13
Just before sunset, twenty-five contestants leave our small houses, cross the sandy strips tethering us to the island, and make our way to the top of the eastern and western twin staircases where we’re greeted by the scents of cooked venison, roasted vegetables, honeyed bread, and flowery wine, and the sound of a beautifully plucked harp.
Niall is dressed in a dark-as-night black suit, his shirt and tie crafted to match. Noticing my new prosthesis immediately, he walks over with a grin. “Your visitor brought a gift, I see.”
“I didn’t peg you for a nosy neighbor,” I tease.
My beautiful, strong prosthesis made climbing the steps feel like walking on air. I move the skirt of my dress so he can appreciate the craftsmanship.
“Wow. It’s a work of art.” He studies how the metals ebb, flow, meld and part. But soon his eyes track upward, tracing my gown’s movement as it clings to my hips, dips in at my waist, flares around my breasts and cinches at my neck where pearl buttons secure it at my nape.
My long, thick hair is in a twist just above it in a style Carina taught me to make and wear before she cut her length in line with her determined chin.
I clear my throat sharply, drawing his attention and a blush to his cheeks.
I fight the urge to remind him that he said he could never want me like this…
The girl in lavender approaches with a feline grin. “The other contenders are wearing their weapons. I’m surprised you left the spear at home.”
I give her a bland smile, wholly unimpressed.
She’s taller than me by a foot, and even taller than Niall by a few inches. “Won’t you introduce us, Niall?”
I didn’t realize the two of them had become so friendly.
Niall shifts uncomfortably. “Callalie, this is Veronia. Veronia, this is Callalie.”
I offer my wrist, ready to take hers, but she doesn’t lift her hand.
“You’re still unchampioned,” she says distastefully instead.
I let my hand fall to my side.
As much as I want to hate this girl, I appreciate her candor. At least she doesn’t try to conceal her hatred. She won’t be a false friend, because she won’t be a friend at all. “Who selected you?”
She raises her chin. “My champion is Devana the huntress, Slavic goddess of the wilderness.”
She stares at me expecting… what? Applause? A fight? I’m happy to disappoint.
“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” I lie when I notice Koda standing alone nearby wearing not ivory, but a daring shade of red.
Koda’s hands are clasped behind his back. His face brightens when he notices me approaching. “Callalie!” he greets, stretching his back to stand a little taller.
“Red looks incredible on you, Koda.” I hug him when he opens his arms in invitation. Relief courses through me. He’s been chosen and now has one less obstacle to overcome.
Koda will make it to the games if we can get him through the trials.
He beams as I pull away. “You look lovely, Callalie.”
“Who’s your champion?”
His eyes sparkle. He taps a finger to his shirt, hinting. He wears crimson slacks and a matching dashiki with embroidery flowing over his shoulders and down the center of his chest. In the black thread, webs are woven and spiders crawl.
My jaw drops. “Anansi?”
“You’re as clever as Carina was!” he laughs. “I figured you’d recognize his handiwork.”
Anansi is a trickster god, and while I’m excited that Koda attracted him, I’m also nervous. In the tales I’ve heard he’s smart, cunning, and sometimes selfish. But who knows? Anansi’s tricks may come in handy. This is a game, after all.
“I’m so happy for you,” I tell him.
Anansi was waiting for him on the landing earlier this evening and immediately offered to champion him.
I don’t see the trickster. “Is he inside?”
Koda points to the temple’s billowing fabric. “He is, but I wanted to wait for you.”
I understand why Carina loved this man. “Who helped you climb the stairs?” He nods to Niall, still standing with the wretched Veronia. “Was his sweet friend with him?”
His smile thins. “Unfortunately.”
Niall and Veronia assess everyone who passes them like they are allies making a game plan. And then I realize they are.
August strides from around the temple’s side, raking fingers through his wind-tousled, golden hair. Our pale clothing still matches.
He congratulates Koda on his new champion with a broad smile. Koda makes him guess who it is, too, offering me a proud wink when he taps his shirt’s embroidered pattern again.
August’s sleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing veined forearms. The buttons closest to his neck are undone to reveal a toned chest. At each of his sides, the shirt is slit.
Slivers of tan skin can be seen when he moves to clasp wrists with Koda and happily claps his back.
His matching linen pants catch the breeze.
A simple pair of leather sandals rests on his feet.
I lean in. “I met our friend in lavender.”
Koda and August immediately glance over at her. She notices and sneers back in reply.
“She seems nice,” August says with a chuckle.
“Her name’s Veronia and she’s championed by Devona.”
Koda nods. “One of the huntresses.”
“She noticed I didn’t bring my spear tonight,” I tell them.
“She’ll try to take it,” August warns.
“Let her.”
His eyes glint with mischief. “Where’d you hide it?”
I wink. “Not even my allies know.”
A horn is blown from within the temple as we’re called inside to the feast. August holds up the swath of sheer fabric to allow us under, dropping it before Niall and Veronia catch up. The lavender-clad contender tosses the panel aside with a frustrated growl.
A throaty laugh bubbles from my chest.
Was it petty of him? Yes.
Do I approve? Heartily.
In the center of the temple, two long tables run parallel to each other, laden with a glorious bounty.
Steaming platters with cuts of venison, pork, mutton, goat, and boar.
Mussels, oysters, squid, perfectly seared fish, and eel.
Cooked vegetables with herbs sprinkled atop them. Freshly baked loaves of bread.
There are crocks full of fresh honey and butter.
Plates of figs, olives, pomegranates, grapes, and apples.
Bowls of horta – wild greens drizzled with olive oil – Cillian’s favorite, which he sometimes gets to enjoy when his master treats his protégés with Olympian fare to celebrate small victories during their jobs.
In my gut, I feel a stab of guilt because Abuela and Cillian have never eaten anything as grand as this. I wish I could send some of it back home to them. No doubt, plenty of it will be wasted.
The divine still interested in seeking a mortal to champion wait for us on the other side of the tables. Ares towers over all of them. He stands with Athena, whose sharp gray eyes waste no time flaying me in a dozen ways.
Of the Greeks present, only Demeter, Poseidon, Helios, and Apollo are missing. Hera watches Zeus laugh after finishing the ambrosia in his cup. Given the ruddiness in his cheeks, it’s not his first.
Morrigan is across the room with her husband, Lugh, and the lovely Brigid, goddess of protection and poetry. Her hair is long, curled, and as red as her forge’s glowing coals. Brigid meets my stare and nods, acknowledging me – her descendant. Her blood.
I nod back.
Slender Anansi laughs with Ogun, African god of war, metal work, and craftsmen.
Ogun is enormously muscled but smiles genuinely as he scans the room.
He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, and he’ll want someone with callouses.
I used to have plenty, but in the past several months, they’ve faded away.
Thoth and Isis are still here, as are deities from the Norse, Inuit, Mesopotamian, Chinese, and Japanese pantheons. Devona, Veronia’s champion, stands with the powerful Polynesian sea god Kanaloa and the fiery, stunning Pele.
Hermes greets the throng. “Mortal friends, prospective heroes, and survivors of the first trial, we welcome you. If you are unchampioned, please take your seats, saving a space between yourselves.”
The gods will be sitting between us?
“The champions and their mortals will dine here.” He gestures to a smaller table I hadn’t noticed beyond the two massive ones.
Koda pats my shoulder, and August’s. “I’ll see you after the meal.”
“Of course,” I tell him, wishing he wasn’t seated separately.
August leans down to whisper, “This should be interesting.”
I inwardly groan. “It certainly should be.”
I start toward the table, stilling when August gently fists the back of my dress to stop me. Shivers spread across my skin and I look back over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“What are you wearing?” He grins, eyes sparkling like the sea.
My heart stutters and my breathing turns ragged. “I… A dress?”
He laughs, relaxing his hand and smoothing the fabric. “I’m talking about what’s under the dress.”
My mouth goes dry.
His brows raise pointedly and he flicks his eyes down to my prosthesis, which is on display through the fabric’s slit.
Oh! Oh, gods… I’m a moron.
“Oh, this? It’s new,” I babble.
“Yes, I see that.” His eyes narrow, then glint mischievously. “What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing.” I hurry to a chair near the end of the table.
August scoots it in for me and heads to my left, leaving a seat between us for a deity. I never imagined I’d ever be grateful for divine interference until this moment.
August’s arm drapes over the empty chairback as he smirks at me. My ally won’t let this go as easily as I’d hoped.
The meal gets worse when the chair between us is pulled back and Ares settles into it, swallowing every inch of available space with his ire and ego.
“Good evening, August. Callalie,” Ares greets with a sly smirk.
I fight the urge to scream.
The seat on my right is taken by none other than grizzled Susanoo of the Japanese pantheon.
The divine son of two gods, Susanoo was punished for being too entitled.
Cast away from his parents, he found himself, matured, and saved his people by slaying an eight-headed serpent who was feeding on them.