The Petros Chronicles Boxset

by Diana Tyler

  The fount had been given her by the gorgon, Medusa, back when Leto was still a beautiful maiden and could not make statues of flesh-and-blood beings. She and Medusa had grown up together at the desert fortress known as Ēlektōr, along with hundreds of other children raised to be warriors from the time they could hold a stick. But after Leto’s father, Diokles, had been slain, the seditious armies of Ēlektōr disbanded and dispersed before any arrests could be made.

  Only Leto had remained there, an orphan with nothing and no one, and nowhere to go. She had spent ten years alone in the abandoned desert, subsisting on lizards, beetles, and the occasional mouse when she could catch one.

  At night, she had slept on the hard cella floor inside the temple, two-thirds of her body wedged inside the niche that had once housed the sacred amber tablets. The light emitted from the terracotta lamps around the chamber had done little to comfort her. The only solace she found was in remembering her father’s promise to her: “All will be better when you become a woman.”

  And so, despite the increasing temptation to end it, Leto had clung to her life. She had made up her mind that if she was still alone in her forgotten circle of the Underworld on the final day of her eighteenth year, she would hike up to the fortress summit and cast herself into the dry gully below.

  But in the seventh day of her eighteenth year, on the coldest day yet in the month of Gamelion, something extraordinary had happened. In an instant she had known that her father’s words were true.

  It had all been ignited by a common spark of anger. Leto had just left the old mess kitchen after rummaging through the victuals for wine to keep her warm. The wintry desert air felt like icy fangs biting into her skin, and her bare toes were red and waxy with frostbite. The woolen cowl pulled over her head was so full of holes she thought it would make a better fishing net than a shield from the wind.

  “Lord Hades of the dead, if there is a portal beneath my feet through which the shades can see, let my father behold me now!” Leto had cried out with contempt so strong it briefly tamed the pitiless chill. “Let him see what has become of his beloved Leto, a name that means ‘hidden,’ ‘forgotten.’ Well, how very prophetic.”

  She stretched out her arms and looked up into the white waning moon, her ravishing pale face its only equal. “It’s a shame that his final oracle, that womanhood would bring me honor, has not proved so precise.”

  It was then that the sands had begun to swarm. Each “grain” was a tiny ant, and the insects coalesced and marched toward her in organized, fleet-footed ranks. The ground became warm beneath her as a savage wind erupted from a fresh-carved fissure in the earth between her feet. This unworldly gust gathered the army of ants and flung it against the unfeeling air, where it hung in silence like a crude mosaic.

  The wind died down as the moon hid its face behind a cloud. Leto jumped to one side of the crevice and studied the shapeless sand from afar. If Hades were to kidnap her, as he had the maiden Persephone, she would not run; instead, she would welcome him. Anywhere, even the throne room of hell, would be a brighter place to spend her days than here, alone in the ruins of her father’s failed regime.

  “Perhaps this is what he meant,” Leto whispered to herself as she crouched down and drew carelessly, defiantly, in the sand that remained. Perhaps he had meant that after her suffering had run its course, she would be deemed worthy of becoming a hapless mistress of Hades.

  She laughed and removed her cloak, but as she let it fall, it wrapped itself tightly around her waist and dragged her toward the frame that was still floating in the air. She dug her nails into the wool, tearing at it like a vulture claws at a carcass until it released her and dropped limply at her feet.

  “Show your face, you gutless coward!” Leto shouted. “I am afraid of no man, no matter what side of this cleft he hails from.” She gestured to the fissure and spat into it, rousing the wind from its slumber.

  The breeze, far gentler than before, moved slowly into the sand portrait and caressed its surface, mixing the grains together like paint on an artist’s palette. Soon, Leto saw a face taking shape as great swaths were cut away, as if struck by a sculptor’s chisel.

  “Leto…” the grains moaned softly. “The time has come for your impartation.”

  Dumbstruck, Leto stared at the specter spinning in the air, its edges tapering, the amorphous mass elongating as the form of a man appeared. He held a short golden staff at his side and wore a furry hat on his head.

  “You felt it moments ago, did you not?” the man said.

  Leto drew her dagger from her belt and thrust it toward the ghost. “Who are you? Are you one of the ghosts of my father’s men come to take his revenge?”

  The ghost raised his staff and twirled it in the air, guiding the grains in elegant spirals back to the earth. “I am no ghost, and nor am I an enemy. I am a friend.” He slipped the staff into its sheath and bowed before her, kissing her hand with ice-cold lips. “My name is Hermes, messenger of the Lord of Death and tutor of despondent desert orphans.”

  He stood and grinned at her, then looked down at the dagger still held firmly in the hand he’d kissed. “Put it away, child. You have far more powerful weapons within that hand than without it.”

  “You’re mad. I felt nothing moments ago.” Leto stepped back and bent down to fetch her cloak.

  “Are you cold?” Hermes asked. “No need for a cloak. Simply put heat in the sand as you did before.”

  “That wasn’t me,” she protested, “but the earthquake from which you emerged.”

  “Nay, I only emerged when the signal had been sent that you, my dear, had received your power.”

  Leto frowned at him as she put away the knife. Kicking the cloak, she knelt down and dipped her fingers into the sand.

  “That’s it,” said Hermes. “Tell the earth what you want it to do. Command the elements with your thoughts.”

  “Elements…” Intrigued by the word, Leto stood and waited.

  Hermes’ eyebrows narrowed as he scratched his ear. “Don’t stand there like a post. You must do something for the doma to be activated.”

  And then she felt it, the breeze she’d been waiting for. Push him! No sooner had she thought the words than Hermes fell back onto his rear end and half groaned, half growled with displeasure.

  “I was going to teach you about the wind after your lesson with sand,” he said, getting to his feet. He brushed the sand from his indigo tunic and faced Leto, a smug expression on his features. “You will not make sport of me, my desert flower.”

  He was whispering, as if the satyrs and nymphs were listening—and perhaps they were, Leto thought.

  “I may be a humble messenger,” he continued, “but I’m still more powerful than you can ever hope to be.”

  Leto smiled as the wind collected around her, warming as it blew against her face and through her white-blond hair. She told the sand to twirl like a tornado, and it gathered itself to the size of a cypress and spun fiercely into the distance. She told the cloud that hid the moon to split apart into pieces, and it obeyed.

  She could almost see the moon shuddering as it sat exposed within its starry cradle. Maybe one day she could tell even the sun and moon when to rise and set.

  “You called yourself a tutor,” said Leto, as another cloud sailed toward the milky moon. She wrote her name upon it with her forefinger as easily as if her finger were reed on parchment. “I seem to be teaching myself just fine.”

  Hermes unsheathed his staff and raised it behind his head as though it were a javelin. He ran a few steps and, with an agile lunge, threw the wand toward the cloud. Up, up, up it flew, flying like a wingless bird until it landed in the middle of Leto’s name and set the cloud ablaze. The smoke was so dense that it blotted out the moon and stars, shrouding the desert in darkness.

  Leto felt her heartbeat quicken as she contemplated her next move. Her father had always admired her stubbornness, even encouraged it, but had she gone too far by defying an immortal? From
all she knew of the so-called gods, they didn’t tolerate human hubris for long.

  “You are powerful, yes. And brave.”

  Leto jumped at the feel of Hermes’ whisper on her neck.

  He wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and chuckled darkly. “But courage must be tempered with wisdom, and power honed with discipline.” He touched her shoulders and turned her toward him.

  Leto watched his staff float back into his hand as the smoldering cloud fell from the sky in a heap of ashes, giving the stars room to shine again.

  “To what end?” she asked, her pulse slowly settling.

  “Ah, that is the beauty of it.” Hermes’ cold hand took hers, sending an electrifying chill down her spine. “To your power and reign there shall be no end. All that is required of you, my fair flower, is to be an amenable pupil.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HESPERIDES

  I wondered when you’d come,” said Leto, as she held a pail to one of the stone dolphin’s mouths and collected water. “I was beginning to think you’d found another desert bloom to coddle and charm.” She watched from the corner of her eye as the golden wings of Hermes’ sandals fluttered into focus, flapping as fast as hummingbird wings above her head.

  “Desert blooms are beautiful, but their allure stops there.” Hermes slowly lowered himself onto the fountain’s pillar, which connected all six of the dolphin spouts. “You, my darling, have far surpassed the ranks of ordinary fauna, whose beauty reaches only eyes and nose.”

  “And what creature do you compare me to now? A scorpion, or a horned viper?”

  Leto laughed as she regarded her reflection in the water. Judging by looks alone it could be assumed she was one of the most beneficent of goddesses, Hestia perhaps. As a young girl she’d been nicknamed Kallisto for her silky white hair, ivory skin, and eyes as gray as a turtle dove. Her beauty, Hermes said, was her greatest ally. Who could help but trust her? Anyone who looked upon her would expect nothing but divine secrets and primordial blessings to trickle from her cherry-colored lips.

  “Your name is Mania,” said Hermes, and he kissed her, his cold lips like melting snow against her own, “for you are Fury.”

  “So you are pleased with me, then?” she purred, as he nibbled playfully on her ear.

  Hermes smiled and traced the length of her smooth, statuesque neck, then doffed his cap and set it on her head.

  “What are you doing?” Leto asked, looking down at her reflection. “It looks sillier on me than it does on you.”

  “Soon, very soon, it will be replaced by a royal diadem.”

  Hermes drew his wand and waved it before the cap, sending faint sparks of light through the midnight air. He bent over the pail, and with one pass of the wand the water became a sheet of perfect glass.

  “How splendid you look.” He picked up the pail and flipped it sideways so she could see.

  Leto’s cheeks flushed as red as roses, and for a moment she was breathless. Upon her head sat the most beautiful golden crown she’d ever seen. Around it were impressed intricate palmettes in low relief, and from the top sprouted foliage and rosettes, all intertwined like fine lace and highlighted by blue enamel and green berries made of glass. An intricate Hercules knot, from which two tassels hung, lay at the center, serving as a protective amulet as well as a symbol of marriage.

  “Hephaestus could not have crafted a finer one,” she whispered, her eyes locked, trance-like, on the diadem.

  “And Aphrodite could not have looked more stunning beneath it.”

  Hermes set down the pail and reached for the crown, but Leto shuffled back, clutching it tightly with both hands.

  “Why must you tease me, my love?” she whined. “I have done all Apollo asks.” She removed the crown and held it at her breast to admire it more closely. “What will it hurt to give me just this one piece of my reward? Iris is as good as dead.”

  “Patience, my furious flower.” Hermes almost sang the words as he floated toward her.

  Leto giggled when she saw the tuft of red hair sticking up where his cap had been. He made it so difficult for her to be upset with him for long.

  “We have more than Iris to worry about now,” he said.

  Frustration seethed within Leto as she squeezed the crown, her hands stinging as her palms pressed hard against the pointed leaves.

  “Iris and her companions were routed from Ourania last night,” she said. “They’re hiding like shrews in the hills. What other threat is there to trouble us?”

  “Iris and her daughter are not the only Ashers left.” Hermes came closer and touched her cheek. The coolness of his blood combined with the gravity in his voice made Leto shiver. “There is at least one other, and perhaps as many as three.”

  He pulled his hand away and unsheathed his wand once more, then pointed it toward a lifeless row of cressets, their metal baskets silvery blue in the starlight. With a swift series of jabs, he set them all ablaze. By their fire, Leto could clearly see the disappointment flaring in his eyes.

  “That’s impossible!” she shouted, flinging the crown like a discus across the courtyard. “I saw but four when Iris created the pathway: herself, her family, and that godsforsaken Centaur that tromps around with them.”

  “Yes, but from your vantage point you could not perceive the accompanying travelers. The Ashers.”

  Leto flexed her fingers at her sides, causing the earth to shake and the sturdy fountain to totter. She’d never learned how to master her temper.

  “They passed into the tunnel and accompanied the others to their current refuge,” he added.

  Leto rolled the pail toward her with her heel, and then with a rabid yell kicked the mirror Hermes had made, transforming the glass back to water, which shattered and spilled at his feet.

  “If this element would obey me,” she said, indicating the puddle, “if the storm clouds I conjure would produce rain, Iris’s precious fire would be extinguished with a snap of my fingers.”

  Hermes laughed as he always did at Leto’s tantrums.

  Fuming, she sat on the bench as a bright bolt of lightning struck a nearby poplar tree, splintering the trunk before the top half crashed to the ground. She gave a mild sigh of satisfaction.

  “Control yourself, Leto.” Hermes snapped his own fingers, calling back the crown from the shadows. He dusted it off and tapped it twice with his wand, returning it to the form of his unremarkable fur cap. “Your behavior suggests that you think I or my brothers are to blame for your doma’s shortcomings. I hate to inform you that the rightful recipient of your rage is the All-Powerful, and he cares little for your juvenile murmurings and complaints.”

  Leto sprang up from her seat once more. “The All-Powerful is cruel and unfair!”

  “You won’t find me claiming the contrary.”

  “Then what are you claiming, my love?” she asked, sardonic disdain dripping from her lips.

  “Humility was never your strongest aptitude.” Hermes flipped his wand in the air and caught it behind his back. Pointing it up at the sky, he hooked the full moon like a fish and reeled it in until it hovered above their heads, no larger than a cantaloupe. “I’ve made my peace with how far my powers reach.”

  Leto looked up in awe at the beaming orb, then went up on tiptoes and brushed it lightly with her fingers. The hair on her arms stood on end as she felt the powdery dirt of a foreign world. She jumped up, straining to pull the moon down, but it drifted higher, not stopping until it was once more nestled among the stars.

  “You see,” said Hermes, “the ultimate authority belongs to the All-Powerful. And there’s nothing anyone can do to change that.”

  Leto gave a heavy huff as she crossed her arms. “Your pessimism turns my stomach. Just because neither you nor your brothers have been able to undermine him doesn’t mean it’s impossible to do so.”

  A wry smile played on Hermes’ lips. “Your conviction is admirable, albeit sorely delusional.”

  Impelled by another torrent of
anger, Leto stirred a breeze with her right hand and sent it rushing into Hermes’ chest. The force of its impact thrust the messenger into one of the pergola’s beams, shaking the structure from base to roof.

  “The only time I’ve ever entertained delusions,” she said, “was the day I thought that you, a pathetic sycophant masquerading as hell’s most revered polemarch, would have the courage to help me in my mission.”

  She strode toward Hermes slowly, eyes focused and hands rigid as she waited for him to retaliate. But he remained seated, slouched against the beam, his ankles crossed casually as he combed his fingers through his cinnamon hair. His cap had been displaced once again and now perched on the pergola’s roof, wedged between sprigs of wisteria.

  “Has the question of why you were unable to pursue Iris into the mountains even crossed your mind?” Hermes pointed at the cap with his wand and lured it back onto his head.

  Leto’s eyes darted to the stone pathway where the stray cat was sleeping. She tried to devise a response, but her mind was frozen, halted by infuriating images of the tunnel and the invisible barricade that had sabotaged her chase. She’d been aloft in the clouds, suspended by winds of her own making, every muscle and tendon taut as she held out her hands and amassed phalanxes of thunderclouds around her. All it would have taken was a single bolt stabbing through a chink in Iris’s fiery armor to end her life and begin Leto’s reign.

  “The All-Powerful thwarted me,” Leto said.

  That had to be the answer. Who else could have been responsible for constructing an impenetrable wall invisible to the naked eye? She had felt it, a wall as solid as marble, running the width of the valley and reaching to the thinnest layer of the atmosphere, where Leto’s breathing waned. It was from behind that bulwark that she’d watched them escape into the forsaken hills of the refugees and bandits. She had half a mind to think their luck would be no better there than in her midst.