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

by Daniel Mignault

  Mom's smile is slow in coming, like melting snow, but I know I've touched her, reached through the frost of upper-crust nonsense that traps her, that traps all of us. Even Dad seems to have a new respect for me.

  “I suppose they'll report it and send a priest,” he says. “And you can bet he'll come knocking with his hand out.”

  “Probably.” I shift from one foot to the other. “Hey, I'd appreciate it if you guys left Mark out of anything you say to the priest.”

  “Of course we will,” Dad says. “You never admit anything to a priest you don't have to. That's part of the whole confession racket; it gives them evidence to blackmail you with later.”

  “OK. Thanks, Dad.”

  “Just to be clear, I'm doing this favor for you and for us, not Mark. Now go to your room and get some rest. Your mother and I will handle the priest.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My father nods, dismissing me. It's as close to an “I love you” as we get.

  12

  WARNINGS

  I slide the dining room door shut. James is waiting outside the door, a familiar guilty look on his face. We both ignore the fact he was obviously listening to my conversation. He walks beside me, neither of us speaking until we're well away from the dining room.

  “How did it go?” James asks, as if he doesn't know already.

  “About what I expected.”

  James makes a sympathetic sound. “They love you.”

  “I know.”

  “They were worried. I've never seen them so rattled.”

  “They sure didn't show it. My father seemed more concerned about wasting money on my amulet.”

  “Your father…” James begins, then lowers his voice. “Your father expresses his love in a different way than most people. His business has made him cold, hard to the outside world, even to family. But I've been with him since the beginning, just like I've been with you. He built all this for you. So when he complains about losing money, or priests interfering with his business, he really means he's worried about you. About your future. You'll inherit all this someday.”

  “I don't care about all this, or the future! I may not even have one.”

  James frowns. “Don't say that, sir.”

  “It's true! Anyway, why should I care about money and things when I can care about people?”

  James doesn't reply, just waits for me to continue.

  “Something happened last night,” I tell him. “Something I can't explain. I wasn't sure I'd feel the same today, but I do.”

  “Is it a girl?” James asks as we head upstairs.

  “What?” I say. “No! I mean, yeah. There's a girl, but that's not it. Well, not the main thing.”

  James smirks. “I see.”

  I feel my cheeks redden. “Damn it! I wish it was that simple, I really do. There's way more going on than just a girl.”

  “If you'll pardon my saying so, your first one is never 'just a girl.'”

  “We didn't―I mean, we kissed, that's all.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “I was referring to falling in love, sir.”

  “Oh! Well, I wouldn't say it's gone that far. It probably won't. I may never see her again.”

  James nods, but the smirk is still on his face, telling me he knows better.

  I check to see if there are any other slaves around, but we're alone. Still, I keep my voice down. “Even if I do see her, there's the fact she's from Loserville. My parents would never accept her. No one would.”

  “Love is rarely convenient…” James gets a wistful look on his face, no doubt remembering some girl from his youth. “Would you like my advice?”

  “Definitely.”

  The wistful look goes away, replaced by concern. “Sometimes love is best kept to oneself. Especially if it will harm the one you love more than it will help.”

  I chew on that as we walk down the hall to my bedroom. James must mean what Lucy warned me about last night: How my parents would stand in the way, how everyone would, and yet… I really don't want to be alone anymore.

  James says, “Love is a wonderful thing, but it's also selfish. It can destroy happiness as easily as it creates it.”

  “So you're saying I shouldn't love this girl?”

  “No, I'm saying if you love her, be sure the consequences won't leave her worse off than before she knew you.”

  “Thanks, James. That helps.”

  He nods. “As to the rest of what's going on, I wouldn't worry. You've always done well in physical challenges. It's that Blake fellow who should be worried.” When he sees that doesn't cheer me up, he adds, “Did something else happen? Something you didn't tell your parents?”

  I can trust James with my secrets. I've shared things with him in the past and he's never let me down, but how do I share that I might be magic?

  “What do you know about ravens?” I ask instead.

  He looks puzzled. “Ravens, sir?”

  “Come on, James. I know you were listening at the door.”

  He shrugs. “They eat the dead.”

  “Yeah, but do they ever attack in swarms?”

  “I've never heard of them doing that. And I have no idea why they would attack centaurs, of all things! That seems rather odd.”

  “Have you seen any ravens hanging around?”

  He wrinkles his forehead in thought. “I spend most of my time in the house, so I wouldn't know about what goes on outside, but come to think of it, one of the maids did report she found a bird in the house yesterday. A great big black one! In your room, in fact.”

  “What was it doing?”

  “I'm afraid it was gone by the time I got there. I had the maid tidy up and saw no need to report it. It was just a bird, after all.”

  “Was it?”

  “Was it what?”

  “Huh? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking aloud.”

  James smiles. “Very good, sir. Will that be all?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, if you happen to notice any more ravens hanging around, like in the house, or outside the windows, could you let me know?”

  “Of course. You should rest up now, all right?”

  I nod, then open the door to my room. It's exactly the same as I left it―the normal teenage room of a normal teenage boy: desk, chair, bed, lamp. Framed pictures of mountains and caves on the wall. Posters of warriors in battle and athletes in competition. And then there's my rock collection, the many geodes and crystals glittering in the morning sun. I run my hands over them and instantly feel better.

  The next thing I do is look out the window at the perfectly landscaped backyard. You could fit a hundred shacks in it, maybe Mark's whole neighborhood. A bird flies by, but it's not a raven. I know I'm being paranoid, but I lock the window just to be safe.

  James has left a breakfast tray for me, loaded with a fluffy ham and cheese omelette, side of bacon, buttered toast, and orange juice. I sit at my desk and wolf the meal down. An image comes to mind of Cronus devouring the Gods, but it's one I quickly shove to the side along with the now empty tray.

  I pull the stone from my pocket, setting it on the desk next to my collection. I pull out my rockhounding kit and busy myself cleaning and polishing it. Nothing happens, no mystery reveals itself, and certainly no magic. It's just an ordinary rock, not even worth identifying.

  That means I'm the one that's magic, and that thrills and terrifies me because it's crazy. Only the Titans and monsters are magic… except for the old Greek Gods. But I'm not any of those things. I'm normal. Aren't I? I have to be. I may be adopted, but my parents were human.

  That means I'm human.

  I have to be sure. I push back my chair and stand up. I back away from the desk a good five feet, then hold out my hand. Palm out, fingers splayed. I concentrate, focusing on the stone. Willing it to fly into my hand.

  Nothing happens.

  “Come on,” I hiss. “Move, damn you!”

  Sweat pops out on my forehead. I squint my eyes and grit my teeth. My muscles te
nse, fingers tightening into a claw. I reach out to the stone with my mind. Trying to make a connection. Trying to make it understand:

  I am the mountain.

  I am one with it.

  I am one with the earth, and we are brothers…

  I can't be sure, but I think something is happening. I think I see the stone move, just the tiniest bit.

  There's a sharp crack at my window. Startled, I turn to see a raven on the windowsill. It pecks the glass again, then cocks its head and croaks at me. Black bird. Black eyes. It flaps its wings and is gone.

  Downstairs, the doorbell rings.

  13

  THINKING

  The priest sits across from me in the living room. He's not wearing the usual azure cloak, but one of midnight blue. It marks him as a member of the Inquisition, the Temple's special investigative arm. That means he's not here to reprimand me. Any priest could do that. No, he's here to check for crimes against the state:

  Blasphemy.

  Treason.

  Magic.

  A leather folder rests in his lap, and there's a golden mace―a ceremonial club with a blunt metal head on the table next to him. Its head is in the shape of the Eye of Cronus. The inquisitor's face is carefully composed in a neutral, almost-friendly way, but the smile never touches his eyes, which are sharp and gray. He's middle-aged: thinning black hair, slight paunch, entirely unexceptional. His azure robe stands out against the white cream of the couch.

  “I am Inquisitor Anton,” the man says. “Your parents were just telling me what an exceptional young man you are.”

  I smile blandly, trying not to look nervous. “I do all right at Axios, if that's what you mean.”

  He nods, reaching for the folder. He opens it, eyes flicking over the documents inside. “Your reports from the Academy give you high marks for physical ability. Your gym teacher, Mr. Cross, says you have the makings of a fine warrior. You're one of his top students.”

  “I am, praise Cronus.” Maybe this won't be so bad after all. I must look good on paper, even if I'm a mess inside.

  “However, your academic instructors are a bit less enthusiastic,” Anton continues. His expression hasn't changed, but his gray eyes seem sharper. “Why is that? Are you having problems at home?”

  “No.” The only problem is my parents didn't get rid of this guy. But no one, not even my parents, can throw an inquisitor out. Not without consequences.

  If Anton notices my discomfort, he doesn't react. Instead, he asks, “Problems at school, then?”

  I hesitate, thinking of Monday's rematch, then shake my head. “Nothing I can't handle.”

  “Spoken like a true warrior.” Anton flips to another page, taking his time to reread what he must have already memorized by now. “Tell me, Andrus, what would make a fine, upstanding, citizen such as yourself break curfew?”

  “The Academy gym is being remodeled, and I wanted to work out, so I had to go to the one downtown.”

  “The Harryhausen gym on 81st Street?”

  “Yes, sir. That's the one.”

  “Mm-hmm. And after?”

  “I wanted to take a walk to clear my head. I wasn't paying attention and got lost. I didn't break curfew on purpose.”

  “No? Why am I not surprised? Young man, you should know intent is irrelevant in the eyes of the law. One is either guilty or one is not. Surely they teach you that much at Axios?”

  “Y-yes, sir. They do! But they also teach us there are exceptions, and not every sentence deserves the harshest penalty.”

  Anton studies me before slowly nodding his head. “And they said you weren't a scholar! Answer my questions then, and we'll see how lenient I can be.”

  “I'd be happy to.”

  “No, boy! No one is 'happy' to answer my questions, but they answer all the same. Now, let us return to the events of last evening: When you went for your walk, what were you trying to clear your head from?”

  I scratch my head. “I don't remember. It was nothing important. You know how it is.”

  “No, I'm not sure I do. Were you unhappy?”

  “Unhappy?” I swallow. “No.”

  “But you must have been concerned about something, correct? Something big enough to make you forget curfew.”

  “No, I just daydream sometimes. That's all.”

  “Interesting. About what, may I ask?” Of course he can ask. He's an inquisitor; that's what they do. And after they're done asking questions, that's when the real torture begins… When I don't answer, he says, “Daydreams indicate you are unhappy about something in your life, not merely 'concerned.' Tell me, Andrus, what could a boy like you be unhappy about?”

  “Nothing! It's just I'm excited to graduate and become a warrior. I can't wait to put in my service to the state. I feel like I could be doing more. You know, like you. You've got all your training behind you and an important rank now. You're happy, right? Happier than before you graduated?”

  Anton's half-smile falters. “We're not here to talk about me.”

  I'm not sure what to read into that, or if I should bother trying. I was hoping to draw a comparison between us, to compliment him and make him empathize, but it feels like I've touched a nerve instead.

  “Sorry,” I tell him. “I was just thinking that―”

  “Oh, you don't want to do too much of that.” Anton cuts me off. “Thinking too much is what gets people into trouble. They think they have the money and resources to avoid arrest. They think they're too important, that they can do anything they want. Is that what you think, Andrus? Do you think you can talk your way out of this?”

  “No, sir.”

  Anton snorts. “That remains to be seen. Now then, in his report, Captain Nessus says you were apprehended breaking curfew south of the Harryhausen gym―the opposite direction of your family's estate.”

  “I guess so. I'm not sure where I was. I was lost.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “Yes.” The lie comes quickly, since technically I was alone when the Night Patrol found me.

  “Really? There was no one else around? Any other witnesses who can corroborate your story?”

  “I can't say for certain. It was dark.” I'm determined not to bring Mark into this, not if I can help it. I know my parents didn't mention Mark, and there's a good chance the centaurs didn't either. It would make them look bad for not catching him. Since I know my father will have mentioned it, and am eager to change the subject, I say, “Captain Nessus didn't want to honor my amulet.”

  Anton sighs. “According to the captain's report, he says you had some trouble producing it, which escalated the situation.”

  I sigh and look away. “Oh, it escalated, all right.”

  “Andrus, if the captain failed to honor the amulet, then you are well within your rights to file a complaint. The Temple takes such allegations quite seriously.”

  “My father hasn't filed one?”

  Anton shakes his head. “He wanted to, but it was not his amulet in question. It was yours. It's up to you to file charges. Is that something you would like to do?”

  “What will happen to Captain Nessus if I file?”

  “He will be reprimanded. It will go on his permanent record and be factored into any future promotions.”

  “That doesn't sound like much.”

  “I'll be candid, it's not. You could request a formal hearing. Archieréas Vola himself will decide―”

  “The high priest? Really?”

  “Yes,” Anton says, “and if Archieréas Vola finds in your favor, you will have the right to challenge Captain Nessus to trial by combat in the Temple Arena. As the accused, he would be allowed to choose the weapons for both of you.”

  As much as I'd like to fight Nessus, I don't like my odds. “No, thanks.”

  Anton looks disappointed. “So you agree with the captain's claim you had trouble producing the amulet? And that the captain acted appropriately?”

  “Yes.”

  Anton pulls out a pen and makes
a notation on the page as he mutters, “Regarding amulet… Citizen Eaves agrees with Captain's report… no charges filed.” He then hands the pen and page to me, pointing to a blank line. “Sign here, please.”

  I sign and hand it back to him. “Is that it?”

  “Almost.” Anton leans forward. “Tell me about the ravens.”

  “The ravens, sir?”

  “Yes. Tell me about the ravens and the reason you ran.”

  “Um…”

  “Come now, Andrus! The question's not too hard, is it?”

  “No, sir.” So I tell him as much of the truth as I dare, leaving out the part about the girl, the cloud, and how the birds had been following me all day. I finish by saying, “I think the earthquake must have startled them; that's why they attacked. There was nothing I could do, so I ran.”

  “I see. What do you think caused the earthquake?”

  “Uh, the normal reasons? Earthquakes happen all the time.”

  “They do,” Anton admits, “but sometimes, they happen for unnatural reasons.”

  “I'm sorry, I don't understand.”

  “You don't? Are you sure?” His eyes take on a dangerous, fanatical gleam. “I'm talking about magic.”

  “It wasn't magic! At least I don't think so. If it was, what could have caused it?”

  “What indeed?” Anton muses. “Let's forget that for the moment. You say the ravens attacked. Were you injured?”

  “No, I was lucky.” The inquisitor frowns, so I quickly add, “I wasn't the only one who ran. One of the centaurs did too. Ruvo, I think his name was. I figured if the monsters couldn't protect themselves, they couldn't protect me. I know I shouldn't have run, but I panicked.”

  “I see,” Anton says. “Normally, fleeing from the Night Patrol would be a serious offense, but I am prepared to accept that there were extenuating circumstances in this case.”

  “Extenuating?”

  “Yes, to remain might have endangered your life. And just between you and me,” he adds, “I might have run too.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I knew you'd understand.”