Chapter 36
Interlude on Thrace
Phineus leaned against the stones of the ruin, the last rays of sunlight warming his face.
He wondered if he should have been more forthcoming with the last daughter.
Divining prophecy was by no means an exact art.
One had to be careful, especially when hearing the prophetic vision described secondhand.
While he believed what he’d told her to be true, he had remained silent on the other possibilities that had presented themselves.
Darker paths swathed in blood and destruction.
She would end the reign of thunder, of that much he was certain. But at what cost?
She was right—she was not what he’d expected.
He couldn’t deny that he’d hoped she would be better prepared, but it was fitting somehow that the champion of mankind should be an ordinary girl who would become extraordinary.
Perhaps he’d been too hard on her. It was a mighty burden she carried.
But there would be no softness in what was to come.
He took comfort in the knowledge that he’d guided her as best he could. Besides, soon none of it would matter to him. Soon he would join the souls of all those that had come before, in the Underworld. Soon he would be with his Manto again.
His staff was to his left, and the wrappings that carried his last meal lay to his right.
He was glad he would meet death on a full stomach.
A small mercy. Tucked into the sash of his robe were two coins he’d found in the temple.
He had no idea what currency they were. Too small for drachmas and too large for obols, but he hoped they would be enough to pay the ferryman to take his soul across the River Styx.
A disturbance in the air pricked his attention. There was a sound, something other than the usual crash of the tide, whine of the sea wind and squawking of gulls. He tilted his head to the west and waited.
Soon, his patience was rewarded by the clink and thud of a pair of armored feet landing on the ground.
Then a laugh, shrill and boyish.
“Oh.” Phineus didn’t try to hide his disappointment. “It’s you.”
“Phineus.” The voice sounded petulant. “That’s no way to greet an old friend.”
Phineus reached for his staff, wedged it into the ground and pushed himself up. “I’d hoped your father would come. But he sends his messenger.”
“You wound me. I thought you enjoyed our chats.”
Phineus was in no mood to be toyed with. Not today.
“If you’ve come to ask about the omphalos shard, my answer is the same as it has always been. It was stolen from me in Delphi, and I have no idea where it is now. Fly back to your father and tell him he’s wasted his time.”
“Oh, I don’t care about the stone, and father doesn’t actually know I’m here. Although, I’m sure he’d be very interested to learn how one of his pets came to end up dead on top of your hovel.”
Phineus could hear the smile in the other’s voice. That was worrying.
He tapped his stick against the ground. “I’m deadlier than I look.”
The other laughed again, his voice crackling across two octaves, like a boy’s on the cusp of adolescence.
“What do you want, Hermes?”
The laughter stopped abruptly.
“You’re no fun today.” The god sighed. “Father’s given my siblings a new game.
A hunt. It’s turning out to be rather exciting.
Uncle Hades has set loose a creature from the Underworld disguised as a mortal girl.
Apollo thought he’d got rid of her in Delphi, but somehow, she escaped.
Then Artemis received a message from one of her followers on that strange little island of hers saying the girl has godlike powers.
Well, we all thought she was exaggerating, but then Athena went to have a look and got the shock of her life. So, tell me, where is she?”
Phineus’s fists tightened on his staff. They didn’t know. Zeus hadn’t told his children who Danae really was. Could it be that the King of the Gods was afraid?
A smile bloomed across Phineus’s face.
“You’re in a strange mood. Is this what happens to mortals when their bodies shrivel up?” Hermes didn’t wait for Phineus to reply. “Anyway, I don’t have all day. She’s been here, hasn’t she?”
Phineus’s smile grew broader.
“Hasn’t she?”
“How should I know? I’m blind.”
Phineus flinched at a loud crack next to his ear, and a spray of rock shards hitting his cheek.
“I’m getting bored now. I know she has. That ship she’s on stopped here. You won’t be so difficult once I tell you which of my siblings wants the information.”
He wanted to be entertained. Phineus knew that tone. He also knew how to prick his visitor’s anger. “Ah, little messenger, doing someone else’s bidding as usual. Are the others not letting you play?”
Phineus choked as a gauntleted fist clamped around his neck and he felt the sharp sting of metal cutting into his skin.
“I am a god, you maggot. You will show me respect.” Hermes tightened his grip. “It’s Ares’s turn next, and the God of War doesn’t like to lose. Now, I’m going to ask you one last time. Has the girl been here?”
I’m coming, Manto, Phineus thought, as he hawked and spat into what he hoped was Hermes’s face.
The god released his neck. There was a pause. Then Phineus was pushed violently against the rock. The breath was knocked from his lungs. He wheezed in agony, Hermes’s gauntleted hand pressing against his chest, crushing his ribs with unworldly strength.
“Before you die, I want you to know that I’m the one who convinced Father to keep you alive. The harpies brought you food because of me. Every breath you’ve taken, every dream you’ve had, every hope, every thought, every shit, has been mine. Goodbye, Phineus, I will forget you ever existed.”
The pain was excruciating. Phineus could barely breathe, but he was no stranger to agony.
Then he felt something completely new. He’d lost sensation in his fingers and toes.
It was beyond numbness, as if his extremities were filling with emptiness.
He was diminishing, as though Hermes were pulling his very essence out through his chest.
For the first time in a long time, he was afraid. Only his Manto remained a glimmer of hope as the last of his life-threads were wrenched from his body.
The mortal’s corpse crumpled to the earth. It was a shame really. Hermes enjoyed talking to Phineus far more than his self-absorbed siblings.
The god tugged the helm from his head. He looked down in disgust at the spittle smeared on the golden cheek plate.
He could already hear his stepmother chastising him.
Foolish boy, the man could have been diseased, how many times do you have to be told?
Hera had such a fear of catching mortal illnesses.
He supposed it was understandable, given how many of her husband’s bastard children littered the earth.
Hermes knelt and wiped his helm on the grass.
The craftsmanship really was stunning. The flawless gold was detailed with a filigree of ivy, winding up to two leaves that pointed upward like ears on either side.
He only ever took it off when he was alone.
He liked himself much better inside his armor.
He barely noticed the extra life-threads whirring through his veins, he’d grown so used to the sensation. But he could still remember the ecstasy of his first time, all those centuries ago. That was a feeling he would never forget.
As he lifted the helm, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirrored gold.
The downy hairs on his chin that would never become a beard, the painful spots marring his rose-pale skin.
He rammed the helm back over his face. Forever cursed to remain on the edge of boyhood.
His father was so cruel. Not a day went by when Hermes didn’t wish Zeus had waited before performing the ritual, let him become a man first.
His thoughts were interrupted by a distant screech. The remaining harpies were searching for their sister. He’d better make himself scarce. Besides, Ares would be waiting. He sighed. Returning without information would cost him a beating, but not returning at all would be worse.
Hermes bent his knees and kicked into the air. The metal wings melded to his armored boots beat rapidly and propelled him into the sky. Flying never failed to bring him joy, and he smiled as he cut through the clouds like a golden spear.