“Once a winner is determined, the remaining surviving champions will then have to climb down.”
In pajamas and no shoes?
Hermes can apparently be just as cruel as the other gods. “It is a treacherous descent, and it’s possible not all will make it.”
Why do I get the sudden feeling the riddle isn’t the real Labor—it’s surviving the descent down the mountain? And barefoot and in pajamas, I’m certain if I don’t win this challenge…I’m not making it back alive.
37
Walk The Plank
Hermes waves a hand, and three women appear before us. They are seated, cross-legged, on puffs of clouds, and it’s immediately obvious who they are because they haven’t stopped what they are doing to be here. Each is working diligently with thread and ruler and scissors, none bothering to lift their head to look at us.
“The Fates,” I whisper, distracted just the teensiest bit by a flare of fascination.
Hermes hovers behind them. “You know these lovely ladies as the Moirai.” He motions to one of the women hunched over a spindle. A cloud of gray hair frames her wrinkled, brown face. “Clotho spins the thread of life.”
He gestures to the next woman, who has silver hair braided and twisted on top of her head. Something like a measuring stick sits in one hand that’s a deeper brown than her sister’s. “Her sister Lachesis uses her rod to measure the thread of life allotted to each mortal.”
With a final sweeping motion, he points to the last woman, who’s biting her lip as she studies a length of thread with intense black eyes, her gray hair cropped close against her scalp. “And their sister, Atropos, cuts the thread and, in doing so, chooses the manner of each person’s demise.”
Atropos uses shears—actual scissors made of a shiny, silver metal—to cut a thread right then.
A shiver races down my spine. That was it. Someone just died. Does Hades know he got a new soul to rule? I can’t help but wonder if the god of death felt it happen, too.
“But now,” Hermes continues, “they will represent something else and answer each of your questions.”
I have to say, while Hermes’ Labor is fascinating, his presentation skills are not at Zeus’ or Poseidon’s level. There’s no fanfare, no trumpets, no birds released or fireworks or anything like that. He just wants to get straight to seeing us suffer. I am reconsidering him as my favorite god.
“Now for the riddle…”
The wind blows a little harder, rattling the glass walls and reaching for me from below, and this time I’m sure I hear several whimpers from the other champions. Hermes needs to get on with it so we can get off this cold rock.
The god waits out the winds with a small, enigmatic smile that makes me suddenly wonder if that’s Notus, the god of the south wind and bringer of summer storms. One of four Anemoi, the unseen ones—it’s possible he’s here to make this even harder.
“Of the three Fates,” Hermes says, pulling my attention back to him and the riddle, “one Fate is True and will only speak truth. One Fate is False and will only speak lies. And one Fate is Random and may answer either way. They will not change in how they answer. Use your three questions—yes-or-no questions only—to figure out which all three represent.”
He rises and falls slightly where he hovers. Is the wind playing with him now?
“Your time starts…now.”
Hermes disappears, leaving the Fates before us, spinning, measuring, and cutting while they wait for our questions.
Immediately, a glow lights the night from around the bend. It has to be Diego, his Halo of Heroism manifesting to help him with the Mind element of this Labor. Courage, too, maybe. Crap.
Dex is looking to his right, gesturing to Rima. No, not just to Rima. He and Neve and Dae-hyeon seem to be arguing with Rima. Strength and Mind virtues allying? Great. Zai is Mind. Is he with them?
I can catch Dex’s words here and there. Do I dare try to crouch lower, closer to the bottom of the glass, to listen better?
“—need to knock…off their…then…wait—”
Oh gods. My heart rate kicks up a notch.
I think they’re debating all asking questions at once. Maybe several. That much could knock everyone who hasn’t asked a question yet off the mountain to their death. Would they really kill eight people in one fell swoop? Would that give them enough questions remaining to figure out the answer? And only one of them can get it right in the end.
I can’t see past Jackie, but so far, my own plank hasn’t moved, so I know no one has asked a question.
Rima seems to be the reason that hasn’t happened yet. I can’t tell if she’s disagreeing with the killing or if she wants to try to solve the riddle and needs to save her questions. Either way, I’m not sure the rest of us have much time.
I carefully turn to Zai, who is holding a large, leatherbound book with thick, parchment-like pages. Where did he get that? It’s got to be one of his gifts from Hermes. He’s flipping pages and mumbling to himself.
Trying to solve the problem. I should be, too.
Think, Lyra.
My plank suddenly slides smoothly and soundlessly back one inch, forcing me to scoot with it. I’m not the only one who wobbles, clinging to the mountain for dear life.
Then my plank moves again, and my heart pounds in my chest.
Glancing right, I find Dex, Neve, and Dae-hyeon climbing off their planks to hold precariously onto the mountainside. I’m not sure if they’re planning to take us all out right now or if they’re just taking themselves out of the equation for Rima.
Thieves are taught climbing skills—something I was never good at, but for a split second I consider doing the same. Except they might have to hold on for the rest of the hour, and it hasn’t been very long yet. Their muscles will be jelly by the time they actually have to climb down.
But I can be more prepared than I am. Facing outward means if I lose enough plank, I tumble forward with nothing to grab except maybe a face-plant into the glass partition. But facing the mountain, I could try to grab on. Going up on my toes, I shuffle my feet in a careful circle and slowly pivot on my plank.
“Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t—” My plank moves just as I’m facing the mountain, and I sway, stomach pitching.
