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

by Daniel Mignault

  “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.”

  We pound our spikes in, secure our safety cables to our belts, then step to the edge. I give the rope a good, hard tug, and Mark does the same to his. They hold.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  Mark looks a bit queasy. “Hang on a second. I just thought of something.”

  “You mean how badass it's gonna be when we beat Blake and Brenda?”

  Mark shakes his head. “No. What if… what if there are still ghosts and monsters in this cave? It was sealed, remember? What if they only sealed it up top, but not down where the tunnel to Tartarus is?”

  “They wouldn't be that sloppy.”

  “Seriously? You saw how drunk that priest was outside!”

  “That's because there was only one monster. Back when they sealed this cave, there were dozens, maybe even hundreds. The Temple would've been super-thorough. You're studying to be a priest. What did they tell you they did? That they half-assed it? Because I don't recall any monster prison breaks until yesterday. So they must have sealed up the Tartarus tunnel too, right? Otherwise, we would've seen some monsters by now. Great big ugly ones with sharp teeth.”

  Mark gulps. “I guess so. Look, I'm not trying to be a coward or get out of training, but I can't get hurt. My family's counting on me.”

  “Mine too. You think I'd bring you here if we had another choice? This is it. You want to be scared, or you want to be mad about it?”

  “Mad?”

  “No, man! Don't say it like a question. Say it like you mean it. Get mad, be mad! Mad at Blake for buying up that gym!”

  “Mad at you for getting me into this mess?”

  I laugh. “Sure, if that's what it takes. But we gotta work together. I'm not saying you can't be mad at me if you want, only now isn't a good time. I need you mad at Blake if we're gonna do this. Hate him. He's the one you have to beat.”

  Mark sighs, trying to psych himself up.

  “Look, I'll make you a deal. If you're still pissed at me after we win Monday, then you can punch me.”

  “Punch you?” He looks at me suspiciously.

  I point at my chin. “One free shot. Hey, it's not like I don't deserve it. I effed up. I admit that, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry about this, and I'm sorry about last night. So if you need to hit me to make it right, I'm all for it. Just try not to knock out any teeth, OK?”

  Mark makes a fist and stares at it, then me. “Deal,” he says, and steps off the ledge.

  18

  CONNECTED

  I rush over to the side and look down. Mark is ten feet below, feet planted firmly against the chasm wall. His hands grip the nylon rope. He grins at me. “Guess the spikes will hold. You coming, or what?”

  “Be right there.” I join him, and soon we're keeping pace with each other. It feels good to be here, to be free among the stones. It almost feels good enough to forget why we came here. All that trouble and pain, the weirdness… Maybe it happened for a reason. Maybe we had to come here to get past our defenses and bond.

  Mark whoops with joy as we hit the halfway mark and I can't help but join him. The sound of our voices echo, bouncing off the walls, the ceiling, and down the tunnels.

  “Wait!” I caution. “Be quiet.”

  We hang there, listening.

  “You hear something?” Mark whispers.

  I cock my head, straining to hear something, anything, that might warn us we're not alone. But there's nothing. “Nah,” I say. “Just being careful. I remembered that thing you said about not dying.”

  “Yeah,” Mark says, “I remember, but you know what?”

  “What?”

  “Maybe I focus on not dying so much I forget how to live. Everything can't be about caution. Not if we're going to win.” He swings away from the wall, another crazy whoop screaming out of him.

  I follow, and soon we're at the bottom. I slap Mark on the back. “You did it! That was awesome.”

  “Thanks,” Mark says. “You know what the difference is between this and the centaurs?”

  “What?”

  “Last night, we didn't have any control. Today, we faced danger on our terms. This was our choice. It was…”

  “Exhilarating?”

  “Empowering,” Mark says. “This isn't like gym class, where Mr. Cross is always pressuring me. With you, I actually felt like I could do this. Thank you for that.”

  “That mean you don't want to hit me?”

  Mark chuckles. “Ask me again after the rematch.”

  “Fair enough, but you do know that was the easy part, right? We still have to scale the opposite wall. It won't be nearly as easy going down.”

  He shrugs. “Then we better get it over with.” He takes a step toward the opposite wall, then stops as his foot comes down on something hard and brittle. It crunches underfoot, and he jerks his leg back, grabbing for his flashlight. The beam shines on twisted shards of ivory. The bones of a monster. The skull is shattered from where Mark stepped on it, but not enough that we can't see the elongated snout, the ram's horns.

  “Centaur,” Mark says, then whips his flashlight around, playing the beam down the nearest tunnel. I add mine to it, but we don't see anything besides more monster bones sticking out of a dead end cave-in.

  “They've been dead a long time,” I say, kicking a ribcage out of my way. “That tunnel's sealed shut. Nothing to be afraid of.”

  “What about the other tunnels?” Mark asks. There are two more down here, not counting the one at the chasm's top.

  “Wanna split up?” I ask.

  “Not really.”

  “I thought you were feeling more like a hero now?”

  “Half a hero,” Mark says. “I can handle all this caving and climbing, but monsters freak me out.”

  “Me too. We don't want some hungry cyclops sneaking up on us.”

  “Cyclops? I meant centaurs! Next you'll be telling me to watch out for harpies and minotaurs.”

  “Not me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you already warned yourself.” I smile to let him know I'm joking. “Besides, a cyclops is too big for these tunnels. So you can rule them out along with any other kind of giants, not to mention hydras. Although a minotaur might fit…”

  To my surprise, Mark walks away from me toward the next tunnel. “Clear,” he says. “This one's caved-in too.”

  I walk over to him and shine my flashlight down it. This one's sealed closer to the front and I don't see any bones sticking out of the rubble. “Two down,” I say, “one to go.”

  We head to the last tunnel. It slopes down and disappears around a corner. It could keep going ten feet or ten thousand and we'd never know. To make matters worse, there's a rancid, monster-y smell coming from it.

  “You smell that?” Mark asks.

  “Yeah. Could be monsters, but maybe not. Could be gas.”

  “Gas?”

  “Methane, carbon monoxide, hydrogen sulfide,” I explain. “You know, the toxic kind that knocks you out and kills you, or the kind that explodes. It's got that rotten eggs smell, but I can't be sure.” There's another possibility, of course; one I don't mention: that cloud-girl from last night. She stank too, but from death and decay. This seems different, but I can't be a hundred percent sure her scent isn't mixed in with something else. Whatever it is, it's awful.

  Mark sighs. “So what do you think? Gas or monsters?”

  I motion him away from the tunnel. “If it was monsters, don't you think they'd have attacked by now?”

  “Maybe,” Mark says. “What if they're waiting?”

  “For what?”

  “For us to go in the tunnel, or to start climbing the wall.”

  “Only one way to find out.” I lead us over to the wall we're going to climb, letting my flashlight pick out what looks like the easiest section. There are enough handholds and ridges h
ere for me, but will they be enough for Mark?

  “We can't use our gear,” I explain, “since we won't have any in class, and we're going to have to clip our climbing belts together with the rope. That's how it'll be when we team up Monday. We're going to have to take it slow and trust each other.”

  Mark manages to crack a smile. “So far, so good. I just wish this cave was better lit, like gym will be.”

  “We should keep our flashlights on when they're hanging from our belts. That way, we can see if any monsters come sniffing around from that tunnel. Also, it will help us see where we're putting our feet.”

  Mark nods. “Good idea.”

  I tie us together with a ten foot line of nylon rope, double-checking to make sure the knots are tight, then tell him, “If something happens… if one of us passes out or falls and can't grab hold of the wall, use your knife to cut the rope.” I point to the small knife we each have attached to our belts. “Cutting ourselves free isn't ideal, but it's better than both of us falling.”

  “Got it,” Mark says. “OK, let's do this. Being half a hero is better than none.”

  The climb is hard. I have to constantly wait for Mark to adjust his grip, or reposition himself, or realize which handholds will be enough to hold onto or will support his weight. But he's doing all right. I offer as much encouragement as I can, but it's difficult keeping an eye on him while I'm trying to make my own progress.

  Waiting for him to catch up slows me down, and I keep checking my watch to note the time. Clearly, we're not going to break any records today, but that's not what this is about. This is about getting Mark comfortable, getting him confident in his abilities. In a lot of ways, coming here was exactly what we both needed, though I hate to think Blake did us a favor throwing us out of that nice, safe gym.

  I've never trained anyone before, but then, I'm sure Blake hasn't either. But he's popular, easygoing. He knows how to manipulate people. He's probably got Brenda so scared or in love with him that she'll be able to race up the rock wall in no time.

  It's taken a lot for me to forge even this basic level of trust and teamwork with Mark, and it wouldn't take much to blow it. Like if Lucy and I saw each other again. I keep telling myself there's no way that will happen, so why do I keep thinking about her? Is it because she's the first girl I ever talked to about anything important? Or that she's so different from me? Or is it something more?

  “Hey,” Mark hisses, then says it again, louder when I don't respond. “Hey, Andrus!”

  I snap out of my thoughts. “What?”

  “There's something up on the ledge.”

  I look up. There's a shadow, but is it moving?

  “See it?” Mark whispers.

  “Yeah, but it might not be anything.”

  “That tunnel below,” Mark asks, “could it be connected to the one up top? Could whatever was down there before be up here waiting for us?”

  “Maybe,” I whisper back. “But we don't know anything was down there! Not for sure. What do you wanna do?”

  “Head back down?” Fear oozes into his voice, that same fear he's been fighting since I've known him.

  “Are you kidding? We're halfway up! And you're half a hero, remember?”

  “I know, but…” Mark stares past me to the ledge above. His eyes grow wide with shock. “It moved!” Mark gasps. “The shadow! I saw it! I―” He loses his grip and falls. I brace myself, digging my fingers and feet into the stone. Mark's frantic weight tries to tear me down. Beneath us, the rocky bed of stalagmites extend from the cavern floor.

  Ready to impale.

  “Grab on!” I yell. “Grab the wall!”

  Mark flails. His hands claw for the stone, miss, then latch on. But it's awkward. He can't find a foothold, so he scrambles, trying to hug the wall with his knees. “I can't do it!” he shouts. “I'm gonna fall!”

  “Hang on,” I say. If Mark can just stay put, maybe I can get to him in time. I inch my way down, muscles straining. “Mark,” I say, “can you move to your left? There's a better handhold there, and a foothold…”

  Mark tries for it, fails, then tries again and loses his grip. He's deadweight and my muscles scream with it. There's no way I can hold us both, not like this. “Mark! Grab the wall!”

  “I can't,” Mark says. “I'm sorry.” He reaches for something on his belt. The knife. He cuts the rope and plunges toward the cavern floor.

  19

  WHO WE ARE

  As Mark falls, something bursts from the ledge above. In a wild fluttering of wings, something small and black flies at my face, orange claws uncurling. The raven!

  I jerk away from it, flailing an arm out to protect my eyes. The claws graze my cheek, drawing blood, then the bird is gone, diving into the darkness below. My defense is just enough to unbalance me. I'm going to fall. I'm going to end up broken and crippled, speared on the stalagmites next to Mark, and we'll both suffer here until the flesh rots from our bones. Except the pain, the desperation, has set the rage burning in me, burning like never before. My fingers dig into the rock. Literally. I watch them sink inside the wall, and at the same time, there's something beyond anger―a kind of connection I feel with the stone. It spreads, rippling down the wall in a wave, and when it hits the bottom, I use its energy to flatten the stalagmites, to soften the chasm floor just as Mark's body hits.

  A shadow looms from the ledge above. It's the girl. She leaps off the ledge, but doesn't fall. Instead, she turns into a familiar gray cloud, the one that saved us last night, and I swear I hear her laugh as she drifts by.

  I hang from the wall for a moment, watching her descend, then have to work to pull my fingers from the wall. They come loose in a cracking of stone. I thread my way down the wall, and when I get to the bottom, I see the girl bending over Mark with that bird of hers flapping overhead. She's flesh now. The cloud is gone.

  “Get away from him!” I yell.

  The girl turns toward me, her expression unreadable. She's thin, black-haired, and pale, wearing a dark purple cloak and tunic. About my age. The smell of decay is gone. Her eyes are gray, not like stone, but fog. I can almost see the misty vapors moving behind her eyes, then they go as sharp and hard as ice. “Your friend,” she says, making no move to leave his side, “he hit his head.”

  “But I softened the earth,” I protest, realizing how foolish that sounds. “I mean, I know I did something.”

  “Yes, but just enough to keep him from splattering his brains. He's got a concussion. You weren't fast enough. I expected more from you.”

  “More? What are you talking about? I didn't even know I had any magic until this morning!”

  “You knew,” she says. “You've always known, but kept it buried. You wanted to be human so badly. How's that working out for you?”

  “Fine!” I say. “And I am human.” I stare at my hands, wondering at the power I feel there. “Well, human-ish.”

  “Ha!” she snorts. “Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, you want me to save your friend, or what?”

  “What do you mean, save him? It's a concussion. He'll wake up in a few minutes.”

  “Hardly. There's bleeding on the brain.”

  “How do you know?”

  She shrugs. “I can smell death on him―or what passes for it these days.” As if to make me believe it, she puts her nose next to Mark's ear and inhales deeply. A strange look passes over her face, almost one of pleasure.

  I don't know whether to be sick or fascinated. “What are you?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “What are you?”

  “I―I'm…” My words trail off. That was such an easy question yesterday. Now, I don't know how to answer. “Look, I don't know what I am, and Mark doesn't have time for us to play this guessing game. Can you fix him?”

  “Fix him?”

  “With your magic! You are magic, right? Like me?”

  “Not like you,” she says, “and I can't fix him, but I know someone who can.”

  “Great. And how is your fr
iend supposed to find us here in this cave?”

  She whistles to the raven. It lands on her shoulder. She presses her lips to its head, whispering a message I can't hear. The raven squawks once, then flies toward the tunnel we didn't explore.

  “Are you sure that's safe? I thought I smelled poison gas.”

  “Shadow won't mind. Besides, he's taking a shortcut.”

  I watch as the raven evaporates into black smoke. Just like that, it's gone.

  The girl stands and stretches her legs, which I can't help but notice are long and shapely. She catches me looking and smirks. “Really?” she teases. “Your entire life's turned upside-down and that's what you want to focus on?”

  I feel myself blush and look away, guilty and embarrassed.

  “I'm flattered,” she says, “but I haven't been stalking you because I've got a crush. My name's Hannah, by the way. Hannah Stillwater.”

  “I'm Andrus Eaves―but I guess you already know that. And what do you mean you've been 'stalking' me?”

  “My dad said I should find you.”

  “And your dad is… let me guess: Hades?”

  “That's right,” she says, leaning casually against a stalagmite. “The Unseen One, Lord of the Dead, God of the Underworld.” She says it as if it's no big deal her father is one of the three most powerful Olympians, the older brother to Zeus and Poseidon.

  I don't know what to make of that, but the look on her face says she's serious. “How is that even possible?” I ask.

  She grins. “Well, my father took on mortal form and then he and my mother―”

  I half-cough, half-laugh. “I don't mean that! I mean, isn't Hades imprisoned in Tartarus?”

  Hannah nods. “He met my mom just before the end of the Gods War. You might say I'm his insurance policy.”

  “Insurance? You mean to bring him back?”

  “Bingo! Plus the other Gods, of course―the ones that aren't dead. We're going to destroy Cronus and his Titans once and for all.”

  “So you're a Demigod and not a…?”

  “A what?”