9. Icarus
9
ICARUS
F ine tendrils of hair blow around chaotically, slapping Icarus in the face as she soars high over the Olympic Isles on Amara. Ahead, in the front of the formation, fly Athena and her second in command, Telegonus.
A particularly strong gust of wind hits the squadron, and every pegasus manages the turbulence with little disruption, but she laughs when she sees Lysander almost lose his balance on his steed to her right. Her friend is skilled to be sure, but like most other things, riding a pegasus comes more naturally to Icarus, as if the saddle is part of her and exists to get her where she belongs—soaring freely in the air, basking in the warmth of the sun.
The skies are clear today, and the visibility is staggering. Despite the squadron skirting a more isolated outlying region of Attica, Icarus can see almost all of Athens from here. It was a shock to be taken on a training mission so soon after joining the legion, but it makes sense given Icarus’s skills. She does wish she had at least asked what they will be doing.
At last, the squadron initiates its descent. The adrenaline thrums in her veins, hungry to come out and play. If only her back did not itch so cursed much. Icarus refuses to see a healer for something so trivial, but it is starting to become a liability.
As they get closer to the ground, a small cluster of tents tucked under a rocky alcove come into view. The encampment would be entirely hidden from anyone looking in from the mainland. Several children run around on the beach as a dog yaps happily at their heels. A few horses are tied to a wagon, their saddles draped haphazardly over the sides of the cart.
Unless there are more inside the tents, Icarus counts twelve adults, three children, and no weapons. In the center of their makeshift campsite, a small fire sends up a plume of gray smoke, counteracting any concealment measures the group took when choosing their location.
They must be civilians. They seem harmless. Are we here to help them? Fates, why does my back itch so badly?
One of the group members, a petite woman with blonde hair, lets out a shriek when she sees the Pegasus Legion making their descent. She yells to the children, telling them to get into the tents.
Not here to help them, then.
A large man steps forward once they land, putting himself between the woman the squadron. The sun reflects brightly off Athena’s bronze armor, the wings of her helmet casting the rays in all directions. It has a terrifying effect.
“We have no quarrel with you, goddess,” the man says firmly.
Athena laughs but everything about it is cruel as she points to the flag. “Mortal, do not pretend you do not know what flag you fly here. I have flayed men alive for less.”
Icarus’s breath halts in her chest. She has heard many stories of Athena’s cruelty when it comes to her enemies on the battlefield, but these people are defenseless.
Who am I to question Athena? This is what I’ve worked my whole life for. To be here, protecting the realm. If this is how Athena is behaving toward these people, they must be a threat.
The man’s face pales, and the woman steps out from behind him. “Don’t you touch him! Please, just leave us be.”
Athena twists her mouth into a cruel smirk, but her voice is sweet when she says, “I’ll just be on my way then. So sorry to have bothered you all.”
The woman breathes a relieved sigh as the man pulls her into his arms, watching Athena carefully.
Walking her steed over to Telegonus, Athena’s voice is so quiet that Icarus can hardly hear it as Athena orders, “Not a single one is to be left alive. Burn it all down.”
Icarus cannot breathe.
Telegonus nods, his smile equally cruel. “Yes, goddess.”
A shrill whistle sounds as Athena signals for the group to return to the air. Amara surges into the sky, and Icarus’s stomach lurches with the motion as she joins the squadron.
The camp is once again hidden from view behind the rocks when Icarus hears the screaming.
The entire flight back to the Temple of Wisdom, the faces of the humans from before flash in her mind on repeat.
What could have possibly been heinous enough to justify the slaughter of those people? But Athena only has the interest of the realm in mind. I know nothing about them, or what they could have done. Athena is wise and strong. Wouldn’t the Fates step in if she was a monster?
The questions still circle when Lysander finds Icarus in the stable brushing Amara.
“You’ve been eerily quiet today,” Lysander says, gently nudging her with his elbow as he comes up from behind.
“Just thinking,” Icarus mutters. She knows he is not going to leave it alone.
“You are never quiet, and you know it. Something is up. If you don’t tell me, I’ll just have to stay glued to your side for emotional support.” He crosses his arms.
Icarus rolls her eyes, but a small laugh bubbles to the surface. It dies as soon as the woman’s face resurfaces in Icarus’s mind. “Hey,” she begins tentatively. “Those people today…”
Lysander’s smile drops, and he glances around to make sure they are alone. “Rebels.”
Icarus’s jaw drops. “The rebels? I only heard the occasional mention of a rebellion when I lived on the farm. I certainly never thought there was enough of a presence to warrant Athena hunting them herself. Are they the same ones who attacked the gala?”
Lysander blinks. “I forget just how sheltered you rural hicks are. Yes.”
“Hey!” Icarus punches Lysander in the shoulder, and he winces but laughs it off.
“Telegonus is her resident rebel hunter. He is known amongst the Heroes for being ruthless. They call him the Bloodhound because he can sniff out a rebel anywhere.”
“I never realized there was such a pressing threat against the Isles,” Icarus says softly, but screams still echo in her mind.
Lysander nods. “I’ve heard some really bad horror stories about the rebels. If you listen to some of the Heroes who have been around for a while, they tell you things that will have you sleeping with a lantern lit.”
“But why? The Pantheon takes care of us,” Icarus replies earnestly.
“I know.” Lysander shrugs. “I think they just don’t like that the gods have more power than we do. Some people are threatened by that, jealous of it. They can’t see how much we benefit from the benevolence of the gods.”
“If Telegonus usually goes after them, why did we go today? They clearly were not armed enough to warrant more than a single Hero.”
Lysander sighs. “To train us. Athena wanted to show us how much sympathy she expects us to extend to them. None. Even when they are unarmed. These people want to throw our world into chaos, upheaving our entire way of life. Don’t we want to keep that safe?”
Icarus says nothing as she nods and runs her fingers through the flaxen mane of Amara, as a kernel of outrage sparks in her chest.
S houting carries loudly as Icarus stands outside of the council chamber at the Temple of Olympus. After escorting Athena here this morning, Icarus and Lysander linger in the hallway as the gods debate the rising rebel threat. She was initially thrilled for a change of scenery and to see inside the Temple of Olympus, but now hours later, her armor is heavy, and her undershirt clings to her sweaty skin. The breeze in the air does nothing besides blow the hot air around.
Footsteps thud down the corridor, and Poseidon and one of the Twins round the corner. Fury radiates off the God of the Sea as he rips open the doors of the council chamber and goes inside. The Twin—Icarus has no idea which one—slumps back against the wall. His haunted expression leaves him appearing broken.
He shifts to adjust his cloak, and Icarus freezes when she sees his right hand made entirely of stone.
What kind of monster could cause that?
That pulls him out of his daze, and his eyes snap to Icarus. “That’s right. Look at it.” He waves it around animatedly. “That gorgon bitch did this.”
“Medusa?” Icarus asks incredulously. “How are you not dead?”
The look in his eyes shifts, going from anger to pure hatred. “Apparently that was reserved for my brother. Polydeuces is dead.”
The silence is thick, heavier than this cursed humidity.
“Was she being tortured?” Icarus asks, narrowing her eyes.
Castor spits angrily. “Do you think there is any justification for murdering my brother? Are you trying to make an excuse for that treasonous scum?”
Icarus puts her hands up. “Not at all, I was just asking a question. I’m sorry about your brother.”
“He didn’t deserve this,” Castor insists. “Poseidon gave her a room and even offered to give her freedom. She refused him. He tried to tell her she was not a prisoner, and what did she do? She killed my brother and several of the temple nymphs on her way out.”
“But they are innocent!” Icarus exclaims.
He scoffs, “What can I say? The gorgon bitch and the rebel scum she associates with have little regard for innocents the way we do.”
Indignation burns in Icarus. Her heart shatters for the innocent nymphs trapped in the battle between the rebels and the goodness of the realm. How far will the traitors go to achieve their goal? What if more innocents stand in their way?
“We cannot let this stand,” Icarus seethes as the doors of the council room open and Athena walks out with the other gods in tow.
“I’m so glad you feel this way,” Athena says with a wide smile. “I’m making you Telegonus’s right hand in the hunt. Tell me, golden girl, will you show them mercy?”
“No,” Icarus answers through gritted teeth.