Chapter 78
Hera’s Lock
LYRA
“You have entered the Lock of Hera—”
“We already know the rules.” I cut off the goddess standing before us. “Testing our sense of optimism by pitting us against monsters while steering by stars we can’t see.” That’s what’s changed. No more childbirth as an optimism test. “Let’s get this over with.”
Twenty-two.
Boone and I have been through this Lock twenty-two fucking times already. This makes attempt number twenty-three. And let me just say that between not remembering and remembering all the past iterations of my life…I’ll take not remembering.
Because for the last twenty-two attempts, one or the other of us always dies and resets time.
Although at least that doesn’t mean repeating our entire lives, or for the Titans, the last hundred and fifty years.
There is something handy about resetting in the middle of the game instead of the beginning. Kind of like a superpower.
The problem is, death hurts like a son of a bitch most of the time.
Or at least a dozen times from this particular Lock.
Now we get the fun of remembering all of those moments.
Each and every gruesome end—by fire, drowning, gutting, beheading.
Honestly, I should stop keeping lists. Worse, watching Boone die.
Over and over and over. Watching him fall to his death in the Crucible was the most awful thing, and now I have more of those memories.
The only thing saving my sanity is that I know the reset will save him.
Even so, I think those moments, those real memories, will haunt me forever.
Irritation flashes across Hera’s beautiful features. Like all the other pieces of the gods’ and goddesses’ souls down here, except Hestia, she’s entirely cognizant and lifelike. “Very well,” is all she says.
With a wave of her hand, I’m back in the same sports clothing Demeter dressed me in, with Boone dressed to match, and we are now standing on the flat deck—really more of a roof than a deck—of a trireme.
I have learned way more than I ever wanted to know about these ancient warships, which are operated by three tiers of oars under this flat, rooflike cover we stand on.
The oars can drive us faster or slow us down and operate on their own in this Lock, so at least I don’t have to deal with the guilt of using people, even if they’re not real.
I have just enough time to remind myself not to hum before a wave crests over the side and slams into both of us, tilting the ship at an angle that makes me lose my footing and sends me sliding across the railless deck with a yelp.
But before I drop into the pit in the middle that leads down to the tiered levels of oars, an arm comes around my middle and drags me to a jarring stop.
Even over the violence of the storm raging above and the waves churning the sea around us, I hear Boone’s grunt and look up to find that he’s managed to grab a piece of rope dangling off the center mast.
“That had to hurt!” I call as both of us jump to our feet.
“I’ll worry about it later,” he says before running off.
We both know the jobs we have to do. The plan.
Boone heads for the helm at the stern of the ship, where he drops down a half level under the flat deck. Only his head and torso are visible as he grabs hold of the tiller to try to steer us. We’ve tried it with me operating that, but I’m not strong enough in this kind of weather.
That’s why I run to the bow of the ship and stand just behind the figurehead, which is a thick, curving, intricately carved peacock head—I know because I’ve seen it from the water. One of the ways I died was taking a peacock beak to the temple.
I lash myself to the figurehead, with enough give in the rope to allow me to move side to side to see around it when I need to. But I don’t look to the water. Not yet. Instead, I tilt my head back, staring at the clouds, waiting for any break to see the stars.
“Why couldn’t the test for this Lock have been identifying a new constellation?” I mutter to myself. Not for the first time, by the way.
I missed that particular Crucible Labor while I was healing after Hephaestus’ automaton almost killed me, but it was Hera’s and seemed the least violent.
That would have been nice. Even childbirth might have been nicer than this.
Maybe. Instead, the on-again, off-again Queen of the Gods redesigned her Lock to be brutal this time around.
Clearly. Or we would be done with this thing by now.
There.
A tiny break in the clouds, just enough for me to see stars shaped in a lazy W that makes up the constellation Cassiopeia. The modern version, by the way—no idea how, and I don’t care.
All I care about is that Hera has shown me the direction we must travel by.
Keep Cassiopeia dead ahead.
As long as we do that…no monsters.
And we’re already off course.
“Right!” I yell back at Boone. Because he probably can’t hear over the storm, I also make a gesture with my whole arm, pointing the blade of my flattened hand at the exact angle we need to go.
What I don’t do is turn to look and make sure he saw me.
Not even when it takes the boat too long to make the maneuver.
It’s not exactly fast when we’re having to fight against the crashing swells of waves churned by a goddess’s rage.
I’m not sure if Hera has abilities to manipulate seas and storms that no one ever knew about or if she got both Zeus and Poseidon to chip in for this new Lock.
Doesn’t matter. I’ve already made the mistake of turning my gaze away from the sea once.
Instead, I keep my eyes on the water in front and to the sides of us.
“Which monster is it going to be this time?” I say to myself, or maybe to the watching ghost of the goddess.
Hera’s Lock hasn’t given us the same stars, destination, or monsters every time. Some have repeated, some haven’t.
Always an adventure with her Lock. Almost impossible to plan around.
In the depths, I catch it—almost a blur, everything is so fast, but I’m pretty sure I see tentacles.
“Drop!” I yell.
At the same moment, I hit the deck flat on my stomach, just in time for one of those tentacles to whip by overhead.
The Lock sent us the giant squid again.
Hera seems to like this monster. Jules Verne must’ve been a follower of Hera’s, because while this squid is covered in glittering green scales that I swear are made of actual emeralds, it’s straight from the pages of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Plus a few other…modifications.
I don’t see the fingerlike appendages at the tips, but I know they’re there.
For grabbing. And strangling. And dragging into the water so deep even if it lets me go, I’ll never make it to the top before I run out of air.
All with one tentacle while it uses the others to propel itself ridiculously fast through the waters.
I can’t see Boone. He has to be in the small well in the deck, hopefully not leaving the tiller to do as it will. If we get back on course, the monster leaves. Stay off course, and more will come.
There’s a reason why every single ancient civilization feared their own monsters of the oceans and seas.
Hera has to be borrowing a few of those horrors.
Once the tentacles don’t pass overhead again, I get cautiously to my feet and catch sight of Boone doing the same.
We both peek over the starboard side, and that’s when I see more of the thing attacking us.
Just a glimpse before it shoots away, off into the raging of the seas, although I swear its beak mouth smiles at me.
I jerk my head up, but the stars are obscured.
Did it leave us alone? Or did it run off to fetch a friend?
“A new one!” Boone yells. At least that’s what I think he yells.
I don’t answer as I focus on the skies. How off track are we at this point? Hopefully Boone managed to keep us at least on a path close to what we should be.
I gasp in relief at another break in the clouds. Cassiopeia… We’re headed dead at her. I whistle and shove a thumbs-up high into the sky where Boone can see. Stay on course. That’s our signal.
A piercing answering whistle, louder than mine, is our version of understood from our thieving days.
I don’t see the rogue wave coming until it broadsides us, and I have to hold on tight or be washed over.
Even with my ropes, it would take a lot of physical effort to pull myself back on board, and now that we’re off course again, another monster is coming.
I’ve already been bait, dangling on a line to get chomped up by more than one set of teeth in this hellhole.
Not planning to do that again.
When the vessel finally settles, I can feel how the oars on one side are working to turn us back toward the constellation. At least Hera gave us one advantage—the boat works for us, not against us.
I don’t stand all the way straight, just enough to glance over the edge of the deck, waiting for the next thing to come our way, hoping to see a very specific feature.
A single horn.