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

by Daniel Mignault

  Vola says, “Let this miserable worm feed Cronus's hunger! Let him suffer untold centuries of torment digesting in our lord's stomach like the traitor Gods and blasphemers before him! So say we all. So says our lord, Cronus!”

  The pit is pitch black at first. Gradually, there is a dull orange glow that turns to fiery yellow. The prisoner on the chain dangles over the pit. Screaming. Crying. The chain lowers, sending him down, down into impossible hunger. Into eternal agony and beyond.

  “Take this offering!” Vola shouts. “Take it, King Cronus, so your Unblinking Eye may see us and separate the faithful from the unworthy!”

  “SEE US!” the crowd chants. “SEE THE FAITHFUL!”

  There is a long, wailing scream from the pit, then nothing. The crowd falls silent. The chain comes up, still smoking. The hook is scorched black.

  The worm is gone.

  23

  SOME STAINS

  After we finish singing our praises to Cronus, the sermon ends. We're given an opportunity to clean up in the Temple bathrooms which have long washing troughs opposite the urinals just for this purpose. I scrub my tunic as best I can, but can't get the blood out. I know it's the least of my problems, but it's the one I can do something about.

  “You'll do better with soap.” A nondescript middle-aged man hands me a fresh bar. “Quite a sermon,” he says.

  I don't reply.

  “I always feel so alive afterward,” the man continues. “So blessed. Don't you?”

  I look up from soaping my tunic. “Yeah,” I say, because to say anything different would be blasphemy.

  The man has dull brown hair and dead brown eyes. Not thin, not fat. In fact, he's the most boring, average man I've ever seen, but there's something I hate about him. Maybe that he's OK with what just happened. Or maybe what I hate isn't him so much as it is what he represents. It's like he's asleep, and I've just woken up.

  People empty out of the bathroom until it's only me and the Soap Man. “A little soap fixes everything,” he says. “You just wash your problems away.”

  I can feel his eyes on me as I continue to scrub. The soap helps, but only at turning my tunic pink. I scrub harder. “The stain's not coming out.”

  “Some stains never do,” the man says. “Others… well, others can be gone just like that―if you know where to scrub.” He walks to the bathroom door, and I think he's going to leave, but he doesn't. He locks the door instead. “They're testing you, you know,” the man says, confident we won't be interrupted. “The Inquisition. They tested me once. You know how I beat it?”

  I eye him warily. “No.”

  “I redoubled my faith. They don't turn the faithful into worms. Not if you believe hard enough and loud enough.”

  “Thanks, I'll remember that. Um, you can go now.”

  “You know,” he continues, “this test could actually be an opportunity. For you, I mean.”

  “Oh? How's that?”

  “There's always a way… The Inquisition hunts traitors and blasphemers. That's their job, right?”

  “Right.” “So give them a target! Take the Eye off you and put it on someone else. That's what I did, and life's been sweet ever since.”

  “Hold on. I thought you said you did it by redoubling your faith?”

  “Exactly!” he says. “That's how I redoubled it. Look, once the Eye is on you, you gotta pass it on to make it go away. I gave it to my parents. It wasn't my fault I'd been led astray. It was theirs. They told me things against the priesthood, against the NGT. Hell, even against the Titans themselves. They were false things. Nasty things that got me in trouble when I repeated them. Did your parents ever tell you anything like that?”

  “No.”

  He shrugs, then gives me a sly wink. “Doesn't matter. You could always say they did. The Inquisition takes the side of the accuser, not the accused. That's why it's important to accuse others before they accuse you.”

  When I don't respond, the Soap Man explains, “My parents weren't good people. They were hard. Cold. They never loved me, never brought me anything but pain. You know what the best part of turning them in was? Not the worm part, but afterward?”

  I grit my teeth. “No.”

  “The Inquisition let me keep the house and my parents' business! You're Andrus Eaves, right? I'm just saying, you could be the new head of Eaves Oil, starting tomorrow. All it takes is you pointing a finger in the right direction and…” He makes a slit throat gesture and winks. “Goodbye parents, hello fortune!”

  I want to hurt this man, but that won't solve anything. He's probably working for Anton. The Inquisition use plain clothes spies to root out enemies all the time. So instead I say, “Thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind.”

  “Great, then we're done here.” He unlocks the door, opens it, and gives me another sly wink. “Can I give you another piece of advice?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don't drop the soap.” He laughs at his joke, but never takes his eyes off me as I brush past him. I slam the bar of soap into his chest with my left hand because my right's itching to lash out, to punch him right in the guts, to kill that laugh as dead as I can make anything in this messed-up world.

  I get nervous when I notice the man follow me out of the bathroom into the Temple, but then he loses himself in the crowd.

  I meet up with Mom and Dad and tell them I'm going to find Mark. “You'll need these,” Dad says. He hands me a set of keys. “For your new gym,” he adds.

  I hug him, then Mom, and say my goodbyes. Outside the Temple, I see Mark sitting on the steps with his sister, Lucy. He's got his nose buried in that climbing book I loaned him.

  Lucy stands, quickly running her hands along her dress to smooth out the wrinkles. “Andrus! Hi.” A blush appears on her cheeks. “We were waiting for you.”

  “Sorry, I had to clean up a little.”

  “Oh,” she gasps. “Right! Of course. I'm so sorry.” She hugs me tight. “Are you OK?”

  “Yeah, I guess. It was nothing we haven't seen before.”

  “That's true, only to be so close to it! It must have been so…” She lets the sentence trail off, gives me another squeeze, then steps back with a coy look. “Well, enough about that. Why didn't you stop in the house yesterday?”

  Before I can answer, Mark coughs to interrupt us. “Lucy wants to watch us practice,” he says. “She won't take no for an answer.”

  Lucy puts her hands on her hips. “So? Can you blame me? It's not like I don't have a stake in how your training turns out. Somebody's got to make sure you two are ready for Monday.”

  She's right, and despite my promise to Mark, part of me is glad Lucy's coming. That's the part that worries me.

  24

  FEMALE DIPLOMACY

  When we get to the Harryhausen gym, there's a CLOSED sign on the door. A sign in the window says, UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT. Blake and Brenda are standing around outside. They look clueless. Blake has a split lip from where I punched him yesterday.

  “Hey Blake,” I say. “What's the problem? Didn't you rent the place again?”

  “I did,” Blake growls back. “Only the jerk refunded my money. Says he sold the place, and if I wanna rent it again, I gotta talk to the new owner. Only he ain't here.”

  “You and Brenda planning to wait around all day?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Blake says, “and don't get any funny ideas about cutting in front of us. We were here first. Made an appointment and everything.”

  I pull out the set of keys Dad gave me, give them a spiteful twirl, then unlock the front door. I usher Mark and Lucy in, then block Blake and Brenda.

  “Hey! What gives?” Blake demands. “Where'd you get those keys?”

  “Yeah,” Brenda echoes. “What are you, like, the new owner or something?”

  “Exactly,” I say. “Consider this your appointment. The gym's all booked up. Private party.”

  Brenda looks stunned, almost like she might cry, and Blake takes a menacing step forward. “So keep
your damn gym! I still owe you a punch in the face.”

  My right hand curls into a fist. “Bring it,” I snarl.

  “Andrus, wait!” Mark says. “You don't need to fight him. He's trespassing and threatening assault. Let's just call for the Day Patrol. They'll arrest him, and then we can get on with our training.”

  Blake puffs out his chest. “Call them, coward! You and your pink tunic will have to get by me first.”

  Brenda tugs at his arm. “Blake, maybe we should go. This isn't worth it. If we're in jail, how are we supposed to train?”

  Blake scowls. “Our parents are rich! They'll bail us out in no time. Besides, I can't wait to teach this punk a lesson…”

  “You're all being stupid,” Lucy says. She pulls me out of the doorway. “I get that you don't want to help them, but don't you think letting them practice can help you?”

  “I'd rather kick his ass,” I grumble.

  “You and what army?” Blake snaps. “Who do you think you are, Hercules?”

  “Enough!” Lucy shouts. “If you boys would just chill on the testosterone, I'm trying to give us all a win/win.”

  “We're listening,” Brenda says.

  “Fine,” Blake agrees. “But only for a minute, then I'm gonna stomp this fool so bad he'll look like a centaur tap-danced on his head.”

  Lucy steps between us. “Look, both teams need to practice, so competing against each other here will be more effective than training separately. If Andrus and Mark train here, and Blake and Brenda somewhere else, you won't know what you're up against Monday. You really want to have that kind of surprise when the stakes are this high?”

  There are more nods and murmurs of agreement.

  “I never would have believed it,” Blake says, “but your Loser girlfriend makes sense.”

  “She's not my girlfriend,” I say, then look at Lucy, part of me wishing she was. “OK, let's set some ground rules. If I let you two in to train with us, you gotta behave. No wrecking things or fooling around. And if you piss me off, you leave when I say so. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Brenda says.

  “Not good enough. I wanna hear it from Blake.”

  “Deal,” he says, then surprises me by sticking out his hand. I shake it reluctantly, feeling the hate in his grip. “I'm still gonna kick your ass,” he promises, then grins and lets go. “On the wall, I mean.”

  I go to lock the door, but there's a man standing in the way. “Got room for one more?” he asks.

  25

  UP TO SOMETHING

  “Mr. Cross!” I back up to let our gym teacher in. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to warn you the rematch has drawn the attention of the Temple. There will be a priest, a representative from Archieréas Vola there. The principal tells me he's a kind of talent scout.”

  “Is his name Anton?” I ask.

  “The principal didn't say. He just made it clear that both teams were going to be brought to the Temple: the winners to receive some special reward, the losers… well, I can't imagine it will be good. I'm sorry.”

  “Why is the Temple so concerned with a high school gym contest?” Lucy asks.

  “Sometimes, they just are,” Mr. Cross says. “But there could be another reason. Have any of you been up to something? Something that would draw the attention of the Temple?”

  Mark and I exchange glances. “No,” I say before the silence grows too long. “But maybe Blake has.”

  Blake sneers. “Up yours, weirdo! Do I look like the kind of guy that would get in trouble with the Temple?”

  I open my mouth to answer, then think better of it. “It doesn't matter who brought the heat down. What matters is we can't mess around. We need to train hard. Now.”

  “I'd like to watch.” Mr. Cross says, and no one argues with him. He takes a seat near the rock climbing wall. He pulls out a metal flask and holds it to his lips. Lucy sits next to him, white-faced. He offers her the flask and she takes a long gulp from it. I can't help but wonder what's wrong. She was so strong a few minutes ago. She made this all happen, now she's a nervous wreck.

  “How's your head?” I ask Mark when we go to get the climbing gear. “No dizziness or anything?”

  “I'm OK,” he says. “I mean, maybe not a hundred, but ninety, ninety-five percent. I can do this. It's not like I have a choice.”

  “Yeah,” I say. I take the opportunity to change out of my bloodstained clothes into a clean workout tunic. “Hey, what's up with your sister?”

  Mark sighs. “I don't know. She gets like that sometimes. Fierce one minute, frail the next. It's probably a girl thing. I wouldn't worry about it. What about you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw what happened to you at the Temple. The worm… That must have been hard to―”

  “Scrub out?” I grab a handful of my stained tunic for emphasis.

  “No, I meant to process.”

  “I'm fine.”

  “Sure,” Mark says. “I'm just saying that, well, if you need to talk or―”

  “I said I'm fine.” My words come out harsher than I intend, but there's no other way I can say them.

  Mark doesn't take the hint. “If―I mean when I become a priest, I want you to know I wouldn't be like that. I'd work in the records or administrative division, someplace non-violent.”

  “Don't,” I say. “Don't talk to me about the Temple or being a priest right now. I can't, OK? I just can't. Besides, I know you're not like that.”

  Mark nods.

  We gather up enough climbing gear for both teams, then head back to hand it out. We hook ourselves together into two teams. I get a brief flashback of the hook going into the old man, swinging him up, over the pit, then that long, final scream.

  26

  ANYTHING YOU WANT

  After training ends and Blake and Brenda are gone, I thank Lucy for letting the rival team practice with us. “It really helped having them here,” I tell her. “I mean, it probably helped them too, but now we have a much better feel for what tomorrow will be like.”

  Lucy nods. “I know you wanted to throw Blake out, and I don't blame you, but what's one brief moment of satisfaction worth versus long-term gain?”

  “It might not be that long-term,” Mark says. “Those guys were good. They beat us to the top as many times as we beat them.”

  “And now you know you need to be better,” Lucy says. “What's more you know how to do it. You know how the other team moves, how they work together, some of the tricks they'll try to pull.”

  “What do you think, Mr. Cross?” Mark asks. “You think Andrus and I can beat them?”

  Our teacher takes another sip from his flask. “From what I saw here today, I think you've got a chance. Andrus and Blake are my top students, Mark, but you've really improved.”

  “I had a good teacher,” Mark says, then grins sheepishly. “Um, I mean you too, Mr. Cross.”

  Our teacher laughs. “This isn't the Academy; you can speak freely. Of course, a little more respect wouldn't hurt.”

  “Sorry, sir. I didn't mean that in a bad way, but―”

  “You think I'm a hard-ass?”

  Mark squirms. “Well…”

  “It's OK,” Mr. Cross says. “A lot of kids feel that way. And if I was teaching you skills you'd never need, you'd be right.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” Mark asks, “but if you hadn't put me in this rematch, I don't think I would have needed to learn how to scale a wall.”

  “Maybe, but it's not muscles or climbing skill you needed, Mark. It's courage. Confidence. I didn't put you in this contest to punish you. I put you in because I see your true potential. It was the fastest way I knew how to help you grow into a―”

  “Hero?” Mark suggests.

  “Man,” Mr. Cross says. “But hero works. Is that how you see yourself?”

  “No, but I'm getting there. At least I think I am.”

  “Know how to tell when you become one?”

  “N
ot really.”

  “When you survive tomorrow.”

  Mark pales, but I don't think Mr. Cross meant it in a threatening way, more like an inspiring one, so I jump into the conversation. “You think we will? You think what you saw today was enough?”

  “Maybe,” Mr. Cross says. “There's one thing I know, and that's even with your skills, you won't win just by relying on each other. Teamwork's important, but there's one thing you can't train for…” He suddenly throws his flask at Mark's chest as hard as he can.

  I don't know how, but my right hand reaches out and catches it. “Expect the unexpected?” I answer, then hand the flask back to him.

  “Exactly,” Mr. Cross says. “Good, Andrus. Those are some… unusual reflexes you have there.” He's smiling, but I sense something besides amusement in him. Something I can't quite place. It's not the cold, creepy feeling I got from Anton, but it feels like Mr. Cross is testing me in the same kind of way.

  “Thanks. I've been practicing.”

  “I can see that,” Mr. Cross says. He holds my gaze a moment longer, then drains his flask. “Well, I should be going. All of you remember what I said: Expect the unexpected.”

  I escort him to the front door and unlock it. Mr. Cross opens it, then pauses in the doorway. The late afternoon sun makes a golden halo around him. He places a friendly hand on my shoulder; as he does, the sun seems hotter, brighter, and his outline shimmers in the heat. He leans in, his words low and urgent: “Good luck. If there's anything you want, anything you might regret not doing, don't put it off.”

  “Why? Because you think we're going to lose?”

  “No,” Mr. Cross says. “Because I think you're going to win. But either way, your life's about to change.” He lets go of me. The shimmer is gone. He heads out to the street and hails a taxi. I watch my teacher drive off, not sure what just happened, only that something did. I touch the spot on my shoulder where his hand was. It feels strange. Warm, maybe. I'm not sure. I grab it, wondering if maybe there's a weird pulse or some trace of magic, but there isn't.