Perseus awoke to the feeling of being in a bobbing vessel; there was also the occasional thud of footsteps on the deck above him. Though hard to believe at first, he concluded he was on a ship. The smell of the sea was unmistakable.
A power kept his limbs frozen and his voice sealed. They had also covered his head with a sack and stripped him to nothing but his loincloth. At least he could move his head and his senses were complete. If he could speak, he would yell for something to eat. The ripping hunger in his belly was dizzying.
How did they do it?
Seriphos was under the firm control of his uncle; nothing mortal came or went without Dictys’ permission. Yet, his kidnappers had managed to not only kill Antigoni but transport Perseus off the island. They were even powerful enough to dare sea travel.
How would Dictys react to his kidnap? It was easy to imagine Lino's reaction. Lots of tears.
If you succumb to death, weak Linos will take your place in all areas. The memory of his uncle’s words planted dread in his heart. He must find a way to escape if not…
If not what? And what strength would you use to escape?
A pair of haughty eyes—eyes Perseus would never forget—flashed in his mind.
“Do you not see that this is all you amount to?”
Since Perseus could recall, whenever berating thoughts tortured his mind, it spoke with her voice.
“A carrier of Zeus’ blood is now a captive. The weakness of your father’s blood cannot be suppressed after all. Shame!”
Perhaps the voice spoke the truth. The last known ancestor to awaken Zeus’ blood was the Island’s founder. His mother, on the other hand, came from a long line of Argosian royalty. Blood carriers sprung from their family like weeds. Maybe—
Perseus gave his head a sharp shake, desperate to dispel her words. Be quiet, he commanded within the walls of his mind. I am not weak.
Even though Perseus was clueless on how he would achieve it, he swore within himself to escape.
“Open your eyes,” a voice whispered in his left ear.
Perseus whipped his head in the direction as gooseflesh raced across his skin.
“OPEN YOUR EYES, PERSEUS.”
Perseus winced at the sudden loudness of the command. There was venom in their tone—as if they were in a black rage but chose to whisper instead of screech.
Blinking hard, Perseus opened his eyes to a great shock.
Around him was a vast expanse of placid black water. The sky was a deep blue stretch that dipped to a darker hue in the distant horizon, and when he looked ahead, a heavy pressure fell upon him.
Groaning under the crushing weight, Perseus fell to his knees and blinked at the hill of bones.
Black skulls, femurs, and ribs burned like coal, and wafting from the pile was a dark aura. What was even more oppressing—a sight that hurt his eyes to the point of stinging—was the being standing at the crest.
Despite being eaten by terror, Perseus was mesmerised—utterly incapable of tearing his eyes away.
Their body, save for one feminine leg, was hidden in a flowing dark robe. Beneath the shadow of her hood were two glowing blue eyes fixed on Perseus.
Perseus gritted his teeth, struggling against a sharp pain spreading from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck.
She began her descent. Bones clattered, snapped and rolled down the hill as she moved.
Blood dripped down Perseus’ nose and splashed into the water, disturbing its still surface. He blinked at his reflection, surprised at his appearance. Blood streaked down his cheeks like tears, his skin had taken an ashen tone and his eyes were bloodshot and sunken.
A pair of feet stopped within his line of vision, erasing his reflection. Her feet were bare, and thorny black anklets dug into her slim ankles.
For a long moment, she stood over Perseus in silence. And he simply knelt there, possessing neither the physical nor mental strength to lift his head.
“Because of the Monolith, I came upon a knowing when I awoke.” Her voice was hoarse and halting, as if she tasted each word before she spoke it.
Perseus lifted his eyes, only managing to stop his gaze at her midsection.
“I saw you and another. My little catalysts.” She cradled his face, the gentle action at war with that enraged undertone her voice now possessed. “What do you think of Athena?”
Mind blank with pain and terror, no sensible response came to Perseus. He had since accepted that this being was a high goddess, but he remained clueless on how to act. He only knew deities by their names and rumoured appearances, but relying on that knowledge was useless. Deities enjoyed disguising themselves and mingling with humans. Was this Athena?
She gripped his jaw and forced him to meet her eyes.
Death.
This must be what it felt like to look death in the face. The blue glow that once filled her eyes was gone, replaced by a depthless darkness—the yawning maw of final slumber.
I should shut my eyes. Yes, to sleep forever and ever—
“Tell me what you think of Athena, boy.”
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Drowsy, Perseus mumbled the first answers his foggy mind recalled. A mantra every educated child had to learn when memorising the names of deities. “Athena the wise. Benevolent high goddess of Olympus. Daughter of Zeus. Queen of war.”
“You poor, poor fool.” Her hand dropped to Perseus’ shoulder. Hot pain spiked from the spot and jolted him from his slumberous state.
“She’s cunning, that child. A master of deceit.” Bones gathered behind her and formed a tall chair. Settling in, she gazed down at him. “You’re going through the inferno.”
Perseus blinked at her, beyond confused.
“You are a tool—a stud to be trained for premium Olympian entertainment. That mormo and lamias attack.” The corner of her lips dipped as she regarded him. “Athena's sudden interest in your insignificant island. Your current kidnap. And the trials you are about to face in your future. None is a coincidence.”
Denial rose like an iron wall. Lies. Perhaps, he was caught up in a feud among deities. Was she the one who planned his kidnap?
“The only significance you hold in the eyes of Athena and Zeus is the blood you carry. Ah, but I am no different. I intend to use you.”
She peered at Perseus with those glowing eyes.
“Though your blood does help, there is another fire I see in you…” She leaned forward and observed him further with that probing gaze. “Hate so deep and pure.”
She smiled for the first time and it was horrifying, not so much in appearance but in the sinking feeling the sight triggered in Perseus. Shuddering, he looked away.
“I see you, Perseus. I see all there is to you. I know your desires—that assurance of greatness you can't shake off. You feel like you're the one. The chosen.”
Perseus stared at his reflection in the water. She was correct. From the instant he learned he possessed Zeus’ blood, the feeling of being… more clung to him.
“I bring you two choices, mortal.” Her hoarse voice pressed around Perseus like a physical presence. “Follow the path Athena the wise so lovingly laid out for you, or take my hand and I will show you the truth of this world.”
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On silent snow-white wings, Lela swooped down and perched on a sycamore branch. The warm sunlight, gentle early morning breeze and harmonious sound of children singing Athena’s praises should calm her anxiety, but they didn’t. Fear was a wiggling worm in her festering heart.
When Lela released a soundless call, the response was immediate—like a tug from a string tied around her neck. With a thought in Theos tongue, she shifted to her human form and hopped down the branch.
As Lela waited, she took calming breaths and gazed at the imposing structure of Athena’s temple in the foreground. It was a magnificent edifice with towering white marble pillars, sprawling lawns, and the ever-burning basin of fire in the eastern garden. In the rain or winter, the flames remained blue, burning bright and furious.
Even after many years of being a watcher, Lela didn't know which was worse—being a priestess within those suffocating walls or becoming a ‘free’ Owl.
She should be grateful. Priestesses were exposed to more dangers when sent on missions and beast subjugations. Things only got dangerous for Owls if they were discovered. Even if the deity showed uncharacteristic pardon and let them escape with their life, returning to Athena spelt instant death.
The goddess never took kindly to the incompetent, and there was no record of a rogue Owl ever escaping her grasp. All who chose to flee were found and suffered ugly deaths.
Perhaps Phorcys showed mercy by killing Gioti on the spot.
Just last month, they had met at the Ilion temple and Lela had joked about how fortunate Gioti was to be assigned to Phorcys.
“He’s so broody and gentle,” Lela gushed. “And you get to see that breathtaking face every day. Nothing suspicious happens around that god.”
Gioti had huffed and gulped wine from her cup. “Handsome face aside, he is the most boring deity. Watching his wife dote on him as he filled scroll after scroll with meaningless words quickly cured me of my infatuation. And his daughter. Blood! The dull thing is obsessed with the goddess,” Gioti said in a spiteful low voice. “Pitifully ignorant.” She released a dead laugh before her eyes dimmed with sadness. “I loathe being an owl.”
That so-called boring deity killed you, Gioti. Yes, it was mercy, and now you are free.
More memories pressed in as Lela waited for Athena’s summon.
“It is an honour to be an Owl, my daughter. I dare say even more honourable than being a mere blood carrier.”
Lela desired neither, but she lacked the boldness to tell her parents. Such reasoning was best wrapped tightly and buried in the darkest, most forgotten corner.
Come.
Exhaling through her mouth, Lela released her clenched fists and approached the small odeum to her right.
Six girls and four boys between five and twelve years old gawked in her direction. Some stopped singing while the rest continued but still openly stared. Lela could hardly blame them. The slender tall frame, dark grey skin and pin-straight white hair of the Opsianos people never failed to draw attention. Perhaps that was one of the few things she appreciated about being in her owl form—going mostly unnoticed.
A small woman in a white peplos gently touched one of the boys. “You can practise among yourselves while I talk to my visitor,” she said softly. “Zachariadis is in charge.”
Her kind smile lingered as she turned from the children and strolled in Lela's direction. But the closer she got, the faster her smile vanished until nothing but a displeased frown remained.
Lela could hardly blame the goddess for her rage. One of her tools had been killed by a deity under her house.
Gulping down her trepidation, Lela offered a discreet bow. Whenever Athena was in disguise, Owls were to be subtle in their show of respect.
“Walk with me.” When Athena strolled past Lela to one of the secluded gardens in the temple grounds, a faint scent of juniper tickled her nose. Nausea twisted her gut.
In an attempt to tamper any spike in her emotions, Lela steered her thoughts to the woman whose life the goddess had supplanted. It was hardly a surprise. Whenever Athena got bored, she played human. Her latest victim was a simple-faced woman who had been a didaskalos in the temple.
The goddess supplanted the woman last year in the month of the Eagle, taking over her position as a teacher and freely relating with her family. The poor family would never know their real daughter had since been reduced to a pile of ashes.
When Athena settled on a stone bench, she summoned a sound seal. “Tell me everything,” she said in a low voice.
“He got to Phorcys before I could learn anything significant.”
A bright smile lit Athena's face, her otherwise dull eyes sparkling with delight. “Is that so?” She tapped a finger on the stone bench as her eyes danced. “To directly interfere, he must be more bored than I thought. And their mortal child?”
“Phorcys sent her to his sister before the… the cleansing.” The word was vinegar on her tongue.
Athena’s smile vanished. A sudden harshness in the air made the back of Lela’s nose sting.
This was the tricky part. Self-preservation would not let Lela confess she had lost the child’s trail for a full day before she suddenly picked up her location at the Hesperides bogs. Even though the odd phenomenon was no fault of hers, Athena would find a reason to make her suffer for it.
“Is there something else I should know?”
“Nothing,” Lela answered with a meek bow.
Athena cocked her head and pierced her with a probing gaze.
Lela’s mark of allegiance sizzled painfully at the nape of her neck. What felt like needles, pricked at her mind, searching for lies and secrets. As she had managed a few times before, she held that line of steel emotion she had perfected and allowed it to wobble a little. After all, it would be odd if her emotion remained flat under the observation of the high goddess.
Athena blinked and turned away with a displeased chuff. “Phorcys. That fool. But this changes nothing.” She stood and began making her way back to the odeum. “You shall take on Gioti's role and observe the child.”
It was as simple as that for Athena. No show of sorrow that one of her owls was killed. Nothing but calm replacement.
Athena paused but did not turn. “It should be a given that you avoid Phorcydes. She may look and act like a hapless crone, but when she bites, she bites to kill.”