11. Nyssa
Nyssa
“Welcome to your third trial,” Artemis announced from the back of the Parthenon’s long hall. “Your task today is to navigate my forest, find, and bond with an animal companion.”
I sighed deeply. My chances of success were waning by the second.
Animals notoriously avoided me — with the exception of Cerberus — much to Charon’s eternal amusement.
Something about their survival instincts made them steer clear of death gods, like we were cursed. Sometimes, I wondered if we were.
“You will have exactly twelve hours from the moment you set foot in my domain until the trial ends. A bell shall sound at the halfway point, and another when there is but one hour remaining.”
Hermes’ son — Typhoon? Typhoid, maybe? — snorted his derision.
“So, all we have to do is capture an animal and return with them? What are we to do with the remaining eleven hours?” he scoffed, Poseidon’s son snickering alongside him.
Hermes, at least, had the self-awareness to scowl at his offspring’s audacity. Questioning the goddess of the hunt was not something one did lightly, and for good reason.
In a blink, Artemis had knocked her bow and loosed an arrow. It sank deep into the marble pillar Typhus leaned against, less than an inch from his left ear. He flinched with his whole body — shock then outrage contorting his haughty features. Wisely, though, the fool refrained from further comment.
“I did not say you must capture the animal, Tychon,” Artemis snapped. “My forest is home to many dangerous creatures, all of whom are vastly more intelligent than yourself — even the worms.” She straightened and released a breath, her face once again composed.
“In my forest, do not let sight be your only guide.
It will endeavour to lead you astray, and the beasts even more so.
They do not tie their lives to ours on a whim.
You must demonstrate your character and your worth to your chosen animal.
Only if they deem you worthy, will they gift you with an unbreakable bond.
Any champion who fails to return with a companion by the final tolling of the bell will be eliminated, and therefore out of crown contention.”
Gasps sounded around the room — not just from champions, but from many of the Primals, too. It seemed Artemis had held her cards close to her chest for this trial.
The severity of the situation finally sank in. I had three options: mutilation by wild animal, return empty-handed and lose my shot at the throne, or actually succeed and tether some poor soul to mine for eternity.
Artemis stepped up to the Parthenon gateway and placed her hand against the cold marble pillar. The air shimmered within the arch, and a thick, dark forest appeared on the other side.
“Who dares to go first?” she challenged.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. There was no telling what awaited us on the other side — or who. Several nervous gazes shifted around the room, each silently begging someone else to be the first metaphorical lamb led to the literal slaughter.
I knew what lurked within those trees. I could only pray that one of them would be equally as monstrous as I, and willing to take their chances with death.
Rolling my eyes, I prowled to the gate and inhaled a deep breath.
I did not pause. No fear nor doubt would control me today.
Ignoring them all, especially the goddess of the hunt, I walked through.
The first thing I noticed was how loud silence could be in a place that was not ordinarily silent. The absence of sound was so profound I wondered if I’d somehow lost my hearing in the space between places.
The second thing I noticed was the smell. Crisp, clean air poured into my lungs. It felt like the easiest breath I’d ever taken. I could see why Artemis loved it here, surrounded by thousands of trees, sunlight streaming through their canopies.
As I took in the enormity of the forest, smaller noises began to filter in: the beating of leathery wings; the scurry of tiny creatures; the chirp of a far-off bird. The soft whisper of a stream trickled in from my left. Endless oaks, beeches, and poplars surrounded me in every direction.
The other champions must have started elsewhere — none had followed me through. I was alone again, where I was most comfortable.
I paused to ascertain my bearings, but quickly realised it was useless. Every time I thought I’d pinned down north, the trees seemed to shift, or perhaps I pivoted, and the sun ended up above a different tree entirely. Artemis’ warning had been sound: the forest was actively leading me astray.
I had no idea where I was in this infinite woodland, but decided the best course was to go precisely wherever my feet led me. Maybe that had been her intent all along.
Surely, I’d encounter an animal sooner or later.
Hours later, I realised just how misguided that notion had been.
I dropped down unceremoniously onto a half-rotted log alongside the stream, gritting my teeth in frustration, wondering how many hours remained until I’d failed completely.
Failed Artemis’ trial.
Failed the realms.
Failed myself.
The only creatures I had managed to stumble across thus far were a tiny, transparent water sprite — who gleefully spat a stream of icy water into my face — and a great white owl.
The latter cocked its head at an unnatural angle, fixed me with its enormous yellow eyes, and promptly flew off in the opposite direction.
Unfortunately, my doubts had been justified. I was proving to be as good at repelling wildlife as I was at repelling gods. At least I hadn’t run into a lamia or a harpy — yet.
I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting the dappled sunlight warm my face. It was one of the strangest sensations since I’d entered the Rite — feeling the comforting heat of sunlight against my skin. Though I savoured it, I missed the cool kiss of darkness, of my familiar starry sky.
I allowed myself five minutes to mentally prepare for what lay ahead.
But my mind drifted backwards, fixating on every horror I hoped not to encounter in this pace. The gruesome bedtime stories my father, or Charon’s mother, used to tell filtered through — tales of half-women creatures, cursed by the single most unstable primal to have ever existed: Hera.
Enraged by Zeus’ repeated infidelities, she turned his mortal conquests into harpies — once-beautiful women transformed into savage beasts.
With human torsos and faces, leathery bodies, razor sharp teeth, feathered wings, and talons where fingers should be, they were the object of many a childhood nightmare.
Charon’s, of course.
The lamia were similarly cursed, though their bodies were fused serpents — giant, scaled creatures whose preferred method of attack was seduction followed by devouring. They weren’t fussy on what genitalia their prey possessed either — they’re Greek, after all.
I shuddered at the thought.
Cupping my hands, I reached down and plunged them into the icy stream. With hands halfway back to my face, I froze. A small, sharp crack ricocheted through the trees. A sound that didn’t quite belong. A sound that triggered the nervous system of prey.
In the span of five minutes, I had gone from huntress to hunted.
Something lurked within the shadows of these trees.
Silly beast — shadows are part of my soul.
I slowly twisted my hand, releasing the water it still held, and crooked a finger at the eerie darkness of the forest. I beckoned the shadows to me and they came lovingly, playfully winding around my arm like smoke.
And then, in the sudden brightness, a tall figure stood much closer than I had anticipated.
Realising he could neither run nor hide, the frowning, indecently muscled son of Zeus straightened and strode forward.
Honestly, I’d have preferred the lamia. At least we could have bonded over our mutual hatred of his mother.
Caelus stopped a few feet from where I crouched. He crossed his broad arms and narrowed his odd silver eyes, lips twisting into a half-smirk.
“My, my. What a pretty creature to find out here all alone,” he crooned, his voice deep and rumbling. “Perhaps I should try to bond with you . Tell me — what great and terrible feat would it take to demonstrate my worthiness to the shadow queen herself?”
“Firstly, go fuck yourself,” I replied, crafting a shadow dagger from the tendril still twined around my arm.
Before Caelus could blink, I’d flicked it in his direction, pinning the loose fabric of his tunic to a tree and nicking his left bicep. To his credit, the god did not flinch. Not even a twitch.
Apparently, that was all it took to impress me.
“Secondly, loose clothing leaves you vulnerable to attack.” I grinned smugly. “And last but not least, green is a terrible colour on you, and you’re welcome for the free alteration.”
Caelus glanced down at his shirt with a frown. When he looked back up, his face had twisted into a smirk, matching my own.
“If you wanted me to take my shirt off, all you had to do was ask, Nightshade,” he purred. “And it’s funny you should mention the colour. It seems I’ve had a certain pair of emerald eyes on my mind as of late — perhaps I wanted to match.”
His smirk morphed into a full grin, perfect white teeth on full display. He was beautiful, and he knew it — used it, even. Tales had a way of spreading, trickling down even into the Underworld.
His silver eyes flashed — a warning I didn’t heed — and a split second later, Caelus had flicked a dagger of his own in my direction. I hadn’t even seen him unsheathe it, but sure enough, a tiny silver blade had embedded itself into the log an inch from my inner thigh.
My eyes narrowed. “If you wanted me to spread my legs, all you had to do was ask, princeling,” I spat, mimicking his earlier taunt.
Caelus’ eyebrows twitched upwards, visibly thrown.
“Of course, I’d rather sit on a cactus and spin than acquiesce to such a request, especially from the likes of you.”