Mortal Gods (17 page)

“You going to pick him up after school?” she asked.

“What do you mean, ‘you’?” he asked. “Aren’t you coming?” Then he saw the look on her face and winced. “Right. It’s Friday. I’m sorry; it slipped my mind.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your job to keep up with my cemetery schedule. Besides, maybe I’ll skip a day.” But as soon as the words came out of her mouth, she knew she wouldn’t.

“It’s cool.”

“I could go earlier. Maybe Andie’ll drive me out at lunch. Or Hermes.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s important.”

“Lux is important,” she said, and Henry nodded. He didn’t look anywhere near as happy as he should. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Lux,” he said. “He fought. That day in the woods. Those … things. They didn’t attack him.
He
attacked
them
. For us.” Cassandra imagined how Lux would have growled and leaped. Henry’s foolish, brave dog, so outclassed by Ares’ wolves.

“I knew they’d kill him,” Henry said. “That he would die for me. And all I could think was how much I didn’t want him to. I wanted him to be a coward and run away.” He swallowed. “Is that how you felt … back then … when you watched me walk out of Troy to face him?”

Him. Achilles. The memory made her sick. How did he think it had felt, to watch her brother walk out to his death? To know he was going to die. And all because Achilles challenged him, and he had too much honor, or pride, to be smart and stay safe inside the city walls.

“Yes,” she said. “I wanted you to be a coward. I hated you for not being a coward.”

Henry picked at the paint on the bathroom door. He seemed ashamed, and Cassandra’s heart sank. She’d seen that look before, a lifetime ago. She knew what came next.

“Maybe that’s why I’ve been a coward now,” he said. “To make it up to you. I lay in that snow like a baby. I would’ve died if Cally hadn’t saved my ass. I couldn’t protect Lux. Or Andie.”

“Andie would say she doesn’t need protecting.”

“Don’t I know it,” Henry said. He touched the wrapping on his wounded arm. “When this sling comes off, I’m going to ask Hermes to train me.”

*   *   *

Athena loved Australia. The ruggedness and the wild. It was so many things at once, and easy to get lost in. She hadn’t been there in decades. She should have come back sooner.

“I hate airplanes,” Odysseus grumbled from behind aviator sunglasses as they walked toward the Rent-A-Car in the Sydney Airport.

“Would you have preferred a boat?” she asked.

“Not with you around. The trip might’ve taken ten years.” There was an edge to Odysseus’ voice, and it was more than just travel crankiness. The closer they got to Achilles, the angrier he became.

“A plane or a boat. Scylla or Charybdis. Feel familiar?” Athena asked, and smiled.

He dropped his duffel into a plastic chair. “Just shut up and go rent us a car. Something decent. Something with four-by-four.” He waved her off, and she ground her teeth. But fine. Let him have his mood. What she would do to Achilles later would rankle him worse.

Ten minutes later they were on the road, headed for the Hume and Monaro Highways in a rented Land Rover. Odysseus insisted on being behind the wheel, no doubt to feel more in control, and Athena turned on the AC. It was early March, but the temps were still high. They’d come too soon for falling leaves and dying foliage. Pity. It might’ve made spotting Achilles easier, if what Calypso said was true and he lived half-wild in the mountains past Jindabyne.

Athena watched the land pass through the window. Buildings and metal and roads and people. So many cars. She’d stayed away too long. When she’d been there last, it had been another world.

Another world, in sixty years. Everything changes. Even gods.

Athena glanced at her wrist, bare now, the gauze gone. The feathers had all been plucked, and the scabs healed to faint curling scars that would disappear in a week. There hadn’t been any feathers since, except for the one she’d coughed out of her lung.

“No new feathers?” Odysseus asked, reading her mind.

“No. I must’ve used up my feather quota for the month. Maybe I should have Cassandra zap me more often. Feathers through the wrists aren’t so bad. I could bear an eternity of them, if it meant they’d stay out of my lungs.”

“That was stupid,” he said. “I should never have left you alone with her.”

“Don’t be such a dad,” she said, and set her foot up on the dash. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Hmph.” Odysseus snorted. “You’re looking awfully chipper for someone who’s about to kill a boy.”

“I’ve killed lots of boys. And none of them were so wicked as the one I’m about to.”

“You don’t know him. He’s just a kid caught up in your mess like the rest of us. He went mad with grief, and you called him evil.”

“He behaved like a god, but he wasn’t one,” Athena said, annoyed. “Maybe it was you who didn’t know him.”

She looked back out the window and tried to relax, focus on the changing scenery. All that sunlight and wind in the brush. After the war was over, maybe she’d come back. She and Hermes could stand on top of mountains. But no. Hermes would want somewhere with satin and wine. Shirtless boys and roast meat on silver platters.

Still, Australia was a country she wanted more of. If they were wrong, and the war didn’t save them, it would be an excellent place to die.

“What are you thinking about?” Odysseus asked.

Athena blinked. “Shirtless boys,” she said. “No. Not really. I was thinking of the time I was here last. Has to be more than sixty years ago. When there was more wild.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of bits of Australia that are still as wild as you remember.”

“I’m sure there are,” she said. “I loved it here. The quiet. I swam for days in the Adelaide River with the crocodiles.”

“I’ve never heard you sound so nostalgic,” Odysseus said. “Maybe back in Chicago, when we talked about my travels. About the old days.”

“Well. Swimming with crocodiles is a strong memory.”

“I bet.” He glanced at her and shifted in his seat. “Of course you know I’m imagining it nude.” She reached across and slugged him. “Ow. They never tried to bite?”

“Never,” she said. “I think they sensed that I couldn’t be touched. Or maybe they thought I was one of them.” She peered at the speedometer to make sure Odysseus wasn’t stalling, and he cleared his throat and signaled to change lanes.

“I should have told you about Calypso,” he said.

Athena chewed the inside of her cheek. She wished they weren’t stuck together in the car.

“You tried,” she said. “When I found you at the Three Sisters, you said that ‘she’ came to you in London. She. I remember that. I just didn’t think any more on it. There’ve been other things for me to think about.”

“We’ve been busy, I know. But not always. I should’ve said—”

“Why should you have said? It’s none of my business.”

His fingers clenched on the steering wheel. “I thought you might say something like that. Despite the tattoos and holey jeans, you haven’t changed. The bronze helmet and shield are still there in spirit.”

“In more than spirit. They’re in a safe in Zurich.”

“Damn it,” he said. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I. Anyone robs that safe, they’ll have me to deal with.”

“She’s not in my room,” Odysseus said loudly, and Athena’s mouth clamped shut. “She’s in the guest room. And that’s where she’ll stay, if you’ll just—” He paused. “When I saw her in London, it was like on that island. She was beautiful, and she has that voice. And there’s so much history between us. When I left her to find you, I didn’t know. I didn’t know how I was going to feel when I saw you.” He paused guiltily. “But I think she knew. That’s why she came. She knew I was never going back.”

Athena’s heart pounded. Joy raced through her all the way to her fingertips, hearing the words come out of his mouth. He loved her best.

“Calypso is a good girl,” she said softly. “She cares for you. And she can give you things that I can’t. That I can never.”

“Athena.”

“Odysseus. I don’t want you to think of me like this anymore.”

*   *   *

The Snowy Mountains loomed in the windshield of the Land Rover. Since Athena had turned Odysseus away, they hadn’t spoken. Nothing about a love that could never be made real. Nothing about why she shouldn’t kill an innocent boy, already living in exile. Odysseus eased up on the accelerator, but it was no use. Athena did what she said she would, without exception. So Odysseus didn’t say stupid things like, “You won’t be able to, when you see him.” And she hoped he wasn’t entertaining the notion that if he threw himself in front of Achilles, he could stop her.

They pulled off the highway, into the town of Jindabyne at the base of the mountains and drove straight through, to a Jeep trail he and Calypso had found. He drove up the winding path until it thinned out and cut off, then killed the engine.

“I know you’re going to try to stop me,” she said. “I know you feel like you have to.”

“That’s how it is, isn’t it? You and I, we both do what we feel we have to.” He opened the door and got out. Athena followed, and the sun warmed her cheeks against the mountain air, cooler than in the lowland. Odysseus walked slowly into the trees.

“But you understand, don’t you?” he asked. “I dragged him into this, back then. Dragged him off to war. I won’t do it again.”

Athena slammed her door. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Down deep, he wanted to go.” She gestured up the thinning trail. Somewhere overhead, some kind of squirrel or glider shook the leaves of the low, broad branches of a gum tree. It was a skittering sound. The sound of prey.

Today I am a huntress, like my sister Artemis.

“Let’s go.”

*   *   *

They’d hidden him well, far up the mountain and off the trail. Athena and Odysseus walked miles through the trees. Achilles must be so alone, living on wallaby meat and talking to birds.

Athena closed her eyes. Pity was for later. After it was done.

“You’re not doing something stupid, are you?” she asked Odysseus’ back as he led her through the trees.

“Something stupid like what?”

“Like taking me the wrong way.”

“I’d only be able to stall you for so long. I’d starve before you would.” He grasped the twisting gray bark of an alpine ash, digging his fingers in and dragging himself by. He was tired. And he was right. He could only stall her for so long.

Finally, a faint hint of smoke and cooked meat touched Athena’s nose. Dull, chemical smells from cleaners and plastics. A few more steps and she saw it: a tiny house in the trees. Barely large enough to be called a cabin. Chairs fashioned from whittled wood sat in the yard around a small table. A boy sat in one with his back bent over, reading a book. Long, hanging blond hair obscured most of his face.

Athena moved behind a tree and let Odysseus go ahead. She didn’t recognize Achilles like she’d thought she would. And there was something peculiarly sad about the extra chairs. Like he was always expecting friends who might never show up.

Athena saw the exact moment Achilles realized someone was coming. Just a slight tensing of muscle and an almost imperceptible turn of his head. No other tells, and no fear. He didn’t turn until Odysseus called out his name, and then the smile on his face was broad. She noted the power in his stride and his sharp green eyes. The joy on his face at seeing his friend.

Don’t let him fool you. He’s an atom bomb. He’s got to go.

“Ody!” He held out his arms, and for a minute Athena thought she wouldn’t have to do much of anything, that Odysseus might fall in line. But then Achilles’ face changed from happy to wary.

“Run, Achilles,” Odysseus shouted. “Run!”

Achilles saw her before she sprang, before she burst out from behind the ash tree like a flushed bird. He spun and ran, dodging the table and chairs. He dashed around the corner of his shelter and sprinted farther up the mountain, lightning fast.

Her pupils zeroed in on his fleeing back. The scent of blood in her nose was so strong she didn’t see Odysseus throw the chair. It struck her shoulder, and she glared at him.

“Don’t!” he yelled. “Talk to him at least!”

But Odysseus was behind her already. She ran, following the glimpse of Achilles’ blond hair as it darted through the ashes. The first trap was a total surprise. Her foot landed square in the steel jaws, and it snapped closed on her ankle. She barely had time to inhale before the snare engaged and dragged her onto her back and into the air.

“Athena!” Odysseus stopped short below her. There was no pain in her foot yet, but blood was traveling the wrong way up her leg, soaking hot through her sock. She gritted her teeth, gripped the trap’s jaws, and pried them open. Then she swung her legs under her and dropped to the ground.

“Are you all right?” Odysseus asked.

“Don’t follow.” She knelt and assessed her foot. Not broken.

“What?”

“Don’t follow!” She stood and pushed him backward. “He’s rigged the path with traps, don’t you understand?”

“I can watch for traps as well as you can,” he said stubbornly.

There was no time to argue. Who knew where Achilles was headed, or how far ahead he was already. But she didn’t want to watch for traps. She wanted to run right through them. Only with Odysseus there, she couldn’t take the chance.

“Stay with me,” she barked, and took off again, slower this time. Achilles had built his traps well. It must’ve taken him countless days to dig the pits and sharpen the poles to line them, to figure out the ideal branches to lay his pulleys across. And he was clever. She jumped over a poorly hidden tripwire and nearly fell into a covered pit of skewers.

“Watch it,” she called to Odysseus. “He let that one show on purpose.” She nodded toward the concealed pit and held out her hand to pull him across. She evaded three more traps before a thin, half-buried tripwire caught on her foot. When the hundred-pound log fell toward them like a swooping hawk there was nothing she could do but take it, catch it, and keep it away from Odysseus. Her shoulder crunched and popped out of its joint. If it wasn’t broken, she’d put it back in later.