by Diana Tyler
“What if they ran through the wall up here and took off flying?” one guard asked.
“The Asher just has one doma,” grunted the other.
“We were also told there’s just one Asher per family.”
The other guard stopped moving, tempting Ethan to make his move then, but he held back.
“True. Take it to the councilman and see if he wants to dispatch an air squadron.”
The first guard nodded. Then he sprinted toward the Coronation wing, leaving half the hallway wide open.
Ethan squeezed Damian’s hand. He glanced at his mother on Damian’s other side, and his father behind him. Then he signaled with his free hand, and together they slipped past the remaining guard like ghosts in the night.
They stepped through the closed door into the sterile room, which was identical to the Coronation cell. The only difference was that instead of gurneys there was nothing but a tall, steel pole in the center, with a stepped platform beside it. Seeing a noose dangling off its edge, Ethan felt a freezing chill shoot up his spine.
He didn’t have time to entertain the emotions of horror, fear, hate, and sadness coalescing like storm clouds in his psyche. Terror had paralyzed Petros long enough. He had to keep going, to keep swimming with the current of adrenaline flowing through him.
“I hope no one has a fear of heights,” said Damian. Apparently, he’d caught on to Ethan’s plan.
“We’ll get over it,” Lydia replied.
Ethan led them to the platform and snatched the rope.
“I saw that.” It was the councilman’s voice. “I knew you’d give yourselves away eventually.”
Ethan looked up into the corner of the room. He could almost see the councilman’s lightless black eye winking through the camera.
It hadn’t taken long for Chloe to be noticed on board the ship, the same ship she’d dreamed of—or at least she thought she’d been dreaming—in the treehouse during her birthday party.
Last time, with a grotesque sea monster named Scylla terrorizing the boat and its crew, no one had noticed Chloe clinging to a rope behind the mast. But now the seas were calm. Scylla was gone, and all the sailors were behaving normally—or as normally as could be expected considering they’d just witnessed a strangely dressed teenaged girl appear out of nowhere.
They had all gathered around her, pointing and shouting in Próta. Not knowing a single word of their language, she’d finally stopped repeating her own name and said the name of the only other woman on the boat: Iris. That shut them up, and immediately two oarsmen had taken her by the arms and escorted her to the stern.
There, gazing out over the cobalt-colored sea, stood Iris, her flame-red hair blowing in the breeze as she hummed quietly to the young girl asleep on her shoulder. A few feet away, two men were kneeling on the deck, their heads bowed and their eyes closed. Though Chloe couldn’t understand them, she knew their moving lips were speaking something sacred.
The oarsman on her right, a squat man with a thick blond beard that appeared incongruous on his boyish face, spoke softly, respectfully, to Iris, never once making eye contact with her. She stopped humming and turned to them, her long hair now whipping across her face, covering all but her eyes, the blue in them like the indigo tip of a torch.
“Aspádzomai, Chloe,” welcomed Iris.
She was younger than Chloe remembered, probably not much older than twenty. Chloe looked down at the sleeping fair-haired toddler. Was this Iris’s daughter, the girl from her visions who had the power to vanish?
Chloe repeated the foreign greeting as best she could and then looked at the little girl. “Charis?”
Iris nodded, half smiling, and half frowning in puzzlement. Then she said something to the two oarsmen, dismissing them.
Chloe touched her chest. “Asher. I am an Asher.”
A flock of seagulls, the ones Chloe had heard calling to her down in hell, circled overhead. Why had she heard them? Why was she here, even farther from her family than before? Her family didn’t even exist yet.
And then it hit her. Her doma. She’d had it all along, ever since her birthday when she’d first been on this boat. It had never been a hallucination or a dream. It had been real, as this was real.
I can travel in time?
Iris turned to the two men kneeling nearby. Her lips parted to say something to them, but seeing they were still praying, she closed them and impatiently rubbed them together. She held her forefinger up to Chloe as if to say, Just a second. Then she gently settled Charis on a woolen blanket.
Iris approached the men and bent down to whisper in the younger one’s ear. He glanced up at Chloe, a flash of a smile in his warm brown eyes, and immediately she recognized him as the man from the fire tunnel. Well, the only whole man, anyway. The other had been a centaur, just like those on Circe’s crazed island of Aeaea.
Before Iris could take a single step toward Chloe, a shaft of white, crystallized mist materialized between them. The scent of lemon and lavender wafted out of it, followed by the mellifluous sound of a girl’s sweet humming.
“Carya?”
Iris and Carya locked eyes through the mist; they’d spoken the name in unison.
Chloe could see Carya’s radiant body encased within the thick haze, the royal purple of her robes and the violet of her hair creating a watercolor cloud come to life.
Carya lifted her arms and punched her white fists through the opalescent canopy above her. A loud whooshing sound accompanied the broken mist as it drifted out and dissipated over the whole ship, blanketing the deck with a wintry shimmer. Then, as quickly as she’d appeared, Carya dissolved into the halo of light still surrounding her, still humming that heavenly tune.
A shrill chiming noise sounded in Chloe’s ear as she watched the flabbergasted crew stare at one another. Some of them reached down to touch the snow-like substance on the deck, but they couldn’t get it to budge. Chloe tried to kick it, but she stubbed her toe as though it were solid rock. Evidently, Carya was much stronger than she looked. Or maybe it was that mortals were just pathetically weak.
Chloe crossed the boat to where Iris and the men who had been praying now stood. “What was that about?”
“I’m not sure,” answered Iris. “Is she ever straightforward with you?”
Chloe shook her head. “Definitely not.”
“Back to work!” barked the older man to the sailors. He lowered his voice as he turned to Chloe. “Excuse me. These men act as though they’ve never seen anything out of the ordinary.” Then he brushed passed her, calling out orders left and right, the heels of his boots clapping along the hard, ethereal substance.
Chloe laughed as the ringing sound finally faded from her head. “I can understand you! That’s what Carya did.”
Iris’s eyes went wide. “Well, then…” She steadied herself on the edge of the stern and took the hand of the man beside her. “We have some catching up to do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SACRIFICE
The past hour had felt like an out-of-body experience to Damian. Just that afternoon, he’d resigned himself to following in the footsteps of the Ashers before him and forgetting all about his gift. He’d returned the jasper stone to Katsaros, and he’d turned his back on his sister. He wasn’t about to risk his life over some long-dead religious sect or mystical poem about the Moonbow. The Fantásmata were too powerful. They’d tolerate a revolt just long enough to make a gory example of every one of its conspirators.
But a switch had been flipped back at the Rosses’ house when the guard started chasing after him. He realized then that even if he cooperated, even if he swore never to speak of his strange sightings and did his best to blend in and let his power lie, they’d still come after him, just as they’d gone after his father. And if he was going to die, he might as well die doing something right.
He would never get the chance to apologize to Chloe for being a coward, but at least he could help someone who was brave, someone who would have t
ried to save her if he’d been the one with the doma. If Ethan and his family could survive, maybe they could make a difference somehow.
Damian pressed his face through the wall. In just a few seconds, the councilman’s men would be in the room, and his invisibility wouldn’t last forever. Rappelling down the wall with the rope Ethan had taken was their only feasible option.
“It’s clear,” said Damian. “But we’ve gotta be quick.”
“I’ll go first,” Mr. Ross said, taking the rope from his son.
Damian glanced toward the door. His heartbeat mimicked the guards’ heavy footsteps racing down the hall. “I’ll anchor the rope with Ethan so they can’t see us. Mrs. Ross, you go after your husband.”
Lydia nodded and squeezed his hand.
Back to back with Damian, Moris straddled the rope, wrapped it around himself, and secured it between his legs. Then, with just one foot pressed against Damian’s heel, he leaned back and slipped silently outside.
A barrage of gunfire peppered the acrylic door, shattering it in a matter of seconds. Three guards in tactical gear rushed in, dividing the cell into thirds like a pack of bloodhounds hot on a scent. They took lumbering steps, zigzagging up and down the floor, slicing the air with their arms, swiping their weapons over the bone-colored countertops lining the room.
One guard jumped up onto the platform, crouched down, and became unnervingly still. “They’re not in here.” He ripped off his gloves and cracked his knuckles. “They’re using the rope to lower themselves down. We’re wasting time.” He clicked on the radio on his shoulder. “Surround the outside perimeter.” Then he turned to the other two guards now standing at attention, awaiting instruction. “Go. I’ll stay in here.”
The men nodded and hurried out of the room. Mr. Ross was already three-quarters of the way down the building.
Ready? Ethan mouthed to his mother.
She leaned across Damian and kissed Ethan’s cheek.
With Ethan and Lydia holding onto his waist, Damian pushed his head through the wall to check on Moris one more time. As soon as Moris’s feet hit the ground, Damian pulled up the rope as fast as he could and tied it around Lydia. She closed her eyes and swiveled around Damian until her back faced the wall. He slowly backed up, holding his breath as he felt her weight tugging on the rope.
Though he was invisible to her now, Lydia gave a thumbs-up in Damian’s direction, grimacing as the rope rubbed against her back and tightened around her pink forearm.
She was moving at a snail’s pace. Damian wanted to yell at her to move faster, but even a whisper would be suicide. The guards would be on them any second, ready to deliver them to their master and watch them bleed.
“Are you in here, freak?” the guard called out, his deep voice muffled behind his helmet.
With half of his face peeking through the wall, Damian remained still, watching Lydia’s every move, preparing to rip up the rope and fasten it to her son.
“What will it take for that little power of yours to wear off and let me see you?” the guard said.
Damian heard the guard pace around the room, then stop with a frustrated sigh before sending a hail of bullets into the cabinetry. When he was done showing off, he grunted and jumped on the platform. Let him keep talking and making noise, Damian thought. The more he entertained himself, the less attention he was paying to them.
Lydia was almost down now.
“We’re going to need that rope back so we can hang you with it,” the guard announced, flicking the pole with his fingernail. “However, I have a feeling the councilman has a more creative method of dealing with Ashers.”
Moris untangled his wife and kissed her quickly. Then they dashed into the hedges as Damian pulled up the rope.
“I’ll never forget this,” whispered Ethan. Then, before Damian could register what was happening, Ethan had grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him away from the wall. “It’s your turn now.”
Damian shook his head and pointed angrily at the rope, then stabbed a finger in Ethan’s chest, trying soundlessly to convey that this wasn’t part of the plan, at least not part of his plan. Didn’t Ethan know that the instant he stopped touching him he’d be seen and probably shot by the guard? If he was lucky, Damian could help Ethan down and then find another way out; but he had a feeling Ethan wasn’t satisfied relying on luck. Moris and Lydia needed Damian if they were ever going to escape, and they needed him soon.
Ethan removed a hand from Damian’s shoulder. Both of them turned to the guard sitting on the platform, his legs dangling over the edge as he sharpened a curved dagger on a short steel rod. Ethan’s temple pounded as he clenched his jaw.
Damian didn’t know how far Ethan’s plan went, but he was almost positive it didn’t move past the guy with all the weapons. If things were different and it was his mom and dad down there waiting, Damian liked to think he’d do the same and be the hero who stayed behind. But he’d already proved he wasn’t a hero. Chloe’s only chance of escaping hell had been squelched the second he’d handed Katsaros the jasper stone and gone his way. He was spineless, gutless, a scared kitten masquerading as a lion. What made him think he’d act any differently for his parents?
Heat surged through Damian’s veins. He gave Ethan a stern nod and began situating the rope around his own back. Ethan squeezed Damian’s shoulders and then, once Damian was secured, released his grip and took hold of the rope with both hands.
A twinge of doubt burned at the edges of Damian’s mind. What if the guard got to Ethan before Damian reached the bottom of the building? He’d fall, break his legs or his back, and be no good to anyone. But it was too late to backtrack or sort out what-if scenarios. Ethan was leaning back, and Damian was moving downward as a lump the size of an apple swelled within his throat.
When Damian was two-thirds of the way down, Ethan waved at him to move faster. Damian had a better idea. He pulled from his pocket the sharp pair of scissors he’d used to cut Ethan out of the gurney, and snipped himself free of the makeshift harness. He didn’t even feel himself hit the ground.
His power was that strong after all. They could have bypassed the rappelling altogether and simply jumped through the wall. Damian wanted to scream at himself, but there wasn’t a second to waste stewing over his own ignorance. He couldn’t help what he didn’t know, and jumping three stories without knowing it was possible to land in one piece would’ve been too big of a risk.
Land on me. The thought seemed absurd as it blasted through his doubt, but if he could drop fifteen feet without gaining so much as a scratch, it stood to reason that he could absorb someone’s weight falling onto him.
“Jump!” Damian shouted. He didn’t care who heard. “Jump on me, Ethan, I’m right here.” And then he remembered they’d passed through a solid wall. There were no windows in the room.
“Where’s Ethan?”
Damian heard the confusion in Lydia’s voice, followed closely by the escalating sound of the guards’ shouts as they rounded the building.
“This way!” one yelled. “They just escaped through the wall on the northwest side.”
Damian jumped into the shrubs and grabbed the Rosses by the arm. “We have to go now.”
As soon as they were fully invisible, they took off running for the woods. Around them a gentle rain started to fall, which they couldn’t feel. Above them flashed jagged lightning that couldn’t strike them. And hanging low in the last clear patch of sunset sky shone the brilliant bands of the Moonbow. Staring at it, Damian had the haunting suspicion that, despite his power, it was staring back.
Hours had passed since the ship had docked in Limén, a city that, even in Iris’s time, was teeming with hardworking laborers skilled in all manner of trades.
In modern Petros, Limén was the place of residence for Petrodians whose occupations ranged from aerospace engineer and physician to automotive mechanic and farmer. Ancient Limén, according to Iris, attracted textile workers, artisans, farmers, and fishermen, not be
cause they had been preordained by the government to be such but because that’s what they and their families had carved out for themselves.
Here, in this new now, people had the freedom to do what they pleased. But it hadn’t always been that way.
Chloe sat in the small kitchen of an elderly couple, both of whom were snoring loudly in the adjacent room. Her belly was full of bread and lentils, and though her eyelids drooped and her head felt heavy, the last thing she wanted to do was sleep.
Across from her sat Iris and her husband Tycho, the man she’d recognized on the ship. Since Carya had made it possible for them to communicate, Iris hadn’t stopped talking. It was almost as if she’d been expecting Chloe to show up, as if seeing a teenager from the future pop up on her boat and introduce herself as a relative was a semi-regular occurrence.
But from what Chloe had heard thus far, her arrival had been far from an unusual. The gryphon fossils from the museum, the centaurs she’d seen on Circe’s island, Circe herself…none of it came as news to them. All of it was familiar.
Just as the early birds began to chirp, and soft yellow sunlight flooded beneath the door, it finally came time for them to learn what they didn’t know. And so Chloe told them about Orpheus, Hades, the walnut, and her dreams—or rather her time travels—in which she’d seen their grown-up daughter disappear with a scroll, and then the three of them, along with a centaur, running between walls of fire.
Chloe hadn’t been sure anything would astound these two, but apparently she was wrong. Carya they understood. Orpheus’s ruse made sense, somewhat. The premonitions they recognized as warnings from Duna. But what they could not readily discern was the next step.
It was obvious, given Chloe’s doma, why the Fantásmata had done everything they could to disable her, first by trying to turn her into an animal on Aeaea, and then by imprisoning her in Hades and forcing her to drink from the Lethe. She was the only person alive who could turn back the clock and change history. Whatever had been chasing Iris and her family, Chloe was the only one capable of stopping it.