Ink of Copper

1. In Which We Learn From the Past

Chapter 1

In Which We Learn From the Past

Ancient Alexandria in Egypt

S he had always known they’d come for her. Pandora was dead. Somewhere in the mob, the once-great sorceress lay broken; her body bloodied, ripped apart, destroyed.

And she knew she was next.

Hypatia’s lungs burned, and her legs ached, but she continued on, running through the streets. Dirt shot up as her sandals struck the roadway, shooting pain up her legs, but she pressed on to the temple. Each strike of her foot beat out a rhythm matching the erratic thundering of her heart.

Behind her, angry voices grew louder as more people entered the fray. The smell of smoke lay heavy in the air, a mixture of wood and something else. Hypatia had known for years, one day it would lead to this. That the curse foretold so long ago, the one Pandora had enacted, would come to pass. Foolishly, she had thought the Trojan War would never reach her shores; that logic and reason would save her from the mob. In the end, none of that mattered. They came for her because of her allegiance to Pandora.

Ordering her maid in a chariot ahead of her to throw off those who called for her blood had been her only option. She had argued fervently with the guards until she heard the chaos outside her home. They were coming to destroy her, just as they had Pandora and her colleagues earlier in the evening. Her friends, who taught mathematics and astronomy to willing students at the start of the day, were now victims. They nailed some of their bodies to inverted crosses; the hands of humans and gods alike had ripped apart others. Pandora’s death hadn’t been enough to quell their blood lust; she had only been the beginning.

With her maid in a chariot in one direction away from the city, she set off on foot in the other. For her protection, she took two Spartan guards with her, but Hypatia had lost them in the chaos somewhere along the way. Ducking down an alleyway, staying in the shadows as much as possible, she crouched behind crates to avoid detection. She had used this shortcut to reach the temple gates most of her life. So familiar was the path, her feet chose it before her mind fully understood where she was going. She prayed the temple still stood.

Approaching the corner, she skidded to a stop as a large crowd hurried past. They were shouting and rioting as they went. Desperately trying to stay concealed, she pushed herself against a wall covered in shadows, willing herself invisible. A cry from the crowd caused her to snap open her eyes. The mob carried a man by his limbs, severely beaten and bloodied, his head facing the ground, defeated. Turning, he looked in her direction and a gasp escaped behind the hand that flew to her mouth. It was the guard who had been sent to protect her. She turned her head away in fear. Inhaling shakily, she resisted the temptation to cry and give away her location to the mob.

Once they passed, she ran out into the street again, against the crowd, staying close to the sides in case she had to duck down an alley. Many in the square were picking up goods from overturned tables. A man yelled at the crowd as his wife hid her face with her hands, sobbing. Their fruit-laden cart was on its side, and one ox lay dead. For a fleeting moment, she looked at the sky, praying to the gods to save them from this madness. Nothing happened, and she knew why. The gods were on Earth fighting in this bloody war.

Moving swiftly, she rushed past groups of innocent people, her eyes fixed on the temple. Peering upward at the night sky, she could see the fires on the altar burning bright.

Almost there.

The temple sat on top of a hill overlooking the city of Alexandria and had been her sanctuary for many years. Her lungs burned; her body tensed, but she pushed on. She would make it or die trying.

Ascending the temple steps two by two, Hypatia allowed herself to turn and see the city below for a split second at the top. Fires raged all around, and billows of smoke rose into the night sky. The city she loved, the students she taught, and the marketplace she visited would be gone by morning. The noise of the riots below rang in her ears, creating confusion and strife. She turned quickly and made her way towards the heart of the temple.

Her sandals struck the marble stone flooring as she rushed; her breathing sounded loud in this silent place. An enormous burning torch lit the temple in dancing firelight. Smoke rose high in the night sky above her. The Temple of Serapeum had stone pillars on all sides, and in the center was a fire lit by the attending priestesses. It had been burning for an eternity, an effigy to the goddess of wisdom for her beloved city. Just under the torch stood a statue of Athena. Posed with her spear, she looked off into the distance with determination chiseled across her marble face. Her owl perched majestically on her shoulder, her shield at her feet.

Hypatia fell to her knees and allowed tears to come. She’d reached the temple, her refuge; relief washed over her. She needed only to touch the foot of the goddess to be saved; at least, that was what she believed. She hoped it was true. If the crowd found her here, they would kill her.

“In here!” A voice reverberated off the stone walls. Turning, she looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide in disbelief.

Hypatia turned back towards the statue of Athena.

“Athena! Athena! Please hear me!” Her shouts echoed through the room as the sound of thundering feet grew louder on the stone floor. With a prayer for her protection, she reached out to touch the foot of the statue, begging the goddess to hear her plea for mercy. Her hand connected with the cool marble stone. Light exploded into the temple, blinding all within.

The quiet that followed was deafening. Her ears ringing, she looked up from kneeling and gasped at the garden surrounding her. Trees glistened, heavy with ripe fruit. The sun shone softly, cheerfully. Pink and purple clouds decorated the sky, casting a soft glow on the world below. Scrambling to stand, she looked around in wonder as she spun slowly in a circle. This wasn’t the Temple of Serapeum. The sounds of running water gave way to a small fountain directly before her. Carved from marble, it was beautifully ornate, with two golden water sprites playing at the top as water spilled into a pool. She was admiring the fountain, awe written across her dirt-streaked face, when a throat being cleared caused her to look through the falling water at two women who stood just beyond the fountain.

Both were tall and stunningly beautiful; one younger than the other. The younger wore a short chiton pinned at her shoulders, allowing freedom of movement. Her red hair, threaded with gold and tied back with leather, shimmered in the sunlight. A silver crown of laurel leaves wound around a full moon, and several stars lay on her head, celestial and regal all at once. Large, delicate wings traveled the length of her back and brushed the ground. The soft wings shimmered in the fading sun, showing silver and gold marbling as if they reflected the moon’s rays. At her back, a quiver full of arrows. A bow in her hand, ready to do battle if need be. The other woman was striking in her long white chiton trimmed in purple. Her hair looked like a dying fire on her head, with streaks of gold and auburn flaming in the setting sun. She had tied it back out of her face, a gold ribbon around it. Her dark eyes held warmth in them. Her crown was of simple golden laurel leaves.

Goddesses.

“I told you I’d save her!”

“Artemis, what have you done?” The older goddess gaped at Hypatia standing before her. She grabbed Artemis’ arm and tugged it. “What have you done?” she repeated.

Hypatia blinked. The courtyard she stood in was lush and mystical. A rose hue illuminated the marble tiling around the fountain. The ground around where they stood was well-manicured, and far beyond the courtyard was an open field and a forest. A buck and a doe stood side by side as if they were just as shocked as the women to have a human in their garden.

“What is it you want from me?” she said in Greek.

Artemis inclined her head, genuinely pondering the question. The motion would have been absurd had she not found herself in the most peculiar place.

“You will speak when spoken to,” snapped the older one, her hair flamed as though on fire when she spoke.

“But, Hestia,” whined Artemis, “they would have killed her.” Pouting, she stuck out her lip as if she were a child.

Artemis? Hestia? She studied the women before her.

“Are you . . . am I—this is Olympus?” Hypatia stammered, trying to make sense of it all.

“Of course it is. Don’t be ridiculous,” Hestia snapped with a flick of her hand, she returned to scolding the other goddess. “You cannot keep her, Artemis.”

“I don’t need to ask your permission. I saved her from the mob,” Artemis insisted.

“She doesn’t belong here. Send her back.”

“No.”

“Artemis, we aren’t to bring humans to Olympus on a whim.”

“I didn’t.” She narrowed her eyes. “You saw what those animals did to the other scholars in the library. That library has been the greatest contribution of the gods to Earth, and tonight, humans and gods alike burned it to the ground. If Pandora is dead—”

“We are uncertain Pandora is dead,” Hestia interrupted.

“She’s dead,” Hypatia said before she thought better of it. Both goddesses shared a look of shock. “I—I saw her body.”

Pandora had long searched for a way to protect the humans from being used as pawns in the gods’ games of domination and destruction. There was only one way for her to do that. One person with whom she needed to align herself. And she had, it seems, done the very thing she threatened since Aerelia had declared war on Zeus’ throne. Hypatia’s stomach turned at the wheels her dear friend had now set in motion.

Hestia shook her head. “No.”

“The Fates were right. Olympus is now our prison,” a wide-eyed Artemis breathed.

Hypatia twisted her fingers into her hand in a nervous gesture as the two women began excitedly motioning and speaking fast. She had sworn to keep Pandora’s secrets, even from the gods. As they argued, she struggled to concentrate on their words. None of the squabbles of the gods interested her. The war had raged for centuries, and it was the humans who paid the price. At least her people would get peace from the meddling Olympians and their thirst for power.

“And Aerelia?” Hestia turned, pulling Hypatia out of her swirling thoughts.

“I don’t know, My Goddess.”

“We have to keep her safe. I saved her, so she will be my little pet. I can protect her from the vengeance of the Fates, shield her from the gods,” Hypatia heard Artemis say.

“ She isn’t a pet,” Hypatia said, losing her resolve. Both goddesses narrowed their eyes, although, if Hypatia wasn’t mistaken, it was Artemis who looked more than a little impressed. She would have been safer if she had faced the crowd. As a rule, one should never make the gods mad, but these two goddesses tended to be particularly vengeful.

“What I mean is,” she lowered her head, “I am not an object of fascination. I can be your servant and companion, but I won’t allow myself to be tethered to you. I’m no siren.” She stuck out her chin in determination. Hestia steeled her eyes, but Artemis came around the fountain and hooked her arm through hers, smiling.

“I shall keep you as a friend, then.”

Hestia argued with Artemis, who had let go of her newly imprisoned friend and gestured wildly. Hypatia focused on the pool at the base of the fountain, ignoring them as she tried to wrap her mind around the last few minutes. Splashing water sounded all around her, yet the pool was still as glass. She stared down into the water, expecting to see fish swimming around. Instead, the water shimmered and scenes of flames and smoke engulfing her home flashed. The Library of Alexandria, a place she had taught and studied in, was ablaze. Fire reduced the expertly crafted doors to ash. It engulfed the roof. Smoke billowed high into the sky. Tears fell over her eyelashes and made their way down her face, but she made no move to wipe them away. The scene in the water shimmered, showing her the mob inside the library. They had built a fire within and were burning scrolls and papers, tearing them from the neatly crafted walls that housed them and throwing them with abandon into a raging blaze. The flames licked high, engulfing parts of the roof as it stretched its fiery fingers into the sky. Mesmerized by the violence and destruction, she watched helplessly as the mob worked. Commotion at the corner of the shimmering scene caused her to shout in fear.

Her maid stood amid the mob of angry faces and fires. Hypatia watched in horror as they stripped her naked and beat her with clubs and spears—anything they were able to find. The mob tore her to pieces, limb from limb. On the very spot Hypatia had taught mathematics and the understanding of the stars and the universe, the blood of her handmaid spilled. Falling to her knees, sobs burst forth. Her maid had only followed orders. Her orders . They were intended to confuse the crowd; she never meant for this to happen. Hypatia gasped for air, the guilt stealing her breath, suffocating her with its icy grip. Her fingernails clung to the edge of the hard stone surrounding the fountain. The fire, as angry as the mob, seemed to blaze forth with intensity. As she placed her head on the cool marble stones, she saw the shape of a phoenix rise from the edges of the fire and fly into the smoke-filled sky.

Artemis was gentle, almost kind, and pressed a goblet containing a silvery liquid into Hypatia’s hand, encouraging her to drink. Clutching the rim of the fountain prevented her from falling apart as waves of guilt and horror overwhelmed her. She choked on sobs. She took the goblet, held it to her lips, sipped, and curled up on the cool marble.

Even if she were below, she’d have no power to intervene as the mob viciously ripped her maid apart. But it should have been her. This was all her fault. Her heart fractured into two parts. Laying against the marble, no more tears to cry, feeling only the burden of regret and shame, her eyes closed, and she braced herself for death, confident the goddess’ gift was fatal. Death was what she deserved.

Hypatia lay sleeping in a large, ornate bed. After the elixir took effect, Artemis moved her to one of her private rooms and watched over her as she slept for days. Athena’s elixir had calmed her, but now Artemis was afraid she may have given her too much.

“What will you do with her when she awakens?” Hestia asked, sitting primly in a chair, regal as a queen.

“She can’t go back. They will kill her if she does. I will have to convince her to stay. My duty now is to protect her, if Pandora is indeed dead.”

“I don’t like this,” Hestia said, shaking her head disapprovingly. “You can’t keep her as a human. Zeus will never allow it.”

“I am aware,” Artemis mumbled.

“And once Apollo knows she is human, he will immediately run to Zeus.”

“I know that too.”

“So, have you decided, then?” Hestia gave her a hard stare.

“Yes, ambrosia,” she said simply. “It’s the only way to keep her safe and not invoke Father’s wrath.”

“And what of Athena? What will you do once she discovers what you have done?”

Artemis shot Hestia a hard look. Determination and something else, something dark, crossed her face.

“I am not afraid of Athena’s wrath. And I refuse to bow to her. Athena has kept this war going out of her own selfish desires. Claiming to protect us when, all the while, our people die. Humans die. I made a promise to Pandora, and I will honor her until my last breath. Hypatia is under my protection now.”

Hestia nodded. The two now shared a secret, one that could turn Athena into their enemy. But Artemis had watched the mob descending on Alexandria. The Trojan War had darkened the Earth with bloodshed for centuries, both in this realm and in the human realm. Those on Olympus had lived in fear of the chaos the Pythian queen caused. While she would never admit it out loud, Pandora cursing the gods was the singular approach to bring the never-ending war to a halt. It was the only way to stop Aerelia, the Pythian queen, the Dark Oracle.

The doors to Artemis’ chambers burst open, sending Hestia to her feet and Artemis scrambling to hide the sleeping human. Tugging the gauzy curtains closed around the bed, she placed herself in front, blocking her charge from view.

“Did you find it?” Artemis asked hurriedly.

Athena entered and set down her spear. She was filthy, covered in soot, and her face streaked with blood and dirt.

“No,” she said solemnly, shaking her head. Hestia moved to stand beside Artemis, building a wall to hide their secret. “I believe they destroyed her book with her.”

“Is it true? Is Pandora dead?” Hestia asked with a quick glance to Artemis and then to the human.

Athena nodded. Her face was dark and angry.

“Do you know who killed her?” Artemis asked, but Athena didn’t answer. She moved about, setting down weapons.

Hestia caught Athena’s gaze as she settled her spear. “What do we do now?”

“Without Pandora’s book, we can’t break her spell. There is nothing to be done, I fear,” Artemis said and glanced up at Hestia with a worried expression.

“I can’t accept that,” Athena said, her voice half muffled as she removed her breastplate. She brushed her dark hair away from her face, adding more streaks of blood and dirt on her cheeks. “I refuse to believe the Fates. That we are now locked on Olympus for an eternity. The Pythian oracle must be wrong. There must be an escape from this.”

Artemis was shaking her head. “The Oracle of Delphi is infallible, Athena. She said when Pandora falls, so falls Olympus.”

“I know what she said,” Athena snapped. “I refuse to be imprisoned here in this realm.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Hestia said quietly as Athena paced in her fury.

“There is always a choice. There must be a way around the oracle.” She stopped pacing and snapped her head towards them. “Mark my words. I will return Olympus to its rightful place in the world. And those who align with Troy shall pay.”

And so begins our story, Dear Reader. History books will tell you that humans fought during the Trojan War. That the Greeks won against the Trojans and slaughtered them. But history has a way of being wrong. The truth is much darker. The gods took up sides, falling along battle lines drawn eons before. After the fall of Pandora, rumors began circulating about breaking the curse that befell the gods. A human born to save the gods and return them to Earth. Or a queen sent to destroy Olympus and take back Zeus’ throne for the Titans.

And so, the legend of the Serathena was born. Some say she is only a rumor, a whisper, told by gods desperate to return Olympus to its full glory. Some say she is a prophecy, an omen, a warning of what happens when gods are left alone for too long. But you, Dear Reader, will soon discover the truth.

That the legend is indeed true.

That she might be a destroyer and a savior.

Artemis was right; the Oracle of Delphi is never wrong.

When Pandora falls, so falls Olympus.

But the gods will find out how accurate the oracle is.

When the Serathena rises, so begins the final war.