“My mother …” Kalypso moaned for the hundredth time. “My mother …” Then, almost inaudible, the whisper. “Mama …”
Kirke said naught, for there was naught to be said. Sometimes, life so ravaged a person that all you could do was hold them in place and keep the pieces from blowing away in the wind.
“Prometheus and his new girl didn’t do a damn thing about all of this,” Kirke grumbled the next morning, while the two of them sat beneath a cypress tree on the estate’s edge, sipping from a bowl of wine. Well, Kirke might have done more than sip, having no interest in the figs Kalypso ate. “Maybe even made it worse.”
“Oh, leave over,” Kalypso snapped. “They didn’t have aught to do with it.”
“She’s trying to seduce your great-uncle,” Kirke complained. Girl seemed damn familiar, too. Another of her father’s bastards, perhaps removed by a few generations, not even worthy of being called a Nymph.
Kalypso favored her with a withering look. “As if that’s our great concern at the moment. Zeus just murdered my mother—and the rest of the Pleiades. For sixteen centuries he trusted them to govern Atlantis and manage the flow of Ambrosia to Olympus. And now … Now … What if he comes for us as well?” The woman paled. “He might not know about you, but if he turned on my mother, how long before he decides I’m a threat?”
It was … a possibility. Zeus was unpredictable, as always. He’d banished Atlas to Tartarus but allowed the great Titan’s daughters to rule Atlantis until now. Still, he might not act without some provocation. She took a long drink from the bowl before setting it aside, drained. “Yeah, I think him more like to observe you first. Wholesale slaughter of the Atlantid genos would weaken his support, even among the other Olympians. People tend to get worked up about that sort of thing.”
“Observe?”
“Yeah, well, he’s been known to use Morpheus to hunt through the dreams of those whom he has begun to doubt.” Was that what had been sparking Kirke’s nightmares of late? Did Morpheus hunt her specifically, or merely comb through the dreams of all Titans in this region? “Morpheus is one of those men who values privacy. He likes to take your privacy and keep it all for himself. He’s like … like a secret-hoarding magpie, you know?”
Kalypso grew paler and clutched Kirke’s hand. “Can you keep him out?”
“Ah … I wish I could, but I’m not that powerful of a sorceress. He’s the strongest oneiromancer I’ve ever heard of. No, my friend, you have to guard your own mind. Control your thoughts and your fear. Forget what we’ve been up to for a time.”
“W-will I know he’s inside my head?”
Kirke squeezed her hand, wishing she had more reassurance to offer. “Maybe. Such things have no easy answers. It depends on you and your mind and how aware you are of it.” And on how deep Morpheus chose to push into her dreams, if he came for her. “Believe me when I tell you, staying calm is our best defense.” If Morpheus pulled incriminating thoughts from Kalypso’s sleeping mind, she and Kirke could well both be damned.
“Why would Zeus do this?” Kalypso abruptly moaned. “Why now?”
Kirke sighed. “Why does a megalomaniac do aught he does? Maybe he snapped from too much Ambrosia. Maybe he sampled a bad batch of Nectar.”
For a moment Kalypso’s eyes widened, appearing to try to judge if Kirke was jesting. Not even Kirke was sure about that. Either way, Kalypso’s face darkened, and she snatched her hand back and rose, storming away.
Not knowing what else to do, Kirke rubbed her forehead and remained sitting beneath the tree. What in the very gates of Tartarus had happened on Atlantis to prompt Zeus to such madness?
And now, even Kirke’s very presence on this island might make her and Kalypso look more suspicious. So what was she to do? How was she to comfort her friend and still protect them both? Kirke banged an impotent fist against the unforgiving ground. All their dreams were flitting away, broken before they had truly begun.
Was it possible Zeus had known the Nectar came from Ogygia? Had he acted against Kelaino to punish Kalypso? It seemed too subtle for him, but who knew what wild gyrations went through the king’s mind?
One thing seemed abundantly clear though. They needed help before Zeus came for them.
The caliginous city streets had fallen away, revealing rugged hills and an even more shadow-drenched forest. Kirke could make out so little, but still she stumbled forward, half running, dead certain someone followed her.
The one thing she knew: someone stalked her dreams, and she could not allow him—or it—to see her. So she ran in the darkness, darting between trees and—
Her foot snared on a root sending her crashing down amid fallen leaves. The impact jarred her shoulder, and she lay there moaning. Before she could right herself, a snake slithered in front of her face. Kirke froze, not daring to breathe. In the darkness, she had no idea what kind of serpent it was or if it was venomous.
A moment later it was gone, disappeared into the fallen leaves.
Somewhere, in the direction she’d come from, footfalls crunched more leaves.
Ah, shit.
She hurled herself to her feet and raced onward, certain that whatever followed her would be worse than stepping on a snake in her blind rush. Her elbow scraped rough tree bark as she fled, and underbrush tore at her khiton.
Her pulse had begun to pound in her ears.
Her mad flight brought her atop an outcropping over the hills, where the land pitched away into the utter darkness of an unseen valley, and she lurched to a stop, arms flailing to keep from tumbling into the abyss.
The sound of running behind her intensified. Whoever chased her was growing closer.
This was a dream.
It
