Thief of Olympus (Greek Myth Series Book 3) (10 page)

Ten

Zarek landed softly on the grass outside the gates of Olympus, removing the wings he’d borrowed from Daedalus and hiding them in the brush. He’d never been to the home of the gods before, and couldn’t help but stare in wonder at the castle that lay before him.

The huge, magnificent home of the gods left him in awe. Large, long gold and white pillars glittered in the sun, reflecting beams of bright light in all directions, creating colorful rainbows in the air. Fluffy white clouds surrounded the turrets, causing the peaks of the towers to disappear up into the sky as far as the eye could see. A long curving walkway made from sparkling rubies, diamonds and emeralds was lined with large colorful shells and stones leading to the palace’s double doors.

Trees laden heavily with golden fruit of pears, apples and figs, lined the walkways leading to a garden twice the size of his own kingdom. Exotic, tall flowers waved in the breeze, glittering in the sun with colors more vibrant than the green hills or blue seas.

The air was filled with heavenly scents, sweet and misty, a mixture of cinnamon and tangy spice. And his most favorite were the butterflies the size of a warrior’s shield fluttering over the green knolls dipping down to taste the flowers, causing notes of music to spring forth as their wings brushed the pollen from the petals.

But even with all this magnificence, the one most single thing that proclaimed this the home of the immortal gods and goddesses had to be the glass house in the center of the courtyard which shielded the spiny plants that grew the food of the gods - ambrosia.

The sun beamed down around him, brighter and hotter than he’d ever felt it before. With Mt. Olympus so much nearer to the sun than Thrace, he knew now why all the gods had smooth, dark bronzed skin.

He secured the bag with his disguise on his back and slipped through the shadows to the front gate. He had planned on picking the lock, but there was no need to. The gates stood wide open, and there wasn’t an Olympian guard in sight. He scanned the area, thinking it was too easy, but entered cautiously. He slipped along the wall, certain to keep out of sight, and only stopped when he found the guards lying behind some trees. He smiled to himself, knowing Lysandra had left her mark.

The guards moaned and rubbed their jaws, and then one of them saw him. They jumped to their feet, not asking questions. After Lysandra’s attack they were ready to fight. Luckily for Zarek, he was much more agile than the two heavily dressed and armed men. In the time it took them to get to their feet and reach for their weapons, Zarek had managed to unarm them. Now the fight would be equal, as none of them had a weapon. Zarek fought with his fists and kicked with his legs, and though the men kept him at bay, he kept them far from their weapons.

“Who are you?” a guard finally shouted out. “What do you want?”

Zarek could not have them spoiling his plan and announcing his presence. He waited until they bent to retrieve their swords, then rushed forward and took them by the scruff of their tunics, banging their heads together. They fell back on the ground, unconscious, and Zarek continued on his way.

He followed the women making their way to Apollo’s chamber. He could see Lysandra limping at the back of the crowd. She swung her hips awkwardly and tripped twice on her long gown. Zarek almost laughed aloud. The second time she pulled the gown out from under her foot, he noticed her reason for her awkward walk. Her sword was tied to her leg.

Zarek shook his head, wondering how she planned on defeating a god with a sword. Didn’t the woman have any sense about her? He hadn’t even brought his sword, only his dagger, a few of Daedalus’s inventions, and his disguise. Winning this challenge was going to be like taking sweets from a child. It was so easy, he felt like celebrating right now. But there was one thing left to do before he could relax. He needed to get inside. Now he only hoped his disguise was good enough to fool the gods of Olympus.

The women stopped at the foot of the golden stairs, and two more guards held their staves crossed, refusing them entry.

“We want to see Apollo,” cried one woman.

“We want to dance for him and please him,” purred another.

“The three Graces will now choose the women who will please Apollo this day,” announced the guard. With that, a trumpet blared and three very beautiful women walked out of the doorway and stood between the pillars.

“We come as one to choose the women who will be awarded the chance to please Apollo,” they said in unison.

Zarek hunkered down behind a golden fruit tree, pulled his bag from his back and donned his disguise.

Lysandra pushed to the front of the crowd, wanting to be the first chosen to enter Apollo’s chamber. Stunned by the beauty and elegance of the Graces, she couldn’t help but stop and stare. They were tall and thin in appearance, and all had the beauty of Aphrodite herself.

The first, the guardsmen introduced as the Grace called Aglaia, who was full of splendor. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, shining like sapphires. Her hair glowed magnificently, casting off golden rays in all directions. Her face was alluring, and she held an air of mystery within her expression.

The second Grace that they’d announced as Euphrosyne was filled with mirth. She smiled a bright, wide smile which lit up her entire face as she twittered in glee. Gaiety graced her presence, and laughter shown in her sparkling ebony eyes. Her hair was the color of a starless sky and glowed with an amethyst cast like a raven’s wings.

The third Grace introduced as Thalia, was probably the most intriguing of the three. She was filled with good cheer, and a true kindness shone from her sea-green eyes as she looked directly at Lysandra. Her hair was bright orange like the ball of sun at the end of the day. In it she wore strings of pearls from the sea, and tiny shells hung from the bottom strands of each lock. All three of the women were clothed in elegant white silk, belted at their waists by golden chains.

“Choose me!” cried a woman from the back of the crowd.

“I want to go, oh, please,” called another.

The Graces searched the girls for the ones they thought would please the god of truth, light and song.

“There will only be three chosen to dance for Apollo today,” they said in unison. Then, as one, they pointed to a dark-haired buxom woman standing near the front of the crowd. She squealed and rushed up the stairs to join them. Lysandra felt like screaming out for them to choose her, but she tried to act the part of a lady, and for now, just waited and watched. She remained quiet, pushing back her shoulders and raising her chin, trying to look as elegant as the rest.

“The second,” they said, “will be you.” A petite blond jumped in the air and screamed, holding her hand over her mouth. Then she, too, rushed up to join the others.

Lysandra felt her chances diminishing one by one. She was not paying attention when they chose the third women, but rather already scheming in her head another way to get inside. The girl next to Lysandra screamed in joy and ran forward. Her chances gone, Lysandra turned to go.

“No,” said the Graces together. “We did not choose you, but the girl with hair of fire standing next to you.”

Lysandra stopped in her tracks and turned around slowly. “Me?” she asked, pointing to herself, not able to believe it was true.

“Yes,” they answered, and the Grace with the red hair winked subtly. Lysandra changed places with the other girl and joined them on the stairs. She would get inside today after all. And the best part was, she had yet to see hide nor hair of Zarek. He would never get past the guards. And even if he did, he would never remain unnoticed in Apollo’s temple. She felt already as if she had won this challenge.

“Let us go to Apollo,” they said, and Lysandra anticipated her next task.

“Wait,” called a voice that sounded oddly familiar. “Wait. You have to choose me as well.”

Lysandra turned to see the ugliest woman she’d ever seen in her life making her way through the crowd. She had big, blond hair that stuck out in several directions and her lips and cheeks were bright red, making Lysandra wonder if she were part of a traveling show. And the most hideous part was the woman’s breasts. Large and lumpy they protruded awkwardly from beneath her bodice, one hanging much lower than the other.

“Who are you?” growled one of the guards.

“I am…” the woman’s voice was low then suddenly raised an octave. “I am Lys. I am a lyrist.”

“We already have a lyre player,” said the guard. “Be on your way before I haul you away myself.”

“Please, dear wonderful, beautiful, Graces, give me a chance to prove what I can do.”

Lysandra watched as the odd, ugly woman pushed her way through the crowd and up the stairs to join them. Lysandra tried to get a better look at the woman’s face, thinking she saw a shadow of whiskers upon her jaw. Who was this crone who seemed so familiar?

“We will hear your music now,” said the ever-loving Graces, always kind to everyone. With that, the woman named Lys - a name very similar to her own - pulled a very small lyre from a bag on her back and began to play the most beautiful music she’d ever heard. The Graces nodded their heads and looked at each other. Then they answered, “You may play the golden lyre of Apollo today.”

They motioned with their hands for the four women to follow them, and the rest moaned in disappointment as the guards led them away.

The Graces led the way in through the large carved doors, and Lysandra stopped in awe to gaze upon the carvings in the wood. Each of the gods and goddesses of Mt. Olympus was represented somewhere on the door. The wood had been carved and smoothed, then painted with colors depicting that god. Ares was mostly red and orange, his weapons of war surrounding him, as well as an army of men on horseback. Zeus, way at the top of the door, was painted in gold and white. His form, larger than the rest because of his importance, was seen sitting on his throne, with Hera at his side, while he threw his thunderbolts to the earth far below.

Aphrodite was depicted on the sea, perched atop a large open clam shell, spreading love with the small pink flowers she threw into the air. Hades was at the bottom of the door, his section painted in dreary grays and blacks. His three-headed dog was at his side, as well as the carved image of the ferryman of the river Styx.

Apollo was shown with instruments and music, and Dionysus was painted in lush purples, surrounded by grapes. Then her eyes fastened onto the image of Artemis, and a chill ran through her body. The goddess of the hunt was pulling back her bow, her arrow aimed for a large stag. Around her the Amazons kneeled at a pyre, and atop the sacrificial mound was a male baby.

This only gave her the courage she needed to continue. Her baby would not be the one carved into the wood on the door. She would save him, no matter what it took to do it. And this challenge was the first step in doing just that.

The ugly crone who was to play the lyre came up behind her, the end of the group. She stood closely behind her, and Lysandra thought it odd, but not as odd as what she did next. The woman reached out a large hand and pinched Lysandra directly on her bottom end.

Lysandra gasped and jumped, and raised a fist to the woman in anger.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Princess, or you’ll make your identity known.” This time the crone’s voice wasn’t high, but a low whisper. A voice she knew only too well.

“Zarek!” she said, and he raised a finger to silence her.

His eyes scanned the room, and then his hand pressed against her lips. She couldn’t help but take in his essence of bayberry and spice. She looked into his eyes and covered her own mouth to hold back the laugh.

“You look ridiculous,” she whispered as he turned her around and guided her toward the rest of the group by his hand at the small of her back.

“It’s my disguise,” he said, looking around, taking in his surroundings.

“You make an ugly woman,” she said, feeling his hand travel to her waist.

“Well, you don’t make a very good lady with the way you limp, hiding that sword.”

“How did you know?” she said, once again admiring his awareness.

“I’m a thief,” he answered. “I notice things. And by the way, I am not pleased you left before me this morning without waiting for me or telling me you were going.”

The group walked through yet another door, disappearing from sight.

“If you’re so good to notice things, then why didn’t you even know I was gone?”

“I missed you, Lysandra,” he said, his eyes sweeping the corridor as he talked. Then, as if satisfied no one watched them, he backed her against the wall next to a large potted plant, and put his hands upon her shoulders.

She almost laughed at the thought of how this would look to anyone who happened by. But when his hands ran down her back and over her buttocks, her eyes closed out the sight of the crone, and behind her closed lids she envisioned Zarek’s handsome face. His fingers clutched at her tunic wrap, and he placed his mouth over hers in a passionate kiss. Her eyes popped open, and once again, she saw the crone. Disgusted by his actions while in a disguise, she pushed away, and wiped the bright red dye of his lips from hers with the back of her hand.

“Don’t do that again,” she said, listening to him chuckle as he guided her forward through the next door to join with the rest of the group.