“I picked you for a reason. You can do this.”
The god of death picked me. Chose me. Has faith in me. Despite my curse.
The sensation is up to my chin now, and Hades starts to fade from sight as I disappear. His voice follows me into the nothingness.
“You can do this, Lyra…because you’re mine.”
part 3
let the games begin
Quitters never win, and winners never quit.
But survivors change the game.
25
Poseidon’s Labor
Mine.
Hades’ last word chases me all the way across the world, which comes back into focus the same way it went out, with that bubbling sensation but growing heavier as it works its way back down my body.
Until the chill of water jolts through my nerves right as a wave rolls over my head.
It ebbs, and I come up spluttering, because damn, of course the water is cold as fuck.
I go to wipe the salt water out of my stinging eyes only to jerk against restraints. Through fuzzy vision, I look up to find I’m tied by the wrists, my arms overhead. The rope is attached to the top of a thick wooden post. I use my shoulder to try to wipe the water off my face, then blink and blink until I can see more clearly.
Water and rocks.
A cave?
I’m in the middle of what looks like a large cavern, wide open to the ocean on one end, allowing sunlight to spill inside. The cavern is made of the strangest formations I’ve ever seen. The rock before me is brown and shaped in rectangular columns—rows and layers of perfect vertical columns up to where the roof curves overhead. Up there, what looks like the bottoms of the columns poke out, and they could have been dipped in gold paint the way they glitter. The beautiful greenish water swells in and out, forcing me to lift my head or get a face full.
A shiver racks through me as my muscles try to generate warmth. It’s August, so I guess this is the warmest it gets here, and living on the Pacific Ocean, I’m already used to chilly water. But most people wear wetsuits to swim in water this cold. I’m still in my champion clothes, which cling to me but don’t provide warmth.
“Hey!” A male voice rings out. “Where in the Overworld are we?”
“A cave in the ocean, dumbass,” a snappy female voice answers in Spanish. “Do you really need to know more?”
“What kind of fucked-up Labor is this supposed to be?” someone else yells.
What exactly were they expecting from the gods? Charades?
A flare of black wings through the small patch of visible sky tells me the Daemones are here. So where is Poseidon? Or do we just get started on our own and figure it out?
I strain against the ropes to lean out and look to my right and left.
The other champions are here, all dangling from their own posts in a straight line, each spaced about twelve feet apart. Some are just waking up. A few are thrashing about, starting to panic. To my right, easily identifiable by her red hair and green outfit, is Neve, who is not panicking but looking around like me. She catches my eye and shoots me a glare. Of course they’d stick me next to the one champion I’ve already pissed off.
To my left, in the direction of the cave opening, I recognize the only shaved head among the group—maybe the sexiest shaved head I’ve ever seen. He is Dex Soto, Athena’s champion, dressed in turquoise like the others of the Mind virtue. If my memory is right, he’s from an island somewhere in the Caribbean.
A cry comes from farther down the line past Dex, and I lean out as much as I can, my shoulders protesting the stretch at this angle.
My heart trips at the sight of the ocean beyond the cave bubbling up like a geyser erupting from underneath, churning and frothing, until Poseidon bursts through, lifting his trident to the sky. Behind him, two dolphins launch into the air, doing flips before diving back into the water.
Is he kidding with this right now? Does he really think any of us care about a grand entrance when we’re tied to posts in freezing water?
But, of course, the display isn’t for us. It’s for the immortals watching these proceedings so avidly. Seems like Poseidon might be as much of a showman as Zeus.
Riding a wave that swells around him, he slides into the cave to float directly before me on a spinning column of water that lifts him higher. I must be positioned in the center of the group.
He is clearly in his element, no longer wearing armor but shirtless, showing off his sable skin and impressive physique…and also not hiding anything with skintight pants that look like metallic blue fish scales that shimmer in the water. He has tattoos over his chest and arms and what I’m pretty sure are gills at the sides of his ribs. And his dark-blue hair, when wet, turns black, matching his trim beard.
“Welcome to Fingal’s Cave!” He says this like we’re here on vacation.
“We’re in Scotland?” Neve’s question has the god smiling.
“Yes, young mortal. Staffa Island is one of two magical sites that sit directly across the sea from each other. They are at opposite ends of a bridge built by the Irish giant Fionn mac Cumhaill to enable his passage to Scotland to battle his gigantic Scottish rival, Fingal. The Celtic gods have been kind enough to loan it to me for this Labor.”
Neve doesn’t say anymore, and I’m left wondering. I don’t know that set of gods like I do my own. Is Fingal’s Cave a good or a bad thing?
“For your first Labor, your bindings…” Poseidon waves at us. “Are not your only problem. There will be a bigger challenge.”
His smile turns enigmatically self-satisfied. “There is no time limit. The winner will be the one who finds a solution to the bigger challenge first.”
