by Diana Tyler
The Moonbow’s colors, Chloe thought.
“Ethan,” she said, linking her arm with his, “where—I mean when—are we?”
As the young girls moved down the boulevard, the band’s song died down and an old, gray-haired man stepped onto the stage. Chloe recognized him instantly, for he was only one of nine men permitted to live so long: the chief councilman.
“No…” The colors around her faded away as her vision focused only on his feeble frame. “He’s still here.” She stood on her tiptoes and spun around in circles. “We have to find Damian.”
“Eirenians, I welcome you to the five thousandth festival of Therismos,” came the councilman’s voice through a nearby speaker. The crowd erupted with applause and beat their branches together as his face appeared on giant screens beside the stage. “It is with this festival that all of Petros celebrates the bounty of the harvest and the elders of our land. It is they, the old and wise among us, who keep our traditions alive, and pass down to our youth the oracles and myths of the ages. By these we learn, and in learning we defend against the wiles and schemes of the evil one.”
Another roar of applause, so loud that it caused the shop windows to shake.
Chloe’s breaths became short. She could feel Ethan’s elbow grow hot beneath her own. There had never been a Therismos Festival in her time, much less speeches that made mention of the “oracles” and the “evil one.” Did he mean Apollo? She knew Apollo controlled the councilman, and yet he clearly seemed to view Apollo as an enemy.
“The harvest time symbolizes abundance,” the councilman continued, “and mankind’s dependence upon the All-Powerful for the sustenance that gives us life. It represents the cycle of sowing and reaping, and the truth that everything we plant, either by word or by deed, produces fruit. It also has a personal significance for me, an Asher whose doma manifested during the olive harvest some two thousand years ago.”
Chloe stopped breathing altogether as the councilman drew two fingers to his temples and held them there in silence. “Some would call my gift a curse, and perhaps sometimes it is. When I’m very still, I can hear the suffering below our feet, the travail of Apollo’s enemies and the souls who chose to follow Python, Lykaios, and every other infernal iteration under which he placed his standard.”
The people froze, and even the children stopped eating as everyone hung on his every word and watched him wipe tears from his eyes.
“It is my great suspicion,” he said, before clearing his throat, “that I would be on the pathway to the pit if four brave Ashers and their comrades had not risked their lives so long ago to save mine. And, more than that, they saved my soul.”
Ethan bent down and whispered in Chloe’s ear, “Chloe, it’s—”
“I know,” she said as the hair on her neck stood on end. “Hermogenes.”
The councilman gripped the edges of the podium, his knuckles protruding from his spotted, arthritic hands. “I often think my doma has been given to me as a reminder of that hell from which I’ve been spared. For what else can a boy become if all he’s been taught proceeded from the mouth of a tyrant?”
“Duna’s grace prevails!” came a shout. It was Damian’s voice, and it was echoed by a hundred others chanting the same three words.
The councilman’s visage glowed and a warm smile settled upon the pallor of his features, transforming him into someone almost completely new—at least in Chloe and Ethan’s eyes.
The last time Chloe had seen him, he’d been channeling Apollo inside the council building’s sanctuary. He’d called her a heretic, a traitor, and a threat to Petros, while lamenting the fact that he wasn’t permitted to kill her. Before that, he’d stood with her in the past, perhaps right here where they stood now, staring up at one of Mania’s storms with searing hatred blazing in his eyes. “The final Asher,” he’d called her.
And why wouldn’t he have hated her after she’d spilled his blood to win favor with Hades? He must have spent his entire life observing her sly manipulations, clever lies and heartless conquests. He’d learned from them—that much was obvious—but he must also have resented them. Why else was her memory no longer honored? Why else would he have devoted his entire, nearly immortal, life to annihilating the Ashers?
She knew he hated them because she’d hurt him, and perhaps also because no other Asher had intervened to stop her. Until recently.
“Damian Zacharias,” said the councilman, straightening up as best he could into a posture of formality, of respect, as he focused on a face in the front row.
Chloe’s stomach lurched as her eyes found the back of Damian’s blond head and his broad shoulders pulled back.
“It is your family we honor this Therismos, for it was you and your sister Chloe…” The councilman paused and brought a hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun as he scanned the crowd looking for her. “It was the two of you, and your friend Ethan, who saved me from what I might have become, who carried me out of a home of war and unrest to one of peace.”
He made a mild gesture toward the Religious Council building behind him. “It’s taken five years to complete, but the renovations are finally finished and the temple is ready to be unveiled. We have Lydia Ross and her team to thank for that.”
The crowd clapped and cheered as the screens zoomed in on Lydia and dozens of others waving and smiling outside the dome.
“Mom,” Ethan gasped. His eyes were fixed unblinkingly on his mother’s face, his breath unmoving in his chest, as if the slightest twitch would make her vanish.
When the applause had faded, the soft melody of the last song began to play beneath the councilman’s voice.
“On behalf of the Eirenian Council, and the Ross and Zacharias families, I invite you all to congregate here tomorrow morning for the sunrise dedication of the temple. Until then, enjoy the music and food of the festival.” He waved a farewell and carefully made his way down a ramp before disappearing into the sea of faces.
“Come on.” Chloe took Ethan’s hand and cut through the dispersing throngs, making a beeline for her brother.
“I’ll meet you back here,” said Ethan. He kissed her cheek and took off running toward the dome, to his mother.
A cool breeze wrapped itself around Chloe’s body, carrying her forward despite the heaviness taking hold of her limbs. The beat of the drums and thrum of the strings fell away as her senses tunneled around the image of her brother and the two others standing beside him. Now she knew why Ethan had stared so intensely at his mother on the screen. She felt distrustful of her eyes. She stood motionless, breathlessly quiet; waiting for the rest of her body to confirm that what she saw was real.
And then: her mother’s laugh, high and light, fluttering gently into her ears; the woodsy scent of her father’s favorite cologne, filling her mind with childhood memories, of climbing onto his lap and nestling against his neck.
“Daddy,” she whispered. “Mommy…”
Her mother’s laughter faded as she turned to Chloe with a smile. “The woman of the hour is finally here.” She opened her arms wide for a hug and Chloe ran into them, nearly knocking her mother back.
Mrs. Zacharias stroked Chloe’s hair as she kissed the top of her head. “Did you and Ethan have a nice drive in? We heard there was a storm down your way in Ourania.”
“Ourania?” Chloe asked, still clinging to her mother as her throat tightened with imminent tears. “What were we doing in Ourania?”
“You go to university there, silly,” her mother said, pulling back. “Honey, are you feeling all right?” She pressed a palm to Chloe’s forehead. “You feel a little warm to me.”
Chloe turned to Damian and, with one look, she could see that he knew.
“Maybe you’re a little dehydrated,” said Damian. “Come on. I’ll show you where the drinks are.”
“Not before I get a hug from my little girl.” Mr. Zacharias stepped over to Chloe and drew her into his arms. “It’s good to have you home, sweethea
rt.”
No Fields of Asphodel. No monsters watching nearby. No memories washed away then returned at the shores of the River Lethe. No daunting journey ahead. Just this. Just her father’s heartbeat against her ear and the unyielding warmth of happy tears trailing down her cheeks.
Chloe followed Damian under a purple-and-gold pavilion selling snacks and festival souvenirs. She grabbed a package of peanuts and pretended to read the label. “Damian, please tell me—”
“I know,” he said gently, his eyes bluer than usual, softer. “I fell asleep last night, I don’t know when, and woke up in a dorm room three blocks from here.” He turned and looked down the street, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m studying theology.” He smiled. “And you and Ethan are history majors.”
Chloe stared at him, shock and joy and bafflement and bliss all swirling around inside her, making it almost impossible for her to speak.
“You don’t remember anything else?” she managed.
“A little. I remember that our whole changing-the-timeline thing is common knowledge here. It’s in the history books and everything.”
Damian glanced at the group of kids in the corner of the pavilion who were hiding behind rainbow-shaped hand fans. Chloe could tell by their stiff bodies and hushed voices that they were trying to eavesdrop on them.
“They don’t remember,” one boy whispered. “How can they not remember?”
“Hey,” said Damian, whipping his head toward them. That one stern word sent them scuttling off, their abandoned fans strewn on the ground.
He turned back to Chloe and sighed. “We’ll remember more eventually.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “Mnemosyne, a woman I met when I was with Leto, must’ve left this for us, or sent it somehow. I found it on my desk.”
Chloe took the paper and unfolded it carefully. It was a letter written in Próta, the letters and markings of which translated themselves in a shimmering blur before her eyes. She skimmed the note in silence.
Greetings to Chloe, Damian and Ethan,
Before I deliver my message from the All-Powerful, I wish to inform you, Damian most of all, that I am no longer stationed at Mount Othrys, nor am I bound by Apollo in the heart of Tartarus, as you might have suspected after our meeting that day, two thousand years ago.
The instant I was dragged to Hades’ depths, Duna sent one of his messengers to release me, and restore me once more to the courts of heaven. After meeting you, Damian, one half of the promised Vessel, my presence at Othrys was no longer necessary since the world’s memories are now secured, preserved in pious hands.
The fact that you are reading this missive testifies to your victory, by Duna’s strength and provision, over Mania and the darkness of her legacy, the memories of which the three of you alone now carry with you.
As for your own memories—the ones formed in this era presently foreign to you—they shall return, little by little, over the course of the coming months. Some will come back sooner and sharper than others, while others may be delayed and remain dim for quite some time. I tell you this so you will not be afraid, or think yourselves crazed or deceived. Such things, I understand, are difficult for mortals to comprehend, and so I urge you only to trust and give thanks for this most blessed gift of reunion with your families.
You have my word, as guardian of all Petrodians’ memories, that the friends you left behind lived well, happily, and long. They wait for you, as I will wait for you, within the gates of heaven. Until then, cherish the days both behind and ahead, and forget not the things you have fought for.
Mnemosyne
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
DÝNAMI
The next evening, Chloe and Ethan sat on the beach at Ourania, a place they had seldom been to, at least not in the world they knew; the government had had strict rules about when and where one could travel. But here, now, there were no such rules. Petrodians were free to go where they wished and do what they wanted, according to the divinely given laws Chloe’s ancestors followed in ages past.
There was no Fantásmata, no coronations, no dictating who would bear children and where one would work, and no Lycaea Festival held in secret honor of Apollo.
Chloe straightened her arms and leaned back, enjoying the rush of the tide as it lapped on her ankles and shins, and caked her feet with sand. The orange sun bobbed lazily on the horizon as a sheet of rain slanted into it from a solitary patch of gray. There would be a Moonbow tonight. She could feel it.
“I think it’s safe to tell me now,” Chloe said, casting a furtive glance around the beach, ensuring there was no one around to hear.
Ethan didn’t need her to expound. He reached into his jeans pocket and slowly pulled out the small black chip that had been implanted in Aison’s hand. “I wasn’t sure it had survived the time hop back here. I took it from Aison after we got back from the Lycaea Festival and hid it in my satchel.”
Chloe sat up, dusting her hands on her thighs. “I don’t get it. The chip is what made you go back in time?”
“With Iris and Tycho’s help. They’re the ones who helped me figure it out.”
“Figure what out?”
“That the chip was created to help its owner manifest domas, at least the domas of Ashers who’d been around it.”
Chloe took the chip from him and studied it, looking for some sort of telltale sign of its power. But there was nothing to indicate that it was anything more than an ordinary microchip. “How could you possibly figure that out?”
“Let’s just say the campfire needed some stoking and…” Ethan lifted his right palm to the sea and winced slightly as a thin yellow flame broke through the flesh and sailed out over the waves.
“And that happened,” Chloe said, as she reached for his other hand. “That’s incredible.”
Ethan watched the flame until it disappeared, then closed his fist and rested it on the sand. “Tycho made the connection that perhaps I could use it to find you. And with Duna’s help I did.”
Chloe brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “Thank you for saving my life. I should have said that a long time ago.”
Ethan smiled, his green eyes appearing bluer beside the sea. He took her hand in both of his and set them on his thigh; she could still feel the heat where the fire had flowed. “I should have said the same to you, back at the Regional Council building after I found you in the stairwell.” He kissed her eyebrow. “You disappeared before I had the chance.” He kissed her lips. “Before I had the chance to say a lot of things.”
Chloe rested her head on his shoulder and dropped the chip into his lap. “I guess we know now why the high priest wanted it so badly. I wonder how it was made.”
Ethan shrugged, picked up the chip and squeezed it tightly. “I don’t know, but I know how it’s going to be destroyed,” he said, and stood up.
“Destroy it? Why?”
Ethan turned to her, his expression grave, his body rigid. He didn’t have to explain. Chloe knew. The chip had helped save their lives—and the world, as they knew it—because it had been in Ethan’s possession. In the wrong person’s hands, however, it had the potential to cause unprecedented damage that Petros might never recover from, especially now that there were more Ashers in existence, and therefore more powers to imitate.
Chloe nodded. “Do it.” No sooner had she uttered the words than the chip went flying into the Great Sea, to rust and disintegrate into oblivion.
Ethan sat down beside Chloe and pulled her toward him, his lips just inches from her own. “I’m just back to regular old me now.”
She leaned into him, kissing him softly as she held the back of his neck. “I love you.” The words slipped effortlessly from her lips as her heart hammered inside her chest. She hadn’t meant to say them out loud, but by the look on Ethan’s face, it wasn’t a mistake.
He held her, whispering those same three words in her ear as the sun’s crown dipped beneath the horizon, making room for the Moonbow to
shine.
Below the dark surface of the water, the sea nymph Eione was swimming, searching for the dýnami forged long ago in the molten bowels of Mount Aetna.
“Foolish mortals,” she said, grinning as she spied the dýnami—the power—sinking further into the murk. But how could they have known that the dýnami could only be destroyed by the volcanic fires that formed it? Its origin was kept secret for a reason.
Only Apollo and his former cohorts knew the Asher whose blood had imbued the object with powers even the Olympians would envy. Straton, he was named, for the army his sacrifice would raise, when the time was ripe. An army created for reasons unknown, for Apollo never acted first. Instead, he waited for the All-Powerful to incite him.
But as fate would have it, it was Eione, a lowly goddess compared to the vaunting rulers of Hades, who now snatched the dýnami for herself and tucked it into the sea-foam folds of her dress. She could feel its strength pulsing like a heartbeat next to her skin, as if asking her to unleash it here, while the sea was asleep in shadow.
Eione remembered the first time she had seen its power, when Straton swam past the nereids’ caves and stole her favorite hippocampus from the stable. He then sped off toward the sky, too fast for her to catch up. He returned the animal hours later before inviting himself to dine with her and the other sea nymphs, fifty in total. He charmed them all with his tricks and jauntiness, boasting and telling jokes well into the night over honeywine and figs.
Straton could have taken any one of Nereus’s daughters for a lover, but his escapades were just beginning. There were many more goddesses to enchant, many more mythic realms for his mortal feet to find.