21. Nyssa #4
“Thank you, goddess,” the man gasped his final sentence, words full of thanks, despite one of my kind sending him to his death.
We could learn a lot from mortals.
I sent a tiny sliver of my darkest gift down through our connected hands and into his cold, frail body.
He was a fine calibre of man — pure and brave.
His soul glimmered brightly in the dimming courtyard.
I wrapped the tendril of power around his shimmering ball of essence and tugged gently, coaxing it away from pain and into the light.
The soldier inhaled one last ragged breath, forever lodged in his chest. He never exhaled.
A tear escaped and ran down my cheek. My dragon licked it up, like she could — in her way — kiss away my sorrow. I leaned forward, gently closed the soldier’s eyes, and plucked a bronze coin from my pocket. An obolus. A Ferryman’s fee.
A message, decided long ago by two children who still dared to dream that they could somehow make the realms a gentler place.
I placed the coin upon the man’s lips, knowing Charon would receive it, along with the souls of every fallen warrior here. He would know they were destined for the Elysian Fields, by decree of the daughter of Hades. And he would ensure whichever god was on the Isle of Judgement knew it too.
A mournful howl and a gentle hand on my shoulder broke through my grief.
I had seen death — but not like this. Never like this.
I looked up into the equally mournful expression on Caelus’ handsome face. It hurt to see someone so beautiful look so devastated. My bottom lip quivered. He whispered, “Please don’t.”
I closed my eyes, taking a moment to wrap my anguish up into a tangled, half-folded bundle, shoving it into a box that would remain locked deep in my mind.
When I opened my eyes again, my cold mask was back in place. Somehow, Caelus looked even more sorrowful.
We were almost out of time.
Judging by the amount of light touching the fortress, we had an hour at most.
“Should we split up?” Aphrodite suggested. “Cover more ground?”
“Absolutely not. We have no idea where those two savages are,” Caelus spat, fury evident.
“I agree. I think the most logical place for the medallions would be at the heart of the castle,” I offered.
Nobody offered any other bright ideas. So, with sorrow as our unexpected ally, we silently strode up the main stairway, weapons at the ready.
Aros pushed the heavy wooden doors open with a sharp shove.
Thankfully, nothing jumped out at us from the other side, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Aphrodite echoed it. We grinned ruefully at each other.
In the centre of the large room was a long wooden table, and absolutely nothing else. No furniture or tapestries, no sconces or lighting.
There was no need for them.
On the table lay a line of glowing necklaces. They shone with an unnatural blue hue, and as we got closer, I saw that two were missing.
Each medallion had a small symbol carved into its surface. My gaze drifted over each, matching the symbols to their champions — or the gods they represented.
First, a lightning bolt.
Three guesses who that one belongs to.
My dragon friend chortled, coughing up a tiny flame that flew past my face, almost singeing my lashes.
The bolt’s edges were jagged, much like the scars that lingered on Caelus’ skin. Glancing up, I noted the tension in his shoulders, the scowl upon his face — like he resented the symbol itself.
Next was a crescent moon. Artemis, without question.
So Diana had not yet made it here either. I hoped she’d fallen off the side of the mountain.
Oh, what a shame it would be to scar up that pretty face.
Smirking, I moved onto the third medallion. Engraved on the shiny surface was a tiny sun — for Apollo. I hoped he was alright, despite his choice of ally. At least, being deaf, he wouldn’t have had to listen to Diana’s nasally whine.
The fourth symbol was a rose for Aphrodite. Its stem covered in thorns that looked sharp enough to draw blood. I smiled. An apt depiction of my friend — beautiful, but with bite.
The fifth was a sword crossed over a shield. It could only belong to the god of war and violence: Ares. Aros looked conflicted at the thought of claiming his father’s emblem. A feeling I understood all too well.
“You might practically share a name, but you’re not him, you know.” I spoke the words quietly, but they still hung in the silence. His eyes shot toward mine. A small smile tilted his lips.
Next came the symbol of a winged sandal — Hermes’ talaria. I guessed Leander had left Tychon in the dust somewhere back along the cliffside.
Then, a gap where the two medallions had lain.
Leander and Archimedes had passed after all. The symbols of Poseidon and Hephaestus noticeably missing. My jaw clenched in fury. I would find out which of them had slaughtered an entire battalion without mercy — and I would hold them accountable.
I swore it on the glimmering soul of the dead soldier.
My own medallion was placed at the far end of the table, separate from the rest. I picked up the pendant with the predictable skull etched onto its surface.
My allies followed suit.
“Alright then, on the count of three?” Aros asked, visibly shaking off his unease.
“One,” Aphrodite said.
“Two,” Aros replied.
We readied to place the chains over our heads, waiting for that final count. Caelus caught my eye, his gaze narrowed in suspicion.
“Three,” he said, letting the chain drop down and disappearing in a blink. Aphrodite and Aros followed, vanishing as well — leaving just the dragon and me, my arms still raised above my head.
The doors crashed open again as Apollo and Diana raced through trying to thwart the setting sun, with Tychon nipping at their heels. All three skidded to a halt as they took in the scene before them.
Smirking, I let go of my chain. But before it had time to settle around my neck, I snatched up a second medallion — then vanished too.
Poof. Gone.
I was still laughing wickedly as I reappeared in the Parthenon’s hall, a dragon on my shoulder and vengeance clasped tightly in my right fist.