Hera, Queen of Gods (Goddess Unbound)

by Thomas, T. D.

  Justin grabbed the grate with both hands and, with a loud groan, slowly tore it from the ground.

  “That’s the last of it,” he said, looking at his hands. They were raw: bruised and bleeding from the grate. “No more powers.”

  Hephaestus was back on his feet. He was stumbling, but he was coming our way.

  “Go!” Justin said.

  “I can’t--” I started.

  “You have to,” he interrupted. And then he smiled. “When I said focus on being mortal, I didn’t mean you had to totally give up being you.”

  I gave him a death glare; his smile widened. “Exactly. Go save the world. I’ll do my best to keep him busy.”

  “Just don’t look into his eyes,” I said. “He has my powers.”

  Nodding, Justin got up and, with one last look at me over his shoulder, he charged at Hephaestus, tackling him to the ground. Somewhere, not too far away, I heard scraping along the ground.

  I lowered myself down into the hole, refusing to think that, in a few moments, Hephaestus would summon his machines and Justin would die.

  I could barely see. The only light was what spilled through the hole, and that wasn’t much.

  I felt along the wall. It was rough rock. I was in a grotto of some kind. Finally, my fingers touched something familiar. I flicked the switch.

  With a weak thrumming sound, a string of lamps embedded into the rock walls lit up.

  My knees buckled with joy and relief. At the end of the grotto, chained against the wall, were the Fates. Clotho, a girl of six or seven; Lachesis, a woman in her prime; Atropos, a woman so old and withered, she looked ready to die from age. Their identical milky-white eyes were empty, their mouths straight lines. They regarded me with no interest, no excitement, no emotion at all.

  I felt a surge of bitterness at that. They saw everything. Past, present, future. They knew the sacrifices that’d been made for them. Hells, they’d even known they’d be captured in the first place--but they didn’t care. Every god could die right in front of them, and it’d mean nothing. Everything I loved, everything I stood for, meant nothing to them.

  But the Fates were needed. And I’d save them. For the sake of existence.

  I examined their chains. I would’ve recognized Hephaestus’s handiwork anywhere. Flawless. Simple. Powerful. So powerful, they could’ve bound any of us. They were exquisite--and almost certainly inescapable and unbreakable.

  I was so intent on the chains that I wasn’t watching where I was going. I stumbled; I tripped over something. I felt a slick substance on my leg. When I knelt down to investigate, I smelled blood. But it wasn’t mine.

  It was then I saw them. Lining the walls, stacked on top of each other all the way to the ceiling, jar after jar. Filled with blood. The blood of the Fates.

  It was a miracle the Fates were still alive. He must’ve drained them to the brink of death, waited for them to recover, and then repeated the process as soon as he could. How many times? Hundreds? Thousands?

  “There is a key.”

  I couldn’t tell which of them had spoken, but it had to have been one of them.

  “Hephaestus wears it on a chain around his neck.” It was Lachesis who spoke.

  “And only Hephaestus can take it off,” Atropos finished.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

  But there was no other choice. I hadn’t come this far to give up now. Athena. Stella. Sarah. Beth. The witches. Maybe even Artemis and Hermes and Demeter. Maybe Justin. All for this.

  I felt a cold rage ripple out from deep inside me. Goosebumps rose along my skin. I’d get that key. No matter what. I’d show Hephaestus just how terrible the Queen of Gods could be.

  I went back to the grate. I jumped and caught the edge of the opening and hauled myself up.

  I saw him right away. Justin. He was still alive!

  I didn’t know for how much longer. There was a semicircle of machines around him and behind them was Hephaestus.

  Justin turned his head slightly when he heard me. I felt a chill. His eyes were crimson, his hair black, his skin chalky white. He burned with power. Only the thinnest line of brown remained in his eyes. A thread of sanity.

  He was using the power of the Dreamlands to fight off Hephaestus and his forces long enough for me to free the Fates. It would drive him mad and probably kill him. He knew that. But he’d do it, because it had to be done--because there was no other way.

  And because I wanted this.

  He couldn’t know that it was all for nothing, that we needed Hephaestus to give us the key himself or we’d lose.

  My mind raced. There had to be a way to get that key--other than asking. That had already failed. We didn’t have time for more failure.

  “Justin!” I called. “I need the altar! The one that Demeter has! Can you get it?”

  I wasn’t sure he’d heard me. He didn’t react. He didn’t even flinch. His face was a mask. His body was a statue.

  A machine rushed in. Justin moved so quickly, he was a blur. It was like space and time had no meaning for him. They probably didn’t. The laws of this world meant little in the Dreamlands.

  In a second, the machine was flying through the air across the room. It smashed through the wall and out of the metal shop. It didn’t return.

  “Justin!” I called again. “Can you do it?”

  “I can do anything,” he answered. His voice faded in and out, distorted through the veil of the Dreamlands. Maybe he heard me the same way.

  There was a strange spinning in front of me, a whirlwind not just of air, but of reality. Then, it stopped, and in front of me sat the bag that Demeter had taken. I snatched it.

  “I need time,” I told him.

  I kept my voice steady. I couldn’t let my emotions, my mortality, control me. Not now. Even though I was losing Justin right in front of my eyes. It wasn’t just his voice that was fading in and out. It was all of him. Flickering like a candle.

  “Take all the time you need.”

  He was so detached, like he didn’t care about living. Or me. He hadn’t told me what I desperately needed to know: how long he could buy me, and how long I had until the power consumed him. Maybe he didn’t know. But, more likely, he just didn’t care. Not anymore.

  There was no time to ask again. I dropped back into the grotto. I tried to ignore the sounds of battle above. I started to head toward the Fates, but there was a strange sound at the grotto opening. When I looked up, my breath caught. There was no opening. It’d been erased. I’d been sealed inside.

  Justin.

  Cruel but clever. He’d trapped me, but he’d also protected me. If he died, it’d take Hephaestus time to break through, and that was time I could use to free the Fates.

  But what Justin didn’t know was that I needed the key first.

  I returned to the Fates. Ever so carefully, I unwrapped the two pieces of the altar, first the base and then the censer. I placed them where the light from the electric lamps was brightest.

  Now for the hard part. I eyed the jars of blood along the walls. It was tempting, but the connection had to be between me and Hephaestus, not the Fates and him.

  I ran my hands along the ground and found what I needed: a fragment of metal. Taking a deep breath, I cut into my wrist. I gasped from the pain.

  Mind over matter. The body was nothing. It wasn’t even mine. But it felt like mine.

  I let my blood flow into the censer. When it was full enough, I tore a strip from my skirt. I wrapped my wrist, tying it tightly. Then I stared at my blood in the censer. God blood. And yet . . . not entirely--not pure. Not anymore, after so long in the mortal world.

  I did my best to clear my mind. I tried not to think about my wrist, the Fates, Justin, existence. I breathed deeply. Gradually, my fears weakened and floated away. I focused as much as I could on being mortal. Finally, I was ready--at least, as ready as I was ever going to be.

  I opened my eyes and grasped the censer in both hands. It was d
isturbingly warm from my blood. I spat into it, and the blood begin to spin, sluggishly at first, then faster, and faster.

  Turn to me

  I call by blood

  Turn to me

  I call by flesh

  Turn to me

  I call Thee by name,

  Hephaestus,

  Maker,

  Do not deny the humble request of Thy servant.

  Grant me Thy knowledge.

  Lend me Thy presence.

  Give me Thy power.

  Fill me.

  I remembered the spell. It was one of the few ways gods communicated with their followers in the mortal world. I only hoped it would work, that I’d become mortal enough to use it. I’d never heard of it being used on a god incarnate before. I didn’t know what to expect, except that it’d probably fail. The one I was calling wasn’t even in the Heavens anymore. But his power was. He couldn’t take it all with him into this world. Not without destroying it.

  I watched the censer intently.

  Nothing. Still nothing.

  The spell had failed.

  My mind was running through other options. There had to be something else I could do--but if there was, I couldn’t think of it.

  I heard scraping where the entrance to the grotto had been. Then pounding.

  Whatever else I was going to do, I had to figure it out fast. Justin had vanished. Or he was dead. It didn’t really matter either way. He was gone. I was alone.

  I was all that was left. Just me.

  I felt the tears before they came. Tears for Athena, for Zeus, for Artemis and Hermes and Demeter. For Stella and Sarah and Beth and the witches. For all of existence that I’d failed. For Justin.

  But, most of all, for me. For everything I’d suffered. For everything I’d done. It all came to this, to nothing. Like it never mattered. Like I’d never mattered.

  A single tear. That was all that escaped the impenetrable walls I’d built over millennia. One single, solitary tear.

  It slid down my cheek and fell into the censer.

  And the blood began to rise. I felt the spiral of power winding its way out of the censer. It wrapped around me. It filled the grotto.

  Rocks burst downward. The machines were through.

  Two of them dropped into the grotto. They ran toward me. I stood. I raised my hand, and they froze.

  “Bring him to me,” I commanded.

  The machines launched themselves out of the grotto. In moments, they were back in front of me, with Hephaestus firmly in their grasp.

  “How . . .” he sputtered.

  I stepped aside so he could see the altar.

  “It’s not possible!” he said.

  “It connects to your power. Your true power as a god. Which you had to leave in the Heavens when you took mortal form,” I replied simply. “And you made these . . . things to obey that power. My power now.”

  “It’s just a communicator!” Hephaestus insisted.

  “I made a few changes to the spell,” I replied. “Something some witches I know--knew--taught me. Magick can be quite powerful. Mortals can be quite powerful. It’s over, Hephaestus. Now give me the key.”

  “Never!” Hephaestus snapped. “And you can’t take it. Only I can take off this chain.”

  “Then I guess you’re going to take it off for me,” I replied calmly.

  “Can’t you see that this is for the best?” he pleaded. “For us?”

  “No,” I replied, “this was never for us. This was for you. And I won’t let you do it.”

  I grabbed his chin and lifted it so that he met my eyes.

  “Mother, no,” he begged.

  But my eyes were already swirling, and his whirled in response. He was too weak from his fight with Justin. He didn’t have any power left to resist, and I, I was full of god power.

  “Take off the key and give it to me,” I instructed.

  He obeyed.

  I took the key and walked over to the Fates. I couldn’t believe it. It was like a dream. We’d done it. We’d won.

  Just as I reached down to unlock their chains, I was hurled backward. I crashed into the opposite end of the grotto.

  I shook myself.

  “Justin?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Or what had been Justin.

  He stood in front of the Fates, arms crossed. His skin was translucent. His crimson eyes blazed, casting a blood red glow throughout the grotto. When he spoke, it was a distorted version of his voice. This wasn’t Justin the Dreamer. This was Justin the Nightmare.

  “Give me the key,” he commanded.

  “Justin, we’ve won. Just let me free the Fates,” I said.

  “Give me the key,” he repeated.

  He stepped toward me, and I quickly slipped the chain around my neck.

  “I am going to free the Fates,” I replied, fighting to stay calm, “and there’s no way you can take this key from me unless I let you. Not even with the power of . . . whatever it is you have now.”

  “I died for you,” the Nightmare said bitterly, walking forward. His voice was soft, but I felt it like thunder. The anger and hate struck me like physical blows.

  Instinctively, I stepped back, but there was nowhere to go. I was already pressed against the far end of the grotto. The only way out was up.

  “But you’re alive!” I said desperately.

  “You call this alive?” he answered. “This is just the chunk of me the Dreamlands didn’t burn away!”

  I didn’t wait for him to explain. I leapt and caught the edge of the opening. I hauled myself up.

  But when I got to my feet, the Nightmare was already standing right in front of me.

  “Running away?” he asked. “Wish I could’ve run. But you made me stay. You made me die for you! You killed me! This is all your fault!”

  He grabbed me by the throat. “You ran before too. Hid in a hole like a disgusting, little rat while I was eaten away, piece by piece. I wasn’t meant to have this power! You did this to me so you could use me as your tool. Just like Hephaestus did with Ian. You gods are all the same. Well, do you like my power now, Hera? Do you?”

  I couldn’t breathe. His fingers were like iron. He was choking the life out of me. My power flared in my eyes, but nothing happened. Whatever this was, it wasn’t mortal.

  The Nightmare threw me across the floor. I slid until I hit the far wall of the shop. I gasped for air. The Nightmare flickered and appeared in front of me before I could even get up. He grabbed me by my hair and lifted me to my feet.

  “Do you know how painful it is, Hera? Being eaten alive? It’s excruciating. But I did it. For you,” he whispered in my ear.

  He threw me to the ground again. My head banged painfully. The Nightmare was on top of me. He twisted me around. His hands were around my throat. There was no more air. I pounded against him, but my fists passed through his chest.

  “I’m going to kill you,” he said. “Just when you were about to win, you’re going to die. I’m going to take it all away. Just like you did to me.”

  The edges of my vision were going black. My lungs screamed. My body was on fire. But I couldn’t move under those iron hands. He was right. He was killing me. I was going to die. I could feel it. So close to doing what I’d come to do, so close to succeeding--and I was going to fail.

  I felt panic--but, most of all, I felt regret. It tore me up inside. If only. If only I’d been faster. If only I had another chance. If only.

  But I’d run out of chances. There was nothing left, nothing but agony and regret. But I could do something about the regret.

  I waited. It’d take everything I had left. My final breath. “I . . . ‘m . . . sorry.”

  It was all I could manage. I’d die with all my other regrets. But not that one. Not the one for Justin.

  I tried to ready myself for death.

  But then it all stopped. The pain was gone. I could breathe again.

  When I opened my eyes, the Nightmare was looking at me st
rangely, head cocked. “What did you say?”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated.

  Until a few seconds ago, those words had never, not in all eternity, come out of my mouth. But they were out now, and somehow, they felt good.

  “I’m sorry that you died,” I continued. My eyes filled with tears. I cried. Real tears. Mortal tears. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you, any of you. I’m sorry that so many innocent people got dragged into this. I’m so sorry that you hate me. But mostly I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that I love you. Because I do. I love you, Justin. Against everything I am, against everything I’m made for, against everything I’ve made myself believe, I love you.”

  The Nightmare flickered. For a second, it wasn’t the Nightmare anymore. It was Justin. I saw his eyes, warm and brown. They shone. With love. He was looking at me. And I was finally looking back.

  But then he flickered again--and he was gone.

  “Justin!” I shouted. “Justin!”

  But there was no answer.

  “Justin, if you love me, answer me! Justin! Justin!”

  I didn’t remember much after that. I didn’t remember when I stopped shouting. I didn’t remember passing out. All I remembered was a feeling--like I was staring up at a wave about to crash down on me, and I couldn’t move. All I could do was watch as it came down. Watch and wait for it to hit.

  Existence had been saved.

  I had won.

  And I’d never felt so alone.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  I waited, but the wave never crashed down, and Justin never came back.

  I was still waiting when Demeter found me, lying on the ground, the key still around my neck. She couldn’t say how long I’d been there. But when she found me, I wordlessly showed her where the grotto was; together, we freed the Fates.

  We destroyed the blood. We found Artemis and Hermes where they’d been dumped like garbage, bruised but alive. When they’d recovered enough, we re-ascended to the Heavens.

  There was no sign of Hephaestus. He’d eluded the machines I’d turned against him and fled. He could’ve killed me as I’d lain there on the ground, but he didn’t. Maybe he feared the wrath of the other gods, or maybe he knew he couldn’t succeed without getting the key and that I couldn’t give it to him if I were dead. Or maybe he really did still love me in his own twisted way. It didn’t matter.