by Diana Tyler
Ethan took the Centaur’s place beside Chloe and touched her hand. “It’ll be all right,” he whispered.
She wanted to believe Ethan. Have faith, she told herself, remembering Orpheus’s final words to her. She tried to block out the words that had preceded those, the ones about Apollo’s mission to destroy her. But, inevitably, those were the ones that replayed in her mind like a mantra. If she were found to be an Asher, she’d be dead in minutes within this pit of Pythonians. Just because the immortals couldn’t harm her didn’t mean their disciples couldn’t.
She watched the other centaurs sprinkled throughout the assemblage, all of them dwarfing their neighbors. They regarded the Centaur suspiciously as he approached the priestess, whispering to one another as they craned their necks to get a better look.
One of the other centaurs stepped forward, his muscles just as bulging and his face just as ugly as the Centaur’s. The only difference between them was that this one had a full head of curly black hair and a tattoo darker—fresher—than the Centaur’s. “He’s a Eusebian!” he cried.
The priestess beckoned to the centaur. “Step forward. Explain yourself.”
The crowd parted to let him through as the centaurs’ murmuring grew louder, their discomfiture more apparent.
“He’s right!”
“He follows the Asher!”
Chloe squeezed Ethan’s hand. There was nothing they could do. They couldn’t even speak to each other without someone hearing.
The accusing centaur genuflected before the priestess, and Chloe gave a relieved sigh when she saw he wasn’t armed. “My name is Solon, my lady. I beseech you, don’t let this centaur’s mark of allegiance fool you,” he said. “He is no Pythonian.”
The priestess’s countenance darkened as she looked down on the Centaur. “Does this man speak truthfully?”
The Centaur didn’t hesitate to respond. “It is true—”
There was a roar from the crowd before he could continue, but the priestess quieted them with a swift stroke of the wand across the air. Mouths continued to move, but no sounds were emitted. She’d struck them mute.
“Silence!” the priestess bellowed, her voice chillingly masculine in her anger. “This is not some jester’s court or chorus stage, but an assembly of order. You will conduct yourselves with the civility of the gods if you wish to enjoy their favor.” She turned back to the Centaur and her woman’s voice returned. “Now defend yourself, if you can.”
“I was saying, my lady, that it’s true what my brother Solon has said. But his charge contended that my loyalty still lies with the Eusebian blasphemers.”
The priestess’s knuckles went white around the wand. “Does it not?”
Chloe prayed in silence.
“My association with Iris and her husband Tycho is no more, my lady,” the Centaur said. “I joined them because my life was in danger and I had no other recourse. She broke me free from Diokles’ prison and I followed her, knowing her doma could protect me from the rebel army.”
The centaur called Solon rose from his position of reverence and raised a finger to speak. “If I may, my lady. He broke his centaurian oath once before and was promptly ostracized by the herd. Even if he is telling the truth, his cowardice still violates the oath.”
“What is the punishment for dishonoring the oath a second time?” the priestess asked.
“His eyes must be gouged out,” Solon answered coldly, “to symbolize his blindness and the spiritual darkness to which his treachery has banished him.”
Chloe’s stomach shrank into a nauseated knot as she fought to keep her hands from flying to her mouth. She wanted to shout, to call the Centaur back to her so they could get out of there. But there was no way she’d get enough space, let alone enough stillness, to use her doma now: they were surrounded by enemies.
The priestess looked in amusement at the captivated faces of the crowd. The priestesses giggled amongst themselves, enjoying the prospect of the Centaur’s pain.
“What is your name?” she asked the Centaur.
“My name, when I had one, was Katsaros.”
“You must be joking. That name means ‘curly-haired.’” The priestess gave a chuckle, eliciting waves of devilish laughter from the people. “Where has your curly hair gone, Katsaros?” she asked mockingly when the laughter settled.
“It was shaved off the day he was exiled,” answered Solon. “He keeps his head shaven as a sign of his shame.”
“I see.” The priestess tapped her chin as she stared at the Centaur. “And have you not chosen another name for yourself? Falakrós, perhaps?” The audience snickered again; the name meant “bald.”
Chloe clenched her fists. Ethan’s jaw tightened. The Centaur was being humiliated, and their hands were tied.
“Only creatures of worth are given names,” said the Centaur. “My worth was stripped from me the day I betrayed my vow.”
“Tell us, that your account might serve as a word of caution for my brothers and sisters, how you first betrayed your vow.” The priestess stepped aside, making room for the Centaur on the rock beside her. “Stand here so all may hear.”
The Centaur jumped onto the rock and looked quickly at Chloe. His eyes gave away nothing. If he was in control of the situation, she couldn’t tell.
“It’s shameful, my lady,” he said to the priestess. “My greatest weakness was exposed, the selfsame weakness that prevented me from bringing harm to the Asher when I had a thousand chances to slice her throat.” He looked at the priestess, pausing to see if she might relieve him of this task, but she didn’t speak. The subtlest movement from the wand in her hand was enough to encourage his resumption.
“I find it difficult to take the life of an innocent, someone who has done no harm to our cause or our people.” The Centaur lowered his head. “I wished to present myself to you here today to publicly confess and repent of my repeated failures as a Pythonian and a centaur.” He ran his hand across his tattoo then looked up at the dolphins still sailing overhead. “The dolphin, I have always believed, symbolizes both Apollo’s majesty and his mystery. I can only hope that it also suggests his mercy, for dolphins are known to rescue men from drowning. I ask for his mercy now.”
“You demonstrate great bravery by coming here today and speaking up as you have.” The priestess motioned for the Centaur to step down from the rudimentary platform. “It’s not every day I see a criminal come forth, willing to have his eyes plucked out in return for his soul’s absolution.”
The crowd grew restless in anticipation of the Centaur’s punishment. Chloe dared not say a word. She inched closer to Ethan, preparing herself to use the doma if the Centaur sold them out. He couldn’t really be betraying them, could he? She turned to Ethan, hoping his expression might indicate whether it was better to stay put, or leave while they were still anonymous. But his eyes were closed and his face strangely serene. She realized he was praying. What else could they do?
“If that is the fate I must embrace,” the Centaur said, “then I shall embrace it and give praise to Apollo for upholding justice.”
The priestess turned to Solon and waved him away. “You shall be awarded five drachmae for your loyalty.” Solon nodded gratefully before disappearing into the throng.
“You are wise to see mercy in the dolphin,” the priestess said to the Centaur, directing the wand to the sky. “Apollo, as I’m certain you know, is the god of prophecy. He glories in symbols, portents, and omens. I could have chosen any of his sacred creatures to place in the clouds, such as the hawk, the griffin, the snake, all of which speak of his judgment and wrath.” As she thrust the wand upward, the dolphins merged and formed a balance scale, one side of which was elevated high above the other. “But the dolphin is a creature of peace, of balance.”
Chloe looked around. Everyone seemed as stymied as she was by the turn of events. But she knew the Centaur wasn’t off the hook, not yet anyway. The dolphin scales weren’t even, after all.
The pri
estess tucked the wand into her belt and clapped her hands three times. Two of the drummers left their places and scurried off into a colonnade surrounding a circular limestone structure, a temple, Chloe guessed. A loud series of shouts echoed against the columns, turning the attention of the crowd away from the priestess, but only for a moment.
“Today marks the beginning of a new and hallowed season,” proclaimed the priestess. “And in his unsurpassed wisdom, Apollo has chosen to christen it with both the tears of atonement and the blood of sacrifice.” She reached down and placed a hand on the Centaur’s shoulder. “Mercy shall be yours, as will your reinstatement as our Pythonian kinsman, if you prove your loyalty before your elders and peers.”
Half the crowd cheered while the other half folded their arms and rolled their eyes with displeasure. They would rather see pain inflicted than mercy extended.
The two musicians who had been dismissed now tarried outside the colonnade, holding a man between them; a sack covered his head and his wrists were bound by rope.
“Bring him!” the priestess called.
The men started forward, but their prisoner leaned back and dug in his heels, resisting them with all his strength until the guards landed punches in his sides.
“Katsaros.” The priestess sang the Centaur’s name with ironic sweetness. “How fortune has smiled on you today. Not only do you share with us all the honor of ushering in the age of the wolf and Lykaios Apollo, but the stains of your past shall be cleansed and forgotten.”
“And by which form of absolution am I to receive the god’s far-reaching mercy?” the Centaur asked. He hadn’t yet turned around to see the prisoner standing just ten yards behind him, beside the bronze wolf and the fire burning beneath it.
“The form of killing an innocent,” said the priestess. She pointed over the Centaur’s shoulder, directing his gaze and everyone else’s to the wolf and the trembling captive. “You must prove to us that your weakness no longer controls you. Slit the boy’s throat and feed him to the burning belly of the wolf so that our father Apollo might be glorified by the aroma of a pure and spotless sacrifice.”
With a nod to the musicians around her, the haunting rhythm began again, as did the inelegant dance of the priestesses. They encircled the prisoner, chanting louder and louder as they huddled to form a compact ring around him. Lowering their voices, they raised their suntanned arms, blocking him from view.
The music died abruptly. The priestess took the Centaur by the hand and let him to the circle. “Reveal the offering!”
The priestesses bowed in unison, and then backpedaled away from the prisoner. The sack that had covered his head now lay crumpled at his feet.
“Aison!” Chloe gasped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PRODIGY
Aison was just the same as when she’d met him on the beach, only he was dressed not in jeans and a T-shirt, but a bright white robe that glowed gold in the torchlight. His eyes darted around the ring of priestesses, searching for a gap he could escape through, but there was none. Even if he did slip past them he’d never evade Hermes’ wand, or the sadistic crowd hungry to see him sacrificed.
Chloe leaned over and whispered in Ethan’s ear, “We can’t let the Centaur kill him.”
Ethan didn’t seem to hear her. “They just chipped him.” He nodded toward Aison.
Chloe’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that Aison was holding his right hand, around which was wrapped a blood-soaked linen bandage. She looked away as the high priestess stepped down from the rock.
“Katsaros, do you accept this offer of mercy?”
“I do, my lady.”
The priestess smiled. “Excellent. Now go into the temple and recite the sacred words of the Pythonian oath so that Apollo may hear.”
One of the priestesses left her post behind Aison and led the Centaur past the colonnade, into the shadows of Apollo’s temple.
Babies began to cry as the evening chill swept in on the breeze. Sinister whorls of black and gray replaced the pastel shades of sunset. Thunder bellowed from above and below, evoking images of the Underworld swirling in Chloe’s head. It was just beneath their feet, after all: the Styx, Cerberus, the River Lethe, all of it.
Chloe shivered as she watched the scale-shaped cloud rip apart and regather into the snarling face of a wolf. She couldn’t just stand around waiting to see how this would all pan out. She’d already been still too long. She nudged Ethan’s arm. “The seed Hermes gave you.”
Ethan looked at her quizzically.
“Do you still have it?”
Ethan nodded slowly and then patted his pants pocket.
“Give it to me.”
He stared at her with stern, disapproving eyes, but when her eyes stared back with equal stubbornness, he relented, pulling the pomegranate seed from his pocket. “You don’t know what you’ll turn into,” he said.
“I have to try.” She took the red seed and studied it. Duna, help me. She didn’t have a plan, only that prayer. It would have to be enough.
The Centaur reemerged from the wall of columns. With shoulders stooped and head bowed, he looked smaller, weaker, as if years of life had been drained from him. He staggered as he walked, leaning on his escort for support. His mouth hung open, his unblinking gaze was vacuous. Chloe wondered if he was drunk or drugged, or pretending to be. Duna, let him be pretending.
The priestess led him into the circle, straight to Aison’s side. Kissing the Centaur on the cheek, she placed a dagger in his hand.
The crowd began to chant: “Lykaios Apollo! Lykaios Apollo!”
Chloe placed the seed on her tongue and swallowed it quickly. Whatever she did, she’d have to be fast; the high priestess would waste no time dispatching her with Hermes’ wand—if Chloe wasn’t overtaken by the brainwashed mob first. She could only hope she’d either transform into something huge and terrifying, or something small and discreet.
She squeezed Ethan’s finger. “Just play dumb.”
Her skin began to itch, as if her entire body had been bitten by a swarm of mosquitoes. Next, her gums started to throb as the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
Ethan slowly backed away, pointing briefly to his upper teeth.
Chloe touched hers. Two of them had become long and alarmingly sharp. She held in a scream as another pair forced their way through her gum line. Go, she mouthed.
Ethan turned and faded into the crowd. Chloe hoped no one would know he was associated with her; this was no place to be aiding and abetting an interloper.
A burning feeling replaced the itchiness on her skin and rushed down to the tips of her fingers and toes. Short, dark-blond hair sprouted on her hands and her nose began to stretch. She heard the crack of cartilage as her ears lifted and enlarged. The coarse fur proliferated until it covered her body from head to toe, rubbing uncomfortably against her clothes, the seams of which she could feel tearing apart.
“Wolf!” someone beside her cried out in terror.
Better milk it, Chloe. She fell forward onto what used to be hands and knees. She looked down. Instead of hands, she now had two gigantic paws, each one outfitted with four bone-colored claws.
She sniffed the air with her new nose, taking in a profusion of scents simultaneously: the sweat in the ruined clothes beside her; the rain sitting heavily in the pregnant clouds; the smoke rising beneath the bronze wolf’s belly; the fear of all who watched her; and lastly, the most overpowering of all, a vile odor she couldn’t identify. All she knew was that it originated in the high priestess, whose attention was now being directed to the interference of a wolf.
Chloe wanted to growl, or bark, or howl, whichever came first. It didn’t matter. She’d have to be intimidating if she had any chance of saving Aison, not to mention Ethan and the Centaur, though the latter she didn’t exactly feel like saving. She’d deal with him later—if there was a later.
Remembering what Aison had looked like at his fiercest, Chloe ducked her head, pinned back her
ears, and bared her teeth. She locked eyes with the priestess and yelled as loudly as she could, the effort translating into a deafening bark. Her audience packed in closely to one another. The babies’ crying went quiet as their mothers covered their mouths.
Chloe had command. Now she just had to keep it.
“What magnificent prodigy is this?” the priestess shouted. Her face displayed not fear, but elation. “Apollo has smiled upon our bronze idol and sent us one of flesh and blood as a sign of his favor. Do not fear the beast, but worship it.” She collapsed to her knees and stretched her arms in front of her, prostrate between both wolves.
Chloe decided to try a different tack. She raised her ears and relaxed her tail into a neutral, comfortable position. Opting not to pant like a common canine at the park, she set her jaw and made eye contact with as many people as she could. One by one, like a row of dominoes, the people in the crowd knelt and folded forward in worship.
“Do you wish to die slowly?” The high priestess’s voice was as clear as a bell as it lashed out at Aison. “Bow at once, both of you.”
Aison and the Centaur did as they were told. Every eye in the crowd was either closed or focused on the earth, waiting for permission to look elsewhere. The only creature still standing was the bronze wolf, whose fiery eyes had been fixed on Chloe since she arrived.
Hands and knees scooted aside as Chloe made her way to the wolf. She spotted Ethan easily because his hair was shorter than anyone else’s, and gently pawed at his arm. When he lifted his head, she growled and gave an aggressive bark, then clamped down on his wrist, yanking him forward. He got to his feet and stumbled behind her as she dragged him the rest of the way.
Looking up from her reverent posture, the high priestess’s eyes glittered with dark delight. “Do you wish us to sacrifice another virgin in the fire?”
Chloe nodded. Then she jerked Ethan sideways, letting him loose as she nudged him toward the Centaur with her snout. She forced herself between the three of them, taking care to ensure that some part of her legs and feet were touching them.