Daughter of Fate (The Dark Pantheon #2)

One Thousand Years Prior

Kronos lifted his torch, staring through sweat-stung eyes at the looming peaks of Mount Olympus.

Banks of beech trees towered either side of him like verdant sentries, their leaves whispering in the wind.

He drew a deep breath. Bushes of wild oregano clustered between the silver trunks, the herb’s minty, earthen scent carrying on the chill breeze.

Beyond the sloping swathes of forest, bare ridges of rock stood free of ice and cloud, silhouetted against a coal-dark sky scattered with stars. Watching, waiting.

‘Father!’

Kronos looked back. His eldest son, Zeus, was climbing the trail behind him, his own flaming torch spilling streaks of light and shadow across his face.

Kronos sighed. ‘You should not have followed me.’

Zeus stood firm: weary yet defiant.

Suddenly, Kronos saw not a man, but a boy.

All gangly limbs and wide, sea-blue eyes, the same expression etched across his face as at the injustice of his younger brother, Poseidon, stealing the wooden cow he had lovingly crafted.

Kronos wondered how Zeus had grown so fast. Sun-crinkled skin spread from the corners of his eyes, and his jaw was lean and bearded.

He was almost thirty. When Kronos was younger people had remarked that they looked more like twins than father and son.

He could not recall at what age his body had revealed the truth.

It felt strange now to contemplate the passing of time, when he was about to become ageless.

‘Father, please …’

Kronos turned back to the path with an aching heart.

‘You could save her.’

He froze, his chest constricting as he thought of the last time he’d seen his youngest daughter, Hestia, still only a babe, wrapped in blankets by the hearth, her wan little face looking up at his.

He thrust the memory away. He could not allow himself to be drawn down that road.

Once he tasted the sacred fruit, he would no longer be a father and a husband.

He had been called, and all that he once was must be set aside.

It was the greatest sacrifice and the greatest honour a person could ever hope for: to become a Titan.

‘We have spoken on this. Go home, Zeus.’

‘Do you not care?’

Kronos took a couple of steps.

‘Father! Do not walk away from me.’

His son’s words were arrows in his heart as he continued on, fighting the urge to glance back. Eventually, Zeus grew quiet, but Kronos could hear his son’s ragged breath as he followed like a spectre behind him.

Kronos’ progress was slow in the dark with the burden of his pack and torch, and the small stones that slipped under foot.

For a while the trees grew so tall, he could no longer see the mountain’s peak above him, only a sliver of star-flecked sky.

The way grew tangled, thick roots lying like steps across his path, the vivid green leaves of beeches giving way to the jade spines of towering pines.

Owls and other creatures of the night called to one another from the shadows.

Then a rustling sounded up ahead. Kronos’ eyes darted between the trees, lingering on a churned patch of earth between two pines.

Wild boar.

He paused, his free hand leaping to the handle of the knife sheathed in his belt. A tusk to the gut could be deadly.

After a while, the noise faded, and Kronos once more resumed his ascent.

He had not gone far when there was a cry behind him.

Despite himself, he spun around. Zeus, still following, had tripped on a root, his torch sputtering on the ground.

Kronos cursed under his breath. Damn the boy’s stubbornness.

Fighting every instinct, he turned away from his son and pressed on.

He clambered over great channels of rock and long-dead trees that had been shaken free by storms to pour like rivers from the peaks.

He did not slow as the way steepened and the pines thinned, the tufted earth replaced by loose grey stones.

The wind grew fierce, whipping Kronos’ thick woollen cloak and threatening to extinguish his fire.

He was forced to scramble up the scree, using his free hand to steady himself on the lichen-stained boulders littering his way.

The urge to glance back at his son gnawed at him like the cold air lancing across his skin.

All the while the sky paled, the stars fading into the cold blue light that creeps before the dawn.

In the shadow of the highest peak, he came across a flat bank of rocks perched on the edge of a sharp ridge, falling in a sheer drop to the forested valley below.

Beyond the trees and the grassy plain and sandy beach stretching away from the foot of the mountain lay the Aegean Sea: a dark foil to the brightening sky.

Kronos set his torch in the centre of a clutch of stones and heaped a few twigs and bracken onto the little fire.

For a brief moment he thought Zeus had finally abandoned his pursuit.

Then his son emerged from scrambling up the scree to stand at the edge of the light, his clothes smeared with dust, his eyes blazing brighter than the flames.

Kronos could not help the spark of pride that warmed his chest.

‘Sit with me.’

Zeus added his torch to Kronos’ fire and lowered himself onto a rock beside his father. Kronos delved into his pack and handed his son a couple of strips of dried goat meat, then took a swig from his waterskin. Zeus devoured the goat, groaning as he chewed.

A smile twitched Kronos’ lips. He held out his hand. In the centre of his palm lay an almond.

Zeus swallowed his mouthful.

Kronos curled his fingers around the nut and blew on his knuckles. Then he opened his hand to reveal the almond vanished.

Zeus’ brow darkened. ‘I’m not a child.’

Kronos sighed, retrieving the almond from his tunic pocket.

‘I care,’ he said softly. ‘You, Poseidon, Hades, Demeter, Hestia, Hera … You will always have my heart.’

Zeus leant forward, his voice nothing but a hoarse whisper, as though he feared the mountain might be listening. ‘Once you have become a Titan you could come home in secret, use your power to heal Hestia, then return.’

Kronos shook his head. ‘You know I cannot. You must be strong now. Take up the responsibility as head of your family.’

Zeus recoiled, the fire in his eyes cooling to ice. ‘Our family. You always said we came above all else. Was that a lie?’

Kronos’ ribs tightened. ‘I have never lied to you, son.’

‘Then why will you not save your own child?’

Kronos gazed up at the mountain’s highest peak, his heart aching. ‘I have been chosen for a higher purpose. As one of the Twelve, maintaining the balance of the tapestry of life will be my responsibility. I cannot place my own loves above every living being on the earth.’

The look in Zeus’ eyes was too painful to hold. So many words lay piled between them, and yet still he could not make his son understand.

After a long pause he added, ‘I saw the face of creation. This is how it must be.’

Zeus’ expression grew thunderous. ‘My mother gave her life so Hestia could join this world. Do you care so little for her sacrifice?’

At the mention of his wife, Rhea, Kronos flinched.

‘Your anger shames your tongue.’

‘It is you, Father, who should be ashamed.’

Kronos clenched his jaw, swallowing the torrent of words he longed to hurl at his son. Silence raged between them. Drawing deep, calming breaths, Kronos let Zeus’ anger wash over him until the tidal waves faded to ripples and the fight in his son’s eyes ebbed away.

Zeus hung his head. The knot in Kronos’ chest eased. Finally, acceptance.

Brightness crept along the edge of his vision.

He looked to the east, where the sun crested the sea, spilling its rosy glow across the world.

Then he turned to gaze at the ridge of stone behind him.

Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as that honeyed light burnished the mountain, transforming its grey crags into golden rock and, below their stony ridge, its dark forests into swathes of gleaming emerald.

Then he heard it.

A melody sang to him that before, he had only heard in his dreams. Harmonies of bright birdsong, rasping leaves, whistling wind and the pulse of rumbling stone. The heartbeat of the world. The song of life itself.

The tangle of emotions roiling in his gut melted away.

‘It is time. This is where I must leave you.’

They both rose to their feet, and the air between them grew tight as a drum skin. Then Zeus threw his arms around Kronos, clinging to him as though he were driftwood in a tumultuous sea.

‘I’m sorry, Father.’

Something in his tone struck unease through Kronos. He tried to pull away, but as he moved pain seared through his back. He gasped, unable to fill his lungs as Zeus let go of him. Kronos fell to his knees, palms hitting the hard rock as he coughed blood onto the ground.

Zeus stood over him, Kronos’ knife clenched in his trembling hand.

‘W-why?’

‘For our family.’ Zeus’ face twisted into a mask of grief. Then his shoulders broadened as he said, ‘I am Kronos, chosen to become one of the Twelve.’

Kronos’ mouth stretched wide, tears muddling with the blood seeping between his lips.

‘You cannot … the Mother will …’

‘She will do nothing. Just like she did nothing when Rhea died, when plague took half the village, when our crops failed and whole families starved. The Mother does not care for us. Neither do you.’

Kronos no longer saw the boy he’d raised, but a wild thing that had stolen his son’s skin.

Zeus’ face glowed in the swelling light. ‘I will use the apple’s gifts to help those in need. I will be a saviour. I will be the coming of a new dawn.’

Then Zeus dragged Kronos across the stony ridge. Kronos struggled in vain, his hands slick with his own blood as Zeus hauled him to the edge, then pushed him down the mountainside.