The Reign of Olympus (Shadows of Olympus #3)

Chapter Three

I wake in the night, abruptly. I cannot say what wakes me: it is as though a hand has yanked me from a dark pit. Eros lies beside me, his eyes closed. Skin prickling, ears alert, I go quietly to the small window—and catch my breath. Outside, at the top of the mountain, I see lights. Pinpricks of orange light, the kind made by a distant, flaming torch. And not just one. Hundreds.

“Raiders.”

I did not hear him stir. But now Eros stands at the window beside me, his breath cool, his voice sharp. I stare up at the mountainside, the distant points of light. Raiders. He must be right—no gang of that size comes in the night for innocent reasons.

The flickering lights start to spill over the ridge. They’re moving fast—too fast for men on foot. They can only be on horseback.

“I’ll get Ajax,” Eros says. “Gather anything you wish to bring.”

I watch him stride out into the night. Instead of gathering provisions, I follow him out the front door. When I look up, I see they’re coming from all sides, not just one wall of the valley, but all around the rim. The tiny orange lights look like fallen stars, or embers thrown up by a stoked fire. Who would imagine they signal danger, even death?

I don’t know what he can sense in the air, but Ajax must know something’s amiss: I become aware of his whinnying, and a banging, thrashing sound, as though he’s trying to break loose from his stall. Eros is ahead of me; the short distance from our house to the stable seems long as I stumble over the dark, uneven grass.

“Calm, boy,” I hear Eros saying. “Calm. We have to leave.”

But Ajax thrashes again, kicking a heel backward into the wall, and letting out a deep, guttural sound. Eros swears. He gets Ajax’s head between his two hands, holds him there and looks him in the eyes until he calms enough to get him out. But when we lead him from the barn we can’t hide the truth: he’s limping. Badly. Eros examines his foot, and when he puts it down again I can see on his face that we’re in trouble.

“You cannot fly us out of here?” I glance up at the mountains again. It’s faint, but I think I can already hear them—shrill, faint cries of battle, war-whoops and ululations.

Eros, tight-lipped, shakes his head. It kills him to admit it.

But what do we do? Hide? We don’t even know who or what we’re hiding from .

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

I wheel around.

Hermes stands behind us, head cocked to one side, a smile playing about his lips. “Cousin,” he nods. “And the fair Psyche. We meet again so soon.”

“Stop your prattling,” Eros growls. “If you’re here to help us, then help us!”

Hermes raises his eyebrows, and for a moment I think he’ll turn on his heel again, but instead he strides past us, looking at neither Eros nor me, and goes to stand before Ajax. He bends his head low against the horse’s, and it’s as though the two of them are communing somehow. Ajax grows still, his bristling anxiety suddenly gone. Hermes lifts up his hoof, whispering something. And soon, the limp, too, seems to disappear.

“They call Poseidon the patron god of horses, you know.” Hermes’s voice is smooth, arrogant, more than a little mocking. “It’s absurd. He cares nothing for horses. I, on the other hand, have a special bond with them.”

Which may be so—but right now, I’m more concerned with the noises coming from the distant mountainside than with gods’ reputations. But it seems Hermes is not yet finished. He whispers something to Ajax, and takes a small pouch from his robes. He shakes something into his hand—a flower?—and squeezes it in his fist, then dabs his fingers in its juices.

“What’s that?” Eros snaps.

“A little something I learned from the master of the winds.” Hermes turns around, and smiles at my expression. “Wind-flowers, straight from Aeolus’s meadows on Olympus. You’ll see.”

He reaches out, smears the sap on Ajax’s shoulders, and in the next moment, Ajax begins to shudder.

“What’s happening?” I demand. Hermes waves my words away.

“It will only hurt for a moment,” he says, casting a glance up the mountain-face. By now the calls of the raiders are more clearly audible. “Yes, I came at just the right time, didn’t I?” Hermes shoots us a self-satisfied smile, but I ignore him. I’m too busy staring at Ajax. Two great, shimmering wings have burst from his back, trembling slightly in the air, the way a newborn foal might shake as it takes its first steps. Poor Ajax—his eyes look bloodshot, his breath is fast. This has caused him some pain, to be sure.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Hermes chides us.

I feel hesitant still, but Eros seems to have made up his mind. He hoists me onto Ajax’s back, then jumps up behind.

My stomach turns over as we take to the air. I close my eyes at the nausea, the bottomless sensation of the earth dropping away from me. I wish I were sitting behind Eros, seeing only his back, and not this great drop of empty air in front of me.

“You’ll get used to it.”

I open my eyes to see Hermes smirking.

We do not talk after that, as the air is whistling too loud to be heard. The valley recedes below us, a dark cavern in the earth. As we rise toward the rim and see the barbarian horde at closer range, I draw a sharp breath. There are so many of them.

We soar into the night, and I devote myself to keeping the nausea at bay. I stroke Ajax’s mane, trying to let him know wordlessly that I am sorry for what we’ve asked of him. But as he gallops through the sky, it becomes clear to me that we’re not just making a blind escape from the valley floor. There is some particular resolve in the way Hermes pulls against the wind, soaring and dipping, making turn after turn. He’s going somewhere, and Ajax is following him.

Eros must have realized it too.

“Hermes!” he yells from behind me, and the other god slows, just a little, and turns his head—not all the way, but tilting one ear in our direction.

“ Where are we going? ” Eros roars. This time, Hermes turns.

“Why, to Olympus,” he grins. “Where else?”

The ground gapes, leagues below us, hills and mountains sharp as teeth. I should have known. Hermes, the god of tricks. I should have known he would betray us.

“But they’ll kill me,” I murmur. I have little doubt what Aphrodite will try to do to me, when she finds me next. And for all I know, the rest of Olympus feels the same. As for Eros… they cannot kill him, but that does not mean they cannot make him suffer.

“No.” I feel Eros’s arms tighten around me. A small message, wordless: I will protect you . A vow he has never broken before. He’s trying to steer Ajax in a different direction, but it’s not working. The salve Hermes used on him came with a spell, perhaps. Hermes’s course is the only one we seem able to chart.

“This is madness, cousin,” Eros shouts, behind me. The rumble of his voice against my back brings no comfort.

Hermes turns around, impatient.

“You mistake my intentions.” He blinks as though my hatred, my distress, is incomprehensible to him. “I am not taking you to Aphrodite, nor to anyone who bears you ill-will. I’m taking you,” he goes on, with a great show of patience, “to a friend.” He flashes Eros a knowing look. “To our filólogos .”

The word means bookish one, student, but that says nothing to me. But clearly, Eros understands.

“Cousin Athena,” he murmurs into my ear. But if he is reassured by that, I cannot say the same. I have little reason to trust any of these gods. Besides, I know nothing of Athena: only that she is patron god of a city far away from any place I have ever lived. They say her people, the Athenians, are brilliant: warriors when they want to be, but mathematicians too, and philosophers, and artists. No, I am not reassured. A stupid god would be dangerous enough. But Athena is said to be the sharpest of them all—and what could be more dangerous than that?

Hermes slows his pace, letting the winds carry him closer to us. Dawn is breaking. I hold tight to Ajax’s mane and risk a look over my shoulder, searching out Eros’s face, his bright eyes.

“It is too dangerous,” I say. “Just think, once we are inside those gates-”

“It is the last place anyone will look for you,” Hermes finishes. “You will thank me in the end.” He shrugs. “Or you will not.” He looks down; his lazy wings beat slower.

“Either way. We’re here.”