42. In Elysium
42
In Elysium
Calliste
“Where are we?” she asked, astounded, still avoiding looking at him. “Weren’t we supposed to descend to the Roots?”
“This is the Roots,” he replied harshly.
Instead of the usual darkness, the landscape in front of them glowed with carpets of buttercups and daffodils, stretching in endless swathes across the hills and hillocks. The mists still obscured what could be the sky, looking deceptively like radiant clouds.
Already his hazy, immaterial self, Hypnos continued to scan their surroundings with a deepening frown. “It looks like Elysium. Or a reflection of it.”
“An illusion?”
“The real Elysium wouldn’t be empty.”
Calliste searched the blurred horizon. “An illusion of an Underworld realm cannot be easy to create.”
“For an immortal who trifles with the power of Erebus, it might be.” There was an edge to his voice. “But it’s a dangerous game.”
“We should call for help,” she said quietly. “It’s never been like this—”
“No.” His response was steely. “If someone has disturbed Erebus to create this, we don’t need any more divine presence here. I’m only here as a reflection of myself, so I don’t cause any ripples. Let’s set out. I’m assuming this is an invitation, and I can’t wait to see who’s behind it.”
***
She stood in front of the prince’s tree, a dark tear in the otherwise idyllic landscape.
Her form was tangible, yet hazy, beautiful, draped in layers of black fabric that pooled around her bare feet. The flowers around her glowed, or it could be the contrast between black and gold. Her smile was like a curved blade, barely reaching her black, opaque eyes. Her skin was sickly pale. A ruined wreath of golden laurel leaves with pearls resembling berries glinted in her black hair like a warped crown. “I don’t think I should welcome you,” she spoke sweetly. “For you are not welcome here, priestess.”
Calliste straightened at the hostility in her tone, quickly glancing at the prince’s tree, still wrapped in red ivy and unchanged from the previous night. Her healing energy still glowed in the same place, protecting it.
“Ah, yes.” The woman followed her gaze. “It still holds, unfortunately. With a bit of luck and an immortal by your side, you were able to defeat my servants. But tonight, your luck will run dry.”
“Bold words,” growled Hypnos, “coming from someone with no right to be here, doing what you’re doing.”
A shadow crossed her face, but she didn’t even look at him before responding. “Bold words for a god lusting after a mortal he cannot have. Does it hurt?”
Avoiding looking at Hypnos, Calliste stepped forth. “Whoever you are, I can help you. Do you know your name?”
“Help yourself first, priestess,” she retorted. “And choose between your duty and your desires.”
Calliste froze. How does she know?
“What do we call you?” Hypnos demanded.
She chuckled. “Call me Tempest if you like. Close enough.”
“Close to your real name?”
She adjusted the wreath on her head. “Perhaps.”
“You’re deflecting,” Hypnos said coldly. “But now I can see that you’re one of us, using a Condemned as a puppet to toy with the highly unstable powers of Erebus. Which makes me think that you don’t have enough real power to use, or else you wouldn’t risk disturbing Erebus. So who are you? And why are you here, tangling the threads of the Fates?”
Tempest narrowed her dead eyes at him. “Why should I tell you?”
“I’m one of the guardians of this realm. And you’re on my soil.”
“And yet here you are, a mere reflection of yourself, with a mortal as my only challenge.”
“You know why”—Hypnos shifted his stance, his wings radiating with a cold, ominous light—“since you’re hiding behind a Condemned to mask your true appearance.”
“Aren’t we shrewd? I wonder what you’re going to do about it.”
“Come with me to the surface of the Underworld and you’ll see.”
“To where you can freely use your full power?” Tempest shook her head. “You’re exactly where I wanted you to be.” She flicked her hand.
In a split second, Calliste closed her hand around her pendant, channeling the divine energy to form her protective orb. The sudden chill of the air bit into her skin before her orb formed.
All around Hypnos, the buttercups wavered, their glow harsher.
Something’s wrong. She opened her mouth to warn him, but the ground shuddered beneath them. Bright streaks of light erupted from between the buttercups and daffodils, surrounding Hypnos like twisting vines. More of them followed, wrapping and spooling around him to form a grotesque, cocoon-like, golden cage rooted in the earth.
It happened in less than five heartbeats.
“One bird, trapped,” Tempest laughed. “He’s grown complacent with you. Or perhaps you distracted him too much.”
Calliste stared at Hypnos’ shocked expression, dread settling in her stomach.
He tried to speak, but his words were muted.
“He can’t hear us, and we can’t hear him.” Tempest stepped forth. Darkness swirled around her. “He can’t even call for help from his brother. In essence, he cannot do anything. Except watch.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Calliste saw the horror dawning on Hypnos’ face, as if he’d just realized the same thing. She swallowed. “How did you trap a god?”
Tempest strolled to the cage, running her hand over the metalwork. “I knew he could only enter this domain as a shadow of himself. So he also has a fraction of his power to use, which made things simple for me.” She turned to Calliste, her smile widening. “It also means that he cannot help you in any way, since he cannot return to the mortal realm.” The wildflowers glowed brighter in her path as she strolled to Calliste, stopping in front of the green-tinted wall of the orb. “Which is unfortunate. If nobody reconciles your shadow form here with your physical body in the realm of mortals before I kill you… you die. I warned you. Remember?”
Calliste channeled more energy into her protective sphere, her eyes on Tempest.
“This won’t hold me off for long.” Tempest fixed her with an unwavering glare. “The wounds I’ll give you will appear on your body in the mortal realm, and I plan for them to be severe.”
But if I hold out until dawn, Gaiane will wake me up. Or… Theron. “Why are you trying to bring down the prince’s tree?” Calliste asked. “You’re interfering with the Fates.”
“Did you truly expect me to answer?” Tempest backed away slowly until she was by the tree again.
“The Fates want him to live.”
Tempest spread out her hands. “And he lives.” Wisps of black smoke rose from her palms. “He’s only asleep. That’s the beauty of it.”
“But now you’ve revealed yourself. Hypnos knows about you.”
“And? Only you can stop me,” she laughed, the smoke rising from her hands thickening. “The rest of them can only watch.”
Before Calliste could blink, a burst of darkness exploded against her orb, thinning to curl around it like hazy tentacles. It slid down the curve of the sphere before dissipating.
Tempest stood in the same place, surrounded by sharp, black spikes forming a halo around her. Some were as long as spears, but thicker. She pointed at the orb.
One by one, they flew toward it.
Calliste spread out her hands, feeding her orb more energy. The impact of the spikes crashing into her orb made the ground shiver under her feet. She watched them unraveling into black smoke that obscured the golden landscape beyond, sensing the poisonous aura. This is what the phantoms exuded. This is the energy I’ve been fighting against. “You’ve been the power behind this curse all along,” she said through her teeth, her hackles rising in recognition.
“Astute.” Tempest frowned, her smile fading for a moment.
Calliste tensed, waiting for the next attack, then she followed Tempest’s gaze, fixed at the perimeter around her orb where the smoke appeared to have the effect on the golden illusion. What is she looking at?
The daffodils around the orb were charred, leaving an unsettling hole in the idyllic, golden landscape.
Calliste stepped back to examine it, but the charred earth disappeared under newly sprouted flowers, growing at an incredible speed. She glanced at Tempest.
She was smiling again, finishing off a flourishing gesture. “Ready?” More spikes started to appear around her.
Think. Why would she go to all the trouble of creating this illusion here, stretching so far? Is it because it hides what she’s doing here right now? And she mended what her smoke has destroyed, so she doesn’t want any holes in it. She jolted as another spike crashed against her orb. Time. I need more time. “Why get rid of me?” she shouted over the buzz of energy. “I’m only a mortal.”
“Fearing for your life, priestess?”
“Do you fear me enough to destroy me?”
“You weren’t supposed to be here.” Tempest hurled more noxious spikes in a rapid succession. “And now you’re in my way.”
Calliste recoiled as their aftershock rolled over her skin like heat and gritted her teeth as her skin crawled at the overwhelming buzz of corrupt energy—like that of a thousand hornets. I need to alert Thanatos. How? The expanse of gold beneath the floor of her orb glinted again, drawing her attention. If she’s drawing on her power to create it, there must be a reason. Can Epione’s power make it disappear?
Tempest attacked again, her black smoke smothering the orb.
Trapped inside buzzing, furious darkness that seemed ready to devour her, Calliste waited for the smoke to thin, its hazy remnants making holes in the bed of gold.
Now.
She collapsed her orb and redirected all its energy into the ground. If I’m wrong…
Epione’s healing energy poured like a stream, swamping the golden blooms and melting them like ice to reveal the earth of the Roots. For a split second, she stared, incredulous. Then she reached out, connecting with the plane of divine energy, hoping the god of death would hear her. “Thanatos! Intruder in the Roots—”
The spike hit her hard, throwing her backward as it lanced through her chest.
The burst of pain was incomparable to anything she’d ever experienced, even at her husband’s hands: it was like a hot metal rod piercing her heart, causing her to seize for a moment. She channeled whatever energy she could into her chest, feeling the spike dissolving, but she was still breathless from the agony.
Her head swam in streaks of light.
Under her back, the daffodils seemed as soft and fragrant as the real ones, yet they still shone as if fashioned from different shades of gold.
It felt strange to lie on the soil of the Underworld, sensing a distant, terrifying, primal force stirring beneath her. Is that Erebus?
Coughing, she rolled to her side to see Tempest floating to her over the daffodils.
Her eyes narrowed, she passed the spot where Calliste had destroyed the illusion. Behind her, golden flowers sprouted and covered the ground again. “This is exactly why I need to get rid of you,” she hissed, stopping beside her. “You’re too much trouble, priestess.” She opened her hand, and a swirling spike of black smoke rose from it. It slowly pivoted, tip-down, high in the air.
Choking, Calliste drew on Epione’s healing power almost subconsciously. Her hands shook as she extended her arm, forming a large, round shield and channeling more energy to strengthen it. Will it hold?
“It’s ironic that I have no grudge against you, priestess.” Tempest loomed over her with a chilling smile. Her dark hair floated around her face, getting caught in her ruined crown. “You are just an unfortunate mortal caught in the game of the immortals, nothing more.” With a final wave of her hand, she sent the spike hurtling toward Calliste.
Calliste screamed as it hit her shield, tainted energy piercing through it and ripping it apart. The force slammed into her chest once again. She arched as the spike dissolved, its smoke curling around her, invading her throat like fire.
“You’d never guess you’d take your last breath in the Underworld, would you?” Tempest asked, watching her with mild curiosity.
“Why are… you toying… with me?” Calliste choked out.
“I’ve been warning you to stay away, priestess.”
“What’s your… name?” She coughed. “I deserve… to know.”
“Do you?” Tempest lifted her hands, watching them with fascination as they transformed into long, curved talons. “The power of Erebus is incredible.” She straddled Calliste’s hips. “This is where I have to be thorough. If I merely strangle you, they will find a way to bring you back. Ripping out your heart will be more certain.” She giggled. “Broken hearts can be mended, but shredded ones… not so much. I promise I’ll tell you my name as I rip it out.” She sank her claws into Calliste’s chest.
Blinding, debilitating agony consumed her, and her lungs were too tight to draw in any air and scream.
Desperately, she clutched at Tempest’s wrist to stop the talons from carving into her skin.
One of them snagged on Epione’s pendant. Tempest blinked down at it. “Ah, your trinket,” she said, lifting it in her hand and starting to crush it.
“Don’t… touch it,” Calliste rasped.
Emerald tendrils of light leaked from the pendant, fading away.
A heavy, pregnant hush fell over them.
You are my vessel, Calliste, a sweet voice threaded into her mind.
Tempest paused, frowning at the pendant, her head tilted in part curiosity, part confusion.
Despite the searing agony in her chest, Calliste felt a shift in the air, and the connection to the same soothing, powerful presence she had first encountered nine years earlier, when she was on the brink of death. It swirled impatiently.
Take as much as you can, Calliste. You can take more than most. But be careful. Vessels can overflow and break.
Her thigh tingled. She remembered her emerald-encrusted knife. And then she saw it in her mind’s eye, drawing all the endless energy.
Her pendant exploded with emerald flames, their force whooshing over Tempest, blinding her.
Calliste closed her hand around her knife and drew it. It buzzed with a green glow. She clutched it, watching it turn transparent, as if it was woven from the healing energy itself. She hesitated.
Not a weapon anymore, Calliste.
She remembered Petrakelis Passage and the harpy, ready to attack Theron. She acted by instinct, clutching it in both hands and driving it into Tempest’s chest.
Her knife buzzed, fed by the power from her pendant. Blinding brightness spread through Tempest, lighting up under her skin. Her claws dissolved as she clutched to the ruined crown of golden laurel and pearls, screaming into the bleak mists high above them.
Then, she stilled.
Through blurry, unsteady vision Calliste saw Tempest lower her chin to look at her again. But this time, her expression was different—as if the immortal who had taken over her body was no longer there. Her skin was no longer sickly pale. Horrified, she stared at her bloodied hands before shifting her gaze to meet Calliste’s. Her eyes were no longer dead, shocked awareness replacing the malicious stare.
Calliste stared back, chilly air pooling inside her chest where her heart struggled to beat. She held on to the handle, Theron’s words ringing in her head. Never let go of your weapon. Her vision began to dim.
“Help me.” The Condemned’s voice grew fainter. “Please. My name is—”