The Dark-Hunters (510 page)

By Chthonian law, one god was forbidden from ever killing another. To do so would bring their wrath down on the foolish god who’d angered them. The punishment for such actions was swift, brutal and irreversible.

Right now, Apollymi was embracing her rational thought over her turbulent emotions by a narrow margin. For Archon to strike her would push her over the edge and he knew it. It would make her forget to be afraid of the Chthonians and then she’d unleash the whole of her fury against him. She would no longer care who was punished and who died … not even herself.

Patience to the spider
 … She reminded herself of her mother’s most favored saying.

She would bide her time until Apostolos grew into his own. Then he would rule in Archon’s place and show the king of the gods what it meant to be all-powerful.

For her son’s sake, she wouldn’t upset the capricious Chthonians who might very well side with Archon and kill her child. They alone could permanently strip her powers and destroy Apostolos. After all, Archon and his lover Themis’s three bastard daughters had been given the power of fate over everyone and everything. And out of their stupidity and fear, the Greek Fates had accidentally cursed her son.

That alone was enough to make her want to kill her husband who stared at her with a confused frown.

“You would damn us all for one child?” Archon asked.

“You would damn my baby for three half-Greek bastards?”

His nostrils flared. “For once be reasonable. The girls didn’t realize they were condemning him when they spoke. They’re still learning their powers. They were afraid that he’d supplant them in our affections. It’s why they were holding hands when they spoke their fears. And because of that, their word is law and it can’t be undone. If he lives, we die.”

“Then we die, because he
will
live. I’ve made sure of it.”

Archon bellowed before he threw the swaddled stone through the wall. He reached for Agapa and Chara and began chanting.

Apollymi’s eyes flared red at what they were doing. It was an imprisonment spell.

For her.

And because they united their powers, they would be able to bring her to heel.

Even so, she laughed. But most of all, she took note of every god who joined in to help her husband bind her. “You will all regret what you’ve done here this day. When Apostolos returns, you will all pay dearly.”

Xedrix put himself between her and the others. Apollymi placed one hand on his shoulder to keep him from attacking. “They’re not going to hurt us, Xedrix. They can’t.”

“No,” Archon said bitterly, “but you will remain locked in Kalosis until either you reveal Apostolos’s location or he dies. Only then will you be returned to Katoteros.”

Apollymi laughed. “My son, at his maturity, will have the power to come to me. When he releases me, the world as you know it will die. And I will take you all down.
All
of you.”

Archon shook his head. “We will find him. We will kill him.”

“You will fail and I’ll dance on your grave.”

THE DIARY OF RYSSA, PRINCESS OF DIDYMOS

JUNE
23, 9548
BC

My mother, Queen Aara, was lying on her gilded bed, her body covered in sweat, her face ashen as an attendant brushed her damp, blond hair from her pale blue eyes. Even through the pain, I’d never known my mother to appear more joy-filled than she did that day and I wondered if she’d been this happy at my own birth.

The room was crowded with court officials and my father, the king, stood to the side of the bed with his Head of State. The long, glass windows were open, letting the fresh sea air offer relief to the heat of the summer day.

“It is another beautiful boy,” the midwife happily proclaimed, wrapping the newborn infant in a blanket.

“By sweet Artemis’s hand, Aara, you’ve done me proud!” my father said as a loud jubilant shout ran through the room’s occupants. “Twin boys to rule over our twin isles!”

At only seven years of age, I jumped up and down in glee. At long last, and after my mother’s numerous miscarriages and stillbirths, I had not one brother, but two.

Laughing, my mother cuddled the second-born infant to her pale breast while an additional midwife cleaned the first-born.

I snuck through the crowd to watch the firstborn baby with the midwife. Tiny and beautiful, he squirmed and struggled to breathe through his newborn lungs. He had finally taken a deep, clear breath when I heard the cry of alarm from the woman who held him.

“Zeus have mercy, the eldest is malformed, Majesties!”

My mother looked up, her brow creased by worry. “How so?”

The midwife carried him over to her.

I was terrified that something was wrong. The babe looked fine to me.

I waited while the baby reached for the brother who had shared the womb with him for these months past. It was as if he sought comfort from his twin.

Instead, my mother pulled his brother away, out of his sight and reach. “It cannot be,” my mother sobbed. “He is blind.”

“Not blind, Majesty,” the eldest wisewoman said as she stepped forward, through the crowd. Her white robes were heavily embroidered with gold threads and she wore an ornate gold crown over her faded gray hair. “He was sent to you by the gods.”

My father, the king, narrowed his eyes angrily at my mother. “You were unfaithful?” he accused her.

“Nay, never.”

“Then how is it he came from your loins? All of us here witnessed it.”

The room as a whole looked to the wisewoman who stared blankly at the tiny, helpless baby who cried out for someone to hold him and offer him solace. Warmth.

But no one did.

“He will be a destroyer, this child,” the wisewoman said, her ancient voice loud and ringing so that all could hear her proclamation. “His touch will bring death to many. Not even the gods themselves will be safe from his wrath.”

I gasped, not really understanding the significance of her words.

How could a mere baby hurt anyone? He was tiny. Helpless.

“Then kill him now.” My father ordered a guard to draw his sword and slay the infant.

“Nay!” the wisewoman said, halting the guard before he could carry out the king’s will. “Kill this infant and your other son dies as well. Their life forces are combined. ’Tis the will of the gods that you should raise him to manhood.”

The elder twin sobbed.

I sobbed, too, not understanding their hatred of a simple baby.

“I will not raise a monster,” my father snarled.

“You have no choice.” The wisewoman took the baby from the midwife and offered it to my mother.

Frowning, I saw a note of satisfaction in the midwife’s eyes before the beautiful blond woman made her way through the crowd to vanish from the room.

“He was born of your body, Majesty,” the wisewoman said, drawing my attention back toward her and my mother. “He is your son.”

The baby squalled even louder, reaching again for my mother.
His
mother. She cringed away from him, clutching her second-born even tighter than before. “I will not suckle it. I will not touch it. Get it away from my sight.”

The wisewoman took the child to my father. “And what of you, Majesty? Will you not acknowledge him?”

“Never. That child is no son of mine.”

The wisewoman took a deep breath and presented the infant to the room. Her grip was loose with no love or compassion evident in her touch.

“Then he will be called Acheron for the River of Woe. Like the river of the Underworld, his journey shall be dark, long and enduring. He will be able to give life and to take it. He will walk through his life alone and abandoned—ever seeking kindness and ever finding cruelty.”

The wisewoman looked down at the infant in her hands and uttered the simple truth that would haunt the boy for the rest of his existence. “May the gods have mercy on you, little one. No one else ever will.”

AUGUST
30, 9541
BC

“Why do they hate me so, Ryssa?”

I paused at my loom to look up at Acheron’s timid approach. At age seven, he was an incredibly handsome boy. His golden hair gleamed in the room as if it had been touched by the gods who seemed to have abandoned him. “No one hates you, akribos.”

But in my heart I knew the truth.

And so did he.

He came closer to me and I saw the red, angry handprint on his face. There were no tears in his swirling silver eyes. He’d grown so used to being hit that it no longer seemed to bother him.

At least nowhere other than in his heart.

“What happened?” I asked.

He looked away.

I left my loom and crossed the short distance to his side. Kneeling in front of him, I gently brushed the blond hair away from his swollen cheek. “Tell me.”

“She hugged Styxx.”

I knew without asking who
she
was. He’d been with our mother. I’d never understood how she could be so loving to me and Styxx and yet so cruel to Acheron. “And?”

“I wanted a hug, too.”

Then I saw it. The telltale signs of a boy who wanted nothing more than his mother’s love. The shallow trembling of his lips, the slight watering of his eyes.

“Why is it that I look exactly like Styxx and yet I’m unnatural while he is not? I don’t understand why I’m a monster. I don’t feel like one to me.”

I couldn’t explain it to him, for I, unlike the others, had never seen the difference myself. How I wished Acheron knew the mother I did.

But they all called him a monster.

I saw only a little boy. A small child who wanted nothing more than to be accepted by a family that wanted to disown him. Why couldn’t my parents look at him and see what a kind, gentle soul he was? Quiet and respectful, he never sought to harm anyone or anything. We played together and we laughed. Most of all, I held him while he cried.

I took his little hand into mine. A soft hand. A boy’s hand. There was no malice in it. No murder.

Acheron had always been a tender child. While Styxx sought to whine and complain over every minor thing, to take my toys and those of any other child near him, Acheron had sought only to make peace. To comfort those around him.

He seemed older than a child of seven. There were times when he seemed even older than I.

His eyes were strange. Their silver, swirling color betrayed the birthright that linked him to the gods. But surely that should make him special not horrendous.

I offered him a smile that I hoped would ease some of his pain. “One day, Acheron, the world will know just what a special boy you are. The day will come when no one will fear you. You shall see.”

I moved to hug him, but he pulled back. He was used to people hurting him and even though he knew I wouldn’t, he was still reluctant to accept my comfort.

As I stood, the door to my sitting room opened. A large number of guards came inside.

Scared of the sight, I stepped back not knowing what they wanted. Acheron clenched his small fists in the skirt of my blue gown as he huddled behind my right leg.

My father and uncle walked through the men until they stood before me. The two of them were virtually identical in looks. They had the same blue eyes, the same wavy blond hair and fair skin. Though my uncle was three years younger than my father, one would never guess to look at them. They could easily pass as twins.

“I told you he would be with her,” my father said to Uncle Estes. “He’s corrupting her again.”

“Don’t worry,” Estes said. “I shall take care of the matter. You’ll never again have to worry about him.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, terrified of their dire tone. Did they intend to kill Acheron?

“Never you mind,” my father snapped at me. I’d never heard such a harsh tone from him before. It made my blood run cold.

He grabbed Acheron and shoved him toward my uncle.

Acheron looked panicked. He reached for me, but my uncle took him roughly by his arm and jerked him away.

“Ryssa!” Acheron called.

“No!” I shouted, trying to help him.

My father pulled me back and held me. “He is going to a better place.”

“Where?”

“Atlantis.”

I watched in horror as Acheron was taken away, screaming for me to save him.

Atlantis was a long way from here. Too far, and up until a very short time ago, we’d been at war with them. I’d heard nothing but terrible things about that place and everyone who lived there.

I looked up at my father, sobbing. “He’ll be afraid.”

“His kind are never afraid.”

Acheron’s screams and pleas denied those words.

My father might be a powerful king, but he was wrong. I knew the fear inside Acheron’s heart.

And I knew the fear of my own.

Would I ever see my brother again?

NOVEMBER
3, 9532
BC

It had been nine years since I last saw my brother, Acheron. Nine years and not a day had gone by without my wondering what he was doing. How he was being treated.

Whenever Estes visited, I always took him aside and asked about Acheron.

“He’s fine and healthy, Ryssa. I cherish him as an addition to my household. He has everything he requires. I shall be glad to tell him that you asked after his welfare.”

Still, something inside me was never quite content with those words. I’d petitioned Father repeatedly to send for Acheron. To at least bring him home for a holiday. As a prince, he should never have been sent away. Yet there he stayed in a country that was constantly on the brink of war with ours. Even though Estes was an ambassador, it didn’t change the fact that if we went to war, Acheron, as a Greek prince, would be killed.

And Father refused every request I made.

I’d been writing to Acheron for years and normally he wrote back religiously. His letters were always brief with only a handful of details, but even so I cherished every one.

So when a letter had come to me a few weeks ago, I’d thought nothing unusual about it.

Not until I read it.

Greetings most esteemed and exalted Princess Ryssa. Forgive me for my forwardness. Forgive me my impertinence. I found one of your letters written to Acheron and have, at great peril to myself, decided to write to you. I cannot tell you what harms befall him, but if you truly love your brother as you say you do, then I would ask you to come and see him.