pulling me onto his lap. He brushes the hair out of my face, his touch gentle, and strokes my cheek. The sensation remains long after my awareness of who he is or why he’s touching me has faded away.

  Until even that, too, is gone.

  Until there’s nothing.

  Gasping, I sucked in a shuddering breath. I was trembling from head to toe. The montage of memories ended almost as soon as it started, lasting no longer than a heartbeat but leaving behind a lifetime’s worth of emotions. I had felt Persephone’s love for Hades. And I had felt her death. I had died with her.

  I took a step forward, only it wasn’t me moving my legs. “Hades!” I said, no more control over my lips and tongue and voice than I had over my feet. “Where are you projecting from?” I spoke in a language I’d only ever heard in Persephone’s memories.

  Unable to stop my legs, I took four more steps toward Hades, until I was standing within arm’s reach.

  He stared at me—at us—but didn’t say anything more.

  I could feel Persephone’s frustration. My hands balled into fists, and my trembling intensified to full-fledged shaking, though I wasn’t sure if that last was because I was trying to take back control.

  “Hades, it’s me—it’s Peri.” My—our—eyes scoured his face, searching for some hint that he could hear me. “It worked. Whatever you did—it worked. I’m back. I’m alive.”

  Without warning, Hades vanished.

  I felt it the moment Persephone realized what had seemed obvious to me—the hologram of Hades wasn’t a live projection, but a recording. Hades hadn’t responded to her, because he hadn’t been able to hear her. As impossible as it seemed, the hologram of him must have been recorded hundreds, maybe thousands of year
s ago.

  Persephone’s excitement turned to sorrow, and my heart drooped under the weight of her despair. I—she—hung my head. “You brought me back,” I said—she said—softer this time.

  Most of Persephone’s emotions felt foreign to me. I felt them like they were my own, but I didn’t have the background or experiences to root them, leaving them baseless and somehow hollow. But the sense of extreme loneliness that washed over me as she spoke those final words was all too familiar.

  I felt it the moment Persephone relinquished control. She let go, then pulled away, withdrawing to some dark, shadowy place within my mind.

  “You’re not alone,” I whispered, a tear streaking down my cheek.

  But she was already gone, hidden away, only the barest hint of her despair spilling over into me.

  I took a step back, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply to clear the last vestiges of her emotions from my heart. I exhaled, then opened my eyes, focusing on the place where the hologram of Hades had been. A moment later, I switched my attention to the three glowing archways.

  It was a test. Whatever Hades had claimed in his little speech, I felt certain that the gauntlet wasn’t over; this choice was the final test. Eternal life, priceless treasure, or the knowledge of the ages—the correct choice seemed obvious to me.

  I looked at the archway on the left. Eternal life would be great, at first. But what about in a thousand years? In a million? A billion? I would be all alone—more so than I had ever been in my life, and there would be no end to the loneliness in sight. Eternal life would become eternal damnation.

  I shifted my attention to the archway on the right. Priceless treasure just seemed like such a heavy-handed option. The prospect of having everything you ever wanted—who would ever turn that down? Which, I figured, was the point. It was a tempting misdirection playing off one of the most basic and prevalent human characteristics: greed. But treasure wouldn’t help me now. It wouldn’t help my mom or Raiden.

  I looked straight ahead, focusing on the middle archway. I narrowed my eyes. Knowledge of the ages—it was the least glamorous option, but easily the most valuable. It had to be the right choice.

  I started toward the center archway, but paused when I was two steps away. The glow filling the archway was bright and uniform, blocking my view of whatever lay beyond. I took it to be another hologram, and I wondered if, like the hologram at the entrance to the labyrinth, this one would only allow a one-way trip.

  I would be able to pass through, but I wouldn’t be able to return. If I chose wrong, this would be it. Game over. No respawns. No second chances. I would either be right, or I would be dead.

  I took a step toward the archway. My boots felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, and I wasn’t sure I could take that final step.

  I gritted my teeth. I was dead if I chose wrong. But I was also dead if I did nothing.

  “Grow a pair,” I murmured. And took the final step.

  38

  My skin tingled as I passed through the glowing hologram filling the archway, just as had happened when I first entered the labyrinth. Only this time, brilliant, golden light drowned out the world, fading along with the tingle as I took another step and cleared the archway.

  I blinked, processing what I was seeing. I looked back at the archway I’d passed through, then peered around the new space. I was instantly struck by a sense of déjà vu.

  The chamber was round and about the same size as the vault, and that same pattern of three concentric circles was inlaid into the floor, darker stone breaking up the light. And, like the vault, this chamber had two doorways—the one I had passed through to enter, and another, seemingly blocked by a solid slab of stone.

  But unlike the vault, there was just one pedestal, standing alone at the center of the room. No writing had been carved into the sides of the pedestal, leaving the jet-black stone polished and smooth. A stone cube was on display atop the pedestal, looking to my eyes like an exact replica of the one in the vault.

  I approached the pedestal. I assumed the cube wasn’t simply a chunk of stone, but another box. Was this where Hades had stored the “knowledge of the ages?” Or did it contain some ancient, advanced weapon that would incinerate me the moment I touched it?

  Only one way to find out.

  I took one last step and stopped, resting the doru against the side of the pedestal. Taking a deep breath, I reached out my uninjured hand and touched my fingertips to the top of the cube.

  Almost instantly, a glowing line encircled the box. A second later, there was a click, and the glowing line became a crack.

  I straightened, not moving. Barely breathing.

  Ever so carefully, I lifted the top half of the cube. It raised about an inch, but wouldn’t budge any further.

  I bent down to look inside.

  Two crystalline disks about the size of silver dollars were secured vertically by shallow grooves within the inside of the box. There were more grooves, like the box had been made to hold more of the disks, maybe a dozen. I had no idea what the disks were—some sort of advanced data storage, I hoped. I needed something of value to offer Henry when I returned.

  I reached into the box with thumb and middle finger and pinched one of the disks. Pulling gently, I slid it out of the box and set it on my open palm.

  Without warning, a glowing ball of light sprang out from the surface of the disk, hovering over my hand.

  I froze.

  After the initial burst, the light faded to a softly glowing, opaque image. It was another hologram, this one a perfect sphere about eight inches in diameter. It was mostly blue and brownish-green, with patches of white at the top and bottom. And there was no mistaking the familiar shapes breaking up the brilliant blue—continents. I was looking at Africa and Europe dead-on.

  I raised my other hand to run my fingertips along the surface of the holographic globe. The moment I touched the hologram, there was a flash of light, and a faint tingle traveled up the length of my finger, like the shock from the buildup of too much static electricity.

  I moved my finger to the side, and the surface of the hologram moved with it.

  “Huh,” I said, moving my finger again. And again, the hologram shifted. Now I was looking at the Middle East.

  Frowning, I flicked my finger to the left.

  The holographic globe spun, the motion blurring the image, until it slowed and eventually stopped, settling with South America facing me.

  I narrowed my eyes and leaned in a little.

  A small, white light blinked in the dark green patch that had to represent the Amazon rainforest. Without delineated borders, I couldn’t be certain, but I thought it was marking a place in Brazil.

  It wasn’t lost on me that my mom’s original expedition had been to Brazil. Was it just a coincidence? Or was it more than that?

  Frowning, I touched the blinking beacon.

  A series of symbols popped up, like they were being projected from the beacon. It only took my mind a second to translate them. They were numbers. A very specific series of numbers, written in a very specific way—geographic coordinates.

  I repeated the series of numbers over and over, out loud and in my head, memorizing them. Once I was sure I wouldn’t forget them, I returned the first disk to the box and fished out the second. The holograph of earth vanished the moment the edge of the disk entered the opening of the box, almost like the box itself was the off switch.

  I pulled the second disk out of the box, fully expecting another holographic globe to pop up over my hand. I was surprised when, instead, I was faced with a waterfall of shimmering, golden symbols hovering above my open hand. The writing streamed into and out of focus too quickly for me to read any of it.

  Brow furrowed, I shook my head. I wanted to know what marvels the disk contained, but I didn’t have time to read any of it right now. I slid the disk back into the box and pushed down on the top, until the box appeared, once more, to be a simple stone cube. I would have to make a deal w
ith Henry—offer to translate the writing for him in exchange for something. I couldn’t think of what, at the moment.

  It was time to get out of here. Past time.

  I stowed the cube in my backpack and resettled the bag on my shoulders, picked up the doru, and rounded the pedestal. And froze.

  I had been wrong. The sides of the pedestal weren’t bare. At least, not all of them. A thick column of writing had been carved into the backside.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket, intending to photograph the writing, but remembered it was dead before I even flipped it open. With a sigh, I tucked it back into my pocket and removed my backpack, setting it on the floor once more. I retrieved my mom’s journal and tore a few blank pages out from the back of the book, then pulled a pencil from the front pouch. Holding a sheet of paper up against the writing carved into the stone, I lightly shaded over it like I was doing a grave rubbing.

  The symbols quickly took shape on the paper. I swapped out the first sheet for the second, then the second for the third. I was working on the fourth sheet, recording the lowest portion of the column of writing, when the string of symbols taking shape on the paper caught my attention.

  PERSEPHONE

  I froze, then started shading even faster. Key phrases stood out, and the gears in my mind slowly rotated, one by one clicking into place.

  . . . cloned embryo . . .

  . . . stasis egg . . .

  . . . surrogate mother . . .

  . . . resurrection . . .

  “Oh my God,” I breathed, the sheet of paper shaking as I pulled away from the pedestal.

  “The sphere of consciousness was supposed to be introduced to the child upon birth,” Persephone said.

  From directly behind me.

  I spun around, sheet of paper slipping from my limp grasp and eyes opened as wide as they would go. “What—how—” I stumbled over my words, head slowly shaking back and forth.