“You have your wish, old man. Hades will see to another reunion this day,” Kratos said, but he spoke to emptiness filled with surging clouds of choking red gas. Using the wings proved easier than he had anticipated, but still he could not swoop and then soar back up through the thick crimson fog. He banked and spilled air from under the wings, slowing his descent. But try as he might, he could not power the wings downward with enough energy to climb.
Kratos spiraled about a chain with links thicker than his body, broke through a lingering cloud of red mist, and saw then that his fight with Icarus over the wings had been more dire than he had believed possible.
“The Temple of the Fates is far above you, Kratos. You must get back to the surface,” boomed Gaia’s voice.
Banking sharply, Kratos flew closer to what he saw now was an immense face, crusted over as with corrosion, and landed on the lower eyelid.
Kratos got his feet under him and stared into the right eye of the Titan he had banished from the world and doomed to forever hold the weight of the earth on his shoulders.
Atlas blinked and his enormous eye focused on Kratos.
“WHO ADDS TO my torment? You are far too small, even for an Olympian, to be a god, yet you have found me.”
Kratos looked over his shoulder and saw nothing but the Titan’s huge body stretching down into the mist below. He had already fallen a huge distance from the world above, but to dive off the eyelid now meant even more distance had to be traversed. Kratos staggered as Atlas blinked and the blazing red eye focused on him.
“Kratos!” The name came out as a roar and reverberated like a rung bell. Atlas had identified him; now his rage would become unbridled.
“You dare show your face to me after what you have done?”
Atlas shook his head. The gigantic chains binding his four arms clanked with even this simple motion. Atlas was securely bound just as Kratos had left him, burdened with supporting the weight of the world on one shoulder and the Pillar of the World on the other. This had been a gigantic battle, between Atlas and Kratos, when he had served as Champion of Olympus.
For her own reasons, Persephone had released Atlas from his torment in Tartarus to destroy the pillar and end all life in the world. Kratos doubted Hades had put her up to it, but the Underworld would have been crowded with enormous numbers of dead mortals. Kratos had no qualms about trying to kill the dark goddess, nor of gaining Hades’ eternal ire, but Atlas’ fate had always been a sore point with him.
Atlas should never have tried to destroy the pillar, but release from his eternal torture was a potent reward for the deed. Kratos had to admit the Titan had contrived a devious scheme to accomplish his destruction. Dragging Helios from the sky and plunging the world into darkness had been but the first part. Eliciting the cooperation of Morpheus to put the gods into a deep sleep had given the Titan time to use the sun to begin his razing of the Pillar of the World.
The Ghost of Sparta knew his own fighting prowess. He also knew that luck had aided him in chaining Atlas.
“I will make you suffer, Kratos.”
“Atlas! You must trust me. Much has passed since last we met.”
Kratos groaned as Atlas reached up with a hand large enough and strong enough to balance the world itself to crush him. He was caught between thumb and forefinger.
“Why would I ever trust a servant of Zeus?”
“Because I seek to destroy Zeus.” Kratos grated out the words. His breath gusted from his lungs under the tremendous pressure of Atlas’ fingers closing. It took all his own effort to force his hands into the thumb and finger to keep apart that deadly vise. Despite his own superhuman strength, he was as weak as a mewling baby in the Titan’s grip.
Atlas laughed harshly and shook his head in mock sorrow.
“Kratos, Kratos, still the arrogant and foolish warrior. You have not changed.”
Blackness stalked Kratos’ senses; tiny tendrils of deadly darkness crept up on him from all sides. The effort of holding apart the Titan’s digits sapped his strength. If he flagged for even an instant, he would be crushed like a bug, then discarded with no further thought. His arms began to lose feeling from the pressure as his strength faded. Aware that Atlas lifted him back to eye level and peered more closely at him, Kratos fought away ultimate blackness.
“And how do you plan to defeat the King of the Gods?” The question lacked the mockery of Atlas’ earlier words and showed that Kratos had intrigued him—enough not to smash him like an insect in his stark grip. Yet.
The fingers trying to squash him relaxed enough for Kratos to suck in a deep breath.
“By taking the Blade of Olympus back and driving it into Zeus’ heart. It holds the power I once wielded as the God of War.”
“The Blade of Olympus? I have not heard that name in many years. Since … since the end of the Great War.”
Atlas relaxed his pressure entirely and held Kratos in the palm of his hand. Lightning flashed all around as Atlas got a far-off look in his eye. Kratos stiffened as he saw reflected in that Titan’s orb the last days of the Titanomachy, the Great War.
“I saw Zeus floating through the thunderclouds, lightning dancing from his fingertips,” Atlas said. “I had never seen the young King of the Gods look angrier. Conjured thunderbolts exploded from Zeus’ grasp, carrying not only power but a reddish tinge as well. It was as if the god’s own blood mingled with his magicks.
“Even I recoiled as the lightning crashed downward and began to spin, slowly at first and then faster until a mighty tornadic column climbed into the heavens from the earth.”
Kratos stayed his tongue. Atlas relived the days of the Great War and convinced himself of Kratos’ plea.
“Anything material was caught up in that vortex and sent skyward. Buildings, crops, people, it mattered not at all as the spinning cloud grew and crossed the land.
“Bloodlust and power raged within Zeus,” Atlas said. “His desire to rule over mortals was intolerable to us.”
“It has not changed,” Kratos said. “If anything, Zeus becomes more insistent of the might of his rule and suspicious of everyone else.”
“Cronos was brought to his knees. Zeus hated Cronos, his father, above all others and was determined to drive one thunderbolt after another into his trembling flesh so that Hades could swing chains about and shackle Cronos’ soul. But I began my fight, tearing off boulders from the side of a mountain and then flinging them at Hades. If any had struck the God of the Underworld, it would have seriously injured him.
“The God of the Underworld dodged my stony missiles, yet he managed to keep the chains binding Cronos’ soul taut to prevent it from reentering the Titan’s physical body.”
Atlas shuddered. Kratos had to throw himself flat to keep from being tossed off the Titan’s outstretched palm.
“Cronos’ body stood, unmoving, while his valiant soul shimmered like a blue haze as Hades fought to gain full control over it. I could not allow Hades to take our leader, the one behind whom we rallied. I slammed my fist down to the ground once, twice, a third time.”
Kratos avoided Atlas’ fingers clenching into a fist as he remembered the battle so long ago.
“The earthquake from my blows caused Hades to stumble and allow one chain to slacken. Cronos jerked free of Hades, and his soul merged once again with his body. I thought our cause was won in that moment!
“But Cronos staggered as lightning bolt after bolt from Zeus’ hands blasted into his back. Zeus slowed his father enough for Poseidon to arrive and add his own power. Cronos sagged under the onslaught of the two gods. Hades regained his feet but, seeing how his brothers boxed in Cronos, he turned to me and cast out his chains. The hooks sank deep into my breast, and with a powerful pull on the white-hot chains, Hades drew out my soul. It whirled about as if caught in the tornado ravaging the land, rose, and then filtered down to Hades, who captured it.”
Kratos pushed his way past the clenched fingers and stood atop the fist to stare at Atlas. Th
e Titan was entirely lost in the memory of how he had been defeated and consigned to Tartarus as punishment for standing with Cronos and the other Titans.
“I crashed forward, the impact causing new earthquakes. The war between the Titans and the Olympians forged the landscape of the mortal world,” Atlas said. His booming voice had turned to little more than the whisper of wind through the treetops.
“The gods continued to assault me, but I rose with the last of my strength.” Atlas’ eyes widened in the remembered pain of Hades sucking the last of his soul.
Kratos stared at the Titan. Atlas’ face showed a blank expression and lifeless eyes.
“It was a war that we knew the Titans must win.” Atlas’ voice came stronger now as memory of the defeat faded and anger returned. “If we lost, it would mean an end to the Golden Age of Titan rule. Peace and prosperity for mankind would be no more.
“Zeus came across the battlefield and stood near the top of a funnel cloud that whipped about him. The tornado grew around him until he was completely enshrouded. Zeus pointed. The funnel drove downward, crashed into the battlefield, and blasted out a deep crater.
“The cyclone winds died down,” Atlas said in a hoarse whisper. “Zeus stepped from the crater and faced those of us still battling in the distance. From the sleeve of his robe Zeus drew forth a blade of eye-searing light.
“The Blade of Olympus.”
Kratos sucked in his breath and held it. He looked down to his belly and the scar there left by that blade. He began to share Atlas’ desolation at the Titans’ loss—and renew the anger he felt toward Zeus.
“The battle continued,” Atlas said, “despite my capture. Then Zeus stabbed out with the glowing blade and cried, ‘I banish you to the darkest pits of Tartarus!’ ”
Kratos experienced the Titan’s anger and fear at Zeus’ mighty weapon, forged from the heavens and the earth.
“I awoke in the torment of the Underworld,” Atlas said, an edge to his voice now. He spoke louder, faster. “I was banished to the darkest pits of Hades. I would have destroyed Zeus if you had not put me here, slave of the gods!”
“I no longer do the bidding of the gods,” Kratos said. “I have stomached their betrayal for the last time. Show me the way to the Sisters, and I will kill Zeus once and for all!”
“How can I trust you?”
“Know this, mighty Atlas. I am a warrior of Sparta and pledge my word that Zeus will die by my hand. To violate that oath is worse than any torture Hades might deliver to me.”
Atlas growled, a sound like mountains grinding together, then said, “What Gaia says is true, Ghost of Sparta. You are an honorable warrior and a worthy ally of the Titans.”
Kratos thrust out his chest and lifted his chin. With his other hand Atlas reached out above Kratos and extended a finger. A tremendous surge of energy exploded within Kratos.
“You now control the power of Atlas. The world will quake as you command.”
Unlike the fiery white point of star-stuff that was the Rage of Cronos, the new magical power caused Kratos to shake all over.
“You have given me the falling sickness!” he accused. “My arms and legs shake uncontrollably.”
“Not beyond your control. Focus.”
Kratos closed his eyes and fought to gain control of the power. He saw how it differed from the magic given him by the other Titan, how it suffused his limbs with a palsy and then how it rushed out from hands and feet. He appreciated this. Atlas, with four limbs, directed his power from each hand. A bipedal mortal had to improvise. Hands and feet would be the conduit, and he would be the stronger for possessing the magical spell.
“Tell me how to find the temple of the Sisters of Fate.”
Atlas shook his head, but the twin red beacons that were his eyes never left Kratos.
“None, not even a Titan, knows the way to the Sisters’ temple. But it is said he who finds it will wield great power. I have given you the last of my power, Spartan.”
Kratos looked skyward through the parting red mist and saw what might have been the roof of a cavern. Then he recoiled as Atlas’ fingers closed above him. The sudden upward acceleration almost drove him to his knees. Atlas shoved his fist ever higher, into the bottom of the earth, beyond. All around Kratos raced dirt and rock and then he once more caught the scent of the swamps on the Island of Creation.
Still Atlas’ hand elevated him and finally he came to the edge of the roadway where he had fought Icarus. Kratos stepped forward as Atlas’ hand sank back into the world.
“May fate grant you passage, Kratos, for many rely on your success.”
Then Atlas was gone, leaving Kratos to stare across the chasm spanned by the stone roadway at the elaborate stone building on the far side.
“ZEUS MUST KNOW,” Hermes said, fluttering about nervously, “but I cannot be the one to tell him.”
“Not after your ill-advised attempt to aid Perseus,” Athena said. “Kratos has become stronger because of that fight.”
“I can tell Zeus how Kratos stole the shield from Perseus,” Hermes said. “He doesn’t need to know any of the details.”
Athena shook her head. Things in Olympus had become even direr. God openly fought god, and Zeus did nothing to end the battles. She looked past a nervous Hermes into the long corridor that ran the length of the mountaintop. Alcoves along the immense corridor opened into gardens and the palaces of the gods and goddesses. But she paid scant attention to the personal abodes of the gods. The gardens were overrun with black vines sprouting foot-long thorns dripping with venom. Those once pacific terraria now spawned creatures so vile even Hades turned from them.
As if the thought of her uncle brought him to sight, Hades tromped down the marble corridor, fiery chains snapping like whips in each hand. He wore his war helmet so that only his eyes were visible, those red-coal eyes that promised eternal torment for any who offended him. In place of ordinary armor his flesh sprouted spikes of black iron, and he left a trail of sooty footprints.
More than his dark visage, Athena felt a different presence in her uncle that had not been common in Olympus prior to Kratos ascending the throne of the God of War. There was a blackness to the very air that corrupted anything it touched. Where once Olympus had been a place of great joy and beauty, now it held only anger, fear, and a growing darkness.
“Don’t let him see me,” Hermes said, voice quavering. “I should never have tried sneaking back to Olympus. Hades will surely turn me over to Zeus for violating his ban. I’m not supposed to be in Olympus for another hundred years.”
“Longer,” Athena said absently. Her thoughts refused to grapple with the true problems facing the gods. Concentration on what was best for Olympus usually required no effort. Athena rubbed her temples, then looked up sharply.
“Hide. Behind the tapestry. Now!” Athena shoved the Messenger of the Gods in the right direction, then turned and smiled in what she hoped was a sincere fashion as Iris rushed in without bothering to announce herself.
The Goddess of the Rainbow saw through her fake amiability and openly sneered at her.
“Zeus would speak with you. There is a disturbance among the mortals. Your worshippers,” she said with some delectation.
Athena saw the rainbow trailing Iris shimmer and begin to fade. She blinked at the sight of a black band amid the other colors. Athena worried she saw disaster behind every door and in every heart. With that thought, she forced herself not to glance over her shoulder in the direction of the floor-to-ceiling tapestry where Hermes had taken refuge.
“What word have you of Kratos?” Athena asked.
Iris feigned surprise as she answered, “Why, none. He is of no interest to Zeus or any of us now that he is a mortal.” A wicked smile curled the goddess’ lips as she added, “Can it be that Kratos is among the mortals causing the disturbance?”
“I suspect that to be true, wherever he is,” Athena said. “As God of War he never felt content to simply sit and think of what might be. He
was always prone to action.”
“To fighting, to brutal killing and bloodshed that soaked entire countries,” Iris said.
“You disapprove? I would think a messenger for Zeus would delight in carrying such news.”
“There will be changes soon on Mount Olympus, and you should not oppose me.”
“How is Hera?” Athena asked, the nastiness that Iris showed her now being returned. “I’ve heard that she is not sharing Zeus’ bed. Can it be that she’s … elsewhere?”
A flare of anger died in Iris’ eyes. Her mocking smile came more readily to her full red lips now.
“One would almost think that a former gossipmonger of a god filled your ear with lies, but then that cannot be so. Zeus has banished him to the mortal’s world.” Iris whirled about, her long, flowing dress shedding rainbow colors as she moved. Athena frowned as tiny flecks of blackness remained. It was as if Iris had lain with Hades rather than Zeus and dirtied herself with soot.
That thought gave birth to other speculation. Iris might play one brother against another, but Athena doubted she would do anything as foolish as attempting to place Hades on the throne as King of the Gods. Zeus had appetites that could never be sated but which Iris might feed—a little. Hades loved only Persephone and would never lie with another. This forced Iris to find another lever to bend him to her will, and the Goddess of the Rainbow was not the sort to risk all without complete assurance of her power.
“Zeus demands your presence. Now,” Iris said, flouncing away.
Athena settled onto a couch and waited a decent time before calling for Hermes to stop trembling behind the tapestry. It looked as if the stag had developed the falling sickness from the way Hermes quivered in fright behind.
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