As if that stray thought were a question, it conjures what might be an answer in the slow reveal of the landscape. It might take minutes. Hours. Days? I don’t want to be interested, but I can’t help watching and wondering as the blanket of clouds gradually evaporates, disappearing from the hills all around me, leaving them stark and bare. The bumps and cliffs and contours around the deep, dark valley slowly show themselves. Everything is still somber, just more grays upon grays, but for the first time, the air is clear, and I can see what’s around me.
The final clouds dissipate like wafts of smoke that might never have been, and I blink. I blink again. That can’t be right.
I sit up. Across the sheer drop to my right, a man rolls a boulder up a steep hill. He’s muscular and strong, his thighs and arms bulging from his work. He concentrates on his task, never once looking at me, or at anything else around him. His feet dig into the hillside, pushing, pushing harder, pushing up. After an endless stretch of labor, he’s almost there, almost to the top he’s worked so hard to reach. He’s right across from me now, high above the valley floor. He wrestles the boulder onto the narrow summit of the daunting rise and then straightens, wiping his forearm across his brow.
The boulder tips over, flattens him with its first full rotation, and then crashes back down the hill. I gasp, my heart rate picking up for the first time since I got dumped here. Almost immediately, the squashed man re-forms into his previous shape. He stands again, loosening his shoulders and shaking out his huge, strong limbs.
I stare in shock. He looks…fine.
The boulder finishes its long, silent descent, traveling what looks like a well-worn path. My unnerved gaze swings back and forth between the man and the rock. Did I just see what I thought I saw?
He begins to walk back down the hill, his stride neither energetic nor dragging. My pulse thumps wildly. I know what’s going to happen. I know that when he’s behind that boulder again, he’s going to get down low, brace his hands against the rough and ragged side, and then start to push all over again.
I scoot back from the edge of the ledge and track him with my eyes. Dread takes a sharp chisel to the stony numbness still encasing me, hammering out a solid crack.
That’s Sisyphus. The ancient king was punished by Zeus himself for his egotistical behavior, underhanded cleverness, and chronic deceit.
Time feels like it has no relevance, but it must take him hours to perform his task again. I don’t take my eyes off him. All the way down. Starting back up again. Roll. Step. Roll. Push. Slowly up the hill.
I swallow hard.
The harsh shriek of a bird of prey shatters the protracted silence I’ve been existing in. It’s the first sound I’ve heard since the God Bolt hit Sykouri. The strident call pierces my eardrums like the tip of a lance, and I jerk my head around to the left.
A terrifying sight greets me. My eyes widen. Not far from me, but across a space of sheer rock too wide for me to possibly reach him, a huge male is strung up and brutally chained to the side of the cliff. His head hangs in defeat, his long, brown hair trailing into the tangled, curling mass of his beard. He doesn’t fight at all when the giant eagle falls upon him and tears into his side, ripping out his liver and eating it in one bite. The bird’s beady eyes flash over me. Gore and blood drip from its beak. It tucks its wings against its sides and then plummets back down into the valley, the arrow-fast dive taking it quickly out of sight.
The harsh tang of fear bursts across my tongue. My nostrils flare on too-fast breaths. The eagle’s call reaches me once more from far away, mixing with the new sounds I hear all around me. There’s nothing novel or distinct in the noises, just the muted whir and whump of a world that’s not so stagnant after all. And all the while, the defeated colossus of a man just hangs there, his face contorted in pain, waiting for his body to regenerate.
Which it will. Because it always does.
Shaking all over, I get my feet under me and then scramble the few steps back toward the rock wall. The cool stone bumps my back and blocks any hope of further escape. My eyes jump to the right—endless, drudging boulder roll. Jump to the left—man pierced with a hole.
Oh my Gods.
The sickening scent of my neighbor’s fresh blood and bile hits me with each new panicked inhale. My senses reignite, and the breeze that made no sound for so long now seems to carry the desolate sighs of a thousand miserable souls. I lean away from the gaping valley with all its shadows below and try to fuse with the sheer cliff face. The Gods only know what I’ll see if I really look down.
I turn my frightened gaze back to the broken and bloody male sharing my bleak stretch of rock. Some legends say Prometheus escaped imprisonment with the other Titans after the War of Gods only to be punished later by Zeus on the mortal plane for stealing fire from Mount Olympus and giving it to the humans of the worlds. I guess the legends were wrong. His torment isn’t being carried out on any mortal plane. He is far below the Underworld, in a place reserved for torture, eternal suffering, and endless pain. A hero to mankind but condemned by Zeus for his daring impertinence, Prometheus is in Tartarus. And so am I.
CHAPTER 24
A man pops into the empty space right next to me, scaring the magic out of me—and I was already on the verge of a pretty epic panic attack. Gaping up at him, I try to tilt my whole body away without really moving. I’m rooted to the spot, yet I want to run. Like a rabbit, my heart thumps out the fast and unsteady rhythm of fear against my ribs.
He’s hard to look at full-on, and man isn’t at all the right word for him. Male—yes—and of alarming and gigantic proportions. He’s neither handsome nor ugly, neither old nor young. Long hair the color of dark smoke flows around his massive shoulders. His full beard is a shade lighter. He trains on me frightening, bronze-hued eyes with oddly large pupils, and all I can think is that he’s power incarnate, that he’s here for me, and that he’s definitely not a friend.
I dart a glance to the left and see Prometheus looking over at us. I’d thought my neighbor was beyond caring what went on around him and his own pain, but his eyes are wide and filled with questions and life. Our gazes catch for only a heartbeat, and something squeezes in my chest that has nothing to do with my own fright. He’s not defeated at all, which makes his daily plight a whole new twisted sort of beast.
The bronze-eyed male props his staff against the rock wall and crosses his arms over his muscular chest. He doesn’t spare even a glance for the Titan chained to the cliff wall next to us. His fearsome, metallic gaze stays locked on me, and every instinct in me screams that that’s a terrible place for his focus to be.
With nowhere to go, I can only stand there and watch the colossus that must be the King of Gods, my eyes hiccupping over him because he’s just too frightening and stupefying to really look at. I swallow, but there’s no banishing the lump of dread in my throat. I think I’m looking at Zeus. I think my life sentence is about to fall.
No, not life. That concept has no significance in this place. Eternal. Everything is eternal here.
He doesn’t speak. He looks at me so fixedly it hurts. His smoky hair and beard give him an almost sage appearance, but it’s violence that rolls off him in waves. His eyes bore into me like twin fires, boiling metal in a forge. They scrape me, peel off layers, burn. His blistering stare marks me for the miscreant I am.
Flinching away, I wait for some kind of horrible ax to fall. I can’t help glancing at his staff. It’s tall, the dark wood topped by a swirling opaque ball. A petrified vulture’s claw holds the ball in place, the long, time-blackened talons curving up to cradle the orb. Staffs like that pack an incapacitating magical punch—and I have no idea how they work. I shudder.
“Come.”
The God’s voice thunders through me, resonating in my chest. I don’t move, both frozen in place and confused. There’s nowhere to go.
“It’s time to go,” he announces
, looking me up and down with obvious annoyance.
Not taking my eyes off him, I brace myself against the cliff wall and do my best to stop shaking. “Go where?” My voice is the smallest it’s ever been. Oh Gods, please don’t say it’s somewhere worse than here.
His frown and shaking head show me he thinks I’m an utter idiot. “I told Zeus he was putting too much stock in you.”
I blink. I thought he was Zeus. And that I’d lost his favor.
“Go back,” he supplies, huffing impatiently at my apparent inability to grasp simple concepts.
“Back?” I don’t understand. There is no back from here.
“Would you rather stay?” he asks in exasperation.
I stare at him. I feel like we’re speaking two different languages, and I may not understand either.
The God—because he’s definitely that, even if he’s not Zeus—leans down to my height, getting us more nose-to-nose than I want to be. I inch back, and he follows.
“Do you know where you are?” he asks.
I nod. I wish I didn’t, but denial seems to have abandoned me completely.
“Then let me tell you about Tartarus, the land where you’re not dead, but you end up wishing you were. It’s either horrifically boring or horrifically painful.” Without looking at Prometheus, he jerks his head toward my unfortunate neighbor. “Either way, it’s worse than you can possibly imagine. I’ve been here forever, and an eternity on top of that—no hunger, no thirst, no war, no sex. Nothing. Then you showed up, huddling like a pathetic, dormant little ball on your cliffside when you’re the only one with the means to get out of this place.”
My jaw loosens. What?
“Zeus told me all about you. The Queen you should already be. The magic you should already have. He said you’re my passage to the Underworld—finally—so you had better not ruin this for me.”
“I…” I don’t want to admit it, especially to this rage-filled mammoth, but… “I don’t understand.”
Scoffing impatiently, even though he hasn’t explained anything, he finally waves a hand out over the valley. “Fly out of here. Open a tear in the sky with the lightning Zeus gave you, spread your wings, and you’re free. Which is a lot better than I can say for anyone else on this abysmal plane,” he mutters under his breath.
I glance over my shoulder, already knowing what I won’t see there. “Zeus stripped me of my wings. He took control of my magic. I can’t fly.”
The huge male prowls forward, the magnitude of his presence forcing me away from the rock wall. “Fly off this cliff yourself, or I’ll throw you over.”
Anxiety shoots through me. But I also don’t believe him. One thing is clear—he won’t kill me if I’m his passage out. I detect no lie in his words, though. Maybe my Kingmaker Magic doesn’t work in Tartarus. Or maybe it doesn’t work on Gods.
I take another step away from him, moving toward Prometheus. I need space, and there is none.
“Tartarus is where you’re alive but don’t live. Do you want to live?” he asks, driving me toward the sheer drop.
I nod, wide-eyed. Of course I do. And not here. The numbness from before has been thoroughly shocked from my system, and a flood of emotions is battering me. One feeling stands out: leave this place. Leave this place now.
I glance down, the dizzying height suddenly making my gut clench. I’m on the edge of the ledge with nowhere left to go. I try to flex wings that aren’t there. I don’t feel them stirring. There’s no now-familiar flutter in my chest. There’s nothing at all.
The God growls. “If you’re lucky here, you simply exist. If you’re not, eternal punishment is your reality…forever. And believe me, young one, you have no idea what forever means.”
He steps forward again, looming over me. My stomach hollowing, I use my last inch, sending bits of shale careening off the shelf.
“Your baby will never grow, never be born, never live.”
I swallow. Little Bean should live.
“Your husband will grow old and die and go to a place where you will never see him again. He’ll wait. And despair.”
My breath cuts off. Griffin.
A crafty smile lifts his lips. “Or maybe he’ll grow tired of waiting for you and find comfort in the arms of another woman.”
That potential outcome flashes before my eyes, heartbreaking. “I have no wings,” I say, my voice like gravel.
“Do you know who I am?” He grabs my arms, and I gasp at the hot jolt of power that writhes through me like the living thing it is.
Not breathing, I shake my head. I have no idea. I don’t want to know.
“I am Perses.”
My eyes widen. The Titan God of Destruction. A primordial being even older than Zeus!
“And I’m supposed to make sure you finish what you started.” And with that, the bastard lifts me up and throws me off the ledge.
* * *
I shriek. Pounding air. Panic. Oh my Gods!
The valley floor is a long way down. It still rushes up to meet me. Fear for Little Bean slams into me. I need to fly. Now!
I strain, twist, scream, roar. No wings spring forth. I can’t reach them. I don’t know how!
Too late!
Terror gives way to blinding pain. Consciousness somehow remains apart and alert, even though every single part of me is broken. Splintered. Shattered. Splattered. No bones left. Blood everywhere. Little Bean—dead.
There’s a mind-ripping push and pull, and I take shape again, forming in a backward rush. A tortured animal sound leaks from me as my body knits itself back together. I’m aware of every second of it. The fear. The suffering. Little Bean’s life spark pulses again, and then what feels like the hand of a God grabs me and yanks me violently up. I fly through the air, still solidifying as I go. I end up intact and utterly petrified on the high-up shelf of rock.
I fall to my knees and vomit. There’s not much in me, just saliva and dry heaves and my mind supplying the sharp memory of blistering pain and a vivid image of my own broken body.
I turn my head, gasping for breath. Granite and gray waver before me. I see triple, double, and then Prometheus comes into focus.
“Fly,” he mouths to me, a deep crease between his heavy brows. There’s no hole in his bloodstained side anymore.
Perses glares at me. “Are you ready to spread your wings, or do you want me to do that again?”
“I…” I shake my head, dazed. As soon as I can, I stagger to my feet, trying to banish the nightmare of Little Bean’s and my deaths. I brace my hand against the cliff wall for balance and push and prod at where my magic should be. There’s nothing. I feel emptied out and scraped clean.
My heart sinks. “I don’t feel the wings.”
Snarling, Perses grabs me and heaves me over the edge.
I scream. I scream all the way down. I hit the ground screaming. I scream when Little Bean leaves me, ripping my soul apart. I scream when she comes back, my heart wrecked from both pain and relief. I scream all the way up the sheer cliff again as my body glues itself back together with my own skin and marrow, bones and blood. I scream loudest of all when I rise on trembling legs to face Perses again and then strike out with a closed fist.
He weaves out of my reach. “I told you to fly, not punch.”
He reaches for me again, and instinct kicks in. I run. He’s bigger, stronger, and a lot faster. He’s a bloody God, and there’s nowhere to go!
I’m airborne before I can take two steps, and there’s still no hint of my wings. Instead of screaming, this time I strain through my chest and shoulder blades for all I’m worth. I’m still pushing when I hit the ground and feel and see myself explode, still pushing when this horrible world pieces me back together again, and still pushing when it propels me straight back up to the feet of my Titan tormenter once more.
The next time I f
all to the valley floor, I see an emaciated man desperately grabbing for a cluster of figs he’ll never be able to reach. Focused on his eternally unattainable feast, he doesn’t even look at me as I shatter right next to him and then keen like an injured beast.
I re-form and rise again, knowing I’ll never feel hunger here like he does. That’s not my punishment for trying to control things beyond my mandate. This is.
“Why won’t you fly?” Perses thunders. His lips draw back to bare his teeth. His bronze eyes boil with power and anger as he lifts me up and gives me a dangerously hard shake.
“Why won’t you teach me?” I thrash in his hot and biting grip. I kick out, landing solid hit after hit. He’s going to throw me over the cliff again, and I fight with every bit of strength I have left. “Everyone just expects me to do it, but no one ever says how!”
“Because it’s instinct! Just like any magic. You either have it, or you don’t. There is no how!”
My other magic I could always feel. I knew where it was, coursing through my veins, pooling in my blood. I could reach for it, command it. I never could with either the wings or the lightning—the two things I need right now!
I pound at him with both feet. “You’re not helping!”
“Maybe this will help.” Perses launches me over the edge with a disgusted curse.
I’m not as scared this time. I separate myself from the fear and pain, letting my body break while I tuck my heart and mind into a separate place that can endure all this from afar. The fall won’t kill Little Bean or me. I know that now. I don’t even try for my wings, concentrating on numbing myself to the rest instead. I just want this new round of torture to be over. It’s just physical pain. I’ve dealt with it all my life. Endure. Pass the limit. Surmount. This is no different.
“This is different,” Perses grinds out, obviously reading my thoughts as he catches me on the granite shelf in his bruising hands. He pulls me right up to his livid face. “This can go on forever.”
Heart on Fire (The Kingmaker Chronicles Book 3) Page 28