War did not-and Ares would take only moments to learn all that she wanted kept secret from him.
Pandora’s Box, Athena thought in wonder. Kratos must find it before Ares realizes there is danger in the quest.
Zeus’s words startled Athena and relieved Hermes.
“You need not deliver the message to Ares,” Zeus said.
“How may I be of aid in other ways, my father?” Hermes almost babbled in his respite from delivering such a challenge. The Messenger of the Gods usually enjoyed such discord, being above the content of the news. With Ares willing to slay anyone, though, even the messenger would be at risk, in violation of Zeus’s decree against one god killing another.
“Father,” Athena said, choosing her words carefully, “the mortals bear the brunt of my brother’s rage. If Hermes were to warn our priests and priestesses, telling them the best avenues of escape, they could save themselves.”
“Well, get to work on it, then,” Zeus said. “I would see this conflict at an end.” Zeus grumbled some more, stroking his beard, then looked hard at Athena. “You are not goading your brother into destroying my shrines as a way to humiliate me, are you, Daughter?”
“Father, no! I would never add to the destruction in my city!”
“Even to save your pet mortal?”
“Kratos is nothing to me,” Athena said, forcing herself to remain as calm as possible. If she dared not provoke Ares into hunting Kratos, neither did she want Zeus spying on him. She had no idea how the King of the Gods would respond to a mortal killing not only a god but Ares, his son.
“Be gone,” Zeus said in a booming voice to Hermes.
Hermes took a single pass around the chamber for airspeed, then his winged sandals carried him high into the clouds around Olympus.
“Thought he’d never leave,” Zeus said, lowering himself gratefully onto his throne. When he regarded the Goddess of Wisdom, the noble gravity of authority shadowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t say this in front of Hermes-you know how he gossips-but I am growing concerned for you, Athena. Ares has delivered a surprisingly thorough destruction. Within a week or two, you may not have any worshippers left.”
“It’s been difficult,” she admitted. “He’s won the battle-but I always knew he would. I can still win the war.” She watched her father for any hint that he would aid her.
“Can you?” Zeus asked, a bit sadly. “I have great faith in your powers, my daughter-but so far you haven’t even hit back.”
If she admitted to doing nothing, Zeus would become suspicious, since this would be unlike her. His concern for her rang true and brought her to an audacious confession. She had worried that her father would hinder Kratos when he found that there was a way for a mortal to destroy a god. But perhaps he would remain neutral, if not aid her valiant hero. It was a risk, but one she had to take to prevent unwanted interference.
“That’s about to change.” Athena squinted at the Chariot of Helios where it hung in Olympus’s everlasting summer noon. “If everything has gone as planned, my oracle in Athens has just now opened the portal to the Desert of Lost Souls and sent Kratos through.”
“What does Kratos seek?”
Athena again paused, wary of her father’s power and his possible opposition. Then certainty settled upon her like a cloak. She told him of the object of Kratos’s search, revealed through the divination of the Oracle.
Zeus sat up straighter. His voice caught. “The box…”
“Yes, Father,” she said with grim satisfaction. “Pandora’s Box.”
FIFTEEN
LOST IN THE BLINDING SAND, Kratos had no idea where to go.
His eyes watered so hard that he might have been swimming in the sea, were it not for the grit in his mouth and the way the dust filled his nose. Kratos put his head down and slogged forward. He was keenly aware that there were an infinite number of wrong directions, and only one right one. He hoped.
He could not know if there even was a right direction to walk.
The Oracle had summoned the visions that haunted his nightmares. The revulsion at what she had seen in his head had been writ plain upon her lovely face. He found it all too easy to imagine that she might have decided a man as corrupt and evil as he knew himself to be was best taken forever from the company of humankind. She might have sent him to this terrible desert to die.
Worse, she might have sent him to this terrible desert to not die.
He had heard tales of the punishments of the Titans in Tartarus. This endless desert, endless slash of sand, endless heat, and endless thirst seemed all too similar to such tales.
He cursed the gods as he trudged along, then added their oracles. If there had chanced to be a rift in the sandstorm through which he could glimpse the sun, he might have gauged the passage of time. Or, at least, he might have discovered whether time did indeed pass in this awful waste or if this had become his eternal fate. As it was, all he knew was growing heat and the ever-present wind laden with blinding sand.
Above the howl of the wind came a shrill keening. He reached for the blades but did not draw. Slowly turning, he aimed himself toward the sound and advanced warily. Ares could lay a hundred traps in such a storm. Worse, Kratos knew he might be lured away from his true destination. The only hope he had was to get a fix on the sound and find what it might be. The sound was the first hint he’d had of anything other than his own sorry soul trudging through the storm.
A bright light flashed once, twice, then shone to rival the sun. His stride lengthened. Whatever lay ahead had to be better than stumbling blindly through the desert. As he neared, he saw that the twin beacons were eyes in a statue of Athena.
“Athena,” he said angrily, staring into the goddess’s gray eyes. He felt abandoned, and she was only the most recent of the Olympian pantheon to use and then discard him. “Why have you brought me here?”
The statue spoke. “Kratos, the journey forward is perilous but one you must complete if you are to have any hope of saving Athens.”
“The Oracle spoke of Pandora’s Box. Can it be real?” “The box exists. It is the most powerful weapon a mortal can wield.”
“Can I defeat Ares with it?”
“With the box, many things become possible. And so it is hidden well, far across the Desert of Lost Souls.”
For a brief instant the clouds of roiling sand cleared, and Kratos saw to the horizon. As quickly as the window opened, it closed.
“There is safe passage through deadly sand, but only those who hear the Sirens’ song will discover it, for only the Sirens can guide you to Cronos, the Titan. Zeus has commanded him to wander the desert endlessly with the Temple of Pandora chained to his back, until the swirling sands rip the very flesh from his bones.”
“How do I find him?”
“Stay true to the song of the Siren, Kratos. Your journey begins here. Pray it leads you back to Athens-with Pandora’s Box. Remember this: Seek the summit for only death awaits you below. There is no escape without the box.”
“How do I resist the Sirens’ song?” he asked. Athena’s statue did not answer. He moved closer and saw the eyes were featureless orbs of marble. The spirit of the goddess had left-and had left him. He held down his rising wrath. Hints, nothing but hints!
HE GRITTED HIS TEETH and trudged on. It was not given to mortals to understand the whys and wherefores of the gods. That was what his mother used to tell him, back before he turned seven and was taken from her to begin his training. He had always assumed that it meant nothing more or less than “Hush and do as you’re told.”
As he set forth, he saw that the statue had changed. Now the right arm was raised, pointing into the desert. As he turned to follow that direction, he heard the faint keening once more. He stood a little straighter against the
