Chapter 35
The Gryphon had done a thorough sweep of the surrounding area in the darkness and declared it safe, and I trusted him with my life. Cy and the pack would also keep an eye on the grounds and village, both day and night. Somehow, this diminutive woman had earned their loyalty.
She had that effect. Even I felt protective of her now, and I’d done my best to ignore her existence completely. It was the weave pushing us together, destiny trying to tie us in knots to complete whatever it decided we needed. Who knew which Fates had set this in motion. The ones who were in power during my birth and rise to Godhood? The Norns? The Moirai? That was the thing about fate; sometimes it left you with more questions than answers.
I led Wren over to the tapestries that hung on the wall, depicting battles and wild monsters, fantastical creatures and brave heroes. They looked like picture books, but they were our history, and I kept them here as a reminder of what failure could mean: to my people, to my friends, and to me. This one in particular was painful for me to look at, even after all this time.
“I don’t know how much the others have told you about how things were… before.”
She wet her lips, looking up at me with those soft eyes and shaking her head. “Uh, not a whole lot. Just little bits here and there.”
I nodded, because I understood. No one wanted to drag up ancient history, especially when it was painful. “Before, we were the deities in a reasonably simple faith. We all worshiped the Goddess, even me.” I’d loved her too, but it was in the way a blind man loves the sun. Before her, there was no one and nothing but darkness. “She was a beautiful, benevolent Goddess who believed in feasts, plenty, and very few sacrifices. She had this tiny island domain, with the humans and the Minotaurs, who all prayed to her. She didn’t want to expand her reach. She just wanted to look after her people.”
And me.
“When the new Greeks overthrew the old, we didn’t worry too much. They went west and took Italy, and we thought they’d continue that way. They had an appetite for war and games, and we just… didn’t. We were floating out here in the middle of the ocean, geographically close but too small to conquer. We met with the big ones, Zeus and some of the other Olympians, including Hera, and he and the Goddess came to an agreement. We would let his people come and go, and he wouldn’t try to subsume us.
“The Fates were with him, all the time weaving and seeing, and seeing and weaving.” Anger bubbled up in my chest. “These supposedly impartial crones.” I wanted to rage at the very thought of those so-called Gods who’d visited us, with their charming smiles and electric energy. The Goddess had been completely taken, of course; they were beautiful and charismatic. But something about them had sat wrong with me.
I could tell Wren wanted to hold me, her fingers clenching at her sides until she clasped them in front of her. I wouldn’t admit it, but I wanted her to hold me too. When was the last time anyone had comforted me? But I wouldn’t risk tying myself to her, or worse, not being tied to her. That possibility somehow seemed worse than tying our fates together—what if I hadn’t been deemed worthy of protecting her?
Shaking my head, I went back to my story. My history. “The new Gods left, and we went back to life for another century. It was business as usual, except for a few visits from the mainland, and the humans sending sacrifices to the Minotaurs.” I scoffed, because that really had been the most insane thing. Minotaurs didn’t even eat meat in the bull form.
“But one day, an Oracle arrived at the Goddess’s Temple, seeking an audience. It was quite unusual for an Oracle to travel from Delphi. We didn’t have experience with them; there’d never been one on the island. They didn’t figure in our worship. This one didn’t waste time on niceties either. As soon as she sat, her eyes went white, and she said, ‘The tail is bitten. Storm clouds rise. Arms and hearts will be sacrificed.’
“That was it. She woke up, gave us a sheepish expression because she couldn’t remember her vision, just knew she needed to deliver one to us. She left after that, and we were so confused about what this child—she would only have been about fourteen—was trying to tell us.” It had sounded like gibberish.
“We decided to ignore it, because what did it even mean? It’s the greatest regret of my life that I didn’t listen. Didn’t try to decode her prophecy.” Hindsight was a vicious bitch. “She meant we were at the end of an age. She meant a war was coming. That we’d need to fight, and to do so, we’d need an army. But we didn’t listen and had none of that. So when the war came, we were defenseless.”
I pointed to the tapestry. It showed the great battle, hundreds of Minotaurs charging, the Gryphon in the sky, the Goddess’s snakes pouring across the ground. Everything fought. Human men against Gods. “We fought, of course. And we lost. However, the Minotaur king at the time, Catreus, and his advisor put forward a rather drastic solution. He would sacrifice some of his people to create a ward around the island to keep out this invading Pantheon, and the Goddess would use her magic to create it.
“She argued against it. Milo, who had been given the title of the Great Bull, raising him to his own Demigod-hood, also protested against it. But as more and more of us died, she relented. They performed the magic needed to create the ward. But instead of sacrificing some of the Minotaurs, it sacrificed them all, except Milo.”
Wren gasped, tears pouring down her face, like she could feel his heartache. But I doubted anyone could have understood the depth of his pain that day. He still felt echoes of it, thousands of years later.
“The magic worked. A barrier was formed. They couldn’t cross onto the island, but by extension, we could never leave. Our fortress became our prison.” I let out a shuddering breath. “The Goddess couldn’t live with the sadness of what she’d done. For so long, there were only a few families of shell-shocked humans left on the island. Her snake companions had died in the war. So many had died in the war. No one worshiped her anymore. She faded from us within centuries of the ward going up. Erus learned what he needed to maintain and enhance it before that, though, and we’ve managed to keep it strong all these years since.”
“Demke…” Wren said in a soft voice, still crying sadly. “I’m so sorry.”
She was staring at the tapestry on the wall. Slain bodies of animals that fought for their Goddess, of Minotaurs and men. The tapestry had been woven by one of the widows, and it was aptly named The Massacre. It had been left on our doorstep, not as a tribute, but as an accusation. The already fading Goddess had made me hang it, and I’d never removed it. It was a penance that I looked at every day, so I knew my failures.
Clearing my throat, I turned back to her. “So I want you to know why we are so willing to fight for you, for the babies. You are our revenge. You are our penance. You are our chance to rewrite history. We will fight, and we will win. A new age will come, and I know you will raise these infants—if they are the Fates—with empathy and compassion. They will not be the power-hungry Moirai, weaving the threads in a way that fits them.”
I stepped forward. I couldn’t resist this anymore. I needed this; I could feel the Great Weaver pushing me to do it. Grasping her hands, I pulled her tightly to me. “You will birth a better age, because you are kind and compassionate. The fruit you bear won’t be rotten.”
She inhaled sharply, her eyes watching something I couldn’t see, but I hoped it was the threads wrapping around us.
I fell to my knees in front of her. “I will protect them until my very last breath, for those ghosts of my past. For my brethren. For you.”
She stared down at me, her eyes impossibly wide. “Demke…” she breathed once more.
I didn’t need to ask if the threads of fate had bonded me to her, because I could feel it in my chest. The aching tug that pulled toward her, even though I was gripping her hands in mine. Like it wanted us to be as close as can be.
“Do you accept my arms to help you weather this storm? Do you accept my heart to help you be triumphant in this battle?”
She was nodding, but she looked shell-shocked. I didn’t blame her. I hadn’t known I was going to do this when I led her in here, but it felt so right.
“You need the words out in the universe, Wren.”
I could feel the others gathering behind me in the hall, because it felt significant. Some moments felt electric, like they were important points in the tapestry, a place where the pattern could continue, or it could shift into something new. This was one of those moments. I could feel it.
She lifted a hand to cup my face. “I accept your help, Demke. I need it.”
Tension that had been straining in my shoulders relaxed, and I sighed as rightness washed over me. I’d been holding myself separate ever since she’d arrived, not realizing how much effort it was taking me to defy fate. But this was the moment. I felt it in my chest.
She was still staring down at me. “Can I, uh, hug you now? Because I think I need one.”
Laughter bubbled past my lips, and the sound shocked me. How long had it been since I laughed? I stood and wrapped her in my arms, like I could protect them purely in the shelter of my body.
I looked back at the others, and Teron inclined his head. His approval was as clear as day. Teron had been my touchpoint for so long, that if he thought it was right, that was the last reassurance I needed. The others all looked various shades of happy and content, like it was inevitable, except the God of War.
He looked worried. I understood it. I was worried too.
I inclined my head at him, out of respect. Out of brotherhood. He had to know that I would protect them with my life now. I would stand shoulder to shoulder with him against anything that might hurt them.
He dipped his chin at me, but then turned and left. I would talk to him tomorrow, once we’d all had a chance to sleep.
For the last time, I silently prayed to my Goddess, who had been faded and gone for so long now, I could barely remember her face.
Goddess, give me the strength to protect them in a way that I couldn’t protect you.
And just like the last thousand times I’d prayed to her, there was nothing but an aching silence.