Titan_An Epic Novel of Urban Fantasy and Greek Mythology

by Daniel Mignault

  “So what God would make a magic item that makes you look like a ghost and smell like death?” I ask the question, but we both already know the answer.

  Hades, God of the Underworld.

  “Of course, I could be wrong,” Mark says. “That girl could just be a human witch.”

  “OK, but why is she helping us?”

  There's no answer for that, so Mark and I keep walking. From everything I've read, witches don't help people out of the goodness of their heart. They're selfish and evil and they always want something, but what could a witch want from us?

  No, I correct myself. Not what does she want from Mark. What does she want from me?

  I lead Mark toward the cave I've explored before. It's a short hike past boulders and tumbleweeds. A short hike to find out it's closed. A gang of slaves are walling it off with stones while a pair of warriors and a bored-looking priest pass a wine bottle back and forth. As we get closer, I notice the stones are covered in magic symbols.

  Mark tugs at my sleeve. “I don't like this. We should go.”

  I brush him off. I've come too far to turn back now, at least not until I know what's going on. I walk up to the priest and his escorts. The warriors step forward, hands on their sword hilts. One says, “This area's off limits, citizen. Move along.”

  I crane my neck around him, trying to get the priest's attention. “Excuse me,” I call. “What happened? How long will the cave be closed?”

  The priest waves me forward, and the warriors let me pass. He's maybe forty, a fat man with beady eyes and a wispy brown beard. His nose and cheeks are flushed red―maybe from sunburn, maybe from alcohol. “You're a bold one,” he says, taking another swig. “Let me guess: rich parents?”

  I nod.

  He spits. “That's the problem with your kind, Rich-O. No manners. No respect! What gives you the right to inquire into Temple business?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “I'm sorry, I was just curious. I thought the caves were safe.”

  “Safe?” The priest laughs. “Of course they're safe―as long as you don't go in them.”

  “I meant this one in particular.”

  “So did I,” he says. “See these stones?” He waves his free hand at the pile behind him. “They're good for keeping people out, but they're even better at keeping things in.”

  “What kind of things?”

  The priest takes a long pull from the bottle, draining it. “Thirsty work,” he says. “Thirsty day.” He tosses the bottle at the slaves. “Work faster, damn you!”

  I glance back at Mark and the two warriors. Mark looks worried. The warriors look bored. The priest continues to ignore me, but I know what he wants. I pull a bag of drachmas from my belt. The jingle of coins grabs his attention.

  “A donation,” I suggest.

  He eyes the bag warily, then snakes out a hand to tuck it into a leather pouch at his side. It's illegal to bribe a priest, but it's not illegal to donate to the Temple―although I doubt my money will go towards anything but another bottle.

  We eye each other for a moment, then the priest says, “There was an incident yesterday morning. Fissure opened up in this cave. Something got out. We're making sure nothing else does.”

  “What was it?”

  The priest shrugs.

  When he doesn't elaborate, I ask, “Did you see it?”

  He shakes his head. “Not me, but I heard it was some kind of awful gray cloud.”

  My mouth goes dry. “Cloud?”

  “Uh-huh. Wasn't a gas leak or anything like that. Just between you and me, I heard the cloud was shaped like a girl.”

  “So it's a ghost? Or a monster? Or…” I shut up, because I don't want to sound like I know too much.

  The priest belches, then scratches himself through his tunic. “Can't say, except it's something the Temple isn't happy about, that's for sure. Why else would they have me out here working on a Saturday? And in this heat!” The priest spits again. “Ain't right.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No,” he says, patting the leather pouch at his side. “Thank you, citizen. A thousand blessings upon you.” He places his hands together, crossing his fingers and touching his thumbs while leaving a space between. He raises his hands to his forehead in the gesture of our faith. The Eye of Cronus. I return the gesture and walk away.

  I don't make it ten feet before the priest's voice stops me. “Hey, kid!”

  The warriors pause in their task, hands on their sword hilts, watching me for any sudden movements.

  I freeze, wondering if I've somehow been caught, if this priest somehow knows I'm magic and his warriors will seize me and drag me to the Inquisition's dungeon. Can Mark can get away? I look over at him, see the panic in his eyes, the accusation.

  What have I done?

  Maybe I can cause a distraction to buy Mark time to get away, but he's no better at track then he is at climbing walls.

  “Come here!” the priest calls.

  When I turn and study the priest's face, he doesn't look angry. He waves me back to him.

  “Yes?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”

  I watch the warriors out of the corner of my eye. They haven't moved. The priest follows my gaze and snorts. He raises a dismissive hand to his men and they return to their duties.

  “I wanted to warn you,” the priest says, but there's no malice in his words. “Whatever that thing was that escaped from the cave… Well, it tore up a squad of warriors before it got out of the park. In broad daylight too! That sound like a monster to you”

  “No,” I say. “But that doesn't mean it isn't one.”

  “A new kind of monster,” the priest muses. “I'll be sure to pray on that. You should take your friend and go. Me, I have to be here. But you? It's not safe.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “We'll take your advice.”

  “I'm glad,” the priest replies. “You know, I had a son like you once. He didn't listen for shit. Thought he knew better than me. Thought he was invincible.”

  “What happened?”

  The priest's face darkens with anger. “What do you think happened? He's a damn zombie now!”

  “I―I'm sorry. Was it a monster that got him?”

  The priest looks down at his hands. “Yeah,” he rasps. “A monster did it.” He stares at his hands, clenching them into fists until the knuckles pop.

  I don't know what to say, or even what to think. Does the priest mean a monster was to blame, or was it something else? Something worse? Did he turn his own son into a zombie?

  The priest doesn't look up. When he speaks again, his voice is tight, quivering with violent emotion. “You should go,” he says. “Now!”

  I walk back to Mark. Behind us, the priest yells at his warriors to get the slaves working, to “put their backs into it.” Soon, his shouts are followed by the angry crack of whips and screams of men.

  “What were you thinking?” Mark whispers. “Why did you talk to that priest? What if he put us to work on the wall?”

  “Don't exaggerate.”

  “I'm not. Maybe he couldn't put you to work, but I'm not rich, remember? Losers get enslaved on a whim. You want to take chances with your life, that's fine. Just don't take them with mine.”

  We make it another fifty feet, just out of sight of the priest, before Mark stops me. “Well?” he demands.

  “Well, what?”

  “Aren't you going to tell me what you found out?”

  I hesitate. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes, damn it!”

  “That thing from last night… the cloud-girl.”

  “What about her?”

  “That cave is where she came from.”

  16

  THE OMEN

  The news doesn't sit with Mark any better than it does with me. I can't help but feel we're getting drawn closer and closer to whatever that thing from the cave is. Whoever it is, I correct myself.

  “What if it's a God?” Mark asks. “That's a possibility we haven't c
onsidered.”

  “The Gods are dead.”

  “The Temple says they are,” Mark agrees. “Except Hades. But what if some of the other Gods aren't dead? What if one or more Olympians survived?” This is not just radical statement coming from a guy who's training to become a priest. It's blasphemy.

  “They're dead,” I say. “All of them. Why would the Temple lie about that?”

  “So no one worships them. Worship is power! Gods and Titans, they eat it up. Like spiritual candy.”

  I can't help but grin. “Spiritual candy?”

  Mark shrugs. “I was trying to put it in terms you'd understand. I meant 'psychic energy.' Gods and Titans are energy beings. They have plenty of energy on their own, but are always hungry for more. They store it up and use it instead of having to use their own. You know to perform miracles, that sort of thing.”

  “And to take on physical form,” I say.

  “Exactly! That uses up a lot of energy, which is why we don't see them walking around everyday. Of course, that doesn't mean they're not lurking around in spirit form.”

  “Cronus is watching,” I mutter.

  Mark sighs. “You know, most people take that literally. They think the King of the Titans is omniscient, but I've been thinking…”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “No, I'm serious. What if that means Cronus only sees whatever's in front of him? So he could be here watching us, or he could be somewhere else, but he couldn't be in both places at the same time?”

  I gotta give Mark credit. That's a heavy thought for someone raised to believe the Titans are perfect, and that Cronus is the most perfect of all.

  “Speaking of watching,” Mark says, “don't look now, but there's a raven watching us.”

  I turn my head slowly and see the familiar black-feathered beast. It cocks its head, caws once, then takes off deeper into Bronson Canyon. Toward the forbidden caves.

  “Ravens are the messengers of Hades,” Mark says. “At least, that's what some people say. They're also known to be familiars for witches.”

  “Great! So do we follow it? Or would now be a good time to run?” I'm half-joking. I want to follow it, but I'm afraid of what we'll find. And what if it puts Mark in more danger? I'm responsible for him. I can't just go charging off after some mystery bird. I'm the one it's been following, not Mark. I can tell Mark is torn too, so I ask, “We don't have to do this. I remember what you said, about getting you in trouble.”

  “Thanks,” Mark says. “But that bird is an omen. We can't ignore it.”

  “An omen, huh? They teach you about omens in priest class?”

  “Yes,” Mark says. “They do.”

  I can't argue with that, so we set off after the raven. We follow it for about a mile until it stops and begins circling overhead. Not over our heads, exactly. Over a cave. A cave that's been sealed shut the same way the last one was, with magic stones. Only it was sealed a long time ago. There's no one around. Just us and the bird.

  There's something about this cave. Something important. Above us, the raven cries.

  “Stay back,” I warn Mark.

  He shakes his head, then sees that isn't going to stop me. “Andrus! What are you going to do?”

  I wave him off. Moving forward. Step by step, until I'm inches away from the sealed entrance. I reach out a hand to touch the wall… Sensing power, sensing magic.

  The stones seem to pulse under my fingers. I wait, but nothing happens. The raven circles, scolding me. Daring me to do more.

  I lay my hand on the wall.

  “Well?” Mark shouts. “Anything?”

  I look back over my shoulder. “No, nothing. I―”

  I don't get to finish my sentence. An explosion throws me back. I lay on the ground, stunned. Dust and debris swirl through the air. Mark is at my side, helping me up. We cough and sputter as the earth moves beneath us, doing a crazy jig, then settles. Through the brown haze, I expect to see the wall shattered. But it's still there. Still intact.

  “That doesn't make any sense,” I say. “If it wasn't the wall, what blew up?”

  Mark points. “Not the entrance, the side of the cave. See? A fissure opened up.”

  I go over to it as the dust settles. The rocks here are cracked, fractured wide open. Revealing a tunnel just big enough for us to fit through.

  17

  DEAL

  The inside of the cave is dark and cool, at least ten degrees cooler than the temperature outside. We slide and scuff our way down the narrow fissure until we come out into the main cave. We flip on on our flashlights. The beams punch through the darkness, revealing a wide, dusty chamber. A tunnel leads deeper. We follow its gentle slope, our footsteps unnaturally loud in the enclosed space.

  “It sure is spooky in here,” Mark says.

  I grunt something that sounds like agreement or sympathy, but that's not how I feel. I like it here. It's not spooky at all. It reminds me of home. Not just my rock collection, but of being surrounded by thick walls. That's what it's like, I think to myself. It's like being inside my rock collection. I reach out a hand to touch the wall, my fingertips trailing over stone.

  Rough stone.

  Welcoming stone.

  There's a dull rumble, a tremor, and dust rains down from the ceiling. “Hold up,” I warn. “Stay flat against the wall until it passes.”

  We wait, bodies pressed against soothing stone.

  “Think it's safe?” Mark asks.

  “This?” I say, playing my flashlight along a hairline crack in the ceiling. “Yeah, it's just an aftershock. Nothing to worry about.”

  “No, not that. I meant you don't think the priest will send those warriors in here, do you?”

  “Nah. Why would he?” I resist the urge to shine my light back in the direction we came from. “They don't even know we're here. Come on, the tremor's passed. We should get moving.”

  Mark nods, but doesn't look convinced.

  The way ahead gets steeper, until we must be a good hundred feet below ground. With each step, I feel more confident, more happy. At peace.

  We emerge onto a long ledge overlooking a limestone chasm. Our flashlights can just make out the floor, fifty feet below. It's covered in stalagmites, like a bed of nails for giants. There are more tunnels at the bottom. Across the chasm, roughly opposite us, is another ledge with another tunnel. It must have connected to ours years ago. Looking up, the ceiling is covered in stalactites.

  “Wow,” Mark says. “They look like teeth.”

  “They're speleothems,” I say, indicating the ceiling and floor formations. “Limestone deposits dissolved by water containing carbon dioxide. They form a calcium bicarbonate solution that drips into those formations. See the ones on the ceiling? Those are stalactites, and the bottom ones are stalagmites.”

  Mark stares at me.

  “What?” I say. “I like rocks.”

  He chuckles. “I guess so. I just never thought of you as much of a student of… well, anything besides sports and stuff.”

  “Just because I'm a jock doesn't make me dumb. If I get interested in something, I learn everything I can about it.”

  “And you picked rocks?”

  “What's wrong with rocks?”

  “Nothing. It's just, I figured with your dad and all, you would have picked business.”

  I shrug. “They're not completely unrelated. Our oil business uses geology to know where to drill and how deep. But that's not really why I got into it―that just made it easier to convince my dad I wasn't wasting my time.”

  “Oh,” Mark says. “I get it. You wanted to learn geology because of caving. So it is sports-related.”

  “Yes and no. I've just always had a thing for it. Haven't you ever studied something because you felt like you had to?”

  “You mean like for my Academy scholarship?”

  “No, not for any practical reason. Because you loved it, and you knew it loved you back. That you had a special connection. A talent, a gift.”

 
; “Not really,” Mark says. “I never had that kind of luxury. Everything I studied, I did for my future. I don't want to be a priest because I love it. I'm doing it because I love what being a priest can do for my family.” He falls silent for a moment. “But I understand what you're saying. And you know what? I'd do the same thing if I had your kind of time and money.”

  “I discovered the oil,” I say. The words just pop out of me and hang there.

  “What?”

  “The oil,” I explain. “On my parent's old property, the one we sold to buy the mansion. I discovered the oil.”

  “But your family's been rich at least a decade! You were only a little kid back then.”

  “I know. I was in the backyard, playing with my shovel, and something told me to dig. I dug, all right. I dug 'til my dad came home from work and caught me tearing up the backyard. He was mad at first, but then he saw the oil bubbling up, and… well, you know the rest.”

  “You were lucky,” Mark says. “You couldn't have known.”

  “I couldn't?”

  “No, that's crazy! I mean, isn't it?”

  That's something I've often wondered myself. But now, after everything that's happened, I'm beginning to wonder. What if I'm more magic than I thought?

  “We should get training,” I say, breaking out the caving gear. It takes about ten minutes to show Mark how to use it. “OK, we're going to attach our nylon rope to the wall here―really pound those spikes in good―then rappel down the side of the chasm. It's fifty feet to the bottom, so we've got enough rope to make it.”

  “Just don't fall, right?” Mark jokes.

  “Exactly. Don't freeze up, just keep moving. You want to push off from the wall a few feet, but not too far. You want a nice, safe, controlled descent.”

  “Got it.”

  “Great. OK, hook your flashlight to your belt and switch on your headlamp. After we get to the bottom, we're going to climb up the other side.”