Chapter 43
Eryx
I’ve never been more relieved in my life than when I step off the invisible bridge and onto solid ground.
I don’t care that I can barely see through the thick white fog, or that I can still hear Albion whimpering behind me. As long as I’m off that infernal bridge, anything else will be easy.
The only part of this Trial I’ve enjoyed so far is seeing Busiris forced to part with some silver. It was the only way to encourage a homeless boy who had seen the other crews make it to the center of Libra tell us how to do it.
My eyes are fixed on my captain ahead of me as we walk, and I let deep, calming breaths of air fill my lungs. My racing heart slows.
Tall, dark rock banks rise up on either side of us, funneling us through the mist, and I don’t like how penned in we are, or the distinct feeling that we’re being led into a trap.
It’s messing with the calm I’m trying to force.
The unforgiving rock looks un-scalable, and there’s no way of getting back over that bridge in a hurry.
My nerves hum and I bounce as I walk, pent-up energy for whatever is coming rocketing around inside me.
I might see her again today.
The thought has barely registered before I scold myself. Why in Hades is that blue-haired witch in my mind? She made a fool of me, and nothing will allow her the chance to do it again.
For a minute, my mental scolding works.
But then her face flashes into my head again.
I know her intentions were insincere, but gods does she have courage.
Selfish, deceitful ambitions! That’s what she has! Not courage.
A flash of blue light through the fog mercifully snaps me out of my zigzagging thoughts. I speed up until I’m abreast of Antaeus.
“What was that?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t look at me, gaze fixed ahead. “I don’t know.”
We pick up our pace and in moments have cleared the canyon, the fog lifting and a great swamp visible before us.
Hercules is holding a huge sword, a weapon that looks like it was built for a giant rather than a human, and it’s glowing red as he slashes and twirls and leaps out of the way of at least a dozen terrifyingly massive serpent heads.
Long necks look as though they’re tangling with each other as they move, almost impossible to discern from each other, and I think of Antaeus’s writhing snake tattoo. There’s another blue flash, and I watch, amazed, as a severed snake head drops into the black swamp with a huge splash.
The severed stump is the source of the blue glow, and what looks like liquid metal begins to flow, forming a new head. No, two new heads, I realize with a start.
An orange light catches my eye on my right.
Theseus, along with the two women from his crew, are near the canyon entrance.
He has an arrow nocked in a bow, orange flames flickering at the arrow tip.
The beautiful, dark-haired woman, Hedone, tugs at his arm, shaking her head.
Theseus ignores her and lets the arrow fly.
“Hercules!” screams Hedone. I look toward the massive man as the arrow strikes. It bounces harmlessly off what I’m fairly sure is a lion hide, and he rolls under a writhing mass of necks. The beast’s heads snap at each other.
“Stop cutting off heads, you fool,” shouts Theseus, shaking his head. “He’s going to get us all killed. We need a plan—come on!” He drops his bow to his side and jogs toward the canyon mouth. He slows when he sees us.
“Leaving so soon, clever Theseus?” Antaeus says. Theseus says nothing, just picks up his pace again. The older woman scowls at the swamp, and then sets off after him, her legs fast. The gorgeous Hedone flicks her head between the swamp and her captain, clearly unsure what to do.
I turn back to watch Hercules fight, my hands clenched into fists. The man is laughing as he carves through the Hydra’s necks, and I scowl. Does he not realize he’s only making it stronger?
“Theseus is right,” Antaeus rumbles beside me. “If that imbecile keeps slicing through necks, he’ll get us all killed. Eryx, stay here with Busiris. Albion, Bergion, with me.”
My jaw clenches. “Captain, I can—”
“That’s an order.” His tone is unwavering, and I clamp my mouth shut.
I watch, burning with frustration, as my captain and the twins move cautiously toward the swamp’s edge. This is my punishment for being tricked by that girl. I’m still being left behind like dead weight.
Busiris steps up beside me, his gold skin gleaming in the firelight from the swamp. His eyes are fixed on the Hydra, but they’re not awe- or fear-filled. He’s studying it.
“It’s an automaton,” he says.
“No shit.”
He gives me a sideways scowl. “That means there’s a way to disable it.”
“Like an off switch?”
“Perhaps.”
I stare at the mass of heads, trying to look for anything that could help.
It’s tough to stay focused as Albion launches himself at one of the necks and then wraps himself around it, long legs just meeting on the other side.
Bergion is trying to do the same, while Antaeus is scouting for huge boulders on the ground and launching them at the heads trying to pick off the twins.
“I can’t see anything,” I say eventually.
“It’s not going to be a big lever,” Busiris snarls. “It’ll be something sophisticated. Subtle.”
I go back to squinting. Albion is now halfway up the neck, batting at other heads with his barbed club.
Admiration pulses through me, then falters into dismay as Bergion flies through the air toward us, limbs flailing.
He falls with a crash to the ground, and I rush to him. His chest is heaving and he’s groaning.
“He’s alive,” I say in relief.
“This is not the way to win,” Busiris mutters as he comes to stand beside me.
“Unless you have a better plan, I’m not sure what else to try,” I snap as Bergion’s eyes flutter open. I help him to sit up.
“This is a trial set by Athena. Just blindly attacking with brute force like that fool is idiocy,” Busiris says, gesturing at Hercules fighting on the right of the swamp.
Much as I hate Busiris, I think he’s right. I concentrate on the creature, trying to count the heads as I move my gaze across them all.
“Wait a minute… One of the heads is different to the others.”
Busiris looks at me. “What?”
“Look. That one, at the back. The horns are longer and there’s something different about the eyes.” I point, and he squints at the writhing mass of serpent heads.
“It looks the same to me.”
“No, that head is different from the others. I’m certain of it.”
Before Busiris can respond, there’s a flash of movement to our left. I spin, embarrassing levels of hope that it’s Evadne rushing me.
I see nothing, though.
“If you’re right, then you need to get to that head.”
“The captain told us to stay here,” I mutter, even as hope flares in my chest.
“Then tell him to get to that head. Although I strongly suspect the sulfur smell is because the swamp is acidic.”
I look at the inky-black liquid, then up at Albion, now almost at the top of the neck he’s climbing, and directly over the swamp. I’ve no idea what he plans to do when he gets there. Bash it with his club, I suppose. If only he climbed the neck that has the different head attached.
“How do we reach it?” I leap to my feet, leaving the stunned giant on the ground. My foot taps, restless energy charging through me as I try to think.
The gold-skinned man scowls. “You can’t, unless you possess the ability to fly…”
He trails off, and we stare at each other as the same thought strikes.
“We need a longboat,” we say in unison.