Gorgon Born, page 30
I have to dethrone Zeus and Poseidon.
I want to dethrone Zeus and Poseidon.
My eyes snap open, fierce in the mirror’s reflection. I smile, sure of myself for the first time in a long while. This mission may have been Hera’s at first, true, but it’s mine now.
And I intend to see it through.
But to do so means reaching the Moirai. To reach the Moirai, I must conquer their maze.
The stone wall across the way sparks something in my memories. I think of the legends in my storybooks, mind racing.
Maze, maze, maze, I chant, trying to remember something, anything.
Labyrinth…
The minotaur and his labyrinth!
The minotaur, a creature created half-bull, half-man, and imprisoned in a stone labyrinth beneath the Titan’s palace. The Titans placed many mortals in the structure as punishment for crimes committed against them. All of them were killed, then eaten, by the creature.
Eventually, a demigod and his clever lover outsmarted the labyrinth and killed the minotaur. How did they get through the winding paths to freedom?
Right, an enchanted ball of string stolen from one of the Titans.
With a glance around the bare pathways, I snort. There’s no such item here.
But such items could only solve that labyrinth. It did away with the traditional trick of placing a hand against one maze wall and keeping it on that wall until a person reached the exit.
Could the Moirai have created this maze to follow the Titan’s example?
I look around, biting my lip. My gaze falls on the stone wall again. It’s not down every path. Could getting out of here be so…
Simple?
I stifle a grin. I’m Chloe, Medusa’s daughter, a love of old stories and painting, not the savage monster Nyx tried to shape me into. Not the gruesome beast Zeus sees me as.
I’m Chloe, gorgon born, and I’ll reach the Moirai whether they expect it or not.
Chapter 38
Turn after turn, down pathways with dizzying amounts of diverging paths, past endless reflections of myself, I traverse the maze.
If hours or minutes pass, I can’t be sure, too focused on my feet walking forward and the smooth stone beneath my left hand.
Then I come upon a lip where gray stone meshes with a honey-colored wood floor. A ray of sunlight stretches across the odd meeting of two materials, falling onto the tips of my shoes and warming my feet within seconds.
With a sharp inhale, I swing my gaze upward.
Beyond the lip, a large circular room awaits, all honeyed wood and lush wildflowers spilling from standing vases at its center. Spiraling around the edges, a staircase reaches up into the heights of the tower.
Stumbling forward, I trace a fingertip over the velvety flowers, inhaling their sweet springtime scent. Of all the wonders and challenges I’ve come across here, this is the one that lightens my heart.
When spring arrives, the realm will have an honest chance to improve without Zeus on the throne.
I trace the staircase with my eyes, following it until sunlight from round windows low in the wall stabs at my sight.
“All right, I get it,” I say, swiping a hand over my face. “No guessing at the distance.”
The light relents, fading back to a tolerable level.
My mouth twitches into a grin. Perhaps I should feel uneasy knowing the Moirai watch me. Instead, I’m comforted. They know I’m here, they know I’m coming, and they’re prepared. Besides, I’ve never been good at shoulds, have I?
I climb the dizzying steps, careful to stay close to the tower wall, avoiding the other side of the stairs where open space spans where a railing should.
Blisters form, then burst. My feet ache. I press on, stifling a groan when blood seeps across my toes from a torn blister, unwilling to break the hushed silence.
Scents of sun-warmed silk, iron, and fragrant wildflowers strengthen the farther I go.
Another spiral, then another. The ceiling appears, made of thick beams creating an eight pronged star. Too soon, I walk level with it, then pass it to stride onto a landing.
Three women huddle close together, glowing gold thread stretched around and between them in a complex web. Nothing holds each strand in place. Instead, it hovers at the eye level of each woman, never wavering.
Not that it’s difficult to reach their level. Each woman stands hunched forward at the waist, stooped from age and time, reaching to my hip, if that. Wrinkles crease their drooping faces. Their skin sags, speckled with dots, covered only by plain white shift dresses. Heads lowered to their work, they don’t notice me standing there.
One woman deftly spins gold flecks into thread at a small spindle made of solid iron. Another hefts each resulting length of thread, adding it to the hovering ones across the room. The third, black scissors in one hand, snips strands at random.
An eerie quiet permeates the room, broken only by the clack of the spindle, the scissors joining, and a faint swish of moving thread.
They’re the Moirai, the three sisters of fate born from pure Chaos alongside the Titans.
Watching the scissors steadily cut, I shiver. Each slice of golden thread ends a mortal life. I gulp once, then step into the room, careful to keep my distance.
Their heads swing toward me as one, milky eyes unblinking in wrinkle-gouged faces.
They’re blind.
Yet they show no hint of surprise from my sudden presence. Their movements with the thread don’t stop, don’t so much as slow.
“Why are you here?” the one who spins asks.
“Yes, why?” the one who sorts adds before silence can settle once more.
The one cutting snaps her scissors through another strand with a tilt of her head. “She’s a gorgon.”
“Medusa’s daughter,” I say, then bow.
The third, the cutter, tuts. “Yes, yes, but why are you here?”
Throat dry as parchment, I force myself to talk. “I’m here to bargain—”
“Bargain!” the spinner says.
“Bargain?” the sorter says.
“Bargain.” the cutter says, resigned.
“What do you want?” the sorter asks, amusement coloring her tone.
I take a deep breath, hoping Thanatos arrives soon. “I want Zeus and Poseidon’s reign over Prasinos to end. I want to bargain for their abilities stripped away—all of them.”
Their heads turn toward each other. They lean forward, hands never stopping their work.
“We don’t bargain, not anymore,” the spinner insists.
“But the current path won’t work!” says the cutter.
The sorter grumbles. “It might.”
The spinner sighs. “It’s a mess, admit so.”
“We could wait for the chimera child,” the sorter argues.
The cutter snorts a humorless laugh. “Tsk, that’s too long! More will suffer while we wait.”
“More may die if we alter the path now,” comes the sorter’s soft reply.
The spinner and cutter sigh as one. “You are too afraid. We must take risks to change the future.”
They go quiet, unseeing eyes trained on each other as if communicating through stares alone.
Steps clatter up the stairs at my back, booming in the silence. Thanatos, panting, steps onto the landing. He stops beside me, sweeping me into a tight hug, warm and slightly sweaty. His breath tickles the hair at the crown of my head when he presses a kiss there.
Stam and Atia stir, poking their heads out to shoot him adoring looks.
“You’re here,” I breathe, arms tight around his shoulders.
“I’m here.” He lets go, though doesn’t go far, and leans down for a kiss.
I stand on my tip-toes to meet him halfway.
A cleared throat startles us apart.
“Love,” they say, each with a different tone. The spinner speaks with sarcasm, the sorter with amusement, and the cutter with elation.
Thanatos chuckles, eyes wide as he finally takes in the powerful Moirai.
Pulling away, I turn to face the sisters, elbowing him in the gut as I go. He makes a noise like I’ve punched him, then goes quiet.
“The god of death,” the sorter says.
“How nice,” says the spinner.
The cutter tsks. “If he tries to drain us of life, I’ll cut his string.”
“I’m not going to—” he starts.
The sorter huffs. “He won’t! You see it as well as I do, sister.”
Hands clenched, I speak into the brief respite following her words. “Your answer?”
Their sightless stares pin me in place.
I swallow around a suddenly dry throat. “About the bargain.”
Thanatos grips my hands in his, holding his breath while mine turns shallow and quick.
They trade looks, more of that silent communication, then sigh as one. “Yes, we will bargain.”
I grin, a thank you already spilling from my mouth.
The cutter holds up a gnarled hand. “We must discuss payment should you fail our bargain, however.”
“Payment?” I repeat, heart dropping. Maybe they require servitude. Or, like the stories of bargain including Agathe’s with Zeus, the life of the failed bargainer.
“If you mean my life—” I begin.
The sorter swipes a hand, cutting me off. “That’s too obvious. Do we look like Zeus?”
I open my mouth to stammer an answer.
She sighs. “I wasn’t truly asking. Anyway, you’ll need proper motivation. It’s too simple to risk your life when it belongs to you and you alone.”
My skin crawls. What could she mean? There’s nothing more motivating than dying. Right?
Thanatos inhales, not quite a gasp, as if he’s already guessed the payment.
“Should you fail your part of the bargain, the three trials set by us, we will cut his thread.” She raises a bony finger, pointing to the side.
Straight at Thanatos.
Thoughts quicken. Sweat slides down my neck. “I can’t—we can’t—”
“May we have a moment to decide?” Thanatos asks, letting go of my hand, only to grab my elbow. “Please.”
They shoo us away with flaps of their hands, then return to their work with heads bent low.
Thanatos walks backward, pulling me after him until I stand on the top step of the winding staircase and him on the one below. Like this, we’re the same height, something he uses to his advantage by pressing featherlight kisses to my cheeks, forehead, and nose.
“Than, I can’t risk you.”
He shakes his head. “You must. If it’s between me alive or a chance to render Zeus powerless, the choice must be Zeus.”
“Your insecurities don’t mean you deserve death. You are loved. I love you.”
He laughs. “It’s not about my insecurities, dearest. It’s about you having a chance to change Prasinos and taking it.”
I try to argue.
“No arguments until I’m done.” He presses a finger to my lips, silencing and seducing me all in one. “I believed Agathe’s bargain to free the sirens from their prison in the Akri Sea would change the realm. And it did, or at least it started the change, but you must continue her start by doing this.”
“And what of you? Your future and your life? You’d risk it so?”
“I only die if you fail. But you won’t, not with this kind of motivation.” He puffs out his chest. “You love me, after all.”
Tears build in my eyes, hot when they cascade down my cheeks. “I need you alive.”
He wipes my tears away with steady hands. “You want me alive. Need and want are very different things. You’d survive without me, Chloe.”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t enjoy life at all, you moron.”
“There’s my girl,” he says, smiling. “Will you bargain?”
I think of Dionysus, of Hera and her court, of the satyrs—both the ones we helped outside Athansi and those following Hera. Of the paint flecking Bion’s hands and the happiness radiating from Agathe’s face.
Then I think of my mother, dead and buried years ago, and the life she wanted, of the freedom she needed.
If Prasinos changes, we’ll have a chance to right so many wrongs, one’s like my mother’s murder.
True, I’d survive without Thanatos, but I don’t want or need to imagine a future without him in it. Whatever the Moirai sisters task me with, I’ll succeed, if not for his sake then for my own.
I tug him closer, leaning my forehead against his. Dusk light spills from the windows in the tower room, painting stone and skin alike a soft, hazy orange.
“You can do this,” he says. “I believe in you. Now take strength and believe in yourself.”
Believe in myself? I believe in us. I believe in the friendships I’ve formed and those I’ve let go. I believe in change. I believe in the good to be found in the realms. I believe I’m not a monster.
I believe in myself.
“I can do this,” I say.
“Then go.”
Turning, I stride back into the tower room, knowing if I don’t leave him now, I never will.
The Moirai glance up from their work. “Yes or no?”
“Yes. We have a bargain.”
Chapter 39
The Moirai’s hand is rough paper against my palm, rasping and smelling faintly of dust. Long, grooved calluses catch against my skin with each twitch of her fingers. She never stops moving, hands and fingers twisting as if she can’t stop spinning fate thread, even while she’s supposed to be teleporting me to the first trial.
“I suppose to most, I’m the spinner of fate, the creator of new paths. But you may call me Past, for that is what I’m truly tasked with.”
She inhales slowly, and her eyes flutter shut. “I see the past. I mold it while it still twists through my fingertips, allowing it to shape every person in the realm. No other force than my sisters may stop me.”
It makes an odd sort of sense that she, the creator of fate thread, could control the past. But then, her sisters must be in charge of the present and future.
“My sister’s will explain more later,” Past says, tone leaving no room for nonsense. “Right now you’ll complete my task.”
“You read my thoughts?” I ask, dumbfounded. Unease creeps in soon after. Did I think anything offensive?
She scoffs. “Of course, though it wasn’t so difficult to hear when you scream your thoughts so loudly. We read each other’s thoughts, my sisters and I, and we’ve had many centuries to practice.”
“But why? You can talk.”
Her hand becomes a vice around mine. “Chaos guessed we’d work quicker if we didn’t have to stop and physically chat.”
At my wide-eyed stare, she snaps. “Oh, you young ones never understand! I don’t know. Not even the past truly knows why Chaos does what it does. I can only guess the same as anyone else.”
“I see,” I say, though I don’t, not fully. Compared to the ancient Moirai, I’m little more than an infant, so I suppose it’s all right.
“I heard that. We are not ancient, merely old.”
There’s not much of a difference, but I stammer an apology, regardless. Before the last word fully leaves my mouth, the tower twists and turns, honeyed wood shifting to darkness.
If not for Thanatos’ teleportation ability, and how used to it I’ve become, I’d surely vomit at the sudden jump of my stomach. Even so, I dry heave for a long second, eyes clenched shut while darkness envelops the tower entirely.
Past’s hand rips from mine.
Opening my eyes, I’m submerged. Not in water, but in a deeper darkness than I’ve ever known.
No sight. No smell. An oppressive silence so complete my ears ring from the lack of sound. The air tastes of nothing. When I bend down to run a palm along the floor, it’s a surface so slick I can’t pinpoint the texture.
Panic starts in my chest, setting my heart to pounding, and clamps around my lungs, turning my breaths shallow and fast.
“Hello?” I ask the dark. “Past?”
“Yes, I’m still here,” she answers. “Your trial is to find the single item hidden in this darkness.”
“What kind of item?”
“There’s only one here. Now get moving!”
A displacement of air, the taste of ozone like tingling electricity against my tongue. She’s teleported back to the tower, leaving me alone.
The dark presses closer, made of hard walls and staggering weight. I crouch, trying to breathe through my panic, but my body doesn’t listen, starting a frantic rush of movement. Fingers twitch. Muscles spasm. I rock on my heels without telling myself to do so.
A pulsing ache begins in my temples. If I could see, dots would swarm my sight, but here they fade into the dark.
It’s the darkness in my cavern on the island after my mother’s death, the endless stretch of the Nekros tunnel, the heated, dark dungeon cell—
“Breathe,” I command myself.
One breath, then two. The darkness eases from my shoulders, less of a weight and more of a billowing cloak.
Thanatos believes in me. I believe in myself.
I can do this.
Stam hisses in agreement, easing out of my hair. Atia follows soon after.
“Do you have any inkling of where this item could be?” I ask them.
They don’t answer in hisses, instead leaning out of my hair, long bodies unfurling, their scales a smooth slide along my neck.
Shivering, I run a finger along Atia’s sleek head, surprised at her willingness to venture from the safety of my hair. She ignores me, straining toward somewhere in the darkness, uncaring of how it pulls on my neck where her body joins to my skin.
“Stop that,” I scold, wincing at the insistent tug.
Rather than listen, she convinces Stam to join. Within seconds, I stumble forward beneath the weight of two slim but strong bodies yanking in the same direction.
“There’s nothing here!”
They stop for a moment. There’s no seeing them, not here, but I imagine their twin looks of disbelief. Then they’re back to tugging in some fathomless direction, insistent.
