The Woken Gods (10 page)

There’s a scuffle on the other side of the chamber. An operative and a pale green goddess with a long ridged fin over her scalp grapple with each other. She lowers her head and knocks him to the ground with her fin, but he slashes at her legs with a long knife. He goes still as her spiny foot hovers over his vulnerable throat. The operatives around them slide into flanking position.

We’re about to be caught in the middle of an attack in a trickster’s seat of power. This will not end well.

“Dad, how do we get out of here?” I ask, softly.

He turns his head, and gives me the saddest look I’ve ever seen. “You can’t stop this. But I can. Remember what I asked. Do it this time. Please.” His hand comes up to my shoulder, and he says strangely familiar words in an ancient unfamiliar language.

I want to talk back, to say, “Oh no, don’t you dare.” But I can’t, because I’m frozen. Unable to move. I remember where I first heard the words he said. Oz used them on Mehen, to access the power of his stripes.

Dad has bound me.

I’m forced to stand, helpless, as Dad heads around the pool to Bronson. The entire chamber is quiet, waiting on the verdict. Try to kill each other or go in peace?

But I am certain Dad means to turn himself in, and there’s not one blessed or cursed thing I can do about it.

He extends the Solstice Was to Bronson. “This is what you came for,” Dad says. “So have your moment. I couldn’t beat you in that armor anyway. Believe me, I would enjoy nothing more than making the attempt.”

I can’t reconcile the scholarly Dad who nags me about homework and staying out too late with this one who’s in league with gods. But trapping me here, leaving me unable to do anything? That’s so very him. It’s the relic equivalent of being grounded.

Bronson takes the scepter, a reverence in the way he accepts it. Another operative slaps handcuffs onto Dad’s wrists. “We will be leaving now,” Bronson says, bowing again to Enki. “No hard feelings, old one.”

The old one in question doesn’t acknowledge him. But I glimpse a flash of movement as the green goddess removes her foot from the operative’s throat. He climbs to his feet.

Bronson frowns at me. “Kyra, you can come with us. And the other two, your friends.”

“No,” Dad speaks up. “I don’t want her to see any more of this. Leave her out of Society business. That’s a promise you made long ago and not just to me. It’s one promise you’d better keep, for
her
good.”

Bronson’s response is an annoyed look, but he huddles with the two operatives who came in with him. He’s ordering them to stay behind. With me. I’m certain it’s Oz and Justin, and so, weirdly, I’m grateful. They may be useful.

Dad meets my eyes. He lifts his cuffed hands to push his glasses up on his nose, and that familiar motion is what gets me.

I think at him as hard as I can:
This isn’t over. I’m not giving up
.

But all I can do is continue to stand here like a stupid statue, as they lead him from the chamber. All I can do is listen to Bree and Tam telling me it’s going to be OK as I watch the back of my dad’s head and wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

All I can do is stand right here. Unable to scream. Unable to cry.

CHAPTER NINE

I can’t even ask how long it takes for the effect of Hephaestus’ chains to wear off. Though I remember Oz saying it wouldn’t last too long yesterday, it might as well be an era, an age, an epoch. Dad’s getting further away with every passing second, and I become more and more convinced that I am the only person who cares if he makes it back out.

He may not want my help, but he’s going to get it anyway. I can’t cope with a world in which he disappears for good.

Oz peels back his mask, as does Justin, and both of them bow low to Enki. I’m not surprised when Oz ends up right in front of me. He even slouches, so we can make eye contact. Which is nice of him, really.

“It won’t last too much longer,” he says.

His short brown hair is ruffled from the mask, his pupils huge from the relative dimness of the chamber. I would look away, but there’s the problem of not being able to.

I hear Justin’s voice off to my side, greeting Bree and Tam, “Hello again,” he says, while Oz looks at me like he’s the one unable to move. “You OK?” Justin asks, and Bree mumbles something that’s probably a lie about being alright. I wish I could turn my head to see her face. Is Justin her type? It’s always so hard to get her to admit she likes anyone, but the shy way she answers makes me wonder.

I figure Tam will interrupt Oz and me, but he doesn’t. He must be curious about Bree’s reaction to Justin too. He can be my source of intel there. Once I can ask him.

Oz bites his lip. I can tell he’s thinking of what he can possibly say next to me, probably some comforting line of bull. Maybe something that my grandfather told him to say. I am spectacularly unimpressed with Bronson, and how he strode in here as if he owned the place. How he talked about family while he broke mine apart, without showing any remorse.

Spit it out
, I want to tell Oz. But he says, “I bet you hate us all right about now.”

Do I? I should, but it’s hard to blame Oz and Justin. They’re following orders. Except I’ve never had that problem, so why am I cutting them slack for it?

“But,” Oz says, “think of it this way. Your father is safer in custody than out running around with that relic. And now that we have it back, the crisis is averted. He will get a hearing, a chance to make his case. If a god encouraged him, well, then the outcome’s not certain. His best chance was to be brought in quickly and he has been.”

Excuse me if I don’t trust the Society on that
.

But I do appreciate that Oz is trying to make me feel better. He’s not giving me a line of complete bull like I expected.

“Oh, look at that,” he says. He raises a hand and it comes so near my cheek I’d stop breathing or swallow, if I could. I’m sure he’s about to touch my face. But he doesn’t, just brushes a hair that’s in front of my left eye away. “You blinked. It’s wearing off.”

I test his theory, blinking again. Then blinking up a storm. He grins, but apologizes for it. “Sorry. It’s not funny,” he says. But he blinks at me, and I roll my eyes at him. Slowly, my face unfreezes, and, finally, my limbs. I shake them out, relieved, and then bend to brace my hands above my knees like I’ve finished a run.

When I tilt my head up, I’m surrounded by concerned faces – Bree, Tam, Justin, and a no longer grinning Oz.

“You OK?” he asks.

“Getting there,” I say.

This next part, telling them where I want to go, won’t be easy. So I put it off, for a little while longer, anyway. I turn to face Enki.

“Thanks,” I start, but my confidence ebbs under the weight of his gaze. Why on earth I thought it’d be easier to look a god in the face than my friends I don’t know. It isn’t. He’s blue and scary and
examining
me. The green goddess with the sharp fin and Isimud take positions so they are behind and to either side of the throne.

I have a feeling if I stepped a foot out of line – and if Oz and Justin stepped a toe over it – they’d be on us, and no apologies.

After a long pause, Enki speaks.
“I would not have let them take your father had he not wished it. He was a guest here. You will have the guard I promised him.
”

Oz weighs in on that, doing his best to sound respectful. “Great lord, that’s really not necessary.”

Enki gets to his feet. The shell armor scrapes against the chair.

“She will have my guard
.”

Oz clears his throat, about to say
more
.
Is he kidding me?

“Oz,” I say, “shut up.”

Justin mumbles, “Listen to her.”

We should leave before this escalates again. But I hesitate. There’s something I want to know, maybe even
need
to know. “Enki…” There’s no reaction, so I add, “…great lord of the watery deeps… I just wanted to ask a question. Can I?”

He lifts a hand, palm up. The armor has cracks and chips and from the shape I’m keenly aware it used to be the shell of a living thing. He says,
“Proceed
.
”

This is unwise, but I can’t help asking. “Why are you helping my dad?”

He studies me, and I’m a specimen. A speck. He could do away with me between one breath of mine and no breath of his. My bones could be formed into armor too. I am absolutely certain the pause is to make sure
that
knowledge sinks in.

“PERHAPS I AM HELPING YOU
.”

“Oh.” I’m smart enough not to tell him that
seems unlikely. Like Bronson and the others did, I bow and start to back around the pool. “We’ll just be going, then.” I grab Bree and Tam when I reach them, and pull them along with me. They’re as eager as I am to get out of here. “Thanks for the… hospitality, great lord of the watery deeps,” I say.

His response is inside my head this time.

You are always welcome here
.

The others don’t react, and I’m sure it’s because they didn’t hear it. I wasn’t looking for a permanent open sign to flick on. If I have to visit here again, things will have gone south,
way
down south.

We make it to the opening along the back wall. In the next room, the seven are hissing like a nest of giant snakes.

“How did you get past the sages?” I ask Oz.

“Easy,” he says, and we pass back into their chamber. We’re in back of the tank this time, but the sages are ready for us.

“
Youuu
said you’d stay, threat,”
one of the female sages sings to me.

“We used that,” Oz answers, ignoring the sages to gesture at a black tactical bridge that arches over the tank. “Ladies first,” he says.

“No splashing,” I tell the sages, as I start toward it. I channel Dad, trying to make it sound like I’m the boss of them. They aren’t fooled.

“Nooo
,
”
says one. And another, “Not for
youuu
. Wouldn’t want your guard to notice.”
That creepy not-laughter ensues.

“Bree?” I check to see if she’s coming.

“I’d rather have an escort,” she says, and I note that she already has her hand looped through Justin’s arm. He looks surprised, and Tam disapproving.

Oz offers me his arm, like he’s a courtly gentleman, and I take it despite the ridiculous thought. I don’t know what a courtly gentleman even
is
.

We only make it a few steps before one of the sages leaps above the water. She hooks scaly flippers over the edge of the bridge. Black water slops over onto its surface, and Oz slides me behind him. “Get back,” he says, and then adds, “Please.” Justin lets go of Bree to join Oz, holding some sort of small green knife that might be a relic.

“
Put away your fin-splitter,
boooy
,”
she says, and the other sages hiss and clamor. “We
exxxist
only to give knowledge.”

The sage releases the side of the bridge, but her tail flips up and out of the tank to spray water across Oz and Justin’s faces. This opportunity is exactly what she wanted all along. I barely have time to tuck my nose into my elbow to avoid another vision of my own.

I grab Oz’s uniform to lead him across. “Been there,” I say, loud enough for Justin to hear too, “it’s just a vision. It’ll be over before you know it.”

The sage fish-woman slides back into the water with the others. “You never know what you need to know, but
weee
do,” one says.

Oz’s eyes are closed as I lead him onto the tile, his lids moving slightly in a mimic of dream state. Surprisingly, Tam tows Justin across, leaving Bree to follow last. I’m not sure what’s going on with Tam. He’s never this quiet.

“Tam, everything alright?” I ask.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he counters, his irritation plain and, again, not like him.

“I can think of about a thousand reasons,” I say, but let it go.

We get the Society boys out into the hallway, empty of humans
and
gods, and wait out whatever gift the sage decided to give them. Oz slumps against the wall, and I have to force myself to stop watching his eyelids flutter. I want to know what he sees. From his scowl, it’s not anything good.

I’d love to ask if the visions the sages gave us were true or false. I can’t believe Dad was crying like that, not over me. But I don’t want to know, not if it wasn’t the truth.

Bree is near Justin, keeping an eye on him. His expression is blank.

“What about you?” I ask her. “Everything alright?”

She shrugs one shoulder. Her mascara has run down her cheek, blending in with the face paint. I’d forgotten we had it on. “No,” she says. “You?”

I shake my head. We exchange a half-smile. It makes what I know is coming harder. So I focus on Oz and Justin, waiting for them to come out of the visions.

Finally, they do. Oz reenters the waking world first, dazed. “So sorry,” is the first thing out of his mouth, “that was a rookie error.”

Beside him, Justin says, “We are rookies.”

Oz’s scowl has not gone with the vision.

“Hey,” I say, wanting to distract him. He was kind to me back there. Why not be the same? These are the only people I can ask about Society stuff for now. “How did you find us here?”

Oz straightens. “One of the revelers recognized him.” Oz nods to Tam. “She passed on the news to his dad.”

“My dad would never tell you,” Tam says.

Oz smiles. “He would if he was worried for his son, it turns out. And so he was. Something about your mom killing him if you got hurt while she’s out of town. He’s not happy with you.”

“Where is he then?” Tam asks, suspicious.

“We told him we’d bring you right to your front door as soon as we were done here.”

“No,” I say.

Oz asks, “What do you mean?”

“I need to go somewhere else first.”

I don’t relish the next part, but it’s time. Past time. This is my only next move. “If you’re willing to come with me, that is.” So maybe I want to delay a few more seconds.