Change, page 17
Koschei belched before replying. “Yes, he is the head of the army and their military advisor. I only saw him once, but I suspect the ghosts feed on him based on how weak and unimpressive he seems. These days, he leaves most of the leading to his captains and stays in the palace.”
Zita interpreted.
Freelance held up a finger. “Achilles. Company, five thousand, more.”
“Thousand? Oye, we have all the pinche luck. I overheard the guards say that only metas, and mostly just men, were here, so let’s hope the number we have to deal with is much smaller. We need to avoid the bulk of their forces.” Zita rubbed her forehead.
He nodded. “Not eating. Certain not sick?”
“No... this form doesn’t eat.” Zita rubbed her stomach. The small bit of food she’d imbibed felt odd, as though it was sitting there not being digested, and she decided not to eat until she was flesh again despite the nonphysical ache that still throbbed inside and her overwhelming longing for a nap. Preferably in my own shape and bed, though that’s not happening anytime soon.
As if they would’ve missed the tiny tornado of plant matter heralding her return, the nymph announced, “Lo, I have brought that which you sought! These were the smallest I could find.” She held up a shirt and pants.
After handing the clothing to the old man, Zita addressed the nymph, “I got a few questions. Do you mind answering them?”
“So few seek the wisdom of the flowers! I am delighted to speak. What would you know?” Delight filled the other woman’s expression.
“Do you know if the ghosts have any prisoners right now?” Zita glanced at the men.
Koschei was poking around the kitchen while dressing, and while Freelance appeared to focus on his bowl, the angle of his head and body suggested he was paying attention to her reactions.
“All held here in Tartarus recently escaped, as you know, and none have been recaptured yet. It is my duty to deliver food and water to this prison, so I would know. My sisters are pressed into service at the palace and army encampments, and they keep no prisoners currently.”
“Pressed into service?” Zita frowned.
The nymph hesitated, and then admitted, “We enjoy having something to do with our time, and agreed to perform basic tasks but did not grant them full power over us. The fallen king and queen were displeased and threatened to have the asphodel fields burned should we dare move against them.”
Revulsion ran through Zita. If she remembered Wyn’s explanation of nymphs correctly, that threat would eliminate all the flower and tree nymphs living on the plains. As if we didn’t have enough reasons to do something about Hera and Zeus before...
Far less horrified than she should have been by the matter-of-fact genocidal threat, the nymph prattled on. “If any new prisoners arrive, I will hear within hours, and no word has come yet. They only open the portals every few days, though, so some might still be held in the small palace they keep in your world.”
Zita made a mental note to check with the nymph again the next day if she hadn’t located the healer by then, and to follow up on the “small palace” in the regular world. “Right. Good to know. When we passed through before, you mentioned that you don’t know how to get to Olympus. Who would?”
“Most of us never venture out of the Underworld, but Styx used to visit Olympos and the mortal realm often. Lethe journeyed with her a few times, but she won’t remember the way. Cerberus’s unpleasant friend, the wolf, would know. The dogs like to lurk near the exits.” The nymph eyed Zita’s full bowl with a frown.
Zita hastily stepped in front of it. “Garm? He isn’t working for the ghosts, is he?”
Koschei uncorked a bottle, sniffed it loudly, and slurped whatever was in it down.
Her expression relaxing as the old man distracted her, the nymph shook her head. “The wolf refuses to swear to their service, nor will he let them catch him, but sometimes they bribe him to perform tasks.”
Something the ghosts had said nagged at Zita. “Better than having to fight him, I guess. Do you know anything about the invasion of the so-called sky gods? And a possible return?”
“Oh, that I may tell you, though I have but heard stories of it! They attacked the greatest cities of the mortal world. The king only sent the others to protect those that were part of his domain, so I do not know how the Eastern realms with their dragons and many-armed gods fared, but I heard at least one of the distant pyramid cities was lost across the oceans.” The nymph seemed delighted to answer.
Zita caught the wording. “He didn’t fight them himself?”
Her question made the nymph giggle. “Oh, no, he and his queen stayed in Olympos and told the others where they must go. It cost him, though. Athene and Poseidon disappeared, as did Hephaistos, but the smith returned to defend his favored city. He was captured, and we assume killed as no ransom was requested. Pan fell beneath a monster the king bade him battle. The invaders fled when Artemis was maddened by Pan’s death and rode the moonbeams to their sky palaces with her chosen guards.”
Zita remembered the crashed ship. “Was one guard a cow lady?”
“Yes, a minotaur! Our tales claim she had come from the stars herself with others to warn of the imminent attack by the sky gods. How did you know?”
“I found a vessel from the invasion. Artemis killed the queen who ruled them and everything else on the ship,” Zita replied with a wince.
The nymph nodded and shrugged. “Gods. They do that.”
Koschei evinced no interest in their conversation, but Freelance tilted his head.
“She’s talking ancient history. I’ll fill you in later.” After the quick aside to Freelance, Zita returned her attention to the nymph. “Why was Artemis freaking out about this Pan guy?”
Sorrow and dreaminess warred on the nymph’s face. “Pan and Artemis were tragedy. While they shared many things, she was the maiden huntress of a tribe ruled by women, and he was from a people where women were prizes to steal from other men. They were forever locked in a cycle where they would grow close and then apart as neither would yield to the other. Zeus forbade anyone to assist them by word, deed, or power. I have heard his preference to have his subordinates fight amongst themselves is the reason he wed Athene to Poseidon, so they would not scheme against him.”
Apparently, old chisme lives forever, and the Athena-Poseidon pairing did not work out for Zeus. Zita shook her head. “And after this war, the fallen ended up here?”
“Age and the inevitable decline after centuries of strength were displeasing to the king and queen. They created an enormous and intricate spell to reverse the ending of their lifespans and return life to them. They then decreed that their pantheon would contribute all of their strength to the spell as well, and sleep here in the Underworld, where time runs slow, until they were renewed. Because they were jealous of their positions, the spell was also to lock away godhood and power in your world so that none may surpass them while they slept.” The cadence of her words made it clear the nymph was reciting something she’d been told.
Zita tried to make sense of it. “They made a big-ass spell all to extend their lives and get young again while stopping anyone else from being a meta? I mean, getting powers.”
The nymph shrugged. “That was the intent, though it did not work fully. They never regained youth, only hibernated and aged past their seasons. The king and his queen woke periodically to monitor the progress of their renewed lives and were greatly distressed by the failure. To preserve themselves, they stole power from the other sleeping gods and the spell itself, and then returned to sleep in the vain hopes of renewal. One by one, the others all died before the spell triggered again.”
“Triggered?” Zita said.
“Did I forget that stanza? It’s been a long time since I last heard this tale told. To avoid awakening to a land without people or firmly in the grasp of the invaders, the spell would release the power and awaken the sleeping deities should the sky gods return.”
Zita held up a hand. “That’s why people got power all the sudden? The invaders came back?”
The nymph nodded. “That or the spell weakened after their predation on it and the passage of time. Styx believes one of the fallen rulers would have devoured the other’s power and then perished after a short time, perhaps a century, had mortals not seized their talismans.”
Zita shook her head. “You’d think they would’ve learned the last time they tried to steal old crap from a tomb and things started collapsing around them.”
“Mortals.” The nymph started lining up ingredients, presumably for another batch of kykeon.
After a quick summary for Freelance, Zita asked the question she really wanted answered. “I don’t suppose you know how long it takes to recover from the ghosts feeding on you?”
Sympathy shone on the nymph’s face. “I do not. Only the fallen king and queen knew the secret of draining power. From what I know of when they used it on our Hades, godly power refills like the tides returning to the shore, creeping up bit by bit. It is faster for godlings than heroes, if that helps, just as your power will grow with time and theirs never will.”
Zita sighed. “Thanks anyway, and I’m not any kind of god, nor are the others. We’re humans with some power. Let’s do this one problem at a time. How do I find Styx?”
“With great respect. The best course is to ask her watery sisters where you might find her and go there. Phlegethon would also know, but the fallen bade him stay in his fiery river, away from their mortal servants, so he is displeased and liable to be unfriendly. Should her sisters not know, throw an offering into water and call her thrice.”
“Would you tell her we’d like to talk to her?” Zita paused. “Please?”
The other woman twined a pastel lavender lock around her fingers. “Oh, I could, but I’m only an asphodel nymph, so she might not listen to me. It’s best if you go to her, as she dislikes being summoned and may refuse to show up.”
“Would you ask her anyway, please? Ask, not demand...” Zita said.
Her expression dubious, the nymph nodded. “I will, but I cannot promise that she will appear nor that she will be well-disposed to you. Is that all?”
Zita bit her lip. “Do you know what the magic talismans of the fallen ones are?”
“His is a lightning-bolt crown with his symbols etched in it, and hers is a medallion with a border of crowned peacocks and swans. Both are so pretty, the size of my fist, all gold and inlaid with shiny gems and magic. As to where they are, I don’t know. I’m just a flower. Styx would know. Even though she has diminished some since few swear upon her any longer, she knows everything important. Does the quiet godling want more?”
With a sigh, Zita corrected her. “The quiet man or mortal. Not a godling.”
“As you wish. With the prisoners gone, I have far more than I need. The human army disdains our kykeon and we must create cauldrons of that bitter coffee to satisfy them.” The nymph tossed her hair to the side and peered at Freelance through lavender eyelashes.
Turning to him, Zita passed along the nymph’s offer and added her own commentary. “She gave me a quick history lesson, too. I can tell you about it sometime if you’re interested, but it’s not directly relevant now. As I see it, we need to find Styx and ask where the exit is so you and Koschei can go somewhere safe first. Or at least the old dude. I have to handle the ghosts somehow. If I can get them out of Jen and... the criminal... maybe I can seal up the artifacts somewhere that they can’t get out again. There can’t be that much bling around here with their symbols on them.”
Freelance handed his bowl to the nymph. “Kill ghosts.”
Zita frowned. “Let’s work on getting everyone to safety and then deal with it.”
Koschei belched. “I am going to digest and sleep in the cave we hid in earlier over there. Go find your exit and where the vessels are so we can carry out my plan.”
Beaming, the nymph refilled the bowl and passed it back to the mercenary.
“For the last time, we’re not killing anyone!” Zita said in every language.
Hands hovering over the ingredients on the table, the nymph lowered her eyes. “I would never say aught against the fallen king and queen. However, everything has a season and if theirs is over, no one here would seek vengeance. None win against the natural order in the end.”
Freelance sipped from his bowl, expression unreadable.
A little desperately, Zita said, “Nobody needs to die.”
***
An hour later, Freelance and Zita finally reached the entrance to the plains again.
They’d gotten Koschei secreted away in a disused cave near the nymph, with a pile of amphorae blocking the entrance, and then set out for the entrance to find Styx. Patrols seemed less frequent, but had more men than before, and thus more noise preceding them. In comparison to her walk with the garrulous old man, Zita and Freelance were ghosts in the black tunnels, easily hiding until they passed each time. She followed behind him, and tried to watch their surroundings, rather than the perfect body of her silent companion.
His ever-present goggles let him see in the dark, for other than a few stops to hide from passing patrols, his steps showed no hesitation, nor did he stumble.
She, on the other hand, grew more exhausted the longer they walked and had to think about the placement of her claws. I’m pinche stone. Why would I need to sleep? Stupid ghosts.
This time, no guard waited at the entrance. The folding chair sat in lonely abandonment by a card table at the entrance, the only indication that the guard had ever been there. A paper was held down by a handheld radio.
Freelance darted across and glanced at the paper.
Scarcely believing their luck, Zita checked the lava pillar she’d stuffed the guard in before, but it was empty. She moved over to check the paper on the table.
It was the job offer that the guards had mentioned. Someone had added hasty addendums that the entrance cave would not be patrolled if he sought a safe place to negotiate, and if he recaptured any of the missing prisoners, he’d get a bonus. The reward for Arca was the same as the one for Koschei or “the twin blond women.”
Zita grinned. That money train has left the station. If they take my advice and get to Atlantis, good luck getting them back. Walkie-talkie’s gone, though. Why did he take it?
“Problem.” Freelance’s quiet voice interrupted her thoughts. He now stood beside the entrance and tilted his head toward the fields.
Taking her cue from his caution, Zita went to the other side of the opening and peeked out. The slight elevation of the prison above the plain granted a clear view into the fields. She groaned.
An army was on the move. Cutting a brutal swath through the flowery fields, a few hundred armored men stomped from the distant palace to the portal, and tents went up around the building as she watched. Worse still, a contingent had broken off and marched toward the prison.
This situation sucks. She took a deep breath and flexed her shoulders. “Right. Since they’re still here, the peace-conference attack must be tomorrow. The ones coming toward us are guard reinforcements.”
Freelance held up a finger.
Dark water flowed down a wall and coalesced into the statuesque, scowling figure of Styx, seated in the folding chair like in a tiny throne. The skulls in her hair clicked as she tilted her head at the pair, and her arms were crossed over her chest. “I understand it was important you speak to me. Did you bring an appeasement for me bothering to appear, or am I telling the fallen king and queen that one of the rulers of Olympos is here?”
A gun was in Freelance’s hand and pointed at the nymph as he backed toward the tunnels.
Zita held up a hand to halt him and tried to use her best manners, the ones she used when her mother was present. “Styx! Thank you for showing up. You look nice.”
“I am not nice, I do not enjoy being summoned, and I have no patience left today. Do not use any of my little sisters to call for me again. What have you brought me?” Styx glanced outside, her frown deepening, and then returned her gaze to them.
Either she’s hangry and needs a snack, or I’m not the only one who needs a nap, Zita thought. “I heard something I thought you’d want to know, and I was hoping you’d give us some information. We need to know where the anchor talismans for the ghosts are.”
“That I will not answer, because the fallen rulers are creative in their punishments, and their presence is enough for the Underworld until we can find a suitable godling, one not longing for Olympos. All I can say is the items have not left their original chamber, but it has been sealed so tightly no human or animal may enter. Ask something else.”
Something tickled at the back of Zita’s mind, an anomaly she’d ignored before. “They’re in the Hades temple or whatever that building is that they’re using to portal people, aren’t they? There’s a wall that doesn’t match anything else in there.”
“Trickster cleverness will not get me to tell you yea or nay. And it is, or was, the Temple of Judgement.” Despite her words, the corner of Styx’s mouth twitched upward. “Tell me what it is that you thought I should know, and I might answer another question.”
Zita bit her lip. “Your sister, Lethe. The ghosts are going to give her to their advisor, General Achilles, after the mission they’re gearing up to send their guys on now.”
Anger darkened the nymph’s face. “They dare? We may agree to aid them to stabilize the Underworld, but only one who has ties to death may rule us. We are not theirs to give. How do you know?”
“I overheard a few of their men talking.”
“Gossip, then. What else can you give me?”
“That was it,” Zita admitted. “I thought it was a big deal. If it were my family, I’d want to know.”
The nymph’s face was very cold. “What is your question?”
“How do we get to the exit to Olympus? Preferably the one by Lerna,” Zita asked.
“You wish me to tell you that in exchange for a bit of unsubstantiated rumor? No, you will have to earn it.” Styx tapped her fingers on her lips.
