As he fell into himself, their voices faded into oblivion.
Those with trained minds, especially those with the Sight, could learn to reenter their pasts. To live them afresh, within the palace of memories. And Prometheus had a palace overflowing from his interminable life. He had been so many men, passed so many years.
Enough he might—almost—ignore even the pain the harpy promised.
Almost.
Part III
In those days Atlantis was yet known as Hesperides Island. None can say how Lord Atlas tamed the ancient drakon Ladon, but he did so, and through Ladon, claimed Hesperides Island and renamed it after himself. This affront—history records—the other great Titans could not bear, knowing an interruption in the flow of Ambrosia would cost them their immortality. War, then, became the only recourse. War for the Ambrosia.
— Kleio, Analects of the Muses
15
Artemis
200 Golden Age
An unnatural blizzard bombarded the woods on Helion, no doubt choking the city as well. Artemis’s father’s men probably couldn’t even risk riding forth to hunt for where this witch Khione might lurk. Crouching beneath a cypress tree, Artemis raised an arm against the pounding snows, she shivered.
Word had come that war had broken out between the Titans. A shame for the people, but it was her chance to prove herself just as worthy as her brother. Helios seemed to think, just because Artemis’s Phoebid nature had dominated—with her ebony hair and silver eyes—she could never be worthy as his heir. No, he wanted someone with his golden eyes, like her twin. Or maybe he just wanted a boy child.
But it wasn’t Apollon stalking these woods, hunting for the Titan who laid siege to Father’s city. It wasn’t Apollon who would win this war for Helion. No, Artemis had spent the better part of five decades in constant training, and she doubted even her father could match her talents at Pneumatikoi.
She allowed Pneuma to flow through her, collecting in her senses. Perspicacity, masters termed it. Her eyes sharpened until she could make out the fur of a rabbit scrambling for cover even through the curtain of snow separating them. She could smell the animal from twenty feet away. She could even hear the crunch of ice as it hopped.
Grinning, she rose and slipped from beneath the tree, stalking through the woods, bow in hand. She nocked an arrow but didn’t draw. With Pneuma-enhanced strength, she could shoot even in this weather, but not far. The wind and elements would snatch up her arrow before it had crossed much distance. She would need to be close to Khione. Close enough she would probably only get one shot.
But if she made it, if she killed the Titan Queen, even Father would have to favor her.
Pushing through the snow, she hunted. Khione would not have come alone, of course. Freezing the city would not allow her to claim it without a war band. Artemis just needed to find them and, if she could, catch Khione separated from the others.
Before long, her teeth began to chatter from the cold. She could flow a little Pneuma into Tolerance, but she would need every breath of her power to confront the Titan and her warriors. Better to suffer a little now than deplete her reserves. Then, almost as if she had reached some invisible barrier, the snow abated. Behind her, a blizzard raged, and before her, mere flurries dusted the land. The clouds overhead actually swirled about the rest of the island, forming an iris above this one hill, showing blue sky overhead.
Unexpected.
Artemis faltered, dropping to a crouch in the snows despite the temptation to rush forward into the relative warmth of the hill. Up there lay the cyclopean ruins of the old city. Had Khione chosen its broken colonnades to house her warriors, keep them fresh while the rest of Helion was worn down by her foul weather?
If so, it changed a few things.
Still crouching, Artemis crawled forward until she could make out the marble columns and the men moving among them. She cocked her head, focusing her senses.
“How much longer we gonna wait?” a man asked.
“If you think you’re weary of it,” another answered, “imagine how Helios’s poor bastards in the city feel. Give it another day and they’ll be begging to surrender.”
Artemis sneered. They would see who begged.
She took a breath to settle herself, picturing herself drawing in more Pneuma. She allowed it to flow through her like water coursing through canals. Opening the sluice gates, focusing the flow powered numerous Pneumatikoi. Alacrity to enhance her reflexes and running speed. Lightness to manipulate her gravity. Potency for superhuman strength.
Grasping her bow and arrow with one hand, she broke into a trot, racing up the hill, covering the distance as fast as a galloping horse. The instant she reached the closest column, she leapt up onto it. Lightness allowed her to run along its surface nigh forty feet, to reach its capital. She caught the lip with her free hand and heaved, flinging herself atop the column. She landed in a silent crouch, then leaned forward, peering down at the warband below.
No obvious sign of any females. If Artemis got closer, maybe she could feel the other Titan’s Pneuma, but from up here, she was too far above. Instead, she scanned the men Khione had brought with her. A single sentry was posted at each of the four cardinal directions, none of whom seemed to be much on guard. Perhaps they justifiably imagined no one coming here through the blizzard.
They were, however, far enough out …
She nocked her arrow and sighted the sentry closest to her. Her enhanced senses allowed her to pick out a gap between the man’s helm and cuirass. She loosed. Her arrow took him in the neck and he fell, unnoticed by his companions. In quick succession, she took out the remaining three sentries.
Below her, another man pissed on the column, too lazy to make his way to the latrine ditch. His mistake.
With a brief influx
