30
As we sprint down the road in the sweltering heat, the desert is swallowed by layers of towering pines.
“My house!” August breathes, pointing ahead to a sprawling home tucked into the midst of a forest. It’s warmly lit from within, in stark contrast to the cool air swirling around us as we run.
The front door is open, just as mine was.
Inside, portraits lined the walls. Of him, each of his brothers individually, and his family all together.
There were potted plants and rich wooden furniture.
Cozy blankets tossed over the backs of chairs and beautifully stitched pillows everywhere.
His mother sat on a chair, lovely embroidery forgotten in her hands as she watched him strum the guitar from where he sat on the edge of the couch.
He was singing the song he wrote about me.
He played with such conviction, the words and melodies pouring from him like they were always supposed to be his.
You stand unyielding
A conviction in your eyes
Even bruised and bleeding
You are quietly resigned
That whatever fate befalls you
You’ll protect the ones you love
I won’t let you be the unsung hero
Or think you’re not enough
From the ashes on the ground
You will rise up stronger now
Beside me, August watches himself play, and then looks at his mother.
She folded forward, fixed on every word. When he missed a chord, she blinked but quickly fell back under his spell.
A deep crease gradually spread between his mother’s brows.
I haven’t seen his father yet, but he has some of his mother’s features. Most prominently, her blue eyes. Hers are more glacial, but she gave him the depth and hue.
He finished the song and waited for her response. What do you think? his eyes asked.
She carefully put her embroidery on the table, then dragged tears from beneath her eyes. And finally, when she collected herself, told him, “It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks,” he breathed.
“August?” Her quavering voice cracked. His eyes rose to hers. “You can never sing that again.”
August’s head ticked back in surprise.
“Never again, August.” She stood and with a shuddering breath, left the room.
We follow her into the kitchen.
She poured a glass of water and stared out the window into the woods, one hand braced on the counter.
Her fear is a living thing. Even in this mirage, the emotion of that day is real.
A flood of quetzals shriek overhead, flying into the forest.
“We need to run!” August presses.
We leave his mother and home behind, starting down the trail that leads away from the house. As soon as we reach the pines, the scenery changes. Now we’re on the battlefield. In the middle of a bloody war.
I grip my spear. “Get your sword ready, just in case. I don’t trust them not to trick us.”
We’ve been through two mirages so far, but that doesn’t mean this is one.
I see myself in the distance. August freezes when he sees me, too.
I was fighting like hell with a dark-haired young man whose back was to us. He was physically bigger and stronger than me but his arms were weary. Every swing of his sword was slower than the last.
I remember thinking that I just needed to push him harder and get him to make a mistake. Find a way to end this fight so I could reach Niall.
My lover called for help again across the field.
“Why don’t you just give up? You’ve already lost the war!” the guy sneered.
My mouth falls open…because I know that voice. “Elias,” I breathe, jogging to where we grapple.
I try to block one of my blows to defend him from the strike warrior Callalie is about to make, but the spear does nothing.
In the next instant, I thrusted my battle sword into his body just under the breastbone where his silver scar lays.
Elias gasped as I pulled the blade out, his amber eyes wide.
And as blood poured from the wound, blossoming red over his stomach, Elias watched me run across the field, screaming Niall’s name.
Not even a moment later, a horn blew in the distance and I looked up to see Morrigan waving her white flag to concede. A single moment’s difference and I would have stopped fighting Elias, and I wouldn’t have hurt him at all.
The rules of war state that when the white flag flies, you put down your weapons.
If you’re fighting, you stop fighting.
The injured are collected. Then the dead.
But one of Ares’s soldiers ignored the horn and flag. He advanced on Niall.
“Morrigan surrendered. The war’s over!” I yelled as I reached them, but the brute didn’t care.
The Greek soldier prowled forward.
Niall tripped over the body of one of our kern and crashed to the blood-soaked, trampled grass. He stared, his mouth agape, at the deceased woman whose eyes were fixed on the skies. Then he looked up at me, terror in his stare.
Crows already cawed overhead. They landed to pick at the dead he fell beside.
When the Greek soldier brought his sword over his head, determined to bring it down on Niall, Niall did nothing. He was frozen.
I barreled into the soldier’s side. I was smaller than the man but quicker, and Morrigan taught me where to strike to make the most impact. I ducked when he swung his blade and kicked the back of his knees. It felt like striking a tree, but his legs buckled.
He landed on his back, gasping for breath, and clawed the grass for the blade he dropped.
In his eyes was a feral promise. He’d try to kill us the moment he regained the strength and chance. I was ruthless without hesitation, as I had been trained.
I plunged my sword through his throat and the hand he put out to stop me, then stabbed his heart to give him a quick death.
It was more than he deserved for breaking the rules of war.
Warrior Callalie moved to Niall, not realizing that Ares had seen what she did.
August curses when he sees the moment Ares entered the fight.
The Greek god of war strode through the dead and dying, stomping past the mortals crying, screaming, and calling out for him and Morrigan to get to me.
“You killed my soldier after your goddess surrendered!” he bellowed, red cape raging behind him.
I pointed at Niall. “Your man was going to kill this soldier – Morrigan’s – after I told him about the surrender! I was only defending him, and myself. The rules –”
He raised his sword and brought it down. Hard. I deflected the brutal blow and moved farther in front of Niall.
Ares’s eyes narrowed. When he tried to go around me, I realized he planned to slaughter us both. “No!” I blocked another strike. “Get up!” I screamed at Niall. “Get Morrigan!”
But Niall didn’t run. He scooted and scuttled away, leaving me to face Ares alone.
I did all I could to hold off the god of war as he stabbed and cut and sliced, but Niall didn’t even shout for our goddess. “Morrigan!” I yelled. For a second – just one – I looked down the battlefield to see if she heard me, hoping she was on her way to stop this. To intercede and protect us…
Then I toppled sideways as an indescribable, searing pain lanced my thigh. My side and head hit the grass. I curled forward, wondering how deeply his sword cut me, only to see my severed leg lying an arm’s length away.
“Help her,” Ares invited Niall. “Come to her aid. Repay her. It’s the least you can do, worm.”
But Niall shook his head and continued to crawl away.
My hand stretched toward him. “Help me,” I choked.
My lips went numb and my fingers tingled. Every pump of my heart sent more blood pouring from the wound.
My vision blurred, sharpened, then dissolved again as my life drained away. Niall kept retreating. He didn’t yell for help or beg the goddess to intercede. All sound was muffled as Ares came to loom over me.
Suddenly, a night-dark cloud barreled into him, knocking him away. Morrigan gathered me in her arms, and I looked up into the goddess’s furious, beautiful face before I faded away.
Quetzals cry out over our heads, reminding us of the race once more.