Or this she told herself as she made her way up the slope and to the fort. Far below, she spotted a port, but she imagined the Titan would live in the acropolis, as Titans were forever wont to do, looking down upon mortals from high above.
Outside the fort, she paused. Cyclopean walls surrounded Delphi, the stones larger than any three Men could probably move. Had actual Cyclopes built this fortress? Had Themis somehow conscripted the flesh-eating monsters to such work? Perhaps the Titan would grant her the answer.
Papa had mentioned Themis on occasion and apparently considered her a friend, though Pyrrha had seen her only once, just before she founded Delphi, when she had called upon Tethys in her court. She remembered a dark-haired Titan of noble bearing who had insisted upon speaking to Tethys in private.
The town within the fort was sparse, composed mostly of the agora, the acropolis, and a handful of shops and manses for the aristoi. Pyrrha wandered the streets at leisure, while her mind ran over what she would say to the Titan. Was it best to play upon her friendship with Papa? Was she assuming too much in thinking them friends? She racked her brain, trying to remember exactly what Papa had said of Themis.
Always fair, always striving for justice.
But what did such even mean? By now, Themis would most likely have heard of Pyrrha’s … well, she refused to think of it as a crime, so call it her actions against Poseidon. Would the Titan consider Tethys’s banishment of Pyrrha justice?
Among such musings, she reached the acropolis and Themis’s palace.
A short steward greeted her with a stiff nod. “Who may I say is calling?”
“Pyrrha, daughter of Prometheus, come to see Themis.”
The steward remained expressionless, not even his voice affecting the least emotion. “The Oracle is in the catacombs beneath the mountain.” The way he said it made it seem she spent all her time down there. “Head down to the harbor, then follow the dirt path to a square arch carved into the mountainside.”
A tinge of familiarity shot through Pyrrha and left her skin tingling.
As if his words were a dismissal, the steward turned and disappeared back into the palace. Pyrrha huffed, suppressing an urge to put the man in his place. Antagonizing him would avail her naught and might well make her getting aid from Themis harder. Instead, she made her slow way back down the mountainside.
These mountains, named for the highest peak of Olympus, were famed for being almost impassible. Some claimed Gigantes—Cyclopes included—lurked in hidden caves and valleys, ready to prey upon the unwary who plodded over these ridges. While she could not say what, something about these mountains radiated a kind of power, thrumming beneath her feet. Was that why Themis had chosen this location?
Far below, she found the path the steward mentioned. The dirt was already hard packed from so many pilgrims come this way seeking a prophecy or advice from the Oracles of Delphi. At the terminus lay the mountain, with more cyclopean stones forming an arch leading into a vault. A triangular gable above the arch lay empty, allowing the fading sunlight to stream down upon the inner chamber. Pyrrha passed through the arch into that chamber, finding it hexagonal. Within lay three more similar arches, each leading into a tunnel. Only one was lit, with torches stuck in sconces illuminating a passage.
The obvious path. Ducking through the archway, Pyrrha peered down the tunnel. Within lay alcoves set with sarcophagi cast in shadow by the sporadic torches. With a grimace, Pyrrha made her way deeper inside. Who was buried in these halls? Dead Oracles? Older persons of import? None of her lessons had ever mentioned any great fallen civilization here. Was it possible … could these tombs date to the Time of Nyx?
Further inside, she passed openings into other unlit tunnels. Though she gazed inside, she could make out little in the shadows beyond, save that some of those tunnels seemed much wider and dug out of natural stone rather than carved cyclopean blocks. Caverns hollowed out long ago, no doubt, and Themis had connected to them with her newer vault. But why?
Pyrrha hesitated on one threshold, tempted to snatch a torch and go exploring. Doing so might have offended the Oracles, though, so instead she moved on, following the lit passages. Eventually, she came to another hexagonal chamber deep within the mountain. Other tunnels led off from it, but her attention was drawn to Themis, who sat upon a stool within a circular diagram, peering down at a cloudy pool of water. Around the back of her seat, steam vented up through grates, obscuring the Oracle.
“Pyrrha,” Themis said.
Pyrrha started. “You remember me?”
Themis’s eyes glinted. “Of long ago, I knew you.”
“I …” Pyrrha swallowed. She had come all this way and still didn’t know what to say. “I am lost. I am tormented by visions from the Underworld, yet I find myself compelled to look. I have lost my parents and my home, and now I lose myself. I need a reason for … for everything.”
Something washed over the Oracle’s face. Not sympathy, but understanding, perhaps. “Know you, far better than I, the chill of the grave that awaits. The brushing hand upon a faltering neck, the windswept cheek exposed to bitter drafts. And all around the expanse of bone.”
Taken aback, all Pyrrha could do was frown. “Did that … make sense in your head?”
Themis snorted and rose. “Do you know why I built this place here?” She had been wondering. “In the murky depths far beneath the Earth coil and shift saurian colossi spawned by Echidna. The blood coursing through their veins is the most virulent of poisons, but it runs thick with puissance. Should one survive its touch, it can rarify their nature, bring out the depths of their soul.”
Pyrrha folded her arms. “You speak of drakons.” Once, when the sisters had not known
