Theta

by Lizzy Ford

  I glanced at the god and then back. “I was here.”

  “I planted these olive trees ten thousand years ago. They stretched for another two hundred meters at that time. The sea has swallowed the beach that used to be here.”

  My eyes went to the sea. I hadn’t considered this possibility. “You’re saying the beach I remember is underwater?” I stood. “You couldn’t tell me this several days ago?”

  Cyamites was quiet.

  I looked at the god. Cyamites’ eyes were open and blank, and his body was limp.

  Had he even revealed this information to me, or had someone else?

  For a moment, the timing struck me as odd. Artemis was known to work in mysterious ways. Had she planted Cyamites here to guide me? If so, why hadn’t the god of beans told me this information earlier?

  Because gods never stop playing their games, even on their deathbeds.

  I would never know the truth, and obsessing over what exactly just happened wouldn’t help me.

  I left the corpse and strode onto the beach, stopping only when my feet hit the water. I gazed two hundred meters out and judged the water to be somewhere around ten meters deep. As a human, I was stronger than most and faster than everyone. But as a beast, I had ten times the strength of the strongest human. I could pierce the water and reach the sand at its depths with little effort in my monster form.

  Restless to find the plaque, and also aware of how much easier it would be in my secondary form, I relented and sat higher up on the beach, prepared to watch the waves all day until the sun set.

  The morning became warm quickly. Fortunately, the cool sea breeze prevented me from needing to leave my spot for shade. I’d created a routine since arriving and understood when the hottest points of the day were, when the tides intruded upon my ability to search the beaches, and the rhythm of Hesperides and Aurora.

  As I sat, I thought about the last time I had been to this part of the world, when I ruled a vast kingdom and spent most of my waking days on battlefields. Crowned the head of the armies at the age of fourteen, I had left my comfortable palace near the sea the day following my coronation and never returned. The curse of the Bloodline befell me at the age of seventeen, and I had been frozen in stone as a temple guardian for four thousand years, until Alessandra awoke me.

  Alessandra wasn’t the only person occupying my thoughts. I had left DC reluctantly, on the orders of a goddess I had sworn my life to on this very beach. I left behind the temple guardians – thousands of members of the sacred, royal Greek Bloodline waiting for me to rescue them, and the sole living heiress to the Bloodline, the Silent Queen. The first and only grotesque to be re-animated, it was my responsibility to save the others. They were my family, my predecessors and successors, and I would rescue them from the hell they all endured as immortal stone, sentient statues.

  At least I saved one of my descendants, I thought, mind on Phoibe. The Silent Queen had followed the instructions I gave her when she was six. As long as she never spoke the invocation, and never reproduced, she would not fall prey to the Bloodline’s curse.

  Alessandra was the key. If she had saved me, she could save everyone else.

  Deep in thought, my beast senses picked up on the man and animals approaching long before I acknowledged them with a direct look. I didn’t feel the presence of a god, indicating the elderly man walking with a cane was human. With him were three large dogs.

  The moment the canines caught wind of me, all three raced down the beach towards him. As the alpha of all predators, I was accustomed to other hunter species reacting with excitement and prey fleeing at the sight of me.

  “Calm down,” I told the dogs as they neared. They obeyed, to an extent. I was soon surrounded by canines with wagging tales. They licked and rubbed up against me, and I reached out to pat the head of the dog burrowing under my leg.

  Their master took more time to reach me. Sizing him up through my peripheral, I waited for the old man to come within earshot.

  “It’s not safe for you out here,” I said in flawless Greek. “Shouldn’t you be in hiding with the others?”

  “I might ask you the same,” the old man said and paused, leaning heavily on his cane.

  “I am far scarier than anything I might run into,” I said with a smile. “You should take that into account.”

  “My dogs favor you. They are good judges of character.”

  The truth was much more difficult to explain to a stranger. The man lowered himself carefully to the beach and sat with a sigh. One of his dogs joined him and licked his face. With close-cropped white hair, large, dark brown eyes, and leathery olive skin, the elderly man was handsome despite his age.

  “What brings you here?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure I know,” I answered. “It wouldn’t make sense to you anyway.”

  “I’ve seen a lot in my time. Try me.”

  You haven’t seen four thousand years. I’m the old man here, I responded silently.

  When I didn’t speak, my visitor seemed to take the hint. “I’ll be on my way,” said the elderly man. “Do you need a place to stay or are you passing through?”

  “I don’t know that either,” I replied.

  The old man climbed to his feet with effort and steadied himself with his cane. “Well, I live around the bend.” He pointed past the rocks on the north side of the beach. “If night falls, and you need shelter, we will welcome you.”

  “Thank you.” I didn’t take my eyes off the sea. It wasn’t likely a mere human could help me, and I was grateful for the solitude while I waited. Giving the dog sprawled on the ground a final pat, I draped my arms over my knees.

  The old man whistled, and his dogs raced after him. Aware of their progress with my beast senses, I didn’t have to watch them to track their movements.

  Before they reached the road, I sensed something was wrong. Twisting, I saw the man sprawled on the ground. His dogs were standing over him, one whining and another licking the back of his neck.

  One person’s life wasn’t much of a concern to me, when I already had too many people to save as it was. The butcher I’d been as the head of SISA, before I rediscovered my memories, wouldn’t have cared for the fate of a million humans, let alone someone who was far beyond his prime. Likewise, the prince I had been four thousand years ago would have viewed the old man’s visit as an inconvenience.

  But I wasn’t either of those people anymore. I wasn’t a monster. I wasn’t a prince. I was something in between, or perhaps, someone new, and I didn’t really know what that was.

  After a pause, I stood. I didn’t fully understand what drew me to consider helping, when kindness had never been a trait of mine in any of my lifetimes. Unable to explain my reaction, I nonetheless never hesitated to act once I made a decision, and trotted across the sand to the old man struggling to stand.

  I shooed the dogs away and knelt. “Are you well?” I asked.

  “I am old,” was the response. Pain was in the old man’s voice. “Sometimes the sand upsets my joints.”

  I helped him sit then took his arm to help him stand. The old man leaned heavily against me as he climbed to his feet.

  “Thank you,” he murmured. He took a step – and collapsed, or would have, if I didn’t catch him.

  “Walking doesn’t suit you today,” I said. Without waiting for an invitation to help, I bent and swept the old man up into my arms. The elderly gentleman was light. His baggy clothing hid his frailness well. “Around the bend, you say?”

  “Yes.” The old man pointed. “I’ll have you know my pride does not agree with being carried.” He laughed hoarsely.

  I had no response, because I couldn’t understand my willingness to help anymore than I could unravel the mystery of what I was doing halfway around the world when I needed to be in DC.

  “What is your name?” the old man peered up at me.

  Had I thought his eyes dark brown? In the direct sunlight, they were closer to the hue of whiskey.
r />   “Adonis.”

  “Ah. Your parents named you well. Very fitting to be named after the god of beauty.”

  “It’s just a name,” I replied, aware of how false my words rang when I’d traveled around the world for the sake of a name. “And you are?”

  “Menelaus.”

  “I hope you had better luck in your life with women than the king you were named after.”

  Menelaus chuckled. “Unfortunately, I did not.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. But maybe you’re better off without a woman in your life.”

  “You’ve known the pain of loving a woman, I take it?” Menelaus was grinning, revealing the gaps in his teeth.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, unsettled by the question but more so by my quickening pulse whenever I thought of Alessandra. What I wanted, and what I sometimes felt, had no place in a world as dangerous as mine. I was a monster posing as a human, a danger to everyone around me.

  “What do you know, boy?” Menelaus challenged.

  “Only that I’m lost.”

  “There’s something to be said for knowing when you don’t know anything, I suppose.”

  I ignored him. As I walked along the road, carrying the man easily, I began to doubt his mind. I had been up and down the coast multiple times in man and beast form, and never noticed this cottage of which he spoke.

  The dogs ran around us, at times bounding quite a distance ahead and at times darting behind us to pursue rodents.

  We rounded the bend, and I spotted the small cottage overlooking the sea. My step slowed. How had I missed this place?

  Had I missed it?

  “You’re far from the village,” I observed. “Aren’t you afraid of the thieves, wild animals, and gods?”

  “I’ve lived my life. If one of them comes for me, so be it,” Menelaus replied. “This is my home. I have no desire to leave. Besides, this place is said to be enchanted. A temple of Apollo once stood here. I am safe.”

  His explanation did little to quell my curiosity. I approached the front door and shifted the man so I could open it. The door wasn’t locked, and I withheld my rebuke. It was one thing to risk the dangers prevalent in the world and quite another to dare them to enter. Enchanted or not, he needed to use some common sense.

  I nudged the door open and examined the three-room cottage quickly. Menelaus owned few possessions. The cottage contained minimal furniture, fit for one occupant, few decorations and no pictures anywhere. It was neat and clean despite the three dogs who circled the living space and promptly piled onto the couch acting as the only sitting space, aside from a rocking chair.

  I went to the bedroom off the main room and carefully set Menelaus down. I straightened and debated leaving. He shifted with a pain-filled grimace. With nothing left to do this day, except wait on the beach, I sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes were dark again in the relative shadows of the house. I noted the change without understanding why it occurred.

  “What hurts?” I asked.

  “My knee.” Menelaus bent to pull up the leg of his pants. “Doesn’t look too bad.”

  I frowned and reached out to straighten the man’s leg. The kneecap was off to one side, and the bony man’s knee was swollen thicker than his thigh.

  “It’s bad,” I said.

  “You a doctor?” Menelaus squinted at me.

  “Not exactly.” As the head of the SISA interrogation program, I knew as much about anatomy as most doctors for the purpose of learning how to manipulate or otherwise cause pain to the human body. I also recognized the extent of damage done, in order to gauge how much more the person could stand or how much more pressure was necessary for the desired results.

  Menelaus didn’t need to know anything other than I was aware of how badly he was hurt.

  I rose. “I’ll get some ice,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t want to keep you from the beach.”

  I said nothing. I crossed to the tiny kitchen and the fridge that came up only to my shoulder. I wrapped ice in a towel from the sink and returned to Menelaus.

  “I have pain pills in the bathroom,” the old man said and accepted the ice.

  I retrieved the bottle and a glass of water. The knee looked bad enough for a trip to the hospital, which wasn’t an option since the Holy Wars destroyed most medical centers.

  One of the dogs scratched at the front door. I opened it to let him out then stepped into the late morning. I could understand why Menelaus wasn’t interested in giving up his home. From this perch on the rocks, the sea stretched out in three directions. In the far distance was the smudge of land on the horizon. The rocking of waves against the base of the slope below was peaceful, and the sea air was cool.

  I stood at the top of the shallow cliff running ten meters down to the sea and breathed in deeply. I had come too far to return without finding what I sought. Isolated here across the world, I had no access to the internet or television to learn what was happening in DC. Restless, I tried to recall some details of my past that might aid me in finding the plaque Artemis sent me to find.

  I circled the cottage to discover a small vegetable, herb, and fruit garden on the other side. The dog trotted back inside, and I followed.

  “Menelaus, I’m going back to …” I trailed off as I reached the door to the old man’s bedroom.

  Menelaus was sound asleep. One of his dogs had leapt onto the bed and knocked the ice pack off.

  I straightened it and lingered. How had someone this old, and in this shape, survived out here on his own for five years? My guardian instincts stirred. As the warden of a kingdom, and a protector for the gods’ temples, I had spent most of my life in the role of protector. If ever anyone needed a guardian, it was the feeble old man snoring peacefully in his bed.

  I closed the door to the bedroom and went to the living area. It was too cramped for my preference, so I propped the front door open and went to sit on the cliff overlooking the ocean. Hours stretched between now and when dusk fell and I could dive beneath the surface of the sea to search for the ruins of a four thousand year old kingdom.

  One of Menelaus’ dogs joined me, and I sat in silence, brooding and still, guarding the sleeping stranger as I had the temple of Artemis long ago.

  “Anytime, Artemis,” I whispered. “We both know what’s at stake if I don’t return soon.”

  The sounds of waves crashing into the cliff were my only response. When I became too drowsy to remain seated much longer, I stretched out onto my back to sleep.

  I slept until it was almost dusk, at which time I rose and went into the house. Menelaus slumbered deeply. I turned on the lights for the old man, in case he awoke later, then left the house. Peeling off my clothing, I shivered as the chilly evening breeze grazed my skin.

  I closed my eyes and let the fire of transformation take me, contorting my body into that of a grotesque. My senses came to life with the night, and I unfurled my long wings to stretch them before I leapt into the air. Powerful strokes sent me skyward and warmed the muscles of my shoulder and back. I circled Menelaus’ cottage several times, checking the area for anyone or anything that posed a threat to the incapacitated old man, before I turned in the direction of the nearby beach.

  I soared over the beach and outward. Folding my wings, I dived downward, beneath the surface of the sea. My beast eyes were able to see in the dark water, and my senses far better attuned to my surroundings, even underwater, than they were as a human. Unaffected by the cold water, I dived downward. My tail and powerful legs propelled me to the bottom of the sea in seconds, and I caught myself against the soft sand with my hands.

  I began to search with all my sense for anomalies in the sand that might be ruins of the kingdom I once ruled. The sandy floor of the sea was bare, aside from a few clumps of corals and rocks. I swam from object to object, surfacing every few minutes for a new breath of air.

  I searched until hunger seized control of my beast body. Only then did I leave the water to hunt for dinner.
r />   By dawn, I’d fed and spent another two hours searching the sea floor.

  No remnants of any human settlement, ancient or modern, remained beneath the sea.

  Disappointed, I returned to Menelaus’ cottage and transformed into my human form again. Dressing, I watched the sunrise, let the dogs out, and settled onto my belly for a nap. My thoughts fluttered between the world I’d left behind and the frustration of being no closer to finding the great secret Artemis sent me here to uncover.

  The sound of breaking glass caused me to snap awake when the warm sun was directly overhead, and I sat up, body tense and senses alert.

  “Menelaus?” I called into the cottage as I pushed the door open.

  The old man was on the ground of the doorway to his bathroom, as if he’d made an attempt to walk out of the restroom and crashed to the ground. One of his hands was bloodied from the tumbler he’d been carrying, and shards of glass glittered on the floor around him.

  I hurried to him and picked him up. I dusted off the glass from his body before replacing him on the bed.

  “I thought you’d be gone,” Menelaus said with a smile. “Or do you not know where to go, either?”

  I wrapped the dishtowel that had contained the ice the night before around Menelaus’ hand to stop the bleeding. For reasons I could not explain, Menelaus’ words troubled me.

  “I’m looking for something that may not exist,” I said.

  “And you think it’s here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve lived here my whole life. What is it you seek?” Menelaus asked.

  I hesitated. “A relic of a bygone era.”

  “Are you a treasure hunter?”

  “No. This thing is of no value to anyone but me.”

  Menelaus was quiet. I glanced at him.

  “Could I trouble you for fruit?” Menelaus asked. “And water. I don’t trust my leg to carry me to the kitchen.”

  I went to the kitchen and lopped off a chunk of bread, slathered it with honey, then sliced up figs and apples for the old man.

  “Do you cook your own bread?” I asked, noting the items in the kitchen that seemed out of place.

  “One of the residents of the village takes pity on me and brings me cured meat for the dogs and bread for me once a week,” Menelaus answered. “I trade him for herbs and vegetables from my garden.”