Titan: An Epic Novel of Urban Fantasy and Greek Mythology (The Gods War Book 1)

by Daniel Mignault

  Stepping into the sunlit street, it's hard to believe last night even happened. When I look back at the house, Lucy is watching through the window. She waves, and I wave back, then she's gone.

  I walk on, remembering last night―the good part, the part where she was pressed up against me and there were no monsters, no magic, not even the threat of Monday hanging over my head. What I wouldn't give to get back to that moment, or to have a thousand more just like it.

  My rosy glow is wrecked by the sight that greets me a few blocks down. There's a victim of the Night Patrol―a brainless zombie―shuffling toward me. Half her face is gone, the skull cracked open. There's blood crusted to the front of her dress, some of it still wet. She's not much older than Lucy. She even looks like her―the part of her that hasn't been eaten. The zombie shambles forward, her remaining blue eye glassy, unfocused.

  Who is she? Why was she out past curfew? Was she meeting her boyfriend and lost track of time? I'll never know, and I doubt she even remembers.

  The zombie moans and staggers by. I can't help but wonder if it's my fault this happened to her, if having led the centaurs to this part of town caused her to get caught instead of me. There's no way to know, and I'm ashamed at the relief I feel it was her and not me, or Mark, or Lucy… but it could be. If not last night, then tonight, or the next.

  Because that's the world we live in.

  I watch the living dead girl, feeling even sicker as a pair of feral, bone-thin kids in rags run from behind a nearby shack. The brother and sister surround the zombie and laugh, pelting her with stones.

  “Half-face! Half-face!” the skinny girl yells. “You're a stupid freak!”

  “Yeah! Take that, ugly!” her brother shouts. He throws a fist-sized stone toward the gaping hole in the zombie's head. Only the stone doesn't connect. It just veers away from the target into my outstretched hand.

  “Get out of here,” I growl. “Now!” I'm angrier than I should be, angry at a world where so much is so wrong.

  The Loser kids shriek and run. The zombie wanders on, as she will for all eternity.

  I want to think I've done some good, but I haven't. I haven't changed anything for her, or those kids. I haven't changed anything for anyone but me.

  I stare down at the rock, still not sure what happened is real. The rock is a flat, smooth gray, perfect for throwing. It doesn't look magic, though it feels slightly warm to the touch. I think about tossing it away, but put it in my pocket instead.

  Above me, a raven caws, circling the blood-red sky.

  I hail a taxi when I get to the better part of town. The cabbie is a pudgy guy with a thick red beard. He asks me where to, then whistles when I tell him.

  “Fancy!” he says. “That's a long trip. Sure you can pay?”

  I jingle my coin purse at him.

  “OK, buddy, you got yourself a ride. Say, you look beat!Rough night?”

  “Sort of.”

  He puts the taxi in gear. “I heard that! Every night's a rough night when you're young. Why I remember this one time when I was your age, I met this girl and―”

  I cut him off. “No offense, but I'm pretty wiped. How 'bout a little music?”

  “Sure thing. You're the boss.” He turns on the radio. The sound of Greek folk music fills the cab.

  I lose myself in the cheerful strings as we pull away from the curb. Saturday traffic is light this early. We're making good time, but before we get out of downtown, traffic snarls. Ahead, a sanitation crew is hosing down the blood-stained street―someone's life swirling into the gutter.

  The black-clad slaves finish hosing the pavement, then go at it with brushes as a bored overseer cracks his whip. “Move it, you lazy dogs!” he barks. “Move your asses!”

  People walk past the spectacle, pretending not to notice, or too busy to care. That can't happen to me, they think, as long as I play by the rules. Or maybe they even think whoever that happened to, they must have deserved it. But Mark and I didn't deserve it. That zombie in the street outside his house didn't deserve it. It's funny how people can rationalize even the worst forms of cruelty as long as it doesn't effect them. It's easier not to fight. To give in and give up. Especially when you're rewarded for it.

  Like my parents.

  They're rich, and that's an understatement. They struck oil on their land when I was young, one of the largest veins ever found in the NGT. That oil allowed them to move to the big house we have now, on the well-manicured land far from the problems of the city.

  Until today.

  I have no doubt Captain Nessus is going to report me to his commander, who will report me to the Temple, who will send some annoying priest over to reprimand me in front of my parents. That should worry me more than it does, but I have so much going on right now, I really don't have room for it.

  My main problem, the one I have half a chance of solving, is can I really train Mark in time? I'm going to have to. Then there's Lucy, but that's such a huge question mark it makes my head hurt worse than the rematch. It doesn't help that she keeps pushing herself back into my thoughts just as soon as I think I've pushed her out.

  Is that love? It's lust, for sure. I mean, I like her. Maybe because Lucy's exactly the kind of girl I shouldn't like. The kind I can't be with that makes me want her more. And she needs me, but she doesn't seem needy, if that makes any sense. She's smart and strong. I know if she could just get into Axios, she'd be fine. Better than fine. Or, if not the Academy, then some other opportunity. In business, perhaps. It's not like my family doesn't have connections.

  I'm not going to solve the Lucy question right now, anymore than I'm going to solve the Mark one. What I need to focus on is what I'm going to tell my parents about last night. But that's not what my mind wants to do.

  I pull the rock from my pocket. It's not warm now. I stare at it, trying to sense if it's magic, but nothing happens. Then an idea hits me:

  What if I'm magic?

  “That's it,” the cabbie says.

  Startled, I look up and realize he means we're parked outside the gated driveway of my house. It's funny how I wanted to be here so bad last night, but now I wish I was anywhere else. I push the rock back into my pocket.

  “You want me to drive up?” the cabbie asks, “or you want out here?”

  “Here's fine. How much for the ride?”

  “Fifty drachmas.”

  I tip him an extra ten.

  He thanks me, then says, “Hey, it might be none of my business, but if this is your house, it doesn't matter how rough last night was. Why, if I owned a place like this, I'd―”

  I don't wait for him to finish. I get out and stare at the wrought-iron gate as the cabbie drives away.

  I'm home. So why doesn't it feel like it?

  11

  IT’S COMPLICATED

  I tap in the security code on the gate panel and step into the wooded driveway. It's a half mile to the house from here. I could have had the driver take me, but I'd rather walk. After all, the sun is out, the birds are singing, and there's a soft breeze. The ground under me feels familiar, welcoming. I've always felt safe here.

  Protected.

  But am I? Couldn't it all be ripped away from me the second I stop playing the Titans' game? No wonder so few resist.

  My house looms into view, and it's like I'm seeing it for the first time. I can see why Lucy called it a palace or castle. It's neither of those things, but it's a lot closer than I'd care to admit. The front of the two-story house is supported by ornate columns in the Corinthian style, topped with fancy scrollwork. Everything is white except the ocean-blue shutters and trim. It's a big house, far more than we need, with dozens of rooms. Some of the rooms I've only ever been in once or twice.

  There are slaves washing my dad's red Ferrari. Slaves tending the flowerbeds. Slaves cutting the grass. I remember an old history book in Dad's library. It was written in English, not Greek, so I don't think he was supposed to have it. From what I could make out from the pictures, befo
re the rest of the world was destroyed and the USA became the NGT, people only kept slaves of one color. I never understood that. Our slaves are every color, just like they used to be in ancient times.

  The Titans don't care about skin color. To them, a human is a human, and humans are only good for three things: work, worshipping, or food. Anyone can become a slave, just like anyone can rise or fall to any station in life. The priests say that makes it fair, but I'm not so sure. People like me seem to have things more “fair” right from the start.

  The slaves pause in their tasks to look at me. There's relief in their eyes, and a few wave or shout greetings, but I'm not sure if that means they're glad I'm home or glad my parents can stop taking out their worries on them. My parents don't beat them or anything, but sometimes they get mad and say mean stuff. I could never bring myself to do that, even with my temper, because I figure the slaves have things hard enough already.

  I move past them, returning the waves, nods, and hellos. After seeing how people live in Loserville, it feels weird. Maybe because I'm not the same as when I left yesterday. I'm different, more aware of how others live. My eyes have been opened to the cruelty and injustice of this world, and I don't know what to do about it.

  No ideas come to me as I walk up the front steps, through the double doors, and into the foyer. Paintings and photographs greet me: my family, our oil business, landscapes, cityscapes. People I barely know and places I've never been. Greek vases on pedestals line the walls. A grand staircase sweeps up and away in all its polished glory to the bedrooms on the second floor. My room is up there. My sanctuary. But it will have to wait.

  James, the white-haired old butler, hurries forward in his black tunic with the gold striped sleeves that signify his position as head slave. James practically raised me because my parents were so busy being rich they didn't have time.

  “Master Andrus!” James says, “We were all so worried when you didn't come home last night. Are you OK?”

  “I'm fine. I lost track of time and had to spend the night in the city.”

  “But your amulet! The Night Patrol should have granted you safe passage.”

  “Yeah, well, they would have, only they didn't want to extend the courtesy to my friend, so I had to improvise.”

  He gives me a worried look. “You got into trouble, didn't you?”

  “A little.” I try to blow it off with a shrug, but there's no fooling James. He knows me too well. “It's complicated. The important thing is nobody got hurt.” I can't help but shudder, thinking of the zombie and the screams I heard last night. With a heavy sigh, I say, “I guess I better tell my parents what happened. Where are they?”

  “At breakfast, sir. Shall I have a place set for you?”

  “Nah, I'm not hungry.”

  “Forgive me, but I've never known you not to be hungry. Why don't I have a tray sent up to your room?”

  My stomach growls and I break into a grin. “Fine.” It's not that I don't want to eat, it's that I don't want to eat with my parents. Things are going to get awkward fast, and I'd like to be able to digest my food in peace.

  He leads me to the dining room and pulls back the sliding wooden door to reveal my parents.

  “Master George,” James says, “Mistress Carol! Master Andrus is back, safe and sound. Nothing to worry about, just a boyish misadventure, that's all.”

  “We can see that,” my father says gruffly. “That will be all, James.”

  The butler frowns, clearly expecting a less frosty reaction. He presses a hand to my shoulder. It's a gesture telling me to be strong, one he's given me many times before. I nod to him, thankful for it. James backs out of the room and slides the door shut.

  My mom opens her mouth to say something, but Dad stops her. “Well?” He leaves the question hanging like a knife between us.

  “I'm sorry.”

  My father takes a sip of coffee, watching me squirm. Finally, he says, “Sorry? You were out all night! I think you can do better than sorry.”

  “George,” my mom begins. “He's safe. I don't think―”

  But my dad is already holding up a finger to silence her. It's not his middle one, but it might as well be.

  “Go on,” my father tells me. “Let's hear all about your latest 'misadventure.'”

  “Promise you won't be mad?”

  My father's cheek twitches in annoyance. “No, but I promise I will be if you don't start talking.”

  I shuffle my feet. “Well, something happened yesterday at the Academy… I, uh, lost to Blake Masters in gym class at the wall climbing event.”

  Dad is pissed. “You lost? But that's your best event!”

  “I know. I didn't lose by much, and only because Blake cheated. Anyway, Mr. Cross says we have to do a rematch Monday and he made it a team challenge. So he assigned each of us one of the weakest kids and we have to train them, but he said we couldn't use the school gym and―”

  “Does this story have a point?” my father interrupts.

  “Yes, sir.” I realize I've been talking too fast, like I always do when he's grilling me. “I'm sorry, there are a lot of details, and I didn't want to leave anything out.”

  “Details are important,” he agrees. “Continue.”

  I clear my throat. “Like I said, I have to train Mark―he's the partner Mr. Cross gave me. He's there on scholarship.”

  My parents exchange a worried look.

  Dad says, “Mr. Cross stuck you with a charity case, huh? Well, at least he didn't put a Loser on your team.”

  “Actually, Dad, Mark is a Loser―I didn't know that either at first―but he's a good guy. He's going to be a priest.”

  “Of course he is,” my father says dryly. “That's the only way his kind will ever make any money, by extorting 'donations' from honest, hard-working citizens like us!”

  “George…” My mother lays a hand on his arm. “Let's not get worked up over that again.”

  My father has always had a thing against priests and goes off about them in private every chance he gets. He calls them bloodsuckers and leeches, snakes and perverts, saying you can't trust them, how all they care about is lining their own pockets and they'll ruin you every chance they get.

  Mom's grip on Dad's arm tightens. He sighs, not wanting to back down, so she moves her hand to his, locking them together. Some of the anger drains out of him. Enough for me to keep going.

  “The thing is, since we couldn't train at the Academy, we had to go to the Harryhausen gym downtown. And Mark needs a lot of help, so we trained really hard and the time got away from us. Since I had an amulet, I offered to walk Mark home.”

  “To Loserville?” Mom asks in a horrified whisper.

  “Yes. Only we got chased by the Night Patrol―centaurs―but I was able to hide Mark just in time. The centaurs looked for Mark, but couldn't find him, and I said we'd just met, so I didn't know his name or where he lived. That's when they got mad and pretended I didn't have an amulet. They were going to eat my brain.”

  “That's outrageous!” my father snaps. “What was their captain's name?”

  “Nessus. He seemed to think he could get away with it.”

  “Maybe,” my mother says, “you shouldn't have lied about Mark.”

  “But they would have tortured him!”

  Mom shrugs. “I know this is going to sound harsh, dear, but after all, Mark is a Loser, and you're an Eaves. You have your family to think about, your future.”

  I don't know what to say to that. Don't know how to tell her that she's wrong when she's saying this horrible thing out of love. I'm her son. I matter to her. Mark doesn't.

  When my father speaks, it's not about me or Mark, it's about money. “I paid good drachmas for that amulet,” he grumbles. “Archieréas Vola himself swore it was proof against monsters! That they had to obey and grant you safe passage. If the high priest's word isn't good enough…” Dad pauses, his hawklike face flushing with renewed anger. “I mean, who do those centaurs think they are? They'r
e monsters, not lawyers! They're not allowed to interpret the law or the whole system falls apart. I tell you, I don't know what this world's coming to!”

  There's no point arguing with Dad when he's like this, so I don't even try. It's better for him to be angry at priests and monsters instead of me.

  “But the centaurs let you go?” Mom asks.

  I hesitate before answering. “Not exactly. I escaped.”

  “There's no way you outran centaurs,” my father says. “You're fast, son, but not that fast.”

  “I know. I didn't.”

  “Then how did you get away?” he asks.

  “I'm not sure. One minute the centaurs were going to eat my brain, the next there was this earthquake and a swarm of birds attacked them.”

  “Harpies?” Mom wonders. She's right to ask, because even though the monsters were all spawned by the Titans, that doesn't mean they like each other. Harpies and centaurs are well-known rivals.

  “No, not harpies,” I say. “It was ravens. I can't explain it. Anyway, I ran and met Mark a few blocks later. We made it to his house. Since the centaurs didn't know who Mark was, they didn't know where to look. I spent the night with his family, then took a taxi here. I know I wasn't supposed to run, but the centaurs weren't supposed to go against the amulet, so we were both in the wrong.”

  “You did what you thought was right,” Mom says, “which is more than I can say for those monsters! But what you did was foolish, risking yourself and our good name for that boy, that Loser! What were you thinking?”

  “That nobody deserves to walk around for all eternity with their head smashed open. I had to help Mark; it was my fault he was out past curfew. I would have done the same for anyone, Mom. I would have done the same for you and Dad.”

  “Don't be ridiculous! Your father and I both have amulets. You wouldn't need to.”

  “Still,” I say, “if you were ever in any kind of trouble, I'd do whatever I had to to keep you safe.”