20
It’s the morning of the third trial, and August promised to hurry back when he left to take my spear to Koda’s house. With it, Koda will have a way to defend himself until we reach him.
I told August I would be at my oikos… I need to see my sister.
When I look at her face on the mural today, something is different. Something has shifted within me. What once felt like a sharpened blade cutting into my heart, is now a gift.
I touch my feathers, wishing I had a third. I’m fighting for her, too.
My fingers drift over her hair, her unscarred cheek and chin. The plaster is cool and brittle to the touch.
I needed to be reminded.
Needed to remember the freckles that flowed from the bridge of her nose onto her cheeks – like mine, but more bountiful.
Our lips have the same bow, but hers were paler, while mine are a deeper shade of pink.
Her jaw was a little squarer, and her brows carried a thinner arch.
Our hair is sable, but she cut hers short while I kept mine long.
I miss you.
I’ve avoided mirrors since the day she died because whenever I looked in them, all I could see was her. And all I could feel was the loss of her and all the dull, empty places she once vibrantly filled.
Each time I looked at my reflection, I ignored how different we were. I forgot how those differences mattered in ways glass and frescos can’t reflect.
A memory surfaced this morning. And though I remembered what we were talking about and the clear sound of her voice and how properly she pronounced everything I didn’t, I couldn’t picture how she sat in her bright yellow chair at our table that day.
Did she tuck one leg beneath the other? Cross them? Hug a knee to her chest?
I can’t remember her posture.
The advice she’d given me that day was something she’d repeated many times over. Probably because I’m stubborn and take a long time to learn simple lessons. And possibly because she saw and realized how different we were.
I was impulsive. My temper often flared. During those moments, I’d say things I didn’t mean or something I shouldn’t have and then feel horrible about it after I calmed down.
The morning that kept replaying in my head was one of those mornings.
I was slumped at the table, feeling awful because Abuela had mentioned our mother and I snapped at her.
I always forgot that the woman who abandoned us was also her daughter, and that good mothers never stop loving their children.
Abuela was one of them, even if our mother wasn’t.
My words were cruel and callous.
Carina brought two cups over to the table. Each held a slice of lemon and a drizzle of honey. She went back for the kettle when it whistled and sat down with me.
I waited for her to tell me what I already knew. I shouldn’t have talked to our grandmother like that. It wasn’t her fault our mother left. Abuela had taken care of us when she didn’t have to, simply because she loved us. It was okay if she still loved her.
Just like it was okay if we hated our mother, and somehow still loved her at the same time. And it was okay that our feelings about her were confusing.
Carina poured hot water into my cup, then hers. She swirled her spoon around the steaming liquid to mix everything as best she could. Then she said, “I work hard to polish the parts she broke in me – to make sure I’m nothing like her.”
I pushed my lemon in circles, knowing what she was saying. I’m too much like her.
“Always, always count to three and think of what you’re about to say before you say it, Callalie. Count before you do something, so you have time to consider the consequences.”
My fatal flaw is impatience. I can never seem to wait that long.
My sister, though. She thought everything through.
I thought it was innate until that day. Until I saw how hard she tried to rein in her emotions and become something better. I watched her polish that still-rough spot within herself.
The way Elias thinks reminds me of her. Not in its creative gruesomeness, but the way she would find a dozen ways to solve whatever she faced, starting with what she thought would work best and working through the list until the solution ended the matter.
I stare at my sister’s likeness and smile at the comparison of the two of us to lionesses. Carina had the heart of one. A huntress who considered the most efficient way to surprise her prey before pouncing. And if I’m going to make it to the games, I need to start thinking like her.
I push my hair back, holding it at bay. Oh, Carina. Mi carnalita.
She knew what would happen when she wrote the script she read and telecast to the world that day.
And when she enlisted others like Koda for help, she’d considered the repercussions.
She knew anyone who helped her might be punished along with her.
I can picture her listing her worries to Koda and waiting for him to decide if helping her, and fighting for me, was worth it.
He’d decided that we were worth any punishment the gods meted. He’s not even angry or surprised he’s here.
Today’s trial might start individually, but I’ll do everything in my power to find him as soon as I can and protect him from those consequences. It’s the least I can do to thank him.
But how have I thanked my sister?
I look at the feline ferocity in her eyes, remember that determined, intelligent stare, and wonder what she would do next.
Since she died, I’ve done nothing to prove that the words she said to the world about me were true. I haven’t been a hero. I haven’t been someone worth fighting or dying for. And I’m ashamed.
But today I have another chance to be the hero she saw in me when I couldn’t see her in myself and earn the admiration and anger she poured out on my behalf.
For the first time since her death, I want to live.
So, I’ll remember her advice. I’ll count to three. Think. Weigh. Measure. Then speak or act. I’ll try to be the person my sister knew I needed to become.
I smooth a hand over my stomach. The ivory bodysuit I found in the pile of Akira’s pale dresses is like the one I had before Torsten shredded it, but with different patterns of waved lines that ebb and flow over hollows and curves like layers on a topographical map.
I move to the door and open it, leaning against the frame and watching silver clouds race across the sky, smelling the scent of rain as August jogs down the sand path, looking troubled.
“He didn’t want the spear?” I guess, speaking of Koda.
August is barefooted, wearing a white tee shirt and shorts.
Agitated wind tears at his hair and clothes, the cotton fluttering over his taut stomach.
In any other place, one would assume he’s spending some down time at the shore.
“Niall and Elias helped me convince him to take it. They’ll make sure no one steals it from him before the trial. ”
I wish we didn’t need to worry about such things. Torsten has already stolen a sword, but that doesn’t mean he won’t rob Koda, given the opportunity.
“Is that what’s wrong?” I ask.
His hands bracket his hips. “Koda is sick.”
Fear grips me. “What are his symptoms?”
“He’s feverish. Chills. Short of breath.”
He was fine last night. “We have to do something.” I’m already pushing past him.
August braces an arm on the door frame to block me and leans in, whispering, “Niall called for Morrigan. She came but couldn’t help him directly because of the rule, but… Anansi got word of his condition and sent a healer.”
“What did the healer say?”
“He gave Koda some kind of tonic to treat his fever and said he should rest today.”
But he doesn’t have the option to skip one of the trials.
August turns to follow my gaze to the hill and the massive marble structure crowning it. “Anansi made a portal from Koda’s oikos to the temple so he doesn’t have to climb all those stairs. It’ll help.”
I wish he’d had one from the start.
“He promised to carry the spear, Cal. I just don’t know if he’s in any shape to use it if it comes down to it,” he admits.
“We have to find and help him. As soon as it starts. As soon as we can.”
August nods. “Elias and Niall plan to do the same. I’m sure Ulani and Vailea will, too. And Taeniset. We just can’t predict how far away he’ll be, or what’ll be standing between us and him.”
How will the gods punish us for helping him or from deviating from their plan? I may not be as imaginative as my sister and Elias, but horrors flood my thoughts.
“What are you thinking?” August asks, taking hold of my hand.
I try to smile. “Just worrying in advance.”
His dark brows kiss. He studies my hand in his, then glances up to catch my waiting stare. “Whatever happens, I’m glad for the time spent with you.”
I gently push his chest, watching his shoulder bend back then rebound. “Careful. That sounds a lot like ‘goodbye’.”
He guffaws.
August is one of the most earnest people I know, and I’m grateful for the time spent with him, too. I just can’t tell him that without crying or letting doubt cloud the ambition I’ve built.
I hold my arms open, hoping for a hug.
When he wraps strong arms around my back and gathers me to him, I bask in the feeling and take a long while to enjoy it before pulling away.
“When you get back, maybe you can play me the heartrending song Aphrodite mentioned last night.”
For a heartbeat, August’s hands stiffen on my back. “What?”
I laugh. “Do you know which song she was talking about? Or are all of them sorrowful now?”
He’s quiet for a second. “I think I know the one.”
Close to midday, we start our hike to the temple. With each step, staircase, and landing we reach, I tell myself that I can survive this individual portion. I will find Koda and I will help and protect him. We’ll make it through today. All of us.
As we reach the hilltop, Hermes flies overhead, carrying a brass horn. The sound carries for miles.
A small, shimmering portal no larger than a bedroom door appears before us, and Koda steps through it using the spear as a cane.
His blood red robes are thick, but not thick enough to stop his shivering, especially in the winds swirling around the hilltop.
His cheeks are flushed and his breathing is labored.
A coughing fit seizes him as we duck into the temple.
“I don’t want to get you sick,” he worries.
“We’ll be fine.” I hope my words can soothe him and give him the hope he needs to endure this next trial. “We just need to get through this so you can go home and rest.”
“The portal wouldn’t work for Niall and Elias,” he laments.
I give him my arm. “That’s okay. They’ll be here soon.”
With our help, Koda shuffles toward the center of the space where the steps to the portal wait. It’s already glowing. Hermes doesn’t return to the temple. Ares doesn’t even show up.
It seems we can enter the trial whenever we’d like.
Ulani and Vailea arrive, both in the same light, leather armor they wore yesterday; his is bronze and hers is stark white. Vailea holds her long, thin sword and Ulani grips his trident.
Another coughing fit seizes Koda.
I silently look from them to our ill friend, pleading, and they nod, understanding and wordlessly agreeing to help if they can, as soon as they’re able.
Tae strides across the room, cutting through other contestants, championed and not, to reach us.
The Norseman prowls into the temple behind Tae, tossing aside the fabric panel stained with Akira’s blood. He’s in head-to-toe gray and silver, but he’s not wearing Freyja’s cape. Did she think it would slow him down today?
“Did anyone ever learn where our Norse friend got his sword?” I ask my allies.
Elias jogs up with Niall and snarls, “It was mine. I’m not sure when or how he got his hands on it, though.”
I have a sneaking suspicion. “Did you hide it in your oikos?”
He nods. “Under my bed.”
We all groan. That’s the first place a thief would look.
“What? It wouldn’t fit in the chest. The blade was too long.”
“He would’ve looked there, too. You should’ve buried it in the sand,” I tell him.
His shoulders fall and he curses. Colorfully. “Is that where you hide the spear?”
I shrug. I’m not about to divulge that piece of information in case he’s spying.
“Hey, Callalie!” A twenty-something unchampioned guy walking with Thoth’s mortal, Yuuki, cups his hands around his mouth and playfully yells from across the temple.
“Don’t fuck this trial up for the rest of us like you did the feast last night.
Some of us had almost secured a champion!
” He turns to his friend, laughing as he pinches two fingers together and laments, “I was this close.”
I laugh, tossing him an exaggerated pout. “Does your lover say that a lot?”
Elias cackles as he dramatically offers in an array of voices, “I was this close!”
“I walked into that one. Well played, Ryan,” the guy concedes with a smile, hands up as a chorus of laughter and taunts erupts.
I hope every mortal in the arena is chuckling, and every god watching from their luxurious box bristles at the sight of us teasing one another instead of looking afraid.
Niall and Elias help Koda down the steps. Tae, August, and I descend behind them.
Torsten, with his sandy hair braided back crouches on the stone above us, examining his sharpened sword. The edge gleams. He watches Koda descend the steps with the spear and smiles.
We pause at the bottom of the stairs as Koda enters the portal first. Niall follows. Then Elias.
Over Torsten’s shoulder, Veronia, Kallik, and Hazi hover.
Hazi stares at Tae like he might follow her instead of his allies. He goes as far as to move toward her but stops when she flays him with a sharp glare before disappearing into the swirling gold portal.