Chapter 14 Eleos
Eleos
As a child, waking up in the company of my birth father would have been a blessing. Now . . . I wasn’t so sure. Shifting backward, I leaned against a tree, watching the red-haired man warily.
Father had always meant the Grand Cleric. Not an exceptionally loving man, but he provided my sister and me with everything we could have wanted and more.
Until we’d fallen out.
My left arm hung limp in a sling—broken. A minor injury, considering I’d been almost run over by a spiked chariot. The Oracle’s muse powers had come as a surprise, as had her aid. I only wished I knew where we’d ended up.
Towering brown mountains rose to our west, and plains of sand rolled over hills dotted with broad trees and the occasional pond of reeds. It was like nothing I’d ever seen.
Phaedrus noticed I was awake and returned to my side. “How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful,” I said dryly.
“Good.” He returned to adjusting his leather armor. “The others must be nearby. We should set out.”
“Others?” I echoed.
“We were separated. Either the Oracle intended to divide us into little groups, or her spell went awry.”
I sat forward, and he anticipated my question.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” he warned. “Seraphim and Percy are together.”
Aethra was alone with Seth again—the last possible outcome I could have wished for.
Flinching, I found my footing. Taking a moment to glance over my torn boots and ripped cloak, I sighed.
We’d need new disguises.
I took one step and sank to my knees.
“Careful.” Phaedrus glanced over his shoulder. “You’ve lost quite a bit of blood. Maybe catch your breath first?”
Sitting back, I rechecked the wound—broken and torn open. At least I didn’t rely on it to defend myself.
Phaedrus stood over me, deep blue cape flapping in the breeze. He scanned the horizon vigilantly, watching for threats and allies alike.
“Who was she?” I asked abruptly. “The woman you think I look like?”
Blinking, Phaedrus looked down at me. “Your mother.”
I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. “I think I deserve more than that.”
Sighing, Phaedrus knelt beside me. “She was a stable hand. Her parents were horse masters who had recently moved from Therapne. I won’t lie and tell you she was clever or talented. But she knew how to laugh, and she cared for everything that lived.”
Scanning his thoughts, I found only emptiness. He did not speak out of malice or grief. Not sorrow, or fondness. He spoke objectively, as though reciting history, rather than the path of his life.
“Don’t look at me so,” Phaedrus said softly. “There’s nothing special about Aethra, either.”
“She is to me,” I said through gritted teeth. “And that’s all that matters.”
“How very romantic of you.”
Biting back what I wanted to say, I chose another course. “I know how you think. None of us matters, right?”
“No,” he agreed, standing.
I flinched. Aethra wanted me to win him over, and I wasn’t doing a very good job. Leave it to the con woman to make such a feat sound easy.
Trying again, I raised my head. “You tried to reform Cynthus. What was the final straw that broke you?”
The man froze. His hand curled into a fist at his side and slowly relaxed. “It wasn’t something I did. It was one of my men.” He glanced back. “He hadn’t reported for duty one morning. We found him in his home, the walls covered in the blood of his wife and children.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” Phaedrus turned away. “I think that’s what haunted me most. One day, he killed them all, then himself. And I don’t know why.”
Phaedrus walked away, ascending a hill to get a better view of the surrounding area. Looking down, I wondered if I had any right to condemn the man he spoke of, to feel horror at his deeds.
Dozens had perished by my hand.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I dug my fingers into my upper arm. “What?” I called. “What was her name? At least tell me that.”
Phaedrus turned his head, hesitating. After a moment, he answered, “Pallas,” and turned away.
Finding my feet, I took an uncertain step but kept my balance. Joining Phaedrus by the hill, I searched the dunes and ponds of reeds, hoping to spot familiar faces among them.
Pallas. I committed her name to memory.
The trees rustled behind us. Turning around, I caught a glimpse of whirling fire before it sailed over my head.
Seraphim’s blood scythe impaled itself by Phaedrus’ feet. She marched toward us, a second scythe gripped in her off hand. “Here you are,” she growled.
Holding up his hands, Phaedrus glanced at the scythe. “Two scythes are a bit much, sister. It’s not practical.”
The scythe by Phaedrus’ boots flew from the ground, returning to Seraphim’s outstretched hand. “We’re out of the trials—there’s no more reason to keep you alive.”
Percy chased after Seraphim, clutching his hat to his head. “Who are we attacking? What’s going on?” He glanced first at me, then Phaedrus. “Never mind. Carry on.”
“Wait.” I stepped in front of Phaedrus. “We could use his help, Seraphim.”
“We don’t need it,” she snapped.
“But we do. You heard Seth—the entire country is going to bar our path. We’d be idiots to turn away aid.”
Phaedrus put a hand on my shoulder, stepping out from behind my guard. “I was going to suggest the same. We share a destination—and will face the same opposition.”
Grip on her scythe wavering, Seraphim narrowed her eyes. “Why should I trust you? So you can slit our throats in the night?”
“I’m not an idiot, Sera. I could never get you all before someone woke up.” He spread his hands. “How about this? I’ll keep my mind open for your psyche. Would that be enough?”
Percy shifted from foot to foot. “He has a point. Chthonics are nice to have around.”
Seraphim furrowed her brow at him. “Didn’t you once say one chthonic was more than enough?”
“Well, Seth is my friend, so he doesn’t count. And you’re you, so you don’t count.” Percy tapped his fingers. “That only adds up to one.”
I chuckled softly. Percy was simple.
A fifth voice joined our argument. “I think an alliance would be prudent.”
Colors splashed to life beside me as a canvas formed above the sand. The Oracle stepped from its embrace, waving a hand to dismiss the portal behind her. Clasping her hands on the stomach of her silken gown, she smiled at me.
Dropping her scythe, Seraphim lowered her guard. “Forgive my earlier insults. You came through.”
“I don’t blame your hesitance. I need the crown to believe I am one of them.”
“Why?” Percy asked.
“Because she’s working with the insurgency,” Seraphim said. “She’s their ally on the inside.”
The Oracle smiled. “For now, everything is going to plan. No witnesses saw my canvas. They presume escape was one of your doing.”
“Good,” Seraphim said. “We could use your help.” She grabbed her injured arm, as if only just remembering it. “We’re much further north than before.”
“We’re near the city of Ma’at. I thought it would be the safest place to regroup.”
“I sure hope so.” Percy rubbed his elbow, flinching. “We haven’t stopped to rest since . . . since we started walking, back in Ikaria.”
Worried, I tilted my head, listening to Percy’s thoughts. His illness was acting up, and he hurt more than he let on. Without proper rest and care, his degeneration would accelerate.
“Wait.” I studied Cerys’ face. “Where are Aethra and Seth?”
She sighed. “I had to dismiss my spell before someone saw. Seth’s subconscious affected it before the magic faded. I think it took them to Naunet.”
“Why?” Percy asked. “Seth like that place or something?’
“Because his dog was there.”
“And,” I said, “you think they’re safe?”
“Most likely. Seth is smart enough to know to leave with all haste.” Cerys said.
“Then we go to Ma’at,” I said. “Seth already suggested as much—he’ll bring Aethra there.”
“Hm.” Seraphim jerked her head. “Stay in the front, Phae. Where I can see you.”
Phaedrus gestured to the Oracle. “Point the way.”
“Align yourself with the mountain’s peak.”
Following her hand, Phaedrus trotted down the hill, waiting for Seraphim to catch up before proceeding.
I started following, but stopped. Seth knew how to navigate this country because he was the prince.
Weasel.
Percy and I fell in step with the Oracle. While he looked her up and down, summoning the courage to speak, I asked a burning question. “You spoke of an insurgency?”
“Yes.” The Oracle nodded. “Many rebellions have risen and fallen over the course of Duath Nun’s history. The last . . .” Her gaze drifted to Seraphim before snapping back to my face. “Life is cruel to many in this place. When you reach Ma’at, I will show you how.”
So that’s how they knew one another. Seraphim seemed precisely the type to join a losing battle.
“I sensed it in Naunet,” I said. “Something is wrong here.”
“It’s nothing magical, if that’s your intent,” she said softly. “People simply have no hope.”
Percy found his voice. “What’s an insurgency?”
“The Merchant Isles haven’t seen one in decades,” I explained. “Insurgents hide in the shadows, working in small cells to destabilize their rulers.”
“Oh! So kind of like thieves, on a heist.”
“Sure, Percy. That works.”
The Oracle smiled, chuckling. “Allowing you to reach the Acheron will throw the kingdom into disarray. It just might be the advantage we need.” Her mouth drew into a thin line. “I cannot accompany you for long. My escort will grow suspicious.”
“But you’ll help us? And you’re a . . . goddess or something, right?” Percy’s hat slid down his face, and he flipped it back up. “Great! So, uh, can we call you Cerys or . . .?”
“I am not a god,” Cerys said. “And I would like to be called by my name again. Set was the only one who did.”
“It’s a beautiful name,” Percy said dreamily. Clearing his throat, he straightened his back. “Ever wanted to learn about the Merchant Isles? Or maybe you’d like to hear about Seth’s misadventures? I am a bard, you know.”
“Oh.” Her eyes lit up. “You’re a muse, too, aren’t you? Catch me up on the past ten years. Set will never tell me himself.”
“I never would have guessed you were one, too.” Percy blanched, regretting his words. “I mean, not to say—”
“I’ve hidden my hobby for decades. I’m glad you didn’t guess.”
“Oh. Well, in that case.” Fixing his hair, Percy launched into his performing tone, where he spoke with elegance he could not muster elsewhere. Tilting my head, I noticed an unexpected light in the Oracle’s eyes.
She found him terribly amusing. A smile tugged at her lips, and she listened eagerly.
Reading the air, I fell behind, giving them space. The slower pace was welcome. Everything still hurt.
Focusing on Phaedrus’ back, I mulled over Aethra’s insistence that the man Seraphim remembered was not fully gone and could be revived. If he left his mind open to me, perhaps I could find the thin threads leading him to our side and pull him back.
Long ago, I’d been a monster myself. I liked to think I wasn’t anymore.
When we reunited, I would come clean to Aethra about my past. All of us had hidden ourselves away, terrified of the others’ reactions, frightened to relive our traumas. But we needed to trust one another. Phaedrus was right.
Psyches could control people, pull them like puppets on strings. One by one, I’d led men I hated into the Empty, searching for a means to step into its bounds and survive.
A fate they deserved, I told myself. A cause worth sacrificing for.
But I’d taken pleasure in their pain. In the control I wielded over them.
I’d felt those wretched yearnings for the first time in almost a decade, when Seth had fallen to his knees, bending under my will. I’d made him understand true suffering.
A splash of red caught my eye, and I stopped. A flowering plant poked out from the sand, round and squat. Kneeling with some difficulty, I touched its strange, rough surface and inhaled, pulling my finger back. The thing was covered in prickly spikes.
Retrieving a dagger from my belt, I struggled to cut a chunk of it loose with the use of only one arm. Sandaled feet appeared beside me. The Oracle lifted her gown and knelt, taking my dagger and cutting the flower for me.
“You like flowers?” She asked.
“No, that’s Lady Aethra’s hobby,” I corrected, taking the cutting. “I’m testing plants for medicinal properties.”
“You’re on the right track,” she said, dusting the sand from her skirt. “This one makes a soothing tea and a poultice.”
Glancing behind her, I saw Percy talking to Seraphim. “I’m looking for a cure,” I admitted. “Do your people know of a disease that causes the muscles to atrophy?’
“ . . . Yes.” She nodded. “It withers them unto death.”
“But can you . . .”
Cerys’ eyes darkened. “We can bring them comfort, prolong their life. But, no, we know of no cure.”
A flash of rage burned in my chest, and I shoved it back. “Maybe you simply haven’t discovered it yet.”
Shoving the cutting into my bag, I walked around her.
“Eleos,” Cerys called. “Some things are not worth hoping for.”
“Everything is worth hoping for,” I called back.
Biting my lip, I turned around. Hope had brought us this far. It would bring us unto the end.
For if we lost hope . . . what would we have left?
Ruin. The same kind Phaedrus wanted to bring about.