Dangerous Secrets (118 page)

The wind seemed to be lifting me up. I made
sure my sword was in my hand. I had no idea why Kronos had told me I smelled
like a god but I had evidence that my sword, mysteries of mysteries, could
injure him.

Artemis, the only god still in a car, raced up
beside me, her fleet-footed deer flecked with sweat-foam. “I will carry you, if
you wish, mortal man.”

“I decline with thanks....” I took another
breath. “It will be dangerous when he falls.”

“Athena and Hera have the girdle of Dionysus.
When Kronos falls, they will bind him. Good hunting...mortal.” She grinned at
me as carefree as if she rode at ease in the cool-scented morning. She turned
her chariot aside, neatly avoiding Kronos’ stomp.

I braked hard and threw myself on my knees. As
I slid past, I sliced deep into the tendons of Kronos’ pulsating ankle. He let
out a bellow they must have heard up above as an earthquake.

I reversed my grip, brought my hand up and
over, stabbing sharply into the hollow behind the ankle on the other side. The
sword was almost torn from my grasp as he pulled away from the sudden pain
shooting up his leg.

He began to collapse like a house built on
sand. Sinking to his knees, he began to vomit from the pain, bringing up
Hermes, Dionysus and Poseidon, reversing the order in which he’d swallowed
them.

I ran out from between his knees, avoiding
blood, vomit and wedding tackle but not his swift hand. He bellowed my name,
cracking the vault of the Underworld, letting a trace of blue sky in upon that
bitter place. He cupped me in both hands, gazing up at the sky, his own father
whom he′d tried long ago to murder.

“Father,” Zeus called. “Let him go.”“Yes....”

Well, so he did. He closed his hand over me. I
held my sword ready to drive him off if he should squeeze. He rattled me like
dice, then, I presume, threw me with all his might into the darkness beyond the
darkness.

How long I fell or how far I traveled, I cannot
say. Tumbling end over end, I lost all sense of myself. I felt sicker than
Kronos ever had but there was no way to stop or control my precipitate flight.
The miseries of my situation were nothing compared to the uncertainty that tortured
me. What would happen? Would the Gods triumph? I wouldn’t know until I returned
to earth, if it and I survived.

At first, I thought I had gone back. But in all
my comings and goings, I’d never arrived anywhere like here. I didn’t land on
sand; I rose up through it from underneath, first black sand, then white
pouring off my body.

I realized I was on a beach, with a gentle surf
washing the sand not a body-length away. Except for that susurration on the
edge of hearing, there was no sound at all. Not a bird sang. Not a leaf
rustled. Not a fish leaped from the water to splash again.

Lying there, I felt no need to move, even to
glance around for my location. I was warm, the sand conforming perfectly to my
body, the sea whispered of sleep, of rest, of surcease.

After about five minutes, measured by my pulse,
my nose itched, my foot had fallen asleep and I was pretty sure from the
tickling that a spider was shopping my ear as a potential new house. Nothing
like minor annoyances to let you know you’re still alive.

I sat up, rubbing my ear. No spider. Only sand,
white instead of black, powder instead of grains. The sea was a uniform
greenish-blue as far as I could see. Behind me was a grove of trees, not many,
that stood straight and motionless. Except for the soughing of the sea and the
green of the clump of trees, there was nothing. The whole place seemed to be
waiting to be brought to life.

Since I had no idea how long I’d be there, I
started to explore. I was stymied at the start. Though the ocean seemed a few
strides away, I couldn’t reach it. There was nothing between me and it but I
never got any closer. Same story with the trees. They were there, a little
farther away apparently than the sea, yet they might as well have been on the
other side of the moon.

The only path I could actually walk along was a
narrow one. The beach curved and I could walk around the curve in a lane not
more than three paces wide. “Strange....”

Keeping an eye on the sand prevented me from
kicking the head of the only other person there.

“Jori?”

He was lying down, hands folded behind his
head, staring up into the blank sky. No sun or cloud ever crossed that expanse,
the hot flat white of an endless summer afternoon.

Sitting up, he squinted at me a moment. “Oh,
hello, Eno.”

His voice held no hint of surprise. He turned
his head to look out at the featureless sea. After a moment, as if remembering
his manners, he said, “How have you been?”

“Well...” I sorted among my thoughts. I didn’t
think any of my recent adventures would interest him now. “You know. Not much
is new.”

I sat down beside him on the sand. Jori picked
up a handful and let it pour from his fingers. It was so fine there
wasn′t a grain left to cling to his skin. He looked out to sea again.

“What are you looking for?”

“The
Chelidion
.
I’m waiting here until she comes.”

I couldn’t ask him how he came to be here; I
already knew. The Judges of the Underworld and their enforcers, the Furies, are
endlessly inventive in their punishments. Sisyphus and his ever-rolling rock,
Tantalus and his ceaselessly unsatisfied appetites, the forty-nine daughters of
Danaus who are forced to carry water eternally in sieves for the murders of
their cousin-husbands were the best known. But to doom a sailor to wait on
shore for a ship that will never come seemed too cruel even for the Kindly
Ones.

His eyes, so empty of all the merry trickery
that had made him my best friend and an enemy both, turned again to the ocean.
“I’m waiting for the
Chelidion
.”

After a while, he stood up and walked down the
narrow path to the other end. I dozed. When he came back and sat down, he
seemed to have forgotten that I was there. He could be spoken to but his
attention never strayed from the barren sea for very long.

Then I was drawn up and away. I saw Jori
growing ever smaller and realized the limits of his prison. There was no sea,
except in front. It was just a blob of dirt set down in the midst of that same
featureless black sand that formed the rest of Hades’ dominion.

Chapter 20

I had been returned to Hekate′s secret
place of sacrifice in Troezan. The tiny tiles in the center of the floating
rock were cracked and scattered. I picked one up and rubbed my thumb over the
surface. The thick coat of white glaze was impenetrable and permanent. Kicking
my foot through the pieces, I saw that they were all white, no trace of pattern
or meaning left.

Red fire glowed on the walls and the stone
began to tremble even as a great wind will shake the sturdiest foundations. A
low rumble rose all around me. I started to run back toward the tunnel. A
thunderous crack struck through the chamber as the aisle of stone split clean
across.

I leapt the crack, even as it widened under my
flying feet. Just as the narrow way snapped, I reached safety. The great
floating slab had gone, dropped into the Pit Itself. There wasn’t even an echo
of the fall. I knew as soon as I turned away, the tunnel’s mouth would be gone
as well.

“The Gods are thorough indeed....”

Maybe in time someone would use the tunnel to
store feed out of the rain and sun. It would be a better use for it than any it
had ever been put to. I had begun to climb out when I heard a tremendous
commotion bouncing off the tunnel walls. I glanced behind to see if the echoes
had finally caught up to the crash but those roars and cries came from living
throats.

“Phandros!”

Not even when Kronos chased me had I shown a
better turn of speed. I emerged at the top expecting a scene of absolute
massacre. But Phandros’ head was still on his shoulders, his guts in place, or
so I presumed, and the basket still in his hand. He presided over a congress of
wild and violent creatures.

I’d heard that some day the lion will lay down
with the lamb. Traveling entertainers have been known to show it, though I
understand they have to replace the lamb fairly often.

And here, in the menagerie where they’d awaited
death, Lion sat with sheep, Bull let Bear Cubs ride on his back, and Bear
Herself was enjoying a leisurely ear-scratching from a bemused Phandros. She
only growled when he stopped so he, naturally enough, didn’t stop.

“Eno!” he said with joy as I came toward him
tentatively. “I’m so very glad to see you, alive and unharmed. What happened?”

“It’s a long story, something to fill the long
hours on our trip back to Mykonos.”

“We’re going back there?”

“Maybe. What’s going on here?”

“I have no idea. They seem to like me.”
Considering that four hundred pounds of Bear was pressing her great head
against his side would seem to be evidence of that.

“I thought for sure you’d get eaten. Forgive me
for my lack of faith.”

“You were almost right. The Lion seemed to have
a grudge against whoever put him in that cage. He was so glad to get out that
he knocked me flat. When I sat up, he was sniffing my feet. I thought my last
hour had come but he seemed to conclude that I wasn’t the one he was looking
for.”

“How long do you think it’s been since we
parted?”

He glanced up at the moon. The storm had either
passed or changed its mind. “About half an hour, maybe. Why, is it important?”

“Probably not. So what happens now? You can’t
take them all on the
Doris
. The
captain would hurl us both overboard.”

“If you’ll take over here,” he said, guiding my
hand to the spot just under the rounded ear, “I’ll find out.”

“Wait....” But when a huge head tosses under
your hand, demanding attention, and that mouth is bearing a full set of very
unsympathetic teeth, ear-rubbing rises to its own importance.

For all the strange and heart-twisting things
I’d seen and done, I was missing only a spare half hour out of my thread’s
length. I wondered how many times lately the Fates had raised the scissors,
thinking ‘ah-ha, now we′ve got him.’ Maybe Aphrodite distracted them,
sharing beauty secrets or what-have-you with Lakhesis, Klotho and Atropis,
until I’d scraped through.

Artemis had heard his prayers now and Hermes
the Trickster was, as usual, way ahead of the game. I had no doubt that he’d
enchanted the animals so that Phandros met no harm. He was the protector of
travelers and Phandros had traveled a long way.

A darkness surrounded me and the great weight of
the bear’s head ceased to press against me. The reek of the lion faded and I no
longer heard the snuffling of the bull’s breathing. All the sheep and goats
were gone as well when the cloud lifted again.

Phandros was still on his knees, his lips
moving in prayer...or conversation. I waited for him to be done.

Hearing a few little sounds from the basket, I
took a quick peek. A small black snout lifted and sniffed, then yapped.
“Hungry, little fella?”

I slipped my hand under his soft belly and
lifted him up to eye-level. The black wings were feathery, too thin yet to get
him air-borne but they flapped in concert with his wagging tail. He could
scratch under them too, just like his ears. “I wonder what Phandros will call
you?”

“Griffin, of course. In memory of what could
have been.”

I wondered if Phandros could see the same glow
in my eyes, the glow of one who has conversed with a god, that I could see in
his. “All well?” I asked.

“They have been returned to their proper
places. I only hope they’ve all learned their lessons and won’t be captured
again.”

“Not by Troezen, at any rate. I’m going up to
the acropolis now to make sure of it. Do you want to come along?”

“Yes. This little guy needs some milk and bread
and soft-cooked meat. I’m more likely to find that at the fortress than on the
ship.”

So, after a pee for the pup, we headed up the
hill. Silence had fallen over the town. No flute, no drum, no voice could be
heard. We came across a man, half-dressed in a leopard-skin, his head on a
doorstep. “Is he dead?”

I felt the corner of his jaw. “No, just
asleep.”

“Drunk then?”

“I don’t think so. Enchanted, maybe.”

Farther on there were more, just fallen over
wherever they’d been. Some smiled in their sleep; others twitched and groaned.
Of the ones who had hunted us, of the many minions, there was no sign at all. I
wondered if they had vanished when Hekate vanished and what had happened to her
‵
niece′,
my harpy princess. I hoped there was at least one physician sober enough to see
to her arrow wound.

The guards at the acropolis gate slept too. The
long period of peace prior to the start of the war in Troy had encouraged many
city-states to abandon the stern acropolis for a pleasanter palace. But most
fortresses still had quarters for the royal family in case of attack.

Phandros headed for the kitchens. I ascended
the narrow winding stair, finding soldiers sleeping at their posts, an elderly
maid passed out on her own laundry pile, and an interestingly posed group that
sleep had caught in mid-orgy. There would be some red faces tomorrow.

At the top was a large wooden iron-enforced
door. Symbols of a nature well-known to me were carved into the panels for
protection. When I touched the door, it crumbled into sawdust, the iron-hasps
shattering like pottery on the stone floor.

“What? How did you do that?”

The King of Troezen started up from his chair.
Maybe the symbols had kept Morpheus out of this room for he didn’t look sleepy.
Nervous, anxious, near-starved...but not sleepy. His large eyes were almost
popping from his thin, aristocratic-looking face.

“I bring a message from your late queen....”

That’s as far as I got. “Late...late? You
mean...late? Not just delayed?”He began to laugh, rocking back and forth, his
arms crossed over his belly as if to keep his interiors in. “Zosime is
dead...she’s dead...and I’m not!”

“Steady on, man,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t
have to slap him. A jug of wine was empty but there was water in another. I
shot it over him and he fell back into his chair, gasping.

“How dare you!” he demanded, just as if he
hadn’t been hysterical.

“I’ll do it again if you don’t shut up.”

“Who are you?”

“Eno the Thracian.” Now that I didn’t have to
contend with him, I glanced around the chamber. It was large but comfortless,
not even a fire or much in the way of furnishings, except two standing lamps.
“Where’s your niece?”

“My niece?” he said, his eyes shifting. “Is
this a trick? One of Zosime’s tricks? I won’t tell you anything...you can’t
make me.”

“Of course I could. But relax, will you? Zosime
is dead. I sort of killed her myself. At any rate, I helped.”

“Prove it,” King Pavlos demanded. “Show me her
body.”

“That’s complicated too.” I thought about
explaining that his wife had actually been a rather nasty Titan in disguise but
decided to skip it.

“I believe you are a madman. Guards....”

Before he could call again, I picked him up out
of the chair and dragged him by his weedy beard to the crumbled remains of the
door. His guards were slumped in their niches, snoring lustily. “If you can
wake them up, arrest me. If you can’t, head down to the kitchen. There’s a man
there and, if I know him at all, he’s cooking something. Maybe soup.”

There was an inner door in the chamber. It did
not obligingly crumble when I touched it. I had to set my shoulder to it. The
lamps in the room behind me shed dim illumination. From somewhere in the
darkness, a quiet rustling came to my ears.

Out of the darkness, a sword sang free of a
scabbard. I parried it blindly, my instincts more aware than my eyes. A sweetly
sharp voice called out.
‶
Herodias! Stop that!″

“Kissos? Princess? Harpy?”

There was the patter of feet and my arms were
suddenly filled with a woman, soft-skinned but firm in all the places that
counted. Maybe my resistance was low through exposure to Aphrodite or just from
all I’d experienced lately, but I didn’t exactly push her away.

Well, not for a while anyway. When I did, there
was plenty of evidence that my doing so was not caused by any repugnance on my
part. “Slow down,” I said, a little breathlessly.

“I′m very happy you′ve come back,”
she said. “Where did you go? Is Zosime dead?”

“Yes.” I half-expected her to break out into a
song or something, considering the king’s reaction to the news. But Kissos was
made of stronger stuff.

She stood with downcast eyes, her arm tightly
bound. “I always felt that she hated me but I never knew why. When she first
married Uncle Pavlos, I thought she was so wonderful. I know my father hoped
she’d stand as a mother to me. But she always hated me.”

The light gilded the thin gown over her perfect
body. She had the ‘vase’ figure, the ideal, a waist slender as a vase’s neck
and her hips flaring full. Her face, now that I could see it clearly, had the
straight nose and full cheeks so beloved by our sculptors.

“It’s all over now,” I said. “She won’t be
coming back and the evil she did has passed with her.”

“I will mourn the woman I wished she had been,”
Kissos said, her voice as soft as a dove’s. Then she looked up at me and smiled
more enchantingly than any spell. “You were so kind to me when I was...changed.
Even though I didn’t have any memory of my life as a woman, I remember that you
were kind.”

“I betrayed you,” I said, the coldness of my
tone directed at myself. “I used your affection for me to capture you.”

“And you saved me too. I think the people of
Leros would have killed me, sooner or later.”

She came closer and touched my chest. “My uncle
will abdicate in my favor. I will have much to do to alleviate the evils of the
last dozen years. It goes deeper than just my aunt. She has been twisting the
running of the city, lying to our allies at Argos, and putting wicked men in
place to collect taxes and police the city. All that must be changed. Together,
we can make Troezen a measure by which all other cities will be judged.”

I pressed her hand against my heart, tempted as
much by her vision of doing good as by her remarkable beauty. She was
everything any man could dream of and what did I have? A glimpse of a pair of
eyes, the flicker of light on pale gold hair, and about a half-a-smile. Not
much to build on, there.

“Glorious Kissos,” I said, “compared to you,
Helen of Sparta is an old shoe. I only hope Paris never catches a glimpse of
you or he’ll realize what a bad bargain he’s made.”

Her beautiful eyes narrowed slightly. She was
nobody’s fool. “This sounds not like acceptance.”

“I am the son of a Thracian shepherd. I am not
fit for palaces and great counsels. My natural place is on a sylvan hillside,
piping songs for sheep.”

“Men rise to greater heights than their birth
every day.”

“You are a queen and I am no king. It is not in
me to rule. Not even over you.”

She turned away from me then, picking up an
over-dress that lay over a clothes-chest. Donning it, she proceeded to do up
her hair, though her hands trembled. “When will you leave?”

“Soon. There are a few things I must do first.”

“Whatever you wish, will be given to you. See
to it, Herodias.”

The queen′s former bodyguard bowed to me
but he would never trust me.
‶
What do you want?″

“Well, there’s this ship in the harbor....”

When morning came, the city awoke. The
announcement from the palace that the Hunt had been canceled due to the sudden
passing of Queen Zosime caused little grumbling. Troezen seemed ashamed of
itself. The sudden reappearance of Princess Kissos and the abdication of King
Pavlos brought new smiles to a lot of faces and the number of magistrates,
guards, and professional witnesses that absconded from the city shortly
afterwards lightened many hearts.

Business was up and running again by noon. I
confess I took advantage of some lingering headaches when I auctioned off all
the goods, hidden and open, that Jori had on the
Chelidion
.