The Petros Chronicles Boxset

by Diana Tyler

  Damara took her daughter’s hand. “No, you can’t. One little tweak could have a ripple effect you’d never forgive yourself for.”

  Chloe smiled. “You’ve been talking to Hermes.”

  “Maybe just a little.” Damara winked and took Chloe’s plate to the sink. “Speaking of Hermes…” She nodded her head toward the windows behind Chloe.

  Chloe turned. Outside, the messenger was perched like a friendly gargoyle on top of the old swing set. He waved for Chloe to join him.

  “What are the chances he’ll tell us Zeus and his posse have decided to call off any diabolic plans of global domination and crawled back into Aetna?” Chloe said.

  “Greater miracles have happened,” Damara replied.

  Chloe’s mind flashed with the all too vivid image of her mother’s lifeless form lying cold and dead in her casket. News of the funeral had been splashed across every Petrodian website and newspaper. The TV and radio stations wouldn’t stop broadcasting it. Their reports still blared loudly in Chloe’s brain: Medical community stymied by premature deaths in Eirene.

  It was unheard of for anyone to die before their coronation, but of course the councilman made sure the public’s curiosity was quelled. He gave them a reasonable explanation, something to do with an ill-timed blackout at the hospital that had made resuscitation and healing impossible. “A problem that will never again occur,” he’d sworn.

  What had he done to kill her father, an Asher whose doma allowed him to heal? Chloe shuddered, then turned her face toward the sun. Her parents were alive now, and the councilman wasn’t the man who’d murdered them.

  “You’re right.” Chloe smiled weakly, inwardly chastising herself for her pessimism lately. After all she’d seen and experienced, she should be the first to look for the silver lining, even if the clouds it framed were formed by literal hell breaking loose.

  When she walked outside, Hermes doffed his cap and bowed, his hair cinnamon red in the sunlight. “You look unwell,” he said, sitting down on one of the dusty swings. He grinned and pushed himself back, then folded his knees in and out, giggling like a child as he propelled himself higher. “This is rather fun.”

  “I’m fine.” Chloe knew her puffy face and tired eyes said differently. “Have you heard anything about Hector?”

  Hermes’ legs stilled and he let the swing drift to a stop. “I’m afraid his is a predicament you will find familiar.”

  Chloe sat in the other swing and rocked herself back and forth, remembering the day she ran into Orpheus on the bridge not far from her high school. “What, he’s been lured to Circe’s island by a charming musician? Or sweet-talked into going to Lake Thyra and getting sucked into the Styx by a sparkly nymph?”

  “It all sounds so innocent, almost whimsical, when you put it like that.” Hermes lifted his chin, watching a gray bird flutter past. “Perhaps one day you can tell me how you would describe the clever imp who escorted you to Asphodel.”

  “Typical redhead?” Chloe laughed. The fact that she could now joke with the man whose job it had been to secure her in the Underworld was another miracle she hadn’t fully given thanks for. If Duna could reach the heart of someone who, for millennia, had lived for his ego and greed, she had to believe he could reach whoever was after Hector now.

  “It’s Ares,” Hermes said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “He wishes to ingratiate himself with his family by bending Hector to their will.”

  “What is their will?” Chloe asked. “And why Hector?”

  “I’ve told you their will.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Chloe said. “Global domination, right?”

  Hermes stood and tilted up his nose, sniffing the air like a dog. “Someone’s here.”

  Chloe turned in the swing, scanning the yard and the gray sky above it. She felt the air grow colder. “Who? Ares?”

  Hermes pressed a shushing finger to his lips as he jumped in front of her, arms spread wide, protecting her. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

  “Whichever god it is, his blood’s colder than yours,” she said, rubbing her arms. “Not a good sign.”

  “Shhh.”

  Hermes drew his wand and waved it in wide, slow circles. The air around it began to shimmer, like watery light rays in a mirage. And then flashes, bold and abrupt, appeared and vanished, quick as sparks thrown from a fire. Bronze helmet. Leather sandals. Golden belt. A shield fringed with the hissing heads of snakes.

  Whoever this was, Chloe thought, he’d come to fight. She slipped out of the swing, hoping Hermes’ wand would start doing a whole lot more than merely illuminating whatever god was standing there.

  Hermes quickened the wand’s motion, willing the image into view. “Reveal yourself, or I won’t hesitate to turn this staff into a spear.”

  “Do not trouble yourself, brother,” came a woman’s voice, the high, sweet tone ringing like a bell above the sound of seething serpents. “I only came covertly to avoid the mortals’ stares.”

  “You can bet I’ll trouble myself,” Hermes rejoined, “depending on which sister you are. I have many it would not grieve me to injure.”

  “I don’t think the All-Powerful would condone such a crime, Hermes.” The outline of the woman’s body etched itself in the air, followed by the metallic shades of her helmet, belt, and shield. “You sound like a reprobate. A rebel spirit, if I didn’t know better.”

  “Athena,” Hermes said, the surly edge in his voice supplanted by a surprising tenderness.

  Chloe stared at Athena. The goddess was a head taller than Hermes. She held herself like a soldier, rigid and upright. Her shoulders, which were just as broad as her brother’s, were rolled back and her chin was lifted slightly. She wore a plain, cream-colored robe, a chiton like the one Iris had given Chloe back in Ourania; the top half of it was covered by a bronze cuirass that was molded for a woman’s body with an ample bosom. Her bronze helmet also appeared to be specially made for a female; the cheekbones were rounder, like two halves of an apple, the eye holes sleek and shaped like cat eyes. Through them Chloe could see the goddess’s famous gray gaze resting on Hermes’ face.

  “It won’t be long until our father notices my absence from Xirolakos.” Athena lowered her shield at the same time Hermes’ wand went back to its sheath. The snakeheads retracted their tongues and fangs, and fell limply onto the grass.

  “Xirolakos.” Hermes smirked. “And why not snowcapped Olympus, now that you’re free of Tartarus’s sulfuric depths?”

  “They shall ascend soon,” replied Athena, maintaining her stolidity despite the bite in Hermes’ words. “If they have their way.”

  Her nerves finally settled, Chloe stepped beside Hermes and cleared her throat. “If I may, Miss Athena, why are you talking like you’re not on their side?”

  Athena’s eyes smiled through the inimical slits of her helmet. “Are you the Asher who can travel through time? There was talk of you at the banquet last evening.”

  “I’m the Asher who doesn’t talk to strangers.”

  Hermes covered his laugh with his hand. “Just like you didn’t talk to Orpheus,” he mumbled.

  Chloe rolled her eyes as she elbowed him lightly in the side. “Answer my question, Athena, and I’ll answer yours.” She straightened her posture so it mirrored the goddess’s while silently acknowledging the confidence she felt with Hermes’ wand just inches away. If he weren’t with her, there’d be no way she would have spoken so boldly.

  “Very well.” Athena dipped her chin slightly, a subtle sign of vulnerability and an indication that she wanted to hear what Chloe had to say. “I’ve always been my father’s darling favorite, and though I love him, I don’t always agree with his dictates.”

  “Let me guess,” said Chloe, “his latest one has something to do with Hector, the dýnami, and taking over the world.”

  Athena stepped back. The tendons of her neck went taut. “How do you know this about the boy? The feasts of the gods are encompassed by harpies who snatch away any intruder
.” Her sharp eyes darkened as they locked with Hermes’. “You always were the stealthiest of us, Hermes, the giant slayer.”

  “Forgive me, sister, but it takes no special skill to predict the rebels’ plot.” He stroked his stubbly chin as he peered at her suspiciously. “Truthfully, it’s your presence here that baffles me. You don’t agree with what Zeus plans now, and yet you willingly fought with him against the All-Powerful.”

  Athena’s scarlet lips smiled between the helmet’s cheek pieces. “As did you, or has the All-Powerful freed you of such blasphemous memories?”

  Hermes’ hand fell to his side as a mien of heartbreak seized his features. “I will never forget, nor do I wish to. It’s only by reflecting on where we’ve come from that we best appreciate where we are.”

  “Indeed.” Athena pulled off her helmet and secured it beneath her elbow; a black braid fell like a rope onto her shoulder.

  Chloe realized that the goddess of war hadn’t come with a sword; Athena was dressed to defend, not attack.

  “I heard rumors only of your perfidy,” Athena said, “which came first from the mouth of our cousin, Mnemosyne. Henceforth your name was anathema—to everyone but me.”

  “So are you saying you’re a good guy now?” Chloe had long given up trying to sound as eloquent as the immortals. After all, they’d had eons to perfect the art of communication, and she’d only had eighteen years.

  “I don’t wish the destruction of your race,” Athena answered with the air of a seasoned diplomat.

  “I’d say wanting to save the human race qualifies you as good.”

  Athena joined her hands as her gaze fell on the swings moving languidly in the breeze, pondering her words before she spoke them. “I was not referring to the human race. I meant your race, child. The Asher race.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  INTENTIONS

  Chloe wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, to feel a weight ripped off her shoulders at the goddess’s words. The rebel spirits weren’t planning to destroy mankind after all, at least not to the degree Chloe had anticipated. Only a fraction of it—the Ashers—were to be eradicated. This was good news. Perhaps due to selfishness, or her innate longing to live, Chloe didn’t feel relief, but only a great sense of urgency as reflexive fear seized her, and any hope she’d previously entertained had fled like a bird from its cage and took flight.

  “Does the lad know his days are numbered regardless of whether or not he does their bidding?” Hermes asked, his demeanor strangely cool considering what he’d just heard.

  “He’s been told that he and his mother will be spared if he cooperates,” Chloe said.

  Hermes shook his head. “We know Zeus better than that. He’ll no sooner let an Asher live than crawl back down Mount Aetna’s vent.”

  “You knew this already?”

  “I’ve kept nothing from you. It was obvious to me that Zeus would act according to his nature and assert his authority on Petros. I suppose I didn’t want to admit that I knew instinctively how far he would take it.” Although his hands were clean, Hermes’ face was overcome with shame. “I’m so sorry, Chloe, but…” His countenance softened as the faintest ray of sun broke through the clouds and glinted on Athena’s helmet. “We have the upper hand. Duna has seen to it. Whether my sister admits it or not, her presence here is evidence that Zeus is making a way for victory.”

  Athena picked up her burnished shield, waking the snakes as she slid her left hand into the armband. “Victory is rather ambitious, giant slayer. Let us settle for peace.”

  “For us, peace is victory, protectress.” Hermes held out his wand and changed it into an olive branch, as he had done the night he appeared in Chloe’s tent and presented himself as a friend for the first time. “It’s a victory that will begin here, now that you have warned us of the rebels’ foul mischief.”

  “If only warning us was enough,” said Chloe, immediately regretting her irreverent tone when Athena’s snakes stretched out and hissed at her. “I mean, I appreciate you coming here and all, but what are we supposed to do? It’s a handful of us mere mortals against the universe’s A-team.”

  Athena threw her helmet into Hermes’ chest. “You’d better give this to the girl. Already her mind is polluted with despair. The Ashers don’t stand a chance with such faithless leaders as this.”

  Amused, Hermes snorted and handed the helmet to Chloe.

  “Rude,” Chloe muttered, as she gripped the helmet with both hands; it was heavier than it looked. “I’m not in despair. I’m being realistic.” She could almost hear their eyes rolling in disgust. She knew she sounded like a sissy, but maybe she was one. It had only been a month since she’d returned from the other timeline and been given back her family. The last thing she wanted was to go into battle with Olympus’s pantheon. Wasn’t there someone else who could intercede?

  “Pragmatism is for philosophers,” said Hermes. “Necessity guides the warrior.”

  Chloe stared into the helmet’s black sockets. “Warrior.” She laughed as she envisioned herself clad in Athena’s armor. She’d be like a toddler playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes. “I’m not a warrior.”

  “No?” Hermes turned to face her. “Remind me who survived Hades and its cruel tormentors. Who confronted Mania, the embodiment of fury, on behalf of her brother? Who had the courage to seek Orpheus in his cave and silence the witch, Echidna?”

  Chloe’s gaze shifted from the helmet to the old treehouse in the corner of the yard. She wanted to go there now, to escape this talk of imminent threats and possible counterattack, and reenact the childhood in which her parents had lived, where Zeus and all the others were contained in the heart of hell, a place more figurative than real. But this was real. A very literal hell did exist, populated with very literal spirits who were now in the upper realm, preparing to show Petros their power.

  “Mania and Echidna and the clowns you left me with in Hades are nothing compared to Zeus.” Even to her own ears, Chloe’s voice sounded far away, as though she were hearing it from the bottom of a pool. She knew it wasn’t like her to be so pessimistic, but from how she’d treated Ethan to how she was taking Athena’s news, it was as if negativity had been part of her personality all along.

  “You’ve descended from the echelon of philosopher to the rank of fool,” Hermes said, taking no pains to temper his disappointment. “You speak as though you’re a different person in this time than you were in the one before.”

  “The person I was before was…” The words trailed off as her parents’ faces surfaced from the murky waters of her mind. “Was desperate,” she finished. “I wanted my parents again.” Tears stung in the back of her throat. “I just got them back. This can’t be happening.” She felt her knees weaken as a heaving gasp pushed against her lungs. She let it out as she dropped the helmet and bent over, gripping her knees in an effort to stay standing.

  Athena snatched the helmet from the ground; the wind from her swift-moving arm was enough to send Chloe tumbling backward into the dirt.

  “Hey!” Chloe’s chin quivered as she held back her tears.

  “Weak,” chided Athena. “Hermes, tell me this is another one of your stunts. The Nereids will have hell to pay for directing me to this coward’s home.” She spat on the grass by Chloe’s feet. “I came here to stoke the fire of a hero, not disturb the cradle of an infant.”

  “I’m not an infant.” Chloe felt heat rise in her chest, the same visceral fire she’d felt the day Ethan’s father had betrayed her, when Aison had bullied her on the beach, and on countless other occasions when she’d felt demeaned or made out to be a fool.

  Athena smiled as one would at a circus animal doing a trick. “Oh no? Then what else can I call a person who must be coddled to keep them from crying? How else must a goddess refer to an Asher who runs at the first sign of danger?”

  The smug expression on Athena’s face made Chloe’s blood boil even more. She jumped to her feet, reason fading as emotions drove her to snat
ch Hermes’ wand and charge the war goddess. The snakes on the shield lashed out, their white fangs bared, ready to sink their venom into her veins. With one quick wave of her wrist, Chloe commanded the wand to slice off every one of their heads. They fell to the ground like overripe persimmons, where they writhed for several seconds until their tongues went slack and silent.

  “You should’ve brought a weapon.” Chloe aimed the wand at Athena’s face, holding it steady with both hands. Her tears were gone. Her legs were strong. She couldn’t kill an immortal, but she could definitely hurt one.

  Flecks of gold now brightened Athena’s eyes. “There she is. The Vessel has spirit after all.”

  “And so does this one.”

  Now it was Chloe who smiled smugly, watching as a tremor rippled across Athena’s visage. The goddess’s eyes darted right and left, searching for the source of the disembodied voice. “Reveal yourself!” she commanded.

  “Okay,” said Damian, his body slowly materializing at the top of the yellow slide, “but only because I need to save my doma’s juice.”

  Chloe was glad to see her brother, if only for the distress, however brief, that he had given the high and mighty Athena. “I thought you’d gone to school.” She lowered the wand and slid it into her pocket.

  Hermes drew the wand out again. “You’ve made your point,” he said, unable to mask the hint of satisfaction warming his sallow cheeks. He was proud of her for standing up to Athena and proving that his association with Chloe was by no means an impish stunt.

  “Damian, meet Athena,” said Chloe. “Athena, my brother Damian.”

  “I know who she is.” Damian jumped down from his perch. “I followed her here. Turns out I can see other invisible people when I’m invisible.”

  Athena’s slender fingers stroked her braid and looked him up and down. Setting down the shield, she sauntered across to him, then walked in circles, admiring him as though he were a piece of artwork—or maybe a bull to be sacrificed in her honor.