Page 10 of The Mortal Trials

“Are you quite certain?” Morrigan questions. “He doesn’t bother remembering the names of many mortals, Callalie, but he knows yours. It haunts him. You haunt him.”

A knot of emotion swells in my throat.

Morrigan imparts one last piece of wisdom. “When you face him, don’t reward him with your fear.”

When. Not if…

The roaring wind doesn’t toy with the delicate fabric of the dark gown she wears. It doesn’t dare to lift a hair on her sable head.

She shifts into a raven, flaps her powerful wings, and soars off the cliffside over the churning sea. The screech she bellows as she circles overhead rivals the one my knee makes as I turn and walk to the portal at the bottom of the hill, the great golden slab that will carry me into Olympus.

To Ares.

3

Niall trails behind me down the grassy hillside. He doesn’t speak until we stand before the portal. And when he does, I wish he had kept silent.

“We’re going to die.” His skin is sallow and he looks like he might be sick. He’s likely right, but it’s out of our hands now. Morrigan ordered us to go to Olympus.

She soars overhead, watching, daring one or both of us to run away from her. Niall tracks her movements and I wonder if he’s considering how far he could get before she killed him. A death from Morrigan would be far more merciful than one dealt by Ares.

Averting my stare from the portal to avoid my reflection, I think of the Greek city.

Niall curses under his breath at the goddess’s shrill screech at our backs.

Her relentless will pushes us into Olympus.

On the other side of the portal, the moody, wild richness of Morrigan’s realm bleeds into the bright, ostentatious city of the Greeks.

We don’t arrive in a temple, but step onto the cobbled stones of a dim alley. From the buzzing street beyond, neon light flares against the fading twilight. Green. Pink. Yellow. Blue.

Hermes is the messenger god of the Greeks, and he takes great pride in his work. He designed the telecasters and uses his power to push broadcasted information and news of mortal importance to anyone in the realm permitted to purchase them.

Some gods prefer to control the information flow in their realms. Most leave it to Hermes.

I move to the alley’s mouth and peer around for the ‘instructions’ awaiting us.

Advertisements flicker over telecasters for shops and merchants alike. The columned logo of The Parthenon Press, my sister’s former employer and singular Olympian news outlet, flashes onto the screen.

My sister loved being a newscaster. She loved the people she worked with and the mortals who appreciated their craft. She’d even met Hermes a few times and told me how intelligent and fair he seemed.

Another ad overtakes the image, and I look away from the distracting screens.

At the end of the alley there are well-established market stalls. My mouth waters as the scents of spiced meat rotating on spits, fragrant steaming bread, and citrus fruit wafts from them.

From behind a pile of refuse, something stirs. A raven hops forward and takes flight, banking left out of the alley.

I hurry to follow.

Niall catches up, and the bird leads us through a tangle of melodies and conversations pouring from homes and pubs, past vendor stalls and mouth-watering food, pressing forward through humid, summer air.

We leave the busy city center and push through a weighted gate to enter an older part of Olympus where uneven stone steps lead to a quaint, secluded home clinging to a rugged hillside.

The bird perches on the edge of a window box full of dead flowers and nods its glossy black head toward the house.

I shoulder the stuck door open. The raven flies beneath Niall’s arm as he coaxes the moonlight into the dusty space, swooping to land on a nearby table beside an oil lamp and a box of matches.

The red end flares to life when I drag it over the striking surface and warm light floods the room as I bring the fire to its wick. I stare at the raven and wait for further instructions the creature doesn’t give before it flies through the window Niall opened. He darts out of the way as the bird’s wings flap close to his face, the shutters rebounding off the home’s stone walls.