Lore

by Alexandra Bracken

  And then Lore had done exactly what Athena accused her of. She had suppressed it, making it smaller, making it feel irrelevant and undeserved. And then Hermes had found her, when she was almost empty.

  “That’s . . .” Lore began. “That’s what’s so— It kills me to know that I was wrong about Gil. I knew better. I did. I let my guard down, even after what happened with the archon, because I thought I was the one making choices. That he wouldn’t be able to hurt me or control me like the men in the Agon had tried to do.”

  “But you do not regret your actions against the archon that night?” Athena asked.

  Lore shook her head. She had never, beyond knowing she had left Iro behind.

  “That is because they were justified. You did what was necessary,” Athena said. “Just as we act out of necessity now. You fear the judgment of others in our pursuit of the imposter Ares, but you will not regret your choices once he is dead—only the opportunities you will lose if you allow others’ fears to keep you prisoner to your doubt.”

  “It’s . . .” Lore closed her eyes. “It’s not that simple. I don’t—”

  I don’t want to remember how good it felt to have a purpose, she finished silently. I don’t want to forget why I had to leave the Agon when it feels so right to me.

  Children shouted to one another as they sped down the street on their bicycles. Their light laughter seemed to sparkle in the silence. Lore wondered if she had ever been that carefree.

  “I gave her fury power,” Athena said quietly.

  Lore turned to her, confused.

  “I transformed Medusa,” Athena continued, “so that she would have protection against all those who would try to harm her.”

  “That’s bullshit. You didn’t give her a choice, did you?” Lore bit back. “And now history remembers her as a villain who deserved to die.”

  “No. That is what men have portrayed her as, through art, through tales,” Athena said. “They imagined her hideous because they feared to meet the true gaze of a woman, to witness the powerful storm that lives inside, waiting. She was not defeated by my uncle’s assault. She was merely reborn as a being who could gaze back at the world, unafraid. Is that not what your own line did for centuries, staring out from behind her mask?”

  Lore almost recoiled as her words sank in.

  The Perseides had worn the gorgon mask—the mask of Medusa, her ringlets of snakes, her mouth set in a line of grim determination—for centuries. Both of her parents’ masks had been taken when their apartment was cleaned and their bodies buried.

  Lore hadn’t been old enough to have her own made, though one of her clearest memories was of taking her mother’s out of its silk wrappings and bringing it close to her face. In the end, the feel of the bronze snakes against her small fingers, and what she saw reflected in the mirror, had made her feel powerful.

  Now she only felt her stomach clench. How many men, her own beloved father included, had worn that mask and the anger of Medusa’s gaze, twisting it into something that served them? The bloodlines wore masks of their ancestors’ greatest accomplishments and kills, not to honor them, those terrible monsters of their age, but as trophies.

  “Your ancestors carried the shield that bore her head,” Athena said. “They wielded her power until they lost her. If the shield should be carried by anyone, it should be you—you, the one who knows the darkness of men yet refuses to be afraid.”

  Lore could picture herself with the shield so clearly, the way her face would mirror Medusa’s grim expression cast in silver. There was no fear or shame in the thought, and none of the agonizing regret that had kept her from so much as speaking its name for years.

  The aegis should be carried by her. It was her birthright, yes, but it was more than that—it represented everything that she stood to gain, and everything she had ever truly wanted to be. Not the lie that Hermes had convinced her she needed, but the powerful hunger that lived in her still.

  If she could use it against Wrath, if Medusa’s face and her own were the last the new god saw as his life bled from him, it would mean it was all worth it.

  It would mean her family hadn’t died for nothing.

  Go get it, her mind whispered.

  “But . . . you gave Perseus the shield,” Lore said. “The one he used to kill her. You guided him, and were a friend to him.”

  Athena rolled the dory across her lap. “I have played my part in wicked games, and lived at the mercy of more powerful gods. I have been quick to temper and relished striking at those who wounded my pride or dishonored me.”

  The first droplets of rain began to fall, pattering softly against the roof.

  “You could have stopped it,” Lore whispered. “You could have stopped Poseidon.”

  Athena’s face became hideous with cold anger. “Know this, Melora: Even the gods are bound by fate. Even the gods serve a master. I have done many things, among them lashing out at a weaker being when I did not have the strength to punish one more powerful than even myself.”

  Athena paused, smoothing her fingers along the staff of her dory.

  “There is a story greater than all of us, a fabric that spreads far and wide, guided by hands more powerful than my own,” Athena said. “You may call that complicity, and perhaps it is. But I deemed it survival.”

  “How could you be sure that your path was written for you?” Lore asked. “What if you always had the chance to live on your own terms, and you didn’t see it?”

  Athena made a sound of derision. “All I have ever desired is to do that which I was born to do.”

  “Which is?” Lore prompted.

  “To guide the hearts of warriors, the minds of philosophers, and the hands of artisans,” Athena said. “And to never again fail to defend a city under my protection.”

  The goddess rose to her feet, taking in the sight of distant buildings.

  “On one last matter you are wrong,” Athena said as she turned to go back inside. “I did not choose to mentor a woman through great adventure, but I gave them counsel. It was not done out of malice, or the belief that they were inferior creatures. Rather, I felt that elevating one in such a way would dishonor my true friend, who had no earthly equal in life, or in death.”

  Pallas. She was speaking of the companion she’d been raised alongside, the one she had accidentally killed while sparring.

  Athena returned to the fire escape at the back of the town house, climbing down to the window below.

  “The only thing I’ve ever been afraid of is being powerless. Of not being able to protect the people I love. But I don’t know what will happen to me if I give in to it,” Lore said. “Everything I feel. Everything I want to do.”

  The goddess did not turn around. “You will be transformed.”

  The rain picked up, drumming harder against her skin, but Lore couldn’t bring herself to move. She felt drained, but not in a way that left her feeling weak. For the first time in days, maybe even years, her mind was clear. Lore held on to the sharp hurt inside her and didn’t pull away. She held firm, waiting for her claws to come back to her.

  Thunder pealed over her like a shield striking a shield. Hours had passed since she’d first climbed the fire escape, and Miles would be home soon, but she still couldn’t move. She couldn’t do anything but let the rain wash down over her.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her from her reverie. Lore stood, pulling the phone out. The message was from Miles; she released a small sigh of relief and began to log in to reply to it, only for her phone to buzz again and again, the same message repeating.

  help

  help

  help

  “WHY ISN’T IT WORKING?”

  Lore’s hand shook as she held out her phone to Van. He took it from her, struggling to master his anger.

  “He made us share locations,” she continued. “That was our deal—”

  “You’re sharing locations with him,” Van said sharply. “He probably forgot to share his in retur
n, or someone disabled it. In either case, we need to leave. If they can track your location, this house is now compromised.”

  Castor stood behind her, his back pressed up against the stairs. He said nothing, which said everything. Neither he nor Van would meet her gaze.

  “We’re not leaving,” Lore said. “He might not have been taken. Maybe he’s just hurt, or in hiding or . . .”

  “Or dead,” Van finished coldly. “Which is exactly what I told you would happen if you didn’t convince him to leave.”

  “Do not cast her as the enemy for believing in his abilities,” Athena cut in. “You have maligned him repeatedly and tried to force him from a choice he made voluntarily. Melora is not responsible for whatever has happened to him.”

  Lore wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe her more than anything. “I thought you were supposed to be watching him.”

  “I was, but I needed to take a call,” Van said. “Don’t you dare turn this back on me. If you think that I don’t feel—”

  He cut himself off.

  “Run another search for Miles in Argos,” Castor said quietly, already turning to go. “I’ll keep watch from the roof. I should be able to see anyone coming and buy us some time to escape if Wrath and the hunters try to attack.”

  Athena moved to stand beside the bay window, cracking the roman shades open to peer out into the street.

  Van went to the kitchen to retrieve his second laptop. While one ran Argos, actively searching for Miles, he used the other to bring up saved videos.

  “This is archived footage from a street camera a few hours ago,” Van told her. He played it through and, together, they watched as Miles disappeared around a corner.

  “There’s no camera at the meet spot,” Van said, frustrated. “It was offline.”

  Lore leaned closer to the screen. “There’s no way to know if he actually met the source?”

  Van shook his head. “I have to imagine he would have texted or called right away if there was a problem.”

  Miles appeared in the same feed a few minutes later. There was none of the triumph he’d had after his first successful meet—now he only looked afraid. The program jumped to the next camera, picking up his trail as he turned onto Lexington. Another captured him crossing the street against traffic, still looking around.

  Then the video cut off.

  “That’s it?” Lore choked out.

  Van’s face was as grim as she’d ever seen it. “That’s where Argos lost sight of him. Either he’s hiding himself well, or he was taken.”

  “Shit,” Lore breathed. Her pulse was hammering, her breathing growing shallow. The darkness edged into her vision as her thoughts began to spiral toward the worst possible outcomes.

  The other computer beeped. Van grabbed it, straightening as his fingers flew over the keyboard. Not Miles, she begged silently. Please, not him, too . . .

  New security camera footage loaded. In it, a small figure knelt in some kind of lake. His hands were tied behind his back and only his profile was visible, but Lore recognized Miles’s clothes.

  “When was this?” she asked.

  “It’s right now,” Van said, glancing at the time. 6:21 p.m.

  “Can you zoom in at all?” Lore pleaded.

  “I can’t,” Van said. “Do you recognize where that is?”

  She leaned closer, scanning the live feed. Terror made it hard to focus on any one detail. “It looks like . . . the lake and the waterfall behind him—I think that’s Morningside Park? It’s not far from here.”

  “He has been left there as bait,” Athena warned. “The imposter Ares must have discovered what he means to you. We will need reinforcements if we are to help him.”

  Lore’s mind raced. “How fast can the Achillides get here?”

  “They’re back in Brooklyn,” Van said. “Even by car it’s at least a half hour. Is it possible the Odysseides never left Manhattan?”

  She pulled out her phone. “We’re about to find out. Go get Cas.”

  As Athena watched, Lore typed a message to Iro.

  I need your help. Come to pond in Morningside Park ASAP.

  But there was no reply.

  Morningside Park served as the narrow boundary between Morningside Heights, poised high on its hundred-foot cliffs, and Harlem below. Lore and Miles had walked the length of it from 123rd to 110th Street any number of times; she sometimes met him there after he finished classes, or for the promise of lunch on his dime.

  It had always unsettled her to see this piece of Manhattan’s original landscape standing defiant in the face of the modern buildings around it. Its rough terrain had refused to be tamed by developers. Dark cliffs interrupted several streets, and the only way to directly continue from one part of a road to another was to pass through the park on foot and use its many staircases to ascend or descend the sheer drop.

  As they walked to one of the park’s entrances, Lore spotted a security camera nearby and pointed it out to the others.

  “I looped the feeds in all of the park’s cameras,” Van told her. “We’re covered. For now.”

  High in the distance, the pale cathedral of St. John the Divine was just visible through the gloom. Lore thought it was as scenic a place as any for a deadly confrontation.

  Even considering the impending storm, the park was eerily quiet. She finally understood why when they came across the first body just inside the gate. A woman, with an arrow in her back.

  “What news from the Odysseides?” Athena asked.

  “Nothing,” Lore said. “But I don’t want to wait any longer. If they come, they come.”

  Castor nodded, steeling himself as he rose from his crouch. “Let’s go.”

  Then dogs began to howl.

  Lore slowed as the realization set in.

  “Oh no,” she said softly.

  “What?” Van asked. “What’s happening?”

  “Wrath isn’t the one who set the trap,” Lore choked out.

  “It is my sister,” Athena said, holding her dory firm. “Artemis.”

  “INCOMING,” VAN WARNED.

  Dozens of dogs, their fur matted and mud-splattered, bounded down the path, barking and yelping. Some were strays, others had seemingly escaped their owners and still had leashes attached to their collars. Saliva foamed at their mouths.

  “Bay hounds,” Athena said in disgust. They had armed themselves with the superior Kadmides weapons, and while Lore had chosen a dagger, the goddess had taken a small knife and dory, the latter of which she now used to keep the dogs back.

  Bay hounds were used by hunters to chase, then circle up, their prey. They’d bark and howl to keep them cornered until the catch dogs, or the hunter, arrived.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lore caught a certain darkness gathering in the trees just behind Athena’s head. Birds and squirrels packed the branches, perched side by side in unnatural stillness, their eyes glowing gold with Artemis’s power.

  They couldn’t even run. The chase would get the hounds’ blood up, and they would tear them apart.

  “Ideas?” Castor asked the group. “Anyone?”

  All at once, the dogs fell silent. Lore’s scalp prickled and tightened at the feeling of the unseen gazes around her.

  Cats began to gather on the grass, the fur on their backs sticking up like knives.

  Lore should have known Artemis’s instinct would be to hide amongst the wild things, even within the boundaries of a concrete-and-steel city. They’d be lucky if they even heard the whisper of the arrow before it pierced their hearts.

  The dogs circled them. The ones at the back edged forward, closer, while those in front of them turned and started down the trail. Not to guide them, she realized, but to keep them from escaping.

  “Are we just standing here like assholes and waiting for her to come kill us?” Lore said, removing the knife from the sheath strapped to her leg. “Come on.”

  Her breath was loud in her ears as they followed the trail south. They were
surrounded by full-bodied trees and a thick border of shrubs. As the path narrowed, it became claustrophobic. There were more bodies—men and women who had gone out for runs, others clearly coming and going from work or school. Lore’s whole being twisted at the sight of them, feeding her anger.

  Artemis would answer for their deaths. Athena had been right all along. Her sister was beyond reason. Castor could try, he could hope, but Artemis would never ally with them, and now Lore would never accept the goddess’s help even if it was offered.

  “This is your last chance to turn back, imposter,” Athena warned. “I will waste no breath protecting you from her.”

  Lore looked to Castor. “Maybe you should . . .”

  He wouldn’t hear it. “I’m here for Miles, and I won’t leave without him.”

  “How did she even know he was involved in this?” Lore whispered.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Athena asked. “She has been watching and tracking our movements. She needed a way to draw us out.”

  “Is there really no way to get through to her?” Van whispered. “She’s your sister.”

  Looking at Athena now, though, Lore wondered if she had made a mistake in bringing her here. Athena wouldn’t do anything to endanger Lore’s life, as it would mean endangering her own, but . . . she hadn’t bound her fate to Castor’s. What was to stop Athena from serving Castor up on a platter to her sister to reignite their partnership?

  Me, Lore thought, watching the powerful muscles of Castor’s back work with each step he took.

  “She is not a beast to be soothed,” Athena warned. “When Apollo fell, her mind frayed and she became half a soul.”

  Castor said nothing as he gazed into the dimly lit park.

  By the time they reached the pond and its waterfall, the faint drizzle had picked up into a punishing rain. It slashed down onto the spread of green-tinged water, sending the surface into a frenzied dance. At the very center of it, positioned on his knees and slumped forward until his face was nearly in the rising water, was Miles.

  Lore darted forward, but Castor held her back, forcing her to take cover with the others behind a nearby park bench.