by Cassie Day
Slowly, I nod and touch the metal. My fingertips tingle with an unexpected cold. A shiver ripples across my skin like the necklace holds a winter breeze.
Nyx pops the clasp open, motioning for me to turn around. When I do, she sweeps the hair off my neck and settles the necklace. It rests across the top ridge of my collarbones. The clasp clicks into place.
I suppress another shiver.
“If you require assistance, you need only say my name into this necklace.” She circles to stand at my front, then taps the jewel with a pointed nail. “I’ll always hear.”
I bow my head. “Thank you.”
Her hand settles warm against the crown of my head. “Of course, dearest. You’ve become a friend to me. Perhaps even another child.”
I blink away the swell of gratitude and a rush of hot tears. She isn’t like the other gods.
By the time I lift my head, she’s gone.
I sleep in fits and starts this night though I can’t name why. When another empty dream startles me awake, I grasp tight to the necklace, letting cool metal soothe me back to sleep.
Another morning. Another night.
The next morning, I wake with a grin to a knock at the door. The servant man from before leads me through the realm, grumbling to himself the entire trip, then steers Charon’s empty boat with a scowl.
We stop in bright sunlight beyond the entrance I used days ago. My eyes adjust within moments. Charon, Persephone, and Hermes gather around a chariot of solid gold. Hermes waves me closer.
The creature attached to the chariot is graceful and tall but most importantly, it speaks.
“My dear sister, how lovely it would be to have you in my chariot again,” it says, mouth curling into an odd parody of a smile.
I stare in shock. Persephone pets its long snout.
Its legs, long and muscled, are clearly meant for strength. They could kick a goddess hard enough to hurt. A shining layer of fur covers its body, a shade between palest gold and ivory. The wings on its back are the same, though feathered instead of furred. Eyes, soulful and intelligent, assess the people surrounding the chariot.
“What is it?” I ask. My voice is hushed, nearly a whisper.
Its ears swivel around, huge and pointed.
Charon leans close, settling a soft layer of fabric around my shoulders. His breath tickles the shell of my ear. “A horse. Mortals ride them.”
At my horrified look, his lips quirk. “Horses don’t normally talk. Arion is one of Demeter’s children, gifted with the body of a winged horse and the mind of a god. He is as mischievous as Hermes. Now, tighten your cloak.”
I pull the cloak tighter, tying the two thick cords at each side in a sturdy knot. Scents of lye and animal musk fill my nose; wool, like Kyma’s tunics and dresses but much softer. While the sun warms my skin now, the breeze of traveling by chariot will chill us to the bone, especially above the Akri Sea nestled in the northernmost reaches of Prasinos.
I bump my shoulder against Charon’s, mouthing thank you.
“I’m certainly not,” Arion says. He stamps a hoof against the ground. “I’m much better than Hermes.”
“I heard that!” Hermes shouts from the chariot strapped to Arion’s flanks.
“I planned on it!” Arion yells back.
His head swings around. “Who is this creature? She’s insulted me within seconds of meeting so I assume a rude one at the very least.”
Charon’s huff is barely audible. He doesn’t do something so undignified as roll his eyes. Hermes does for him, face screwed up in a comical fashion.
“Being called it isn’t nearly as bad as what most call you,” Hermes says, hands on his hips. “Monster, cursed horse, bewitched creature.”
Arion’s head swivels around. He nips at the air near Hermes’ face with huge flat teeth. “You’ve made your point, winged boy.”
“My sandals are winged, not me,” Hermes retorts.
Arion laughs, the noise rough when formed by his animal mouth.
Hermes flushes pink. He puffs out his chest. “And I’m not a boy. Right?”
He winks at me. I startle, jolted from observing their easy banter, and glance at Charon. He shrugs.
Persephone clears her throat, one brow raised high on her forehead. “Is the chariot ready? And where is Zeus?”
Arion nods. “Of course, sister.”
“Zeus left yesterday. You know how he likes using his lightning to transport himself,” Hermes says with a roll of his eyes.
Persephone’s mouth flickers into a smile. While Hermes and Arion spread jovial cheer, she remains withdrawn. Layers of fabric hide all but her hands and sandaled feet from view.
She squints in the bright sunlight. She lived in Nekros for half the year. She’ll squint for a while yet.
Charon speaks to Arion, nothing I can discern, but their fondness for each other is evident in how he pats the horses’ neck with hands free of claws. Arion huffs, lifting hair from Charon’s forehead, and contorts his animal mouth into a smile.
I join Hermes in the chariot, filling my mouth with bread and cheese. He waves away help sorting the piles of rope and chain attaching Arion to the metal chariot.
“Thank you,” I say. When he turns, blinking in confusion, I add, “For making light of my insult.”
He cracks a genuine smile. Were all of his others false? He shakes his head, turning back to his work. “Someone had to. Old Charry wasn’t about to make a joke.”
“Charry?” I snort, trying to contain my laughter but failing. It breaks free in a bellowing laugh. My stomach heaves beneath its force.
Hermes joins me in laughter. We trickle off slowly. I wipe my face free of tears, tiny spurts of giggles still breaking through, and peer around Hermes.
Charon grows talons, long with scaled skin holding them to his fingertips. A tail hangs limp behind him. His eyes are a singular storming grey, shut off entirely from me reading any emotion.
I tilt my head, patting the seat beside me. “Charon?”
“Can we leave already? These ropes chafe,” Arion says.
Hermes bursts into movement, using his swift sandals and thin-boned fingers to fix the ropes once and for all. Persephone settles on one of the two benches, leaning back with a sigh. Charon prowls into the chariot to sit at my side. His tail disappears. His talons do not.
Too soon we’re all settled. Arion unfolds his wings, batting them in the air with great gusts. He sprints across the grass still slick with dew, expertly avoiding the stone steps and patches of grass sopping wet from the sea. I wonder how many years he’s made this same journey.
And we’re in the open sky! The grass is ever farther from view when I glance over the chariot side. My full stomach lurches, vomit building at the back of my throat, but I swallow it down. The chariot rocks on a gusting breeze, then steadies.
The journey is not pleasant. Neither is the company.
Persephone grows more sullen and irritable with each new stretch of sea we travel over. Arion can’t speak for all the wind at his front. Charon sits rod-still and silent no matter how across from him, Hermes jokes and grins. When I can’t speak around the roiling of my stomach, Hermes stops trying altogether.
A rough journey but no less beautiful. I lean my arms on the chariot edge. The sunset sky is strewn with radiant layers of red fading to pink fading to orange. Nothing like what I once saw from the Akri’s depths. Perhaps a layer of it, the bottom-most orange, but nothing more. How different the view is from above!
When I have my wings, I’ll watch this every day. The thought brings a smile to my face and a lightness to my chest. I breathe in lung full after lung full of sweet midday air, lifting my face into the wind. My hair tangles but I don’t care.
Time passes; it must, but I care little for time. The sun dips below the horizon and stars appear in the black-blue sky.
As a child, I vowed I would one day reach my hands and touch the stars. Now I’m high above the sea and the stars are only farther away.
Maybe I should be dispirited but if I cradle a star so soon, wouldn’t it dim the shine of trying at all?
The Akri lingers below with its familiar dark waves. I glimpse the stone dome where my mother’s cave reaches above water. The thought of her weakens my smile. I left her behind. Left her dead and gone in Nekros. Will leaving her be worth it?
I lean into another breeze and know each loss will be worth seeing this, flying in this, each day and night.
I must fall asleep. Must because I wake to a distant song promising knowledge if only I find the singer. I think myself back in the Akri, back in my mother’s cave, and frown.
A jostle against my side. The dry slide of skin is enough to snap me fully awake. Persephone leans forward in her seat across from me, looking over the chariot edge. The rest join her.
I knuckle my eyes, blinded by lanterns rocking on short poles from each chariot corner.
Another burst of song. A siren song.
Chapter 17
A LONE FORM SITS ON a line of rocks jutting out of the Akri Sea. The gleam of scales so like my own is enough to know this is one of my family even if no song drew the chariot closer.
Arion’s godly mind is ensnared in the song, unable to draw away. The chariot tilts, throwing me across and into Persephone’s side. She grunts. My ribs ache with the impact.
Hermes comes and goes from the pull. He alternates between calling Arion’s name and sitting in a stupor. The rest are rendered the same, jolting into action one moment only to fall back into their seats the next.
All except me.
I close my eyes. Song strings stretch from the chariot to the lone form on the rocks. Terror grips my chest in a vice. My stomach roils from the plummeting descent, vomit building in my throat. I try to open my mouth; fear seals it shut.
The chariot spirals downward. Ropes strain at Arion’s flanks. His wings clip against each other. Feathers come loose, streaming into the air. I dodge pointed shafts when they whoosh by. Sweat beads on my forehead.
Will Arion come to his senses? But while the others blink, the hazy quality leaving their faces, Arion continues down.
The sea lurches closer. A resounding snap. Ropes break free.
One flies inside the chariot, catching Hermes in his ribs, pinning him useless to one side. Charon plants his feet against the rocking chariot floor and uses his talons to saw away at the thick, ever-moving rope. He won’t be fast enough.
And in the chaos, the song echoes to a sudden stop.
Persephone lunges forward. Across the chariot. Over the men. Then she is within reach of Arion’s rear flank.
I grip the edge of my bench, struggling to stay seated in the rocking vessel. I force my dinner to stay put instead of streaming into the night air.
She grabs the thrashing ropes. As thick as they are, she’s forced to coil them around her arms and hips. They tear through her layers in the few moments that pass.
But she doesn’t pause or hesitate. Instead, she pulls, yelling for Arion to halt in a tone of command. Blood streams from where the ropes dig in but she is every bit a queen.
Miracle of all miracles, Arion listens. With a shake of his head, he snorts, puffing mist into the air. He slows. I look over the ledge. It’s not enough. He’ll crash into the rocks.
“Arion!” I sing, snapping his song string taut between us.
His head swings to one side.
“Straighten out and land!”
His head bobs. The chariot slows more. He straightens himself into a solid line with the chariot, legs beating in a run. He aligns himself with the outcrop of rocks below. They’ll be slippery with water. With luck, he won’t slip.
Behind him, Persephone loosens herself from the ropes with a series of pained groans. She falls backward. Charon and a now-free Hermes catch her before she hits the hard floor. They settle her in the bench space between them, propping her upright. She breathes in gasps.
I lean forward, setting a hand against the worst gash, a long spiral of split skin from wrist to shoulder, coiling like the rope still runs across. She hisses. I press harder with both hands, trying with all my feeble strength to stem the flow of blood.
“It’ll heal,” Persephone grits. “Let go.”
I shake my head. Even a goddess can lose too much blood.
Charon pries my fingers off. His hands are warm.
Her arm fuses back together one thread of skin at a time. By the time two blinks pass, the gash is gone. The only evidence is the blood covering her arm and my hands.
The chariot wobbles. I search for the other wounds. They’re all gone. If not for the bloodied, tattered state of her dress, I would doubt seeing them moments ago.
Charon’s thumb strokes across my knuckles. I shiver not with cold but an unexpected heat. He drops my hand with a suddenness I don’t expect. It falls, banging into the bench edge. I cradle it against my chest, the skin and muscle already throbbing, and turn to frown at him.
He won’t meet my stare. His shoulders hunch upward. I open my mouth to question him.
The chariot lands with a screech of wheels and clop of hooves. We’re thrown forward. I get a hand around one ledge moments from bashing an elbow into Hermes’ face. He winces regardless.
In the following shh of ropes settling and the slapping of water on rock, Arion speaks. “One of your kin, Agathe?”
I stand on unsteady legs. My knees knock together. Twice I stumble. Twice Charon lunges to right me without looking at me at all. Irritation brings heat to my cheeks. I grit my teeth and steady my legs. Then lean over the chariot side to see who of my family has nearly caused my death.
In the dim circles of the chariot’s light, red hair glimmers.
“Desma?” I ask aloud.
“Agathe,” Desma says in mind-speak.
Blinking, I try to glimpse her face in the dark. There’s nothing beyond a flash of bright hair and her glowing irises.
“What are you doing? You almost crashed us upon the rocks.”
A scrape of scale on rock. “I know your plan.”
“How?” I narrow my eyes. They adapt to slitted-pupil form and my sight sharpens.
“When the others noticed you missing, Eudoxia was careful to say nothing while the others began yelling amongst themselves.”
There’s no seeing her smirk but I hear it in her voice. “I questioned her. She lied until her lies fell in upon themselves. The truth wasn’t so hard to come by afterward.”
A seedling of respect might take root if not for my raging irritation.
“How lovely,” I say with a sneer. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll be leaving.”
I turn back to the chariot. The others gape.
“Aren’t you going to ask what she’s doing? Besides trying to kill us, I mean,” Hermes says.
I huff. “I already did. Did you hit your head?”
He shakes his head. Even Charon looks confused.
“You can’t ask her without speaking,” Hermes says.
I stare at him. Then at Desma on the rocks.
Oh. We talked in mind-speak.
I sigh. “I used mind-speak.” At their continued confusion, I add. “We can’t talk with our mouths beneath the waves, you know.”
Persephone leans forward, expression bright with interest.
“Wait!” Desma shouts. With her voice, not her mind. “I’ve waited near the surface for days. You can’t just leave.”
“Of course we can.” I keep my gaze pointed straight ahead, focusing on a patch of Arion’s fur, and cross my arms.
Again the scrape of scale on rock. Then a series of thumps. Wet footsteps slap against the stone. Desma’s head appears over the chariot edge.
“You’re naked,” Hermes says.
“I’m aware,” Desma says. “I want to join your journey, cousin.”
Surprise washes over me. First, she spends years at a careful distance, rarely conversing or joining our communal songs. She never wrestled with the most energetic children or trailed after the mos
t playful whales and dolphins. She is a healer, true, but just as easily an outsider.
Arion’s snort breaks the quiet. “Imagine Hera’s face when we arrive with two sirens.”
Hermes frowns. “I’m imagining. Her skin will go crimson for sure.”
Right. Hera’s infamous wrath against anyone Zeus pays specific attention to.
Hermes rifles through a bag beneath his bench, one I didn’t notice until now, and comes out with a dress and pins. He thrusts it in Desma’s direction but doesn’t look while she slides it on.
She fumbles with the shoulder pins. I don’t offer help.
“No,” I say. I don’t bother explaining. Family has a way of poking holes in excuses.
Her shoulders droop. She leans against the chariot with a scowl. It’s the fiercest expression I can recall on her face for years.
But she doesn’t try to argue. Perhaps this is the most dangerous of all. If she pouts, I’ll write her off as childish. If she yells, she’s too temperamental for such a journey. But silence? There’s no criticism to conjure at all.
A touch on my arm. Smells of flower petals and rich stone. Persephone settles back in her seat. Her layers have stitched themselves back together.
“You will need as many allies as you can find.” Her eyes glitter in the low light. “They’re not so easily found in the palace.”
The implication is clear: I won’t find any but those seated in the chariot and the cousin lingering against its side. I hiss out a breath. Another siren means a stronger song. Another ally means another mind to aid in a bargain with Zeus.
Desma isn’t ideal but she’ll do.
“Fine. Get in.” I don’t look at her; the idea of her smug expression grates.
Hermes swings the chariot door outward. She settles at my side, pushing me closer to Charon. Her dress is crooked but I say nothing.
“Well, let’s get on with it,” Persephone says with a wave of her hand. “My mother will throw a fit if we aren’t in Athansi by daybreak.”
I fall asleep again, my cheek mashed to Charon’s shoulder. When I wake, his head is settled atop mine, his breaths fogging the air. Across from me, Hermes stretches. Persephone stares at the horizon with unseeing eyes.