Poseidon's Trident

by A P Mobley

  He remembered Syrena’s screams when Zeus hit her with the green lightning bolt, the way she’d fallen to the ground, her chest a crater of ash, all to bring Zoey and Andy back from the dead. He remembered the way Spencer had shoved the last golden apple at him, insisting Karter take it instead for helping Zoey and Andy survive in Hades. Then the way the Son of Hades had let out a final pained sigh and fallen onto his back. In those moments, Karter had felt as if the world had ended. As if nothing were worth fighting for anymore.

  If they were still alive, what would they tell him now? Would Syrena say, “I’m disappointed?” Would Spencer wish him an eternity in Tartarus? The thought of it made him feel as if someone were stabbing his heart, but he knew if anything, he was the one doing the stabbing. After all, he’d betrayed the gods just like they had. To save Spencer no less, to try in some backward way to make up to Syrena for what he’d allowed to happen to her. And now what was Karter doing? Helping the gods again? Why?

  Because it is your destiny, he thought. Written by the Fates long ago. There is nothing anyone can do to change it, and so you accept it. Welcome it.

  Karter brushed the scar on the right side of his face. Destiny or not, it was an odd thing, the fact that he was meant to help his father. Like Zoey had said, Zeus had mutilated his face. And Karter’s mother . . .

  Karter’s eyes filled with hot tears. He didn’t like to think about his mother. The last time he’d seen her— Gods, he’d only been six years old. He’d seen her recently in a vision Asteria had given him, but other than that he could barely remember. He didn’t like to think about what Zeus’s wife, Hera, had done to his mother, didn’t like to think about the desperate look in his mother’s eyes when she’d told Karter to fly away as fast as he could . . .

  Karter shook his head. He was getting lost in his thoughts. Thoughts that didn’t matter now. His mother, Syrena, Spencer—they were ghosts of his past, part of his frail human emotions. They were only feelings. Feelings which would fade with time, disappear after an eternity of living as a god. Every Olympian at one time or another had loved and lost, hadn’t they? Apollo with Daphne, Artemis with Orion, Aphrodite with Adonis, and countless other instances—and after thousands of years, none of the immortals still missed those people. At least, not as far as Karter knew.

  Once Diana was dead, Karter would be made immortal, and in a thousand years he wouldn’t remember any of the things haunting him in this moment. Now that he understood he was truly meant to be made a god, he just had to keep reminding himself of the truth.

  He looked up at the night sky, at the moon and stars, halfway expecting Asteria to come down and talk to him. This was what she’d intended for him, wasn’t it? Becoming a god was his “destined greatness,” right? Asteria didn’t like Zeus, but maybe Karter living as a god on Olympus could convince them to let their tumultuous past die. Maybe that was why Asteria had taken such an interest in Karter. Perhaps, after all this was over, Asteria could visit Karter without having to do it in secret. Perhaps they could be friends for eternity.

  As if in reply to Karter’s thoughts, thousands of stars began materializing before him, spinning together in a dance of twinkling light, soon taking the form of Asteria herself.

  Asteria frowned, standing before Karter. “What are you doing, Son of Zeus?”

  “Following the path I’m meant to take.”

  “No,” the Titan goddess replied, her expression flaring with anger. “You follow the path you have chosen. A path that can only lead to your destruction.”

  “My destruction? How can I be destroyed if I’m made an immortal god?”

  Asteria stepped toward Karter until her face was only inches from his. She cupped his cheeks with her hands and closed her silver eyes. “Remember, Son of Zeus. Remember who you are, and you will understand.”

  The night sky swept Karter into the clouds and swirled around him. Finally, his surroundings became nothing more than a blur, taking him back, back, back . . .

  Six years ago . . .

  Fall, Year 494 AS

  Since Karter’s punishment, he had not left his room. For two days he lay in bed, the canopy pulled so he remained swathed in darkness, left with nothing but the memory of the gold bolt as it seared his face.

  The night of his penalty, his father had made him suffer through the aftermath of the lightning strike until the next morning. Once the sun had risen, the King of the Gods had allowed Apollo to heal him at least somewhat. His father had instructed Apollo to only heal him enough so the wound would not become infected, but also so Karter would be left with a permanent mark.

  “I want the wound to scar,” Zeus had said to Apollo. “I want him to be reminded every day when he looks in the mirror that he is to respect the gods and their rulings or suffer the consequences.”

  Even if I hadn’t been left with my face destroyed, how could I forget? Karter thought. Other than when his mother died, this had to be the worst experience of his life.

  A knock sounded at the door. He didn’t bother to answer. There had been several knocks at his door since he’d locked himself in here, but he wanted to be left alone.

  “Karter?” the familiar voice of a girl called from the hall. “Karter, can we come in? It’s Syrena and Spencer.”

  “Go away,” Karter said.

  “It’s been two days,” Syrena continued. “You have to eat and drink. We brought you your favorites.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  There was a pause. Finally, Spencer spoke. “Will you please just let us come in? We want to apologize for what happened. We haven’t seen you in two days. We miss you.”

  Karter sighed. He’d spent the last three years with Spencer and Syrena at his side. He missed them too. “Fine,” he said. “Come in.”

  The door creaked open, and soon Spencer and Syrena pulled aside the canopy and took a seat at the edge of Karter’s bed. Syrena held out a glass of ice water with lemon to Karter, while Spencer offered him a plate full of bread, cheese, and grapes. Karter accepted, setting the plate in his lap and lifting the glass to his lips. In only a few gulps the water was gone, cooling his parched throat.

  “Your eyes aren’t brown anymore,” Syrena said. “They’re gold. Like the lightning.”

  Karter ruffled his shaggy black hair, trying to cover his face with it. Syrena grabbed his hand to stop him. “They don’t look bad,” she said. “They’re . . . pretty.”

  “They draw more attention to the scar,” Karter replied, pulling away from her. “Which means they look bad. If they didn’t, Violet wouldn’t have broken up with me. Those were her exact words, actually. That there was no point in surrounding herself with ugly, unlovable things like scars. And that I’m a shame to the demigods of Olympus. I’m not sure which statement hurts worse.”

  “Violet is just a vain priss,” Spencer cut in. “I never liked her. But you did, so I put up with her. If she’s going to stop seeing you just because you have a scar now—well, I’d say she never loved you in the first place then.” Spencer’s words stung, but Karter knew he needed to hear them. Spencer had a way of telling people the truth without hesitation, even if it meant the truth was painful.

  “Spencer is right,” Syrena said. “Besides, the scar doesn’t look bad. You’re still handsome. More importantly, you’re far from a shame to the demigods of Olympus. If anyone should be ashamed, it should be me and Spencer. We’re the ones who got you into this whole mess. Violet doesn’t know what she’s missing out on. You’re one of the greatest people I know, and anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

  Karter smiled sadly. “You didn’t get me into this mess. I got myself into it.”

  “But we did,” Spencer said. “If we hadn’t tried to escape—”

  “I’d do it again,” Karter blurted. “I’d do it again if I had a choice.”

  “What do you mean?” Spencer asked.

&n
bsp; “I mean,” Karter began, “that if I had a choice, if I could decide who was going to take a beating, me or you guys, I’d take it every time.”

  Nine years ago . . .

  Spring, Year 491 AS

  Karter and Spencer sparred alone in the open courtyard, the tall walls of the Olympian palace on all sides of them shimmering brilliant white under the sun.

  As Spencer charged for Karter with a spear, Karter dug his toes into the grass and focused on conjuring lightning as a counter-attack. Karter had grown tired of only using two of his powers—strength and flight—during his and Spencer’s sparring sessions and had been trying to conjure lightning for some time now, but with no luck.

  His much older and immortal-god brother, Heracles, had visited a few months ago, and had assured him if he was meant to create and control lightning, the power would be coming soon. After all, he was thirteen now, which was the prime age for a demigod’s powers to fully emerge.

  Hopefully today was the day. He was sick of the disappointed look his father gave him every time he couldn’t do it. There hadn’t been many children-of-Zeus who could conjure lightning in the course of history, and currently there weren’t any alive on Olympus, but his father seemed to have high hopes for him regarding the power.

  A flood of pulsing hot energy burst in his chest and snaked through his right arm. He looked down to find sparks of red power popping and hissing in his hand. His heart leapt with joy as the sparks began forming a solid red bolt. Red was the weakest kind of lightning, but it was lightning nonetheless.

  He smirked and looked to Spencer, raising the bolt above his head. Finally, he’d done something his father could be proud of him for.

  Spencer slowed and dropped his spear. “Karter . . . You . . .”

  “Good morning, boys!” the familiar booming voice of a man interrupted from the other end of the courtyard. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Karter looked over to see his father standing in one of the palace’s arched doorways with a girl he’d never seen before. She must be about ten years old, her dark hair styled in long ringlets, her face soft as sea-foam.

  Karter practically jumped up and down in excitement at the sight of his father, waving his red bolt. Right now, the girl didn’t matter. He could meet her later. “Father! Father, look what I’ve made!”

  Annoyance flashed across his father’s expression. “Quit with your games, boy, and get over here.” Karter paused, furrowing his brow and holding up his hand. The red bolt had disintegrated already. No, he thought. Father must know what I can do.

  Karter looked over at Spencer, who stared at the new girl, his eyes wide with awe, and Karter cringed a little. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Eros, the God of Love, had shot Spencer with a love arrow.

  “Come now,” Karter’s father said, his voice full of irritation. “Come meet our newest Warrior of the Gods. She’s traveled a long way to be here: all the way from Poseidon’s palace.” Spencer started toward Karter’s father and the girl. Karter slumped his shoulders and followed suit. It looked as though he’d have to show his father his newest power later.

  Once Karter and Spencer made their way across the courtyard to Karter’s father and the girl, Karter’s father pushed her toward them. “This is Syrena, Daughter of Poseidon,” he boomed. “And I have decided she will be the third and final member of your warrior team. Because of this, it is pivotal you welcome her to Olympus and have her train alongside you every day. Considering you’re children of the three most powerful gods in our pantheon, I believe if you work well together you could be the best team of demigod warriors we’ve seen in the last century.” He turned around and started back into the palace. “Now, I will leave you to get to know each other, as I have much to attend to.”

  “Father, wait,” Karter cried, grabbing his father’s robes.

  The god turned around and sighed in exasperation, narrowing his eyes at Karter as though Karter were a nagging Harpy instead of his son. The look made Karter’s confidence drop a bit, and he drew back, but he knew once his father saw what he could do, it would make everything better.

  “What do you want?” his father asked.

  “I made lightning for the first time today,” he said. “It’s only red, not gold yet, but still. Did you see me do it?”

  His father’s expression remained that of irritation. “Keep working on your skills, and perhaps someday you will make green lightning—that would be truly impressive. Now please, introduce yourselves to Syrena, then get to know her and train with her for the rest of the afternoon until dinner. I have high hopes for the three of you.”

  Karter watched, numb, as his father walked away.

  Sixteen years ago . . .

  Summer, Year 484 AS

  Karter’s mother sang a sweet tune in his ear, the words of the song describing stories of heroes from the old days. She did that every night—a while after dinner, and right before she tucked him into bed, just like tonight. Her long black hair tickled his arms as she held him close to her chest. He giggled with glee.

  It was a hot summer evening in Hera City, making the air inside Karter and his mother’s small stone house humid and stuffy. Karter didn’t mind, though. He preferred the heat over the chilly days that would come when Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, made her descent into Hades for the fall and winter months. When that happened, his mother would pack the windows with clay, and they’d have to bundle up with layers and layers of clothes to stay warm.

  As Karter began to slip into unconsciousness, his mother hoisted him up and started toward his bedroom. She’d tuck him in with a thin blanket, sing a while longer, then stroke his hair, kiss his forehead, and go to bed herself, as was the usual.

  There was a loud bang at the front of the house, then a cluster of clattering noises, like rocks tumbling down a cliff. Karter’s mother gasped, and Karter snapped fully awake.

  “What was that?” Karter asked.

  Karter’s mother set him down and unsheathed the dagger at her hip. “Go to your room, sweetheart. I’ll be there in just a moment.”

  Karter ran to his room and shut the door while his mother went to investigate. He pressed his ear against the wood to hear what was going on, but soon discovered he didn’t need to. What transpired next was probably loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood.

  There were booming sounds and hissing noises. More loud bangs and clatters rang through the air. His mother cried out, “Help! Zeus, please!”

  When he heard his mother’s cries, Karter knew he couldn’t stand by any longer, even if he was only six years old. His mother had told him about heroes from the old days, and especially about the incredible tasks Perseus and Heracles had completed, about the monsters they’d slain. Both had been sons of Zeus, just like Karter was. His mother had even told him the story of Apollo: the one where the god had killed a monstrous serpent to save his own mother, Leto. Did the Fates want him to save his?

  Karter threw open the door and burst out of the room to see what was going on, to save his mother just as Apollo had saved Leto in the old days. As a Son of Zeus, he was stronger than the other kids his age and he could fly. Surely that would be enough to destroy whatever villain was attacking his mother, right?

  Within seconds he reached the center of the house and stopped dead at what he saw. One of the walls had caved in. Among piles of rubble and furniture his mother lay, bruised and bloodied, her knife cast to the side. Above her was a creature Karter could only imagine existing in his most horrible nightmares. It was a scaly monster, like a dragon, with clusters of sharp claws extending from its feet. It stood taller than a horse, with so many serpentine heads snaking from its neck Karter couldn’t count them all, every pair of eyes glowing red. When the heads caught sight of Karter, they hissed at him. Chills raced up his spine.

  “Karter, fly!” his mother yelled. “Fly away as f
ast as you can and find your father. Hera has sent Ladon. This is the work of Hera!”

  The scaly monster’s heads shrieked, a sound like hundreds of blades dragging across stone. With one quick swipe, it slashed open his mother’s throat. She said no more.

  “Mother!” Karter screamed as blood pooled from his mother’s gashed neck onto the floor. “Mother, get up!” But she did not move.

  This couldn’t be happening. No, this had to be a nightmare. His mother had said time and time again Hera could not hurt her, could not hurt him, as Hera had hurt Zeus’s mistresses and illegitimate children in the past, all because Karter’s father had forbidden the goddess from ever trying. Yet somehow the most terrifying monster Karter had ever seen had come into Hera’s city—although it was forbidden for monsters to invade the cities—and had made it all the way to Karter’s house, then sliced open his mother’s throat right after she’d said this was Hera’s doing.

  The monster shrieked again. It stomped toward him. Karter swung around and bolted for his room. There was a window there. He’d jump out of it and into the street. Where he’d go next, he had no idea.

  “Fly,” his mother had told him. “Fly away as fast as you can and find your father.”

  Karter focused on taking flight. Hot power burst in his chest, and he leapt into the air.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  LABYRINTH

  Now . . .

  Karter shoved Asteria away. “What in all the gods’ names are you trying to do?” The memories had flashed across his mind in an instant, the anguish they caused him stinging like an open wound.

  “You want to forget who you are,” the Titan goddess said. “You want to become something you are not. I’m trying to help you remember, or else you will destroy yourself.”