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

by Daniel Mignault

“Witch.”

  Hannah mock bows. “Can't a girl be both?”

  I look at her in horror.

  “Kidding! I'm not a witch. Well, actually I am, but that's really more of a hobby.”

  “A hobby?”

  “Yeah, like your collection. The geodes and crystals? You use your knowledge of the earth to supplement your powers, the same way I use magic to supplement mine.”

  “Yeah,” I say, not really understanding. “Of course. So is that cloud you turn into a spell or magic item?”

  “Listen, we don't have a lot of time, so let's just keep this simple, all right? Here's what you really need to know about me: I've been on the run the past few years, doing damage to the Titans when I can, avoiding them when I can't, but mostly I've been training. Training and waiting.”

  “Waiting? For what?”

  “For you, Rock Boy.”

  “OK, I get that I'm magic. I've got some kind of powers, but I'm no witch. And there's no way I'm a Demigod… am I?”

  Hannah laughs like I've just told the best joke ever. “No, Andrus. You're not a Demigod. You're not even close.”

  Panic grips me. “Oh, shit! I'm not a monster, am I?”

  “W-e-l-l,” she says, drawing out the word, “that depends on who you ask. But no, you're not a monster. Not really. Think about it. Monsters can't go out in the daytime. Well, maybe a few of them can.” She smiles strangely at me, and I can't tell if she's joking or not.

  “So what am I?” I ask.

  “You're something else,” Hannah says. “Something special. I wasn't sure I believed it; that's why I had to test you. I had to make you emotional enough to get your powers out where I could see them and be sure Dad was right.”

  “But your dad's a God! Is he ever wrong?”

  “He lost the war, didn't he?”

  “Oh,” I say. “Good point.”

  “Exactly!” Hannah begins pacing the chasm floor. “Look, you'll forgive me if I wanted to see for myself this mission wasn't some wild goose chase. We've got one shot at this, and I need to be sure of the people on my team.”

  “Wait, what? You want me on your team? To overthrow Cronus? I can't do that! I've got gym class Monday.” She glares at me like I'm a complete idiot. And right now, I feel like one. “No, seriously! I know how dumb that sounds, but it's important. Mark and I have to win this climbing contest. If we don't, our whole future is ruined.”

  Hannah shakes her head. “That's your old life.”

  “Maybe, but it's not Mark's! I can't leave him hanging. I―I've kind of screwed up his life a lot already, you know? I can't do that to him again.”

  She sighs. “Loyal and stubborn, just like Dad said to expect. Fine, Rock Boy, have it your way. You win your stupid competition, then you come with me.” She sticks out her hand. “Deal?”

  I reach out, then hesitate. How can I leave everyone and everything behind? How can I even consider overthrowing the Titans? “You still haven't told me what I am.”

  “Yeah,” Hannah says. “Why do you think that is?”

  “I don't know! You seem more interested in telling me what I'm not.”

  She runs a hand over her forehead in exasperation. “Has it ever occurred to you that I'm not the only one looking for you?”

  “You mean there are other Demigods looking for me?”

  “No, genius. Not Demigods. Titans. And unlike me, they don't want to be your friend. They don't want you to help them change the world. They want to kill you―which they can't, until my father is freed―so in the mean time, they'll settle for the next best thing.”

  “Like what?” An image of the zombie girl, head bashed in, doomed to wander forever, fills my mind. Or being fed to Cronus and slowly digested over a thousand years. “You mean torture?”

  “That's just for a start! They'll find the deepest, darkest pit in Tartarus and put you in it. Just like they did to my dad. You've only got one defense, and that's secrecy. The Titans don't know who you are yet. But believe me, every priest has been briefed to be on the lookout for someone with your powers.”

  I think of the Inquisitor Anton, and how interested he seemed in my activities. How suspicious. But if he thought I was some kind of mythic being, he wouldn't have come to my house alone, and he certainly wouldn't have left without trying to arrest me. Unless he was waiting to see me use my powers, just like Hannah.

  “I'm not going to tell you what you are because that way you can't tell anyone else,” Hannah says. “What you don't know can't hurt you―or me. But what I am going to tell you is, do not use your powers in public. Not again. They're still raw, undeveloped and unpredictable, so keep a lid on your emotions. Don't get too mad, too excited, too anything! Your powers respond to heightened emotions, especially anger. That's how you'll give yourself away.”

  There's a loud pafft! Her raven, Shadow, reappears in a blast of black smoke. Wings flapping, it makes its way over to us. The bird looks slightly singed.

  “What happened?” I ask. “Is your raven all right?”

  “He's fine,” Hannah says. “One of the hazards of inter-dimensional travel.”

  “Inter-dimensional?” I choke on the word, barely comprehending the enormity of something this girl takes for granted. “OK, but where did you send him? And who was he supposed to bring back?”

  “I sent him to Tartarus,” Hannah says, “to find a ghost.”

  “A ghost?” I'm not sure this day can get any weirder, but then the raven caws, coughing up a thick gray cloud that takes on the shape of a man.

  Hannah says, “Andrus, meet Herophilos. He's a doctor.”

  20

  PSYCHIC SURGERY

  The ghost bows, its once-vague features sharpen to resemble a wise man in his fifties.

  “OK, so he's a doctor, but, um, are you sure he's―you know―qualified? How long has he been dead?”

  “I'll let him answer that,” Hannah says.

  Herophilos gives a vaporous shrug. “I have been beyond this mortal life since 280 B.C.” His words are formal, stilted by an ancient Greek accent, “but, I assure you, death is no obstacle to education. I have continued to practice medicine with men and spirits, even among the Gods themselves! My most recent position was Court Physician to my lord, Hades, until the Gods War necessitated a change of scenery…”

  Herophilos stops to look at Hannah a moment. Something passes between them, but I can't tell what.

  “You can skip that part,” she prompts him. “Just tell Andrus your qualifications.”

  The ghost sniffs disdainfully before continuing. “As to my earthly qualifications, beyond writing the preeminent text on blood flow, I was the world's first anatomist―the first to dissect cadavers to gain knowledge of human anatomy. My earthly advances in medicine were unequalled for 1,600 years after my death, but,”―and here he pauses to give a self-satisfied smile―“when you take into account I've never stopped practicing, I am sure you will, by necessity, come to the correct conclusion that I am more than qualified.”

  “So you're a genius,” I reply, not sure I believe him.

  “I prefer the word 'visionary,' but yes, I am a genius.” His smile broadens into a grin that threatens to grow wider than his ghostly face will allow. The effect is disconcerting, like watching clouds drift in different directions.

  Hannah coughs politely. “Your face,” she reminds him.

  “My face? Oh, yes. Pardon me.” The ghostly features of Herophilos become pure roiling mist, then reform minus the smile. “Better?” he asks.

  “Much,” Hannah says.

  “Excellent. As I was saying, Andrus, the mind goes where the body cannot. We never stop learning… even in death. I know you must think me pompous, but trust me: Modesty is for the living; the dead have no time for it. In death, our achievements are all we have.”

  I look at Mark, then the ghost. “You really think you can fix him?”

  Herophilos nods. “It is a simple matter of psychic surgery. I will go inside the patient's head
to ease the swelling… with your permission, of course.”

  “Fine,” I say. “If you're sure.”

  Once more, the ghost loses its sharp features. It becomes a gray funnel, whirling its way into Mark's skull through his mouth, nose, and ears. I can see it moving under the skin, Mark's face stretching and shrinking as the ghost goes about its strange business.

  “So,” I ask, “as Hades's daughter, you get to hang with a lot of ghosts?”

  “Some. Imagine having access to train with the best minds, the brightest talents the centuries have to offer. As a Demigod, I was born with certain powers, and Hades gave me magic items, but those weren't the greatest gift he gave me―it was the ghosts.”

  “I get it; the ghosts meant you were never alone. It must be nice, always knowing who you are, what you have to do. All I have is money, but you―you have ghosts and Gods!”

  “A God,” Hannah says. “And in the past tense, at least until we rescue him.”

  “But you still had advantages I can only dream of.”

  “Yes, but it's not as amazing as it sounds. Hades is… well, you'll know when you meet him.”

  “I'm sorry. I don't want to be jealous. Maybe if you told me what I am, I might not be.”

  “Andrus, I want to, believe me…” Hannah chews her lower lip, and I can tell she's wrestling with the idea, but Shadow croaks a warning and she grows cold and distant again. “I'll tell you, Andrus. I promise. Monday, after your competition.”

  I take a step forward. “Tell me now, Hannah. Please! How am I supposed to go on not knowing? How am I supposed to―”

  Mark's entire body jerks, muscles spasming. Froth appears on his lips.

  I kneel next to Mark and restrain him, try to keep him from hurting himself. “What's going on?” I demand. “What is that crazy ghost doing to him?”

  “It's nothing,” Hannah says. “I've seen this before. He zigged when he should have zagged. Herophilos will fix it. He always does.”

  I wait, holding Mark until the tremors pass. His head tilts to one side, mouth gaping open as the ghost pours out in a wet, hissing mist then fades away.

  “Is that it?” I ask. “Where's Herophilos going?”

  “He only has enough energy to materialize for so long,” Hannah says. “Healing Mark used it all up. Give it a minute. You'll see.”

  “You better be right.”

  “I am. Oh, and don't bother going back the way you came; that priest is resealing it. Use the tunnel I came from instead, then come back to this cave Monday after your rematch―or sooner, if anything goes wrong. I'll be waiting.”

  “And then you'll tell me what I am?”

  “Among other things.” Hannah looks down at Mark, then back at me. “I wish we had more time to talk, but I have to go. Your friend will be waking up soon. Don't tell him about me.” She turns into a gray cloud and floats up and away, leaving the smell of death in her wake.

  I'm glad she doesn't smell like that when she's in human form. Actually, now that I think about it, she smelled pretty good. Not like flowers or perfume, not like any girl I've ever known before. But like what exactly?

  Magic.

  Hannah smells like how I feel when I do my magic. I don't know how else to explain it. I know it doesn't make a lot of sense. How can feelings have a smell?

  Almost as if the raven can read my mind, Shadow flaps his wings and scolds me, then disappears in a puff of smoke.

  Mark groans. His eyes open, but they're rolled up inside his head with only the whites showing. It takes about thirty seconds for the pupils to come down, then another half-minute to focus. His mouth works, jaw clicking from side to side to form one slow, painful word: “Ouch.”

  “Mark! You OK? Hey, don't get up too fast.”

  “I'm fine,” Mark insists. “Bit of a headache, that's all. What happened?”

  “Not much… You thought you saw a monster, panicked, and fell. Lucky for me you landed on your head.”

  “The toughest part of me,” Mark jokes, but his laughter turns into a cough. “Gah! Got an awful taste in my mouth…” He spits. “So we're safe? No monsters?”

  “No monsters,” I reassure him, but in my head, I'm thinking just Demigods, ghosts, and magic birds. “So you feel good enough to climb? We can rest if you want.”

  “Nah, I feel all right.” He looks a little dizzy for a moment, then reaches out a hand to steady himself against the chasm wall. “OK, maybe not. Gimme five minutes. Then we scale that mother.”

  I slap him on the back. “Let's make it ten. I'm a little tired myself.”

  After the rest, we scale the wall. To my relief, Mark doesn't have many problems. I'm impressed with his progress―and his recovery. Whatever Herophilos did, Mark sure isn't acting like a guy with a head injury.

  When we get to the top, we high five and whoop it up. I tell him I've got a good feeling about the tunnel in front of us, explaining that the priest would have sealed up the way we came in by now.

  We follow the tunnel to a dead end, only it isn't that dead. It's sealed, but not all the way. One of the stones is cracked, breaking the warding symbol, and some of the stones are loose enough we can pull them out. It's not fast or easy, but twenty minutes later, we're back in Bronson Canyon. The sun is low on the horizon. We have just enough time to catch the last shuttle back to Griffith Park. My dad's limo is waiting.

  “Thanks,” Mark says. “That was quite an adventure.”

  “No problem. Half a hero, remember?”

  “Yeah. Maybe I'll upgrade to a full one Monday.”

  On the ride to his house, Mark looks like he wants to ask me something―maybe a million somethings―but I'm glad he doesn't. They must be the kind of questions he doesn't want to ask in front of the limo driver. Instead, all we do is make plans to meet up at the Temple tomorrow after Sunday services. Maybe we'll go back to the cave to practice, maybe we won't.

  We drop him off at his house, and I see Lucy wave to me from the window. I wave back on instinct.

  21

  ISN’T IT PERFECT?

  Home feels different. Or maybe it's exactly the same and I'm the one that's different. James is there to greet me, asking about my day, and I tell him everything's fine because what else can I tell him?

  James says, “Your parents were worried when they got the message you'd be at the park instead of the gym.”

  “I figured as much. I knew they wouldn't like it, but I didn't have a choice. I explained all that in the message.”

  James nods. “Your parents appreciated that. Your message was rather more detailed than usual.”

  “Yeah, with everything that's happened, I didn't want Mom and Dad to freak out… well, no more than usual.”

  James allows himself the tiniest of smiles. “Very good, sir. I'll let them know you've arrived safely. That is…”

  “What?” I stare at him.

  “There wasn't any more trouble, was there?”

  “No, James. No trouble.”

  “And the raven you were worried about?”

  I force a laugh. “Just nerves. Forget about it.”

  James sighs in relief. “I'm relieved to hear it. Perhaps you'd care to rest before dinner?”

  “Thanks, I'll do that.” I head upstairs to my room and shut the door. I wish I could have confided in James, but these new secrets I have, they aren't teenage mischief. They're big and terrible and totally illegal.

  I take the rock from my pocket and put it in my collection. I run my hands over the different stones and crystals. I close my eyes and feel them, not as separate objects, but as part of a larger whole. Part of me. There's a sense of peace, a low-pitched, tingly hum that spreads over my body.

  What am I?

  I open my eyes and see my collection circling around me. It's beautiful, like looking at Lucy, like riding earthquakes, like bathing in hot, bubbling lava… Suddenly I can see myself in the center of the earth, rising from the magma, carried by gentle hands. Warm, nurturing hands. Where are they
taking me? Everything becomes dark, cold. A giant eye opens, glowing red, and I want to scream, want to wake up. I must wake up!

  I'm back in my room. The rock collection drops the floor. Some of the crystals shatter. I curse, kneel down, and pick up the shards. They're sharp. That gives me an idea.

  I take the largest shards to my desk, pull out my rockhounding tools, and begin shaping them: smoothing the sides, sharpening the tips. When James calls me to dinner, I have three long, thin, crystal daggers. White, like icicles, only these won't melt. If I run into danger again, I'll be ready.

  I tell my parents the safe, boring version of my day: Mark and I went to Bronson Canyon but never inside the caves. We climbed the outside. Mom and Dad don't know the outsides are crumbling and unsuitable, so they swallow the story.

  “We have some news,” Mom says, giving Dad a meaningful look.

  He takes a sip of wine before elaborating. “After I received your note, I had a long talk with Mr. Harryhausen, the owner of the gym. I explained to him what a mistake he was making closing his facility to our son.”

  “Get to the good part,” Mom says.

  “You got him to change his mind? So Mark and I can train there tomorrow?”

  “Better,” Dad gloats. “I convinced him to sell me the gym. Blake's rental for tomorrow has been canceled and refunded.”

  “It's all yours,” Mom says. “Isn't it perfect, Andrus?”

  “It is. Thank you! But I never expected…”

  Dad flashes one of his rare smiles. “Nonsense. It was the least we could do.” He raises his glass and Mom and I join him in the toast. “To our family,” Dad says, “and to our son, who will bring us honor and glory.”

  “Honor and glory!” Mom and I echo.

  I don't get why they're being so nice. Normally, I work hard and stay out of trouble―well, serious trouble―and they act like I can't do anything right. Now, today, after screwing up in the worst way possible and bringing the Inquisition down on our heads, they're acting like I can do no wrong. I notice they both seem to be drinking more than usual and wonder if that's it. Maybe they're drunk out of relief things aren't worse. Or maybe it's because they're hiding something…