by Raye Wagner
Hope giggled and ran. She crashed into him, and he wrapped his arms around her. She could hear his heart beating, and even now, months later, the sound made her feel like she was dreaming.
“What the Hades happened to your hair?” he asked, then he kissed the top of her head.
She stuck her tongue out at him. “What the Kracken happened to your eyes?”
“Gods,” Athan breathed right behind her, “I wish you two would stop already. Every time you see each other, we have to go through this.”
It had become their way of coping. If they could laugh and tease each other, it made the pain not hurt so much. Because even though they were both alive, the memories still hurt sometimes.
Hope felt herself squished in between the two men she loved most, and the ache in her heart seemed to fill with liquid honey.
“It’s good to have you back,” Athan said as he pulled back. “Are you in town for a while?”
Hope backed up a step, tugged at Xan to come in, and closed the door behind him. She stared up into his vibrant-green eyes, the same color as Hephaestus’s, and asked, “Do you get to stay for a while?”
Xan raised his eyebrows. “Did you miss me?”
Hope punched him in the arm. “I’m being serious.”
Xan pointed to the couch. “Can we sit? I wasn’t kidding when I said my day was all arseways.”
Athan took one side and Xan the other. Hope nestled down between them.
“Your chin is jutting out,” Xan said, tapping her face.
“So then tell me,” she demanded. “I’ve got tests this week, but if you’re only here for a couple days, I’m totally skipping.”
Athan laughed.
“She hasn’t changed much. I thought saving the world would make her more humble or something,” Xan said to the other demigod.
“She’s still Hope, which is exactly how I want her.”
Xan nodded. But he and Hope still had long talks on the phone, and she knew it was not so much acknowledging Athan’s claim, but more respecting him for accepting her as she was.
“Are you going to tell me what’s up, or am I going to have to make phone calls?”
“Right,” Xan snorted. “This one isn’t going to be a phone call, luv. Remember how Hades owed me a reasonable favor.”
Hope remembered arguing with the Lord of the Underworld about what constituted reasonable. To Hope it was plenty reasonable to let her sew Hephaestus’s thread into the material of a new body for Xan, but Hades had a different idea, and an agreement had to be negotiated.
“So . . .”
“He’s calling in a favor.”
“What’s the favor this time?” Athan asked.
Xan shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. Again.
Hades had been running Xan ragged with his reasonable favors. If it didn’t stop soon, Hope was going to have another talk with the god of the Underworld.
“Remember that wisp of a girl, the cowering redhead we met when we were there the first time? Immy? Or was it Genny? Anyway, it turns out Hades owes her a favor for her service.”
“What are you supposed to do?”
Xan kicked his heels up on the coffee table. “First I have to find her,” he said, pointing at Athan. “Then I’m supposed to warn her.”
“Warn her?”
Xan shook his head. “That’s all he’d tell me. It’s like talking to a culchie. But this is the last favor, and then I’m free.”
Hope turned to Athan, excitement making her smile. “You want Athan’s help tracking her?”
Xan grimaced. “I’m here to see you two. I can track her on my own.” Then he smiled. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have Athan’s help. He’s a bloody brilliant psachno.”
~~~
The end of one adventure is only the beginning of another…
Riddle me, riddle me. What do you see?
A puzzle of words, What can this be?
Come close, sit down, let’s have a chat
Now, what do you make of this big, lithe cat?
With tawny eyes like a bird of prey,
The face of an angel at the dawn of day;
Amber wings crimson lined,
Sun-kissed skin, an Egyptian shrine
Maiden hands, soft and fair;
Golden fur and honey hair
Atop a cliff with words I tangle;
Answer wrong, my strength will mangle.
A monstrous creature, cursed of a god,
Within the gray, was found a flaw
I wander the earth, without family or friend,
Until I find love, which brings a swift end.
You’ve heard my riddle,
‘Tis truth not lie,
Now tell me, tell me . . .
Who am I?
Prologue
Priska came through the door, arms full of spices, fresh produce and meat, and herbs she would use for healing, her primary source of income. She disliked market day, not that she didn’t enjoy the variety of wares found in the bustle of the crowded square. The constant fear that accompanied every moment she was away made going to market a dreaded but necessary evil.
Priska set the packed woven bags on the floor in the hearth room and yelled for her charge, “Phaidra.”
When no answer came, the ever present seeds of worry sprouted. “Phaidra?” Priska yelled as she searched the small house and found it empty. “Phaidra!”
Opening the back door, her voice caught in her throat. There, next to the woodpile, huddled the daughter of Phoibe, now a cursed monster thanks to the bitter jealousy of Apollo. Phaidra’s golden hair hung loose, cascading down her slender back, tangled into the umber feathers of her outstretched wings. Her arms were up, her hands covering her face, and her shoulders shook.
Fissures of weighty sadness pulled at Priska’s heart. Walking toward her charge, she dropped her voice, panic replaced by concern. “Phaidra?”
Phaidra could certainly hear Priska calling; she had the senses of the creatures that were a part of her: lion, eagle, human, and something more too. As a daughter of a demigod, the divine blood running through Phaidra’s veins sharpened all of her natural, and unnatural, abilities. She was a formidable force, even as a child.
“What’s wrong, little one?” Priska asked as she reached the creature, but she drew back a pace with a gasp when Phaidra turned to her.
The girl’s golden skin was healed, but dried blood still caked Phaidra’s forehead, and her hair, just above her ear, was matted with maroon. Her face was tear-streaked, and her lower lip trembled.
“Dear gods, what happened?” Priska would’ve picked her up if she was able, but Phaidra’s monstrous body made it impossible, so the older woman did the best she could. Kneeling next to the young creature, she pushed the matted hair away from the young girl’s face and pet her downy fur.
“I just wanted to come with you.” Phaidra’s words were both a plea for forgiveness as well as an explanation, as only a six-year-old can offer. Her tear-streaked cheeks were still chubby with baby fat, and her golden eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
“Of course you did.” Priska pulled her into a hug, heart aching for the little girl trapped in Apollo’s curse. “I’m sorry, Phaidra. I don’t think this small town is ready for you.”
“Can we find some place that is ready for me, Miss Priska? I’m tired of hiding all the time.” The tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, running rivulets through the crusty, dried blood. “I don’t want to live here any more.”
Moving, thus far, had been an inevitability. Sooner or later mortals discovered Phaidra and cries of monster would erupt. They’d moved seven times in the six years since Phoibe’s death. But they’d only been in Pelarre for three months, and Priska had hoped to stay longer. She had no idea how to protect the girl, and mortals feared the cursed, so Priska forced Phaidra to stay hidden. But clearly something had happened, as evidenced by Phaidra’s beaten and bruised face. “Do you want to tell me?”
�
��I followed you. After you left. I know I shouldn’t have. I was playing with my doll, like you said, but I was bored. I wanted to come to market, too. I wanted to see the bear that sells fruit, and the pig that sells nuts. It’s not fair that you get to go all the time, and I’m tired of being stuck here. I just wanted to come, too.” She hiccupped and wiped at the tears, smearing her face into a grotesque mask of blood.
Priska flinched. Taking the corner of her apron, she wiped at Phaidra’s cheeks and then her dainty nose. The young girl’s face was stunningly beautiful, a breathtaking blend of her mother and father, but tainted by the hand of Apollo, her coloring was all of the sun-god.
“So you started to walk to market?” Priska prompted while her mind started plotting. Their next step would be to leave Pellare. Obviously, the girl had been discovered, and if she’d been beaten this time, next time would only be worse. Mortals’ fear made them dangerous.
“Yes. I went down the path you always go, but I stopped at the end of the trees. There were kids playing, kids that look like you,” she said, pointing at Priska’s legs. “I thought they would be nice like you, too. But they weren’t.” Phaidra’s little shoulders shuddered, and her lip quivered, but she held the tears back. “There was a big one; he looked like the pictures of the men you draw for me, except he was smaller. He yelled at me to go away, and then he picked up a rock and threw it at me.” Her pudgy hand errantly touched the top of her forehead. “And then they all started yelling and throwing rocks.” She looked at Priska square in the face. “They were mean, and I don’t like them.”
“Nor should you,” Priska replied. The children would eventually tell their parents. Priska thought of the townspeople of Pellare. Being isolated in the Bezerati Mountains had limited their exposure to the gods, but that meant no exposure to monsters either. Perhaps it was time to try a different tactic. “Those are cruel and petty people, little Phaidra.”
“Well then I want to go live where there aren’t cruel and petty people.”
Priska laughed at the impossibly. “Oh, my sweet child. Cruel and petty people exist everywhere.”
Phaidra’s eyes welled again, and her shoulders slumped in a look of pure defeat. “But then where can we go?”
Priska thought of Nikanor, her husband, and then of Isaak Pallas. “There are also good people, Phaidra. And they exist everywhere too.”
“Maybe.” The little voice betrayed the disbelief. “But I haven’t met any of them yet.”
The creature was wise beyond her years, and Priska’s heart clenched. “Well, they are fewer, but in time, I’m sure you will.” Priska stood, pushing away the painful memories of the past and her heartache. “Come on now. Let’s go get washed up for dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Phaidra stood, stretching her haunches; she tucked her wings to her back. “Are we going to stay here in Pellare, Miss Priska?” She followed as quickly as her little limbs could manage.
Priska sighed and slowed her walk to keep pace with the little girl. Phaidra’s adventure had set off an inevitability. “No. We will be packing up tonight. I’m not sure what those people might do, and you’re still too young to manage on your own. Let’s get going. We have a long night ahead of us.”
EGYPT
Chapter 1
The night was dark, the clouds filtering the light from both the full moon and faint stars. Even with the drop in temperature that came with the sleeping sun, the air was sticky hot. Soaring through the sky, the breeze had kept Phaidra from going crazy all day, but she was exhausted, and flying and sleeping couldn’t coexist. Normally, she’d look for a place to hide, knowing that if mortals crossed her path, at least one of them would be injured, but she was in the middle of the desert, an uninhabitable land, and the silence affirmed her solitary existence, so she curled up in the sand and slept.
When the morning rays pierced her lids, she awoke and stretched. It would be another brutal day, the temperature already making her exposed skin a rosy gold. The air smelled of baked sand, and her mouth was as parched as the desert surrounding her. As she surveyed the arid wasteland, she could hear the noise of habitation carrying over the barren space. Phaidra unfolded her wings; then, with two powerful strokes, she pulled herself into the air.
Her previous assessment had been wrong. Off in the distance, a large number of men scurried about, most working on or around the stone base of a massive structure. There were sheltered areas, mostly made of thick fabric or animal hides, and a dozen men stood guard around the largest of the tents.
Where there were men, there must also be food and water, and the camp seemed likely to produce more immediate results than hunting in this unbearable heat. Her willingness to mingle with mortals was a testament to her desperation, but flying all day yesterday drained her.
She and Priska had argued again. Nothing new for them; in fact, the same argument had plagued them for over a decade. Phaidra was no longer the naïve child who hoped for acceptance, and rather than try to win it by staying in one place, she chose to wander the earth and air. And Priska wanted what Phaidra could never have: stability, roots, a home and community. They separated years ago, but Phaidra respected Priska’s request to check in regularly. Priska had settled in another nameless small town, buried in the Theseus range this time, and had tried to assure Phaidra that if she stayed, she would find tolerance or even approval . . . eventually. The argument went around and around, the same arguments made over and over again, and finally Phaidra did the only thing she knew to escape. She took off, promising to return in a month, and then she flew south.
Phaidra rapidly closed the distance to the camp, debating the best way to acquire sustenance. Shouts of surprise rose from the humans on the ground, and the nearly naked men dropped their tools and gaped, work forgotten. Several of the armed guards charged toward her and threw makeshift weapons into the air as if to fell her. Their skin was darker than the Grecians, and they were almost all bald, as if they shaved their heads and even their bodies. They wore very little clothing, those who wore any, only a swath of fabric wrapped around their genitals.
She kept her distance as she eyed the camp. While nothing mortal could kill her, the rocks, spears, and arrows still hurt. She found the pavilion she suspected held the food rations, but before landing, something gold glinted and caught her eye. A handsome man wearing a linen headdress with a circlet of gold and a pleated wrap of beige fabric was shouting at the men.
Her immediate needs were momentarily forgotten, and she circled lower to hear what he was saying.
“But what is it? I have never seen such a magnificent creature. Surely this is a sign from Ra. Tell the men to stop shooting. Maybe she will land.”
His unabashed interest and praise shocked her. And he’d called her it only once before recognizing she was in fact female, and not just a monster. She wondered if she was hallucinating from the heat, so she circled again and waited to hear what else he’d say.
One of the other men said to the one wearing the headdress, “Sir, what if it eats us?”
The regal one shook his head, but his gaze stayed fixed on her as he snapped, “Go make an offering, idiot, then she won’t be hungry.”
“But, it could still—”
The handsome man turned to the other and delivered a harsh, “Go!”
The bare-headed man delivered a hasty bow and scurried away to the tent Phaidra had been eyeing. He returned carrying a hind quarter of cured mutton, struggling under the weight of the meat. He ran out a distance from the camp and threw the food into the sand.
The man with the crown shook his head, and his full lips turned down in a disgusted frown. He ducked into a tent the color of sand and returned carrying several clay flasks and a folded linen cloth. He then walked calmly over to the food, laid the swath of fabric on the ground, and then picked up the meat. He was clearly much stronger than his servant, and after brushing the sand off, he placed the meat on the material, along with the flasks. He then withdrew several meters and waite
d, watching her.
Phaidra scrutinized him as he prepared the offering. There had been no time for him to poison either the food or drink. And his speech regarding her had held nothing but respect, as had his actions. The dry air leeched her energy, and her hunger and thirst demanded relief, so she landed. The sand scorched her hands, but the pads of her haunches barely registered the heat. She warily eyed the men, but no one moved toward her. She stepped onto the cloth, her nails ripping the fabric as she hurried to the flagons of liquid. The malted barley drink was warm and sweet and soothed her parched throat. She finished the first container and then turned to the meat, salivating in anticipation. As soon as she took her first bite of the salted mutton, she forgot all about her audience and devoured the food. She pulled meat off the bone in large hunks and washed it down with diluted ale from the second flagon the leader had brought her. When the meat was gone, she pulled the femur from the hip, the bones snapping. Admittedly, breaking the bones was primarily for show, a demonstration of her strength, and served as a warning reminder that she was dangerous. It worked. While there were plenty who had watched, no one approached while she finished sucking the marrow from the bones. Sated, she tipped the last of the liquid into her mouth. Setting the heavy flagon down, she noticed the man wearing the headdress approaching her.
“Oh, great cat of the sky . . .” His intonation was all deference, but his gaze was fixed on her with something like hope lighting his eyes.
Phaidra studied the man. He approached with his palms up. Wearing a simple drape of light cloth about his waist and another draped over his head, the man was clearly unarmed. He had nothing that would make her stay, he was not a threat, but as Phaidra contemplated her next move, curiosity kept her grounded.
She met his gaze with her golden eyes and asked, “What do you want, leader of men?”
A slow smile spread over his face. “Have you come as a blessing from the gods?”
He was either delusional or naïve.