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

by Daniel Mignault

  “You're Ares, God of War.”

  His eyes flare, then the armored giant is gone, and it's my teacher behind the wheel. “Yes, I'm Ares, but I'm also Mr. Cross. My energy is inside him. It's a disguise, a cloak of flesh, but it can only house so much of my energy. It's what allowed me to escape the Eye of Cronus.”

  “Is that why you couldn't save us back at the gym?”

  He snaps the siren off with an irritated gesture. “I am a God, Andrus! I do not exist for mortals. Mortals exist for me! Yes, I could have intervened. I could have easily destroyed everyone and everything in that gym, but that was not my mission. Some think chaos is all I bring, chaos and suffering, but that is not true. I rage, but it is a controlled rage. Do you understand?”

  “Not really.”

  “Undirected anger burns its owner from within. Directed anger breeds power! This is what your suffering must teach you. If you would save your friends and family, you must control your anger to grow your power!”

  “Is that what I did when I grew those claws?”

  Mr. Cross―I mean Ares―smirks and changes lanes. “It was the beginning. When you lost everything today, you had to feel that anger, channel it. There is no growth without pain. That is what allowed you to change, to win!”

  I stare at my hands. “It wasn't enough. And I didn't win anything. Not yet.”

  “You won your freedom from this world. You won your transformation.”

  “Yeah, but into what?”

  “Look under your seat.”

  I bend down and pull out a black case. It's heavy. “What's in it?”

  “Open it.”

  I place my thumbs on the clasps. The briefcase opens. It's my rock collection, plus three new crystals and a pair of flashlights.

  “I took the liberty of stopping by your house before the Inquisition did.”

  “And the extras?”

  “I picked those up on the way to Mark's. You need replacement claws, don't you?”

  I need a lot more than that, but I thank him anyway. We blast out of Loserville into downtown Othrys. The buildings loom over us like tombstones, gray against the fading sun.

  “You're going to want to absorb as many of those rocks and geodes as you can before we get to Bronson Canyon.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I'm a God.” When I scowl at him, he sighs. “Very well. Hannah told me.”

  “Who's Hannah?” Mark asks from the back of the van.

  I turn to Mark and say, “I'll tell you later,” then look at Ares. “You and Hannah are friends?”

  “Not exactly, but we are family. I know all about you going to Tartarus to rescue my uncle.”

  “You mean Hades.”

  He nods. “Things move quickly once you step outside your world. Be ready. What you have seen and suffered so far is nothing compared to what awaits you in the Underworld.”

  Mark speaks up. “What we suffered is not nothing! My mother, my sister… You may be a God, but you don't get to dismiss them like that. You don't get to dismiss what I feel!”

  Ares's knuckles whiten where they grip the wheel. He's not used to being spoken to this way.

  “Mark, you might not want to piss Ares off. He did save our lives.”

  “Yeah, but he didn't save Lucy! He didn't save my mom. Why? Because he wanted you to suffer enough that your powers would come out?”

  I open my mouth to say something, but there's no point denying it. That's exactly why he didn't help. And part of me hates him for it, but part of me knows he's right. That it had to be this way, or I'd never be ready to rescue Hades.

  “Look at him,” Mark snorts. “He's like one of your rocks! Doesn't he feel anything?”

  Ares shrugs. “Gods do not feel as mortals do, despite the myths. What we feel―or do not feel―you cannot hope to understand. I say this not to be cruel, but to prepare you. Where you are going is not the mortal realm. Your grief will not help you there… Hear me when I say that to carry grief into the Underworld is to carry a vulture that gnaws at your heart. It is both the drug and weapon of choice for ghosts, for demons, and far worse things. Better to turn your grief to anger, to channel that energy to propel you toward your goal, not tear you from it.”

  Mark glares at Ares, then me. “Andrus, is this guy for real?”

  “Yeah, man. He is. Show him, Ares. Show him what you really look like.”

  “I cannot. Mortals lack the ability to see things for what they truly are. That is why they must have faith. That is why they suffer and kneel―” He jerks the wheel hard to the left, knocking Mark to the floor as we sail up the freeway onramp. “Almost missed our turn,” he explains with grim satisfaction. “We should arrive at Bronson Canyon in ten minutes. I would appreciate silence until then. Andrus, start absorbing those rocks. Begin with the geodes.”

  “I don't know how.”

  “Feel the rock. Will the rock to become part of you, and you, part of it. It is the same process you used before… the only difference is now you are aware of it. Oh, and you might want to hurry.”

  “Why?”

  “We're being followed.” He steps on the gas, forcing the speedometer into the red.

  I look in the rearview mirror. No cars. Just the last rays of a dying sun as it slips over the horizon. “I don't see anything.”

  “Look again,” Ares says. “Roll down the window.”

  I stick my head out the window and squint toward the sky. Clouds. Clouds and darkness. But that's not all―not for long. Winged shadows climb the horizon.

  Harpies.

  40

  I LIVE FOR WAR

  There's a welcoming committee waiting at Griffith Park. Captain Nessus and his centaurs block the road to Bronson Canyon. Their yellow eyes blaze in the glow of our headlights. Behind us, the harpies are only a minute away.

  Ares hits the brakes.

  “It's the Night Patrol,” Mark whispers. “What are we gonna do?”

  Ares tightens his grip on the wheel. “Fight.”

  “Yeah, but how?”

  “With everything we've got.” I shove the last of the crystals between my knuckles, willing them to become part of me.

  The centaurs stamp the asphalt with their hooves, anxious for battle.

  The God of War revs the engine. “I'm going to ram those Titan-born bastards and punch our way through. I'll get you as close to the caves as I can, then I want you both to run.”

  “We can't just leave you,” I protest.

  “You can, and you will! Get to the cave, Andrus. Get to Hannah. Rescue Hades and free your world. Don't worry about me. I live for war; I'm a God, remember?”

  “An avatar,” I remind him. “You're not at full strength.”

  He grins. “That's why this fight will be a challenge.”

  I stare into the empty case. I've absorbed the rocks, the geodes, everything. “I'm ready. Let's do it.”

  The centaurs raise their spears and bray with goat-like rage. The van plows forward, scattering centaurs to either side. Barbed spears scrape the paint job, which seems kind of pathetic until I see one actually punch through the wall, narrowly missing Mark. I'd forgotten how strong centaurs are.

  The rearview mirror shows them galloping after us, Captain Nessus in the lead. His brothers, Democ and Ruvo, are right behind him. Then something even more hideous dives in front of them, and it's much closer. The mirror fills with the wrinkled, ravenous face of a shrieking vulture-woman. The harpy is all feathers and fury with an evil beaked face and the body of a beautiful woman. Where her arms should be are wings, and where her legs should be are long, bird-like talons.

  Something hard hits the roof. Then something else.

  “What's that?” Mark asks.

  I don't need to tell him. The beaks punching through the roof tell Mark everything. His worst childhood memory is back. The harpies use their claws to tear holes in the roof, hoping to widen them enough to fit through. Mark thrusts his sword through one of the holes, provoking
an angry squawk from one of the monsters.

  “Get them off!” Mark shouts. “Get them off!” There's a note of panic in his voice.

  “Hang on!” Ares swerves the van. Through the rearview mirror, I see one of the vulture-women thrown from the roof, but it doesn't stop her long. She flaps relentlessly back toward us.

  I join Mark in the rear of the van. The harpy we didn't shake free has succeeded in curling back a section of the vehicle's roof. Her grotesque face swings inside the cabin on its long, bird-like neck. Mark flails with his sword and the harpy catches the blade in her beak, nearly ripping the weapon from his hand. She makes a gloating, guttural sound. This is just a game to her. Playing with her food. Playing with our lives.

  I bring my sword down on her neck, feeling tendons tear and feathered flesh give. The harpy's head drops to the floor in a foul splash of gore. Black, tar-like blood pumps from her mangled neck. Mark pulls his sword from her beak and I kick the severed head away.

  “One down,” I mutter.

  “Thanks,” Mark says. “That was kind of a flashback for me, you know?”

  I nod, remembering what Mark said the harpy had told him as a child: 'You can't eat dreams.' But dreams can eat you. Almost to prove it, the harpy's still-living head emits an awful cackling gurgle. Her cruel, black eyes glare hate―hate and hunger.

  “We're coming up on the canyon,” Ares warns. “Be ready to run!”

  Mark and I exchange a look. Are we really heroes? Can we do this? The answer comes in a squeal of tires. We throw the van doors open and plunge into the night.

  41

  FIGHT TO THE END

  Adrenaline takes over. My heart wants to stand with Ares and fight, but my gut tells me to run. A backward glance shows Ares draw his golden swords and wade into the oncoming horde of monsters. The God of War is smiling his terrible smile, a butcher's grin as his blades sing and the screams chorus.

  He'll be all right. This is what Ares does. I'm just glad he's doing it for us. “We have to get off the road,” I tell Mark. “Follow me!”

  We cut through the park, the sound of wings and hooves growing more distant. I want to put trees between us and the monsters. Trees to hide us from harpies, low-hanging branches to slow the centaurs.

  Use the earth. Be the earth.

  The thought pops into my head, and with it, some wild gulf opens. A sense of freedom. Safety. Protection. I can't explain it. I should be terrified, but I'm not. I'm willing to fight to the end, but not here, not if I can help it. I have to get to the cave. I have to get to Hannah.

  We break from the trees into Bronson Canyon, stumbling over uneven ground. So many trails! Which one leads to the cave? Everywhere I turn, the canyon looks the same in the moonlight: rocks and dust and scrub. It's a barren and desolate place, and it will be our end unless we find the right path.

  Shadow appears from the trail to the right. He flaps and caws, then takes off back the way he came. We follow, but the extra weight of our swords and shields slow us and I'm tempted to cast them aside. After all, I'm a living weapon now, but Mark isn't. I can't speed up only to leave him behind. He's panting, breath loud, brain panicked.

  The night brings another sound: the shrill cry of harpies. The centaurs can't be far behind.

  “Come on,” I urge Mark. “We're almost there!”

  The cave where I talked to the drunk priest is just ahead. The priest and his slaves are gone, but I can see the sealed entrance they left behind. Seeing the landmark lets us know we're close. Unfortunately, the Night Patrol is close too. In a rush of wings, a harpy swoops down.

  “Shields!” I shout, raising mine. Mark gets his up just in time. The harpy's talons scrape off the embossed metal, throwing sparks. As she wings past, I nearly choke on the smell of decay that accompanies her. She smells like bad meat and broken dreams.

  “Found you!” the harpy croaks, then cackles madly and comes in for another pass. She flexes her talons, chanting, “Give me your eyes! Your eyes!” And then I see why―she's wearing a necklace of human eyes strung together like a popcorn garland.

  “Swords!” I yell, and in a clatter of steel, they leap from our scabbards. Remembering my warrior training, I add, “Shields up!”

  Seeing our defense, the harpy breaks off her dive in a shriek of anger. Flapping wildly, she heads back the way she came calling, “Sisters! Sisters, come quick! The humans are escaping!”

  We run.

  Shadow leads the way, his scolding squawks urging us to get to the cave. Over the constant sound of our pounding feet comes the sound of inhuman pursuit: hungry hooves, wicked wings.

  “Surrender!” booms the voice of Captain Nessus. It doesn't come from behind us. It comes from straight ahead. Somehow the captain has led a squad of five centaurs to outflank us as five more, led by Democ and Ruvo, gallop in from behind. Their lathered skin glows in the moonlight.

  Overhead, three harpies circle like the fiendish vultures they are.

  Mark and I have no choice but to stop. We're trapped. The canyon walls rise up on either side. I could climb them, but there's no way Mark can―not without equipment. The only good thing is the walls limit how many monsters can attack us at the same time.

  “I've been looking forward to this.” The captain's voice is gruff and gloating. “There is no escape for you now.”

  “The eyes!” the harpy with the necklace calls. “Save us the eyes!”

  “You'll get what we leave and like it,” Nessus growls.

  The harpies screech menacingly. “We found them first! They are ours by right.”

  “You may have found them,” Nessus agrees, “but you did not finish them! Therefore, the flesh is ours.” The other centaurs raise their spears and stamp their hooves in approval.

  It's then I remember even though the monsters are on the same side, they don't like each other. They only work together because Cronus commands it. Which means they work together badly, and avoid joint missions when they can. But not this one. Too much is at stake, and the Temple and Titans know it.

  “Wait!” I say loud enough for both sides to hear. “The harpies found us first. If they want our eyes so bad, why not let them have a chance to take them?”

  “The boy speaks true!” the harpy with the necklace says.

  “Once they take our eyes, you can have our brains,” I say to Nessus.

  “Brains! The brains!” the harpies chant. “We get the eyes, you get the brains.”

  “Take them then,” Captain Nessus says. “If you can.” He motions his squad to back up and give the bird-women room.

  Cackling, the harpies dive.

  I raise my right hand, curl it into a fist, and fire crystal daggers. Two of the harpies plummet to the earth, each sprouting a dagger between her ribs. The she-beasts land with a sickening thud.

  The one with the necklace rips the shield from my arm. I pump a spike into her, but she's too fast. It damages her wing instead of sinking into her heart. She screams and drops the shield, flapping desperately to gain altitude before she plows into the centaurs watching behind us.

  At the last second, she lifts her feathered body up and over the sea of horns and spears, climbing high above the canyon wall. She flies away, screeching curses. And just like that, I've removed the centaurs's aerial support.

  “Give her a minute,” I boast. “Maybe she'll be back.”

  “Harpies,”Nessus snorts. “Stupid creatures… but they have their uses. We were warned about your tricks, boy. So tell me, do you have any those crystal daggers left?”

  “Come find out,” I taunt.

  Nessus tosses his shaggy, horned head and brays laughter. “Your boldness shall be your undoing.” He motions to his squad. “Company, present arms!” The centaurs lower their spears, ready to run us through. The barbed points glitter silver―promising pain, promising horror.

  “It's me Cronus wants,” I say. “Leave Mark out of it.”

  Nessus clops forward a few steps. “Ever the noble hero! Yes, by all
means, surrender, and we will let the Loser go.” He looks at Mark and licks his lips. “He is of limited use, but you… you are the prize our master wants.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Mark says. “I won't let you surrender.”

  “I'm not talking about surrender,” I tell Mark, then say to the centaurs, “I challenge the captain to single combat!”

  “Oh-ho!” Nessus roars with mirth. “A challenge!” His squad growls in anticipation. “And if you win?”

  “I surrender, but Mark goes free.”

  The captain's yellow eyes narrow, considering my offer. “Very well. And if I win?”

  “You can do with both of us as you please.”

  “Great,” Mark grumbles. “Guess my brains are on the menu… again.”

  Nessus trots forward to address us all. “A challenge has been made, brothers, and a challenge accepted! I fight for the glory of Cronus!”

  “FOR GLORY!” the centaurs shout, and step back to make room for us.

  Nessus points at Mark with his spear. “Well, boy? Will you stand there, or will you step aside?”

  Mark looks from the captain to me, unsure what to do.

  “It's OK,” I tell him. “They won't hurt you.”

  “I don't trust them,” Mark says.

  “I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to trust me.” I lean in close and lower my voice. “If I'm wrong… if I fail, I need you to run the direction Shadow flew. If you can get to Hannah, you might have a chance. She's waiting at the cave we explored.”

  Mark nods, sheathes his sword and hurries over to the captain's line. The four centaurs there leave him be, though they don't take their eyes off him either.