Page 31 of Crown of Olympus
Archimedes. With Apollo right on his tail.
The son of Hephaestus swung his sword at an unguarded Aros, though its trajectory was promptly blown wide by the black dagger I threw with every ounce of my godly strength.
Archimedes’ head snapped towards me. To where I now stood a third of the way into the clearing, posture tense, stance defensive.
I didn’t care to put my body on the line for a god I barely knew, but I couldn’t stand by and let Archimedes accidentally cleave Aphrodite in two over a misunderstanding.
“It’s the fruit!” I yelled. “They didn’t hurt him. He ate the fruit.” I gestured towards the still-beating heart that lay in the ash a few feet from where Thallo had hit the ground — its side torn open by a bite.
Aros had leapt to his feet and over Thallo’s body the second my shadow dagger struck. Now he took a threatening step forward, a low growl curling from his throat. Archimedes froze for a full beat before promptly sheathing his sword and raising both hands in calm surrender.
“I’m sorry. It looked—” he began.
“Iknowhow it looked. And that’s the only reason you’re still standing, boy. You’re one of few these days with any sense of morals or loyalty.” Aros growled then turned to help Aphrodite to her feet.
Thallo sobbed quietly, breaking the tension. He writhed in the ash, tear-streaked face twisted in anguish.
“No, no, no,” he chanted. “She can’t be dead!”
Apollo approached cautiously, gently placing his hand on Thallo’s shoulder, and closing his golden eyes. After a moment, he reopened them and turned towards us, gesturing with graceful fingers.
This is not something I can heal.
He must face it. What he feels is only within his mind. His body remains whole.
That familiar sense of dread reared its ugly head, causing my stomach to sink. I understood what Apollo had laid out, even without words: this pain, this vision, it was part of the trial. A test. And we must all endure it when we ate the fruit. Or forfeit our place in the Rite.
That wasn’t an option for me, and I doubted any of the others would give up just two trials in, especially on something that wasn’t actually harmful to us.
Thallo suddenly began beating his fists into the ground, like he was pummelling some invisible enemy.
“I won’t let you take her, Zeus!”
My eyes darted around the clearing instinctively, searching for a familiar pair of silver irises. But Caelus was nowhere to be seen, probably still somewhere deep within the Bone Field. Unless Thallo wasn’t actually the first to find the tree.
“Please, Hades,” Thallo whimpered, having crawled to his knees. He stared up at the colourless sky, praying to someone I knew would not deign to answer. “Please return her to me. I’ll do anything. Anything you ask!”
Demeter’s grief had apparently led her to my father thirty years ago; it had led her to begging the lord of death for a favour. Didn’t she know he’d have given anything to keep Persephone for himself? That even the King of the Underworld was powerless to stop death from claiming its chosen souls? It was Persephone who’d had the rare gift of rebirth, not Hades. And she couldn’t bring her own soul back, could she?
Thallo fell silent.
He sat so still, I questioned whether he still breathed. It seemed Apollo wondered the same, because he placed a palm on Thallo’s back, monitoring for inhalation, and nodded to himself.
Finally, Thallo straightened and blinked, as though waking from a long sleep. He bowed his head, whispering quietly. I couldn’t make out his words, but I did latch onto my mother’s name again. Frowning, I watched him rise and walk slowly towards the boundary line of the forest. None of us moved to stop him.
With a cracklingsnap, Hermes appeared before Thallo. The god of travel swivelled his head, taking in the clearing and those who stood within it. He pouted with distaste, then clasped Thallo’s arm, clicked the fingers on his free hand once, and vanished between blinks.
I loosed a deep sigh.
So: fruit, pain, sadness.
Then I could return home.
Let’s get this shit over with.
“Temporary truce?” Archimedes offered.
Aros begrudgingly agreed, and Archimedes went to work climbing the enormous bone tree. When he reached a branch fifty feet up, one heavy with fruit, he shimmied along its length and tore off a golden heart.
