But if her pursuer caught her, it would become something more.
Kirke leapt into the void.
Neither woman spoke much as they climbed the mountain. While mostly keeping her gaze upon Prometheus’s Aviary, Kirke could not help but steal glances at Kalypso when she wasn’t looking. All oneiromancers suffered nightmares full of portent and metaphor and, as now, the persistent fear of other oneiromancers stalking them. Oh, such uses of the Art were potent and could be used to pass messages without regard for distance.
But as with every other branch of the Art, there was terrible risk.
A fortnight since learning of the Pleiades’ fate, and her nightmares grew worse, and with them, the sense of everything coming to a head.
And maybe Kalypso would be better off if Kirke was as far from her as possible, both physically and emotionally. If it was Morpheus stalking her, sooner or later, he would catch her, and her mind would unfold before him like a papyrus roll.
Was she betraying Kalypso by even thinking of leaving her in such circumstances? Or did she betray her more severely if she let her affections for the woman stop her from taking steps to protect the both of them?
While she did not relish the thought of being alone, she had spent ages traveling the seas with little or no company, and she could manage if she must. As a child she’d grown up in Helion, in her father’s court, though she had spent her earliest years in Byblos before that, in times she barely recalled. But both had been ages back, and so much had happened since then.
Then the Titanomachy had come and, in the last days of the war, her mighty father had abandoned Kronos and bent his knee to Zeus. Mostly, she blamed Artemis for that, but the bitch had help, and Kirke could not forgive that. For thousands of years Helios had been one of the greatest forces in the Thalassa, and Kirke, while still a Nymph, was a princess worthy of respect. Now what? Now she was just another Nymph daughter of a fallen Titan, a shadow of his old self, who held his puppet throne only by sucking at Zeus’s teat.
Such things dashed about her mind more and more these days. Memories of the Golden Age. And the World grew harsher for anyone not reigning from Olympus.
Atop the mountain, Prometheus met them, not inside his Aviary, but past it, beckoning them over to where he sat in sunshine upon the cliff’s edge, watching the sea. Kalypso paused a moment by the tower, sniffing the daphne and lingering, perhaps now dreading the conversation they must have with a Titan more ancient than even Kirke. Maybe more ancient than Kirke’s father. Prometheus had been there, in the dawn of time, when Ouranos drove back Nyx, or so some legends told it. And he, too, had helped Zeus overthrow Kronos, though Kirke could not fathom his reasons.
He gave Man the Art of Fire and pyromancy, taught them trades and arts and so many things, and they called him benefactor. Yet he helped enthrone the greatest tyrant in the ambit of history. Whether in weakness and fear, like her father, or out of mere poor judgment, his mistake was not something Kirke could forgive.
Not waiting for Kalypso, Kirke strode over to where the Titan sat and slumped down beside him. “Word has already spread about the fate of the Pleiades, you know. And by now I’d have to imagine it’s the talk of fishwives in the harbors of Korinth and philosophers in the streets of Kronion.” Kirke spread her hands for effect. “Maybe it was inevitable, too, right, Prometheus? I mean, if you let a madman take control of the land, let him think himself a god … if you let him reinforce that belief by allowing him to force others to call himself a god, well then you’ve set the stage for your own execution, haven’t you? Yeah, maybe we ought to start selling tickets to this show, too, because something tells me we haven’t reached the climax yet. Have you got a comfortable seat for it, Firebringer?”
As Kalypso approached, Kirke could almost hear her wince at Kirke’s tone. No, this hadn’t been how she’d planned for this conversation to go. Browbeating a Titan wasn’t like to produce results, but the words had rushed out of Kirke without her having much say in the matter.
The Titan, however, favored her with a sad smile, sympathy touching his crystal blue eyes. “You hope that, perhaps, I will somehow join you in a second Titanomachy? You imagine that, if you could gather enough supporters, you might wage some grand war to overthrow tyranny and establish a new order, better than what we have.”
“Yes!” Kirke snapped. “Yeah, I want you to fucking do something, Firebringer. I mean, something more useful than sitting on a mountain collecting birds and naming the clouds.”
Prometheus frowned, ever so slightly, though whether at her outburst, profanity, or some war within himself, Kirke didn’t know. “I am, always, doing a great many things. And naught lasts forever, Kirke, not even Zeus’s reign. But I will not join in a war against the Olympians.”
“They slaughtered the Pleiades,” she said, barely able to stop from screaming at him again. “They murdered them all, and no one will do aught about it.”
“Indeed, I was there,” he reminded her. “And Zeus and his ilk will do worse still before things are done. But I cannot do as you wish.”
Kirke hesitated. “I think he sent Morpheus after us.”
She felt Kalypso stiffen even as Prometheus’s frown deepened. “I will see if I can direct his eyes away from you,” the Titan said softly.
“Uncle …” Kalypso moaned. “What he did to Mother …”
Prometheus inclined his head to his great-niece. “Kirke had the right of it, Kalypso. We do set the stage for our own end, Zeus included. His actions may yet prove his undoing, but a war against Olympus now
