Chapter 16
When I returned to the temple just before dawn, I was relieved to find that my head felt much better, with only a dull ache still lingering.
This meant that I could go to the courtyard with my sisters for morning reverence, where the four of us would watch for Leon.
None of us knew exactly what we’d say if given the opportunity, but we were in agreement to warn him in some way should he arrive.
Unluckily for us—or for him, really—the son of Apollo made no appearance in the temple that morning.
Instead, we were accosted with an influx of parishioners worried about withering flowers.
Word about the prophecy had already spread through the city, it seemed, and fearful people from every region of it were arriving with tales of withered blooms in their gardens.
Something was already happening. I wondered whether it was Hades or his Queen who channeled this power against us.
We said mostly the same to everyone who begged for an answer: “The gods have set something in motion, and most generously they have offered a warning of its happening. Be safe until this plague is ended, and remain where you may pray. Pray for the deliverance of Halieis in the shelter of your homes.” It was an unsatisfying answer, we admitted, but priestesses were rarely ever given all of the knowledge we desired.
Thus, our morning was spent only disappointing the multitudes.
Near the courtyard’s entrance, a pile of dead autumn flowers grew taller and taller as citizens abandoned them, unsatisfied.
I couldn’t blame them; I was worried, too, despite actually knowing what was happening.
What would Hades send to us? We wouldn’t know what threat was coming until it was already here.
When the four of us gathered at our table for lunch, I spotted several men of high station milling about with their food, out in the open just the same as we were. I released a bit of my stress at the sight, realizing that they were clearly not expecting trouble to arrive immediately.
Near the end of our lunch hour, Andrew made his way over to our table, wearing luxurious red linen and a sour expression. “Lady Cyrie, I am to escort you to the council scribe,” he announced.
I frowned. “What is the reason? I was told that my prophecy has already been recorded.”
“It has. However, the council has requested that another record be drafted, documenting your personal account of the happening. As only you can provide such detail, I have been tasked with escorting you now. Come, while the memory is fresh.”
“Very well, then,” I said. “Lead on.” I shared a knowing glance with my sisters before following him away. They would have to watch for Leon without me.
I traipsed along beside Andrew, hurrying to keep up with his swift pace.
As we stepped indoors, a suspicious quiet raised my alarm: the sounds of midday birdsong had abruptly ceased.
Andrew didn’t seem to notice. He led me into the complex without breaking stride, and I followed him through a series of passageways that meandered along the outskirts of the high wing.
Boom. A thud from outside halted our movement. A subtle tremor shook the ground.
“What is that?” I asked sharply, my head snapping toward the noise.
“I am unsure,” said Andrew. He paused, listening for clarity that didn’t arrive. “Let us continue,” he decided, heading toward a turn in our passageway.
But we’d hardly made it two paces before the sound repeated. Boom. An announcement of destruction, closer to us this time. It was followed by another, and then another, and an uproar of screams coming from beyond our sealed corridor.
I stopped in my tracks. “Andrew, what—”
Boom. Stone exploded around us. I was thrown off my feet and landed in a crumpled heap.
My ears rang. I stifled my scream, palming the dust and rock that for some reason was beneath my hands. I waited for agony, but my only pain was from scrapes.
I was alive, intact. I looked ahead.
The corner of our building had been obliterated, torn into a wide breach surrounded by dust and sharp fragments.
We were at the outermost edge of the temple complex, I realized.
The city proper lay just beyond the jagged, crumbling wound before me.
I crawled forward to peer through the opening, slicing my knees on the stones.
My shock numbed the stinging as I searched for what had struck us.
I could see the clustered buildings of the city below, down the arc of the hill on which the temple was constructed.
Debris was strewn along the slope, culminating in an upheaval of dirt and grass at its base.
Something was stirring there, unearthing itself from the destruction it had wreaked upon landing. The projectile. Alive.
Twisted horror clawed its way out from the rubble.
It could have been a bird on first sight, if birds came in the size of small humans.
On its feet it wielded the talons of a raptor, and its wings were akin to those of a vulture, save for the unsettling almost-hands that protruded from their crests, capped at each finger with enormous black talons.
Nearly all of its body was covered in a mess of long, dirty brown feathers, save for the olive skin of its upper chest, neck, and face. Yes, face. It had the face of a woman.
I froze, not moving a muscle. The monster scanned her surroundings, her face angled toward me.
“Harpies!” somebody shrieked from the streets below.
The harpy let loose a horrible screech as if in affirmation, and the ugly sound rebounded from the temple’s facade. She whirled around and stalked off in the direction of the screaming. Her dirty, damp-looking feathers disappeared around a bend and out of my field of view.
Before I could register my relief, the crashes sounded again. Boom. Boom. Boom. More harpies were landing, concentrating in the lower city, where the clamor and wailing had never ceased.
“Andrew?” I whispered frantically, tearing my gaze from the scene. “Andrew!”
He was sprawled on the ground to my right, twisted onto his side. Unmoving. A trickle of blood flowed from a gash on the side of his head, but the rise and fall of his chest signaled his enduring vitality.
I crawled to him and grasped him by the shoulder.
He gave no response, even when I shook him with increasing panic.
From beyond the breach in the wall, the din intensified.
I heard the marching of soldiers, the drawing of blades.
The crashing of projectiles and the screeching of the monsters from the depths.
I wrapped my arms around my knees, trembling like a leaf in a windstorm. Andrew was down, but he wasn’t dead. Thanatos wouldn’t find me, not in this obscure hallway. I was alone. Powerless. Forced to listen to the guttural screams of my people as the harpies descended upon the city below.
Sobs shook my body. My prophecy could never have prepared them for this. For all the love and wonder my sight had given to me, it could do nothing to counter the destruction raining down upon Halieis. I was fragile and helpless. Useless.
Except…
Except my sight had given me Thanatos. And Thanatos, with a little help from Apollo’s oracles, had given me the answer.
I stared out through the breach in the facade. My lovely Death. I had seen him, loved him, worshiped him. But had I ever truly faced him? The chaos unfolding before me was more than a calculated risk, more than an accepted inevitability. I had never felt him so close, yet so far away.
The meaning of a mortal life is a reflection of your beauty.
And my lover was ruinously beautiful.
I couldn’t hide behind helplessness. Leon needed a chance, deserved a chance. I was the Oracle of Hades, and there was a hole in the wall of my cage.
My breathing steadied. I stood, lifted the hem of my dress, and climbed through the mess of crumbling blocks.
Rough stone pieces pushed into my feet, and my soles stung as I moved through the debris.
I ignored the pain, traversing the rubble as nimbly as I could, until I emerged from the shadow of the temple.
I made it through with only scrapes. On the other side, I stumbled down the sloping hill, past a trail of fallen rocks.
The main road stretching into the lower city was in sight, just around the corner.
I squinted in the sunlight, my senses on high alert. I swallowed my terror and suppressed the distraction of the din. Where would Leon be? He lived with the other collectively raised children, so I should check the orphanage first. But how could I find it?
I frantically scoured my memories. I was certain I’d seen the home in the past, on one of the few occasions I was permitted to step onto these streets.
I envisioned the processions I’d walked before and scanned the mental crowd: the children, where were the children?
Where did they stand? Where—yes. Yes, I remembered.
I took off running toward the main thoroughfare, but on arrival, I realized that it would be foolish to take this road.
Throngs of panicked people were sprinting down it, and where they screamed, the harpies followed, chasing after the promise of flesh.
More of the creatures were still landing, joining the hunt, screeching horribly from their ladies’ lips.
At the sight of the danger I swiftly took a left, narrowly avoiding a collision with a fleeing, red-faced citizen. I poked my head out from the cover of a side street, and my nausea intensified.
Nearby food carts were abandoned and overturned.
A heavy trail of blood began at the foot of one of them, winding across the stones until it disappeared around the corner.
People ran screaming, tugging their children along as they desperately searched for shelter.
And still the harpies crashed down from the sky. Boom. Boom. Boom.