Myths of Immortality (The Sphinx Book 3)

by Wagner, Raye

  “This world . . . It doesn’t run the way the mortal realm does. You are not invincible here.” He dropped his head to the edge of the bed. He took a deep breath and then looked up and met her gaze. “I don’t know the limits of your curse.”

  “Could he kill me?”

  Thanatos shook his head. “I don’t know.” He clasped his hands together. “Please don’t wander around unprotected.”

  She nodded. “But I need to find my mother.”

  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  She hated that it felt like she was trying his patience. He’d been so kind, and she hated that she was such an inconvenience. “Would you rather I just go?”

  He opened his eyes and frowned. “That’s not the problem, Hope.” He stood and crossed the room. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  She turned over her relationship with Thanatos as she waited for sleep to claim her. His interest in her was obvious. He wasn’t as forward as Xan in his declaration, but it felt like he was trying to, what was the word her mother used . . . court her? As sleep crept over her, she wondered if the god’s interest was driven from loneliness. Was it her, or would anyone do? Could she be reading him wrong and all he wanted was friendship? Was he driving for something more?

  It didn’t matter. She could only offer him friendship.

  Thanatos hadn’t returned when Hope awoke the next day. She mulled over her options only for a moment before deciding. She wasn’t reliant on him, and as much as she appreciated his concern and all he’d done for her, she wanted to get out of the Underworld. Which meant she needed to get information about her curse.

  As she descended the stairs, Hope passed several more Skia and wondered at the vast number of them. There had to be several dozen here in Thanatos’s home. Like servants or bodyguards. Why would the god of death need so many bodyguards?

  Hope dismissed the thoughts as she raced outside to find Asbolus.

  The dark rock extended as far as she could see. Behind the mansion-like home of Thanatos stood an outbuilding of the same black stone. The structure had bright white Xs over the doors and in panels below the windows, a pattern very reminiscent of a barn.

  “I need you to take me to the Fields; that’s it.” Her last visit flashed through her mind. “And some immortal blades, just in case. Do you have access to blades?”

  Asbolus stood at the front door, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his hooves clicking on the stone as he shifted uneasily. “What you’re proposing is madness.”

  “Me being here is madness, but I’m here nonetheless.” She narrowed her gaze and offered a patronizing smile. “Didn’t Thanatos say you were an auger?”

  He stepped out of the door. “He did.”

  She threw her hands up. “Then you know if anything is going to go wrong.”

  Why couldn’t she catch a break? Why couldn’t one single thing go her way? Was it really too much to ask?

  “Fine.” Asbolus leaned over her. “But you won’t need blades.”

  She stared up past his chiseled torso to his clenched square jaw. She felt a little bad about how hard she was pushing. It was probably rude, but being nice sure wasn’t getting her anything. “Good. Let’s go.”

  As if reading her mind, he stepped back into his home. “I’ll be out shortly.”

  He closed the door in her face. A few minutes later, Asbolus came around from the back of the house carrying a saddle.

  “We’re not taking the cart?”

  He chuckled, a deep throaty sound that was more human than horse. “For just you? No.”

  Was it weird that she was having a bit of a panic attack? “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

  Asbolus stopped walking toward her and raised his brows. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not a horse.” He told her how to fasten the saddle. “Then you just have to hold on.”

  Was he kidding?

  Again, as if he could read her thoughts, he responded, “It’s like embracing someone while riding a motorcycle.”

  “Yeah,” she muttered, “if the guy is naked.”

  His laughter was rich and deep, and his abdominal muscles tightened with the force of it. He finally reined in his mirth and, with a twinkle of mischief and a wink, said, “Go ahead and mount up.”

  Hope’s face flamed with embarrassment, but she said nothing as she pulled herself into the saddle.

  “You are going to have to hold on,” he chided. As if to demonstrate the necessity, Asbolus trotted a few steps and then cantered a few more.

  Hope hung on to the saddle and gritted her teeth. Then, with a lurch, she flung her arms around Asbolus’s waist as he broke into a run. It was almost as good as flying. The air tickled and teased at her hair, pulling the golden strands back away from her face.

  The second Hope and Asbolus were off Thanatos’s grounds, the air became dank and heavy with a biting chill. The wind buffeted them, screaming a song of pain and the anger of betrayal. Despair crept into her heart, and Hope wanted to weep with the futility of her purpose. There was no way she would succeed, and worse than that, she would be a disappointment to everyone who had ever known her. A wave of hot betrayal hit her, and she wanted to lash out. She should make Sarra, Krista, and Obelia pay. In fact, now that she was in the Underworld, she should track down Apollo’s sons and make sure they were receiving ample punishment. Perhaps there was a way for her to seek revenge, even here . . .

  Asbolus lurched, and the bitterness was gone. The dank air, while still heavy, was filled with a sense of acceptance. It was blessedly silent.

  “What was that?” she yelled to him. It couldn’t have been natural.

  “Tartarus,” he hollered back at her. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you.” He slowed to a brisk trot and looked over his shoulder, his gaze appraising her. Whatever he saw must’ve been reassuring, and with a nod he faced forward and resumed his gallop.

  With another lurch, they were inside the realm of the Fields of Asphodel. Hope recognized the smell before she even saw the buildings. But Asbolus didn’t stop. He continued his run through the vast fields, and they lurched into another in-between.

  “Why the space in-between? And why didn’t I see that before?” First the awfulness of Tartarus and now the in-betweens? “Why is it different?”

  “I’m no god. I can’t shelter you from the realities here.”

  “Thanatos changed what I saw?” The sense of betrayal spiked, and this time it was all her own. “How dare he!”

  They lurched again, and the air was sweeter. Asbolus slowed his pace as they came into the beauty of Elysium. The polished stone houses were spaced farther apart, and the yards had various adornments of colored crystal.

  He pointed to a large black tree, the green crystals cut as leaves. Red globes the size of cherries hung from the limbs, and the phosphorus light glinted and fractured off the faux fruit. “It’s very beautiful, is it not?”

  “Yes. Where do they get the crystals?”

  Asbolus chuckled. “Crystals? No. They are gems, mined from here in the Underworld. Or did you forget Hades is the god of the riches of the ground?”

  Hope turned to look back at the cherry tree. “For real?”

  He laughed again and tapped her hands after coming to a stop by a garden of sculptures. “Yes. One of the rewards of Elysium. Now here you go.”

  Trees and bushes of jewels extended as far as she could see. A low wall separated the road from the pathways of the park.

  “Where am I going?”

  “They will meet you in there.”

  Hope slid from the saddle, surprised at how wobbly her legs were. She held on to the horn of the saddle, and the ground seemed to solidify as her legs adjusted to standing. “Who will meet me? My mom? Priska?”

  Asbolus stared across the vast park. He turned, his hooves clopping against the stone. After a deep breath, he met her gaze. “The Fates.”

  He nodded once and left.

  Hope st
ood rooted to the ground. She heard Asbolus’s retreat and had a fleeting thought of running after him. She let out a slow breath and then another. Straightening, she squared her shoulders and went to meet the Fates.

  Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t that Athan considered himself a particularly optimistic guy, but this was different. As they trudged through the barren waste that separated the river Acheron from the Fields of Asphodel, Athan wanted to scream in frustration.

  The last trip in the Underworld had taken less than an hour. How was it even possible that they’d been trudging through the abyss for over forty hours?

  Hours ago, Xan had called a halt to the march, declaring a need for rest. He’d insisted they tie a rope around each of them, connecting them to each other in one straight line. Just in case, he’d said.

  Athan argued it would impede them in a fight, and he expected Dahlia to side with him. But his argument fizzled when the demigod daughter of Eris merely picked up the end of the rope and tied it around her waist.

  “Don’t let go of the bedroll, Dahl.”

  “Do you hear them?” she whispered. “Athan? Can you hear them calling us?”

  He swallowed his denial. The screams from Tartarus broke the silence, and the echoes pulsed through the air. In the distance, a red haze rose into the sky.

  The air ached with a palpable wanting, and the hair on Athan’s arms stood on end. It was as if the atmosphere called to him, whispering at him to give up, that he would never win. Never get Hope. That no matter what, he would never, ever get out of the Underworld alive.

  “No,” he lied. “I don’t hear anything.”

  Dahlia frowned, and her face clouded with confusion.

  “Come on, Dahl. Come lay down.” Xan beckoned her over.

  Athan pulled his sleeping bag out of his pack and sat down. He discarded the torn T-shirt and put on his spare.

  “How much longer do we have in the in-between? How close are we to the fields?”

  Athan shrugged and then remembered Xan wouldn’t be able to see him. “I don’t know. I . . . It’s never taken this long before.”

  Xan didn’t respond, and Athan wondered if Xan was silently cursing him.

  Xan got Dahlia to lay down on his sleeping bag and then came to stand over Athan. “There’s something wrong with her. Something happened in that water, and it’s affecting her.”

  “I know,” Athan admitted. His leg still throbbed with an ache all the way to the bone. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Despair, dark and deep, would pulse through him when the pain was at its worst. “Did she throw up after she got out of the river?”

  Xan shifted, rolling his shoulders back. He grimaced as if the pain his cousin struggled with was gnawing at him, too.

  Athan averted his gaze back to the glowing rock above.

  “No,” Xan whispered as he went back to Dahlia. “No, she didn’t.”

  Dahlia didn’t wake up. She’d thrashed all night, her whimpers and cries keeping Athan from any significant rest, and judging by the dark circles under Xan’s eyes, he hadn’t gotten much sleep either.

  Athan sat on his sleeping bag, alternately eating a protein bar and drinking another pouch of water. When he contemplated opening another bar, he instead grabbed the garbage and shoved it in his pack. He couldn’t put off the inevitable, no matter how much he wanted to. Shouldering his pack, Athan tried to think of a delicate way to broach the subject.

  “She’s not going to make it,” Xan said. He scrubbed at his face and then ran his hand through his hair. “We can move her, but . . .”

  But they wouldn’t be able to maintain their pace, and they didn’t know if she would ever wake up. But then what were their options? They couldn’t leave her. Dahlia lay on the second sleeping bag, Xan sitting on the edge. The second backpack was open, and the remaining supplies were in two separate piles: needs and conveniences.

  Almost as if reading his thoughts, Xan answered the unasked question. “You could go ahead, and I’ll stay with her.”

  Athan considered for only seconds. “No. Even if . . . I’m not sure I could find you again.”

  “I understand that risk. But we can’t all stay here. We’re losing precious time. You need to get Hope.”

  The mist scuttled over Dahlia, and with a scream she sat up. “They’re here,” she rasped, her eyes wide and glassy.

  “Shite.” Xan jumped up and drew his blades.

  The mists around them dissolved, revealing dozens and dozens of Skia.

  Athan’s heart sank. It had taken all three of them to kill the Skia at the hospital, and even then Dahlia had gotten injured. This? There was no chance. He stood slowly as he pulled his silver blades from his boots.

  The harbingers of death advanced.

  Athan backed up and watched in dismay as his sleeping bag disappeared. He stood next to Xan and waited.

  Dahlia started crying, racking sobs of despair. “No. No, no, no,” she choked out.

  Athan glanced down and saw the beautiful girl, head in her hands, weeping. He looked back up, and the Skia were upon them. He blocked and stabbed. Darting in and jumping out, a desperate dance.

  These Skia, like the ones in the hospital, were not well trained. Their movements were poorly timed, their swings projected by their body easily anticipated and just as easily blocked. One by one they fell. Even if the strike were not a deathblow, the shadow-demons withdrew after any contact from Athan’s or Xan’s blades.

  But even so, there were so many.

  Xan grunted as he fought alongside Athan. He pulled his blade out of one body, only to plunge it in to another. His arms were tiring, the adrenaline running its course; he would not be able to keep up the pace.

  And still they came.

  “Halt!” a woman called.

  If he remembered anything from training with Xan, it was you never stopped before the threat was exterminated. Athan stabbed another monster in the chest, and the creature dissipated within a burst of light.

  A blast of power blew over him, hitting him in the stomach as strong as any physical blow. The skin on his stomach singed, and he stumbled back and landed on his butt. He shifted then stood, half-crouched from the pain. Still, he held his blades out in front of him, waiting for the next attack.

  The Skia were gone.

  “They are not your enemies.” The goddess stood tall, dressed in a black flowing chiton, a gold clasp at her shoulder. Her wavy hair, a maroon-red that reminded him of blood, was pulled away from her face in a low ponytail, accenting fair skin dusted with pale golden freckles the same color as her clasp. Her blue eyes blazed.

  Her extended hand opened as if to blast him again, but instead a warmth spread from his chest to his toes, and his eyelids drooped with fatigue. He fought to keep his eyes open and watched as Xan was hit by a blast of magic the color of honey.

  Xan swung his blades in low arcs and then paused. His eyes closed, but Xan’s muscles remained taught. A whisper of movement from the goddess, and Xan struck out again. Closer this time. Another pause. Xan looked like he’d been hit with the slow-motion fatigue Athan felt. As if he was moving through honey.

  Athan struggled to stay awake. It was becoming more difficult to even keep his eyes open, let alone stay alert. When he blinked, Xan was falling, his body collapsing in a heap on the dark-gray stone ground. Two women dressed in black, like the goddess, were there with a litter as if waiting for the inevitable.

  Another pair of women loaded Dahlia onto a litter of dark fabric between two poles of gold.

  Athan turned, and the goddess with hair the color of blood stood in front of him.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  Her name had eluded him until now. “Hecate.” Goddess of magic, witchcraft, crossroads, and chaos.

  Her eyes narrowed, and he wondered if he’d said it all out loud.

  “You will come with me.” It was not a request. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like there was an option of refusal. And she had saved their lives.


  Athan shuffled forward a step, and then the sensation of falling overtook him. It was going to hurt when he hit the ground, and he mentally braced for it. But the pain never came.

  The park was stunning. There was no other word to describe it. Gems of all shapes and sizes were on full display in the light. Bright cardinals and vivid jays were spotted amongst the jeweled fruit and flowers. Hope stopped to admire a cluster of Gerbera daisies cut from a startling orange-colored gem.

  “Do you like them?” The lilt of the voice announced the divinity of the feminine speaker.

  Hope turned, expecting to find three women, but instead stood face-to-face with Artemis.

  The goddess had her silver hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Her dark, fitted clothes were rumpled and stained. But what made Hope’s heart stop were the red-rimmed eyes of a woman who had spent a significant amount of time crying.

  Hope swallowed. “They remind me of her.”

  Artemis nodded. “Gerberas were her favorite.”

  The goddess’s hand rested on the hilt of a silver blade. “Did you know when a demigod dies, their immortal blades are returned to their parent?”

  The lump in Hope’s throat thickened, and her eyes welled with tears. She shook her head.

  “Did you know it was I that charged her to take care of the cursed Sphinx? I thought it a kindness to the monster that my brother had created, but it also gave her purpose. She looked at Phoibe as if she were her own child.”

  Artemis pointed to a bench, and Hope followed. They sat on the dark stone, and Hope was struck that it seemed to radiate heat from within. She wanted to curl into that warmth as she distanced herself from the bitter look of the goddess next to her.

  “I’m sorry,” Hope whispered.

  Artemis nodded. “You’re sorry. As if that will make any difference.” She looked up at the sky. “Did you know Priska lost her husband and daughter long before your great-grandmother was born? She mourned them unlike anything I’d ever seen. She tried to take her own life. Again and again and again. At one point I questioned the wisdom in stopping her, but every single time I couldn’t let her go. And then Phoibe seemed the perfect answer. An unwanted daughter of the gods. She would live forever. Hera was too stupid, or too blinded, to want to keep her only demigod daughter, and she gladly relinquished her rights to me. And then my brother . . . Of course I had to step in. But now? This is how you repaid me for my infinite kindness?”