I shift back and forth on my feet, staring at Zeus’ temple across the way as it does nothing beyond the usual lightning display.
Up in that temple, the gods’ mortal acolytes burn offerings, whisper prayers, and perform whatever rites they deem necessary. Since this only happens once every hundred years, I’d place bets that they’re just making it up as they go.
Not that we can see any of it from here. No cameras are allowed to record inside the temple—another edict from the gods. But it means I’m stuck with millions of others staring at the white-columned building atop the mountain on the other side of the bridge like it might suddenly turn into a dragon and breathe fire.
So far, all that’s happened is a single puff of white smoke that trailed upward into the sky, probably from a sacrifice.
People have filled the street along the bay all the way to the fringes of the city itself, and those of us standing at the very back have been channeled in between buildings. That’s where I am.
The other pledges are gathered in little groups, debating if Hermes will pick a thief or not. It’s happened before. After the initial round of smirks and glances aimed in my direction, they’ve gone back to ignoring me, which is good for my escape plan.
Several people around me stare at their phones, watching various forms of “live coverage” of even more people around the globe standing in streets in other cities, staring at various temples of these gods. I catch snatches of commentary here and there, not that they have much new to report yet.
“Legends hold that the gods and goddesses got so sick of Zeus as their king, they fought among themselves to be the one to topple him, resulting in the Anaxian Wars,” a news anchor is saying on a device near me. “It got so ugly that they wrecked wonders, knocking the Colossus of Rhodes off his feet and turning hundreds of warriors to terracotta.”
I snort a laugh. That pissed off a whole different set of gods, apparently.
The newscaster is still talking. “They destroyed cities like Atlantis and Pompeii and eventually demolished their home of Olympus, which has since been rebuilt.”
Everyone knows this story. After that, the gods formed a pact that they would never directly fight one another again, and the Crucible was created—where they just let us mortals duke it out on their behalves, apparently.
A gasp rips through the masses around me. “Zeus,” someone calls out. “Zeus is choosing.”
“Where?” a few others ask loudly.
After that, voices rise in a mottled swell of sound. I inch closer to a man to my left who is watching his phone with avid interest.
Sure enough, at a simple temple I don’t recognize located somewhere else in the world, a massive bolt of lightning shears out of a clear blue sky and strikes the temple with a clap of thunder so loud it appears to shake the very ground. Then a deep voice booms out—maybe from inside the building where he is, because I don’t see the god anywhere. “I am Zeus—first King of the Gods, god of the skies, thunder and lightning, god of weather, law and order, kingship, destiny and fate.”
I roll my eyes. Destiny and fate are the same thing. Aren’t they? Pompous jackass.
And it should be King of the Olympian Gods, by the way. But all the gods of my pantheon are egotistical enough to want to lay claim to the whole thing. So, King of the Gods it is.
“On this, the first day of the Crucible, I shall select first.” The god pauses, almost like he’s waiting for applause or something. Given we’re all unsure about exactly how this works and what it means, and I’m guessing the crowds surrounding the temple where he is are now having a hard time hearing around the ringing in their ears from the thunder, they all remain silent and watchful.
“I choose…”
7
Stay Out Of My Way
It’s like the hush crawls out of the video and hangs over the people here, too, as we collectively wait and watch, breathless with curiosity, no one daring to so much as cough. Who will he pick?
Another bolt of lightning flashes down, this time striking outside the temple, at the top of the steps between the two pillars of the main entrance. The noise makes several people scream. Out of nowhere, a man appears where the lightning struck, visibly disoriented.
Zeus’ voice booms again. “Samuel Sebina.”
I stare at the phone. Zeus’ chosen mortal has to be even taller and more muscled than Boone, with ebony skin and short black hair. He seems too stunned to do more than look around. As fast as he appeared, he’s gone. Who knows where?
Another cry goes up. “Hera!” someone shouts. “Hera is choosing.”
Heads remain bowed over phones as people watch.
“I am Hera, goddess of marriage, women, and the stars of the heavens.” From a nearby phone, I catch a sultry voice you might think belonged to Aphrodite emanating from one of her own temples somewhere else in the world. “I choose…”
I don’t hear the rest because to my right, Chance is pushing his way in my direction. Trepidation floods my body in an itchy wave. More embarrassment, retribution, or calling Felix’s attention to the fact I left my post earlier—all are strong possibilities of what happens if he finds me. Time to get out of here.
I scoot sideways into a narrow alley between buildings. When I glance back, Chance is craning his neck. Yeah. He’s definitely looking for me. It takes a few evasive maneuvers, but I finally round the corner and nearly collide with a broad male chest.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Boone exclaims in an overly jovial voice. “Slow down, Lyra-Loo—” He cuts off the nickname he gave me as kids so abruptly it’s jarring.
Oh gods. He knows. About Chance. About my crush. Everything.
Not that I’m surprised.
“You were humming again,” he points out with a grin. “I thought Felix trained that out of you.”
I put a hand over my mouth like I can pull those sounds back inside. Humming was a habit as a young pledge. I hadn’t even noticed I was doing it. It’s been a while since my training days, though, so I guess it’s back.
“Sorry,” I mutter and inch around him.
He moves, blocking the way. “Where are you going in such a rush?”
I’m pretty sure, in the history of our entire acquaintance, he’s never cared enough to ask me that. I shuffle back and force myself to look him in the eyes. Deep-brown eyes. I always liked his eyes.
And I could just bawl. Years of waiting for him to pay more attention to me, and he chooses today. The one time I don’t want it. I glance back but don’t see Chance. Yet.
