10
Ididn’t know how to prepare for today’s trial, so I dressed for battle.
My hair is braided down the back of my head, secured in a ponytail at my nape. In it, I thread two short quetzal feathers, one brighter green than the other.
A pale bodysuit with patterns of dotted lines stretches over me from neck to wrist to ankle. My natural foot is bare, and I can only hope the fabric of the suit keeps the knee of my prosthetic free of sand, debris, and blood.
This competition is just another of Ares’s futile wars. This time, he declared it not on the deities who pissed him off, but on any mortal he considers a threat, bloodlines be damned.
Before I left for Morrigan’s army, I asked Abuela why the gods fight one another.
As she worked the tangles from my long, damp hair, she told me that some people thought the wars were a way for the divine to amuse themselves, a cure for the boredom that comes with the burden of having an immortal life, but she didn’t completely agree.
She thought it was their way of controlling the mortals in their care.
We wouldn’t squabble amongst ourselves or revolt against them if we were busy trying to stay alive, and too busy fighting for them.
It wasn’t until I fought in one of those wars that I recognized the truth and that Abuela, and everyone else, was wrong. At least in part.
After the battle that changed me forever, I had a long time to think about why it had happened. The answer is deeper, but far simpler I realized.
Monsters like Ares want to make monsters of us. For the divine, immortality is empty.
The gods envy our humanity, how we love and live, because despite their power, they’ll never have what we do. I’m convinced that over the millennia, evil has crept into their hearts. So, they push us to our breaking points and prove it fills ours, too.
After all, they’re right. To protect what we love, we would do most anything. Horrible things. Evil things.
I leave my oikos just as the sun stretches from its watery bed and yawns over the pastel pink sea.
When the golden horn blows from the temple, the tentacle of a great creature slaps the water between my house and Niall’s.
I’m not sure if it senses my presence and finds it distasteful or is spurring me along.
It works.
The paths to our homes are open, so I start down the narrow strip of sand.
Tension hums in the air and goosebumps spread over my skin despite the sun’s warmth. The hinge of my knee still feels okay.
The least Daedalus could offer was better than anything I could have afforded. I’m grateful for his help.
Contenders emerge from their houses, hearing the gods’ call and obeying it.
Niall’s black uniform is tailored and new. He nods in acknowledgement of me and this moment. This is it. The first trial is about to begin. These moments will carry us on to the next, or to our deaths.
Wind catches the feathers in my hair and spins them in circles. They brush my shoulder blades. I’m not sure if Hermes is broadcasting us yet, but if so, Cillian and Abuela will see the familiar green hue and know I’m carrying them with me. They are the reason why I want to win.
Behind me, I hear August speaking with someone.
I turn as he offers help to an older gentleman clad in a fine white suit, whose legs and back are bowed with age. The man’s smile is warm as he takes August’s hand and glances up. His eyes meet mine.
“Hello, young lady,” he greets.
“Hi.” My heart breaks. Why was he nominated for this? What did he do to anger one of the divine? I pause and wait for them to catch up and then walk on the man’s other side to offer my hand. The three of us climb, easing his burden for a time.
“Thank you both,” he wheezes when we reach the landing. “I’m not sure what today will bring. These staircases are trial enough.”
“That they are,” August kindly commiserates, not winded in the least.
The older man’s brown skin is deeply wrinkled, his hair a mixture of salt and pepper. We wait for him to catch his breath.
“My wife – who was my best friend in the world – died last year. And since this old body is starting to give out, I’m ready to go and meet her,” he muses. “But you two have plenty of life left to live. I wish you both luck with the trials and games ahead. I hope you make it through.”
As August and I thank him, I wonder if we can somehow help him survive today or if we should even consider it. It would put us at risk, but beyond such a selfish thought, it seems like he’s made his peace with death.
Even when I was laying on the battlefield bleeding out, I never wanted to die. I had too much to live for. And despite losing my sister, I’ve learned that my heart isn’t just mine; it belongs to the ones I love.
The kind man says my name and his tone pulls me from my thoughts and makes my pulse jump. I search his rich brown eyes, confused. Not because he knows who I am, but because of how he said it. He didn’t speak it the way a stranger might.
“Callalie,” he repeats, “before we go inside, I want you to know something.”
I tilt my head, wondering if I’ve met him and when. I don’t remember his face.
He reaches out to touch one of the quetzal feathers in my hair. “Carina kept one of these feathers on her desk for luck. She talked about you and Cillian all the time.”
“You knew her?” I rasp, fighting the emotion that swells from hearing him speak her name with not only familiarity, but fondness. Respect.
Everyone who knew her couldn’t help but admire her. She was a force of nature. She was a true hero, one to many people who listened to her words and took them into their hearts.
“My name is Koda Zivai.”
A sob tears from my chest and I cover my mouth. My sister adored this man. She thought the world of him. He was her mentor. The one she sought advice from, even if she’d already sought mine. When Koda pulls me into a fatherly hug and pats my back, I try not to break apart.
“I was fortunate enough to be her editor at The Parthenon Press when she was first hired and only writing the occasional assigned article.” He shakes his head with a rueful smile.
“She was so bright. Before I blinked, she’d moved past my desk and far beyond my expertise, but Carina always kept in touch.
She used to bring me a honey cake when your Abuela made extra. ”
I laugh and desperately try to stave the tears, because we never had extra, which meant she gave him her portion and went hungry. Back then, we were spread even thinner than we are now.
My commission might be meager to some, but it’s provided us much more than we otherwise would have had, despite the time away from my family.
And then the truth pierces my gut: Koda’s nomination can’t be a coincidence.
I gasp. “We’re the reason you’re here.”
Koda takes my hand and pats the back of it. “The gods punish who they want, when they want. It’s anyone’s guess as to why, and in the end it doesn’t matter. Not to me, and certainly not to them.” He winks conspiratorially. “Just don’t tell Ares I’m ready to go or else he’ll send me back home.”
“Were you with her during the broadcast?”
I don’t need to clarify which one. He knows. And when he winces, I know I guessed right. But he straightens his back and puffs his chest. “I ran the camera for her. A favor for a dear friend. One I don’t regret in the slightest.”
A favor he will pay for with his life.
“Don’t worry about me, Callalie. Survive this trial, and a god will champion you.” He cranes his neck to look at the towering columns stretching skyward. “Every stage of this is just a move on a gameboard. And games can be won by any player.” Koda turns to August. “Should we go inside?”
The enormous structure throws its shadow over the hilltop. Unlike last night, when music poured from its center, the temple is completely, eerily silent within. The silence is somehow far worse than the noise.
“Do you hear that?” Niall asks, coming to stand with us.
I nod.
“I don’t hear anything,” August quietly observes after a moment.
“Exactly,” Niall agrees.
Koda starts forward, his gait weak and unsteady from the climb. If I can protect him today, I will. I owe him that and much more.
The fabric hanging between the nearest columns reaches out and sweeps sideways to allow us into the hollow heart of the building. Niall jogs in and catches up.
None of the divine or any of the contestants who entered before us are here, though we can hear their voices. In the center of the stone floor, a staircase descends. Instead of plunging into darkness at the bottom, there’s a faint yellow glow.
Koda laughs and shakes his head. “They had us climb all the way up here just to make us climb back down.”
August and I help him down the stairs and come face to face with an activated portal, incandescent and swirling with power.
A single step, and I’m through.
Strong wind pushes plush, silver-bellied clouds across a robin’s egg blue sky. And sky is all I can see, even where there should be the ground in the distance.
“Salt flats,” August says, crouching to rake his fingers over the stark white crystals. “It’s an illusion. The salt’s reflective.”
Anxiety claws at my throat. This is a giant fucking mirror.
We squint against the intense brightness when the clouds move to reveal the sun, further melting the horizon.
Some contenders are already here, and the rest arrive within minutes until all thirty mortals stand on the salt, staring at the illusory landscape.
Will this bright white earth soon be stained red? It’s all I can imagine. How the gods will ruin this beauty or have us do it for them.
At our backs, we hear horses snorting and wheels grinding on the crunchy earth as the animals shift their weight and test the salt under their hooves. Thirty chariots, each drawn by two stallions, wait behind us in a perfect row.
The horses are massive and muscled, pawing at the ground, nostrils flaring. These are Ares’s prized warhorses, bred for battle.
Dread sinks into my stomach. What are we fighting? Or will they make us fight one another?