Chapter Twenty-One
Callia crossed her arms over her chest and paced the length of the main living room in the lodge of the colony. Rustic tables and leather couches filled the space, making the room seem homey and inviting, but right now the last thing she could do was sit and relax. Every second that ticked by on the clock sent her anxiety into the out-of-this-world range and thoughts of murder spiraling through her mind.
It was close to ten P.M. Zander and the others had been gone almost thirty minutes. Only Gryphon remained, standing guard outside. Nick had insisted his soldiers could handle the babysitting detail, but Theron had been adamant the guardian remain. And Callia was still more pissed than pleased with the way she and the other “females” had been shuffled off to wait. Again.
“You’re going to wear a path in the floor,” Casey said from her seat on one of the couches. “Come over here and sit down.”
“I can’t.” Callia chewed on her thumbnail. “Where do you think they are right now? If I had a map maybe I could—”
“Woe is the forgotten female,” Isadora said on a sigh from the window where she was gazing out at the waterfall that spilled into a massive pool in the middle of the cavern. She looked over her shoulder at Callia and Casey. “Story of our lives, isn’t it?”
“It’s not like that,” Casey said. “Theron does have a point, whether you two want to admit it or not.”
Callia glanced at Isadora. “She really is a sappy newly-wed, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Isadora said, rubbing her forehead. “Disgusting, isn’t it? Makes my head pound worse than being in the same room with the two of you.”
Casey crossed her arms again and leaned against the back of the couch with a huff. “I’m all for women’s lib, you know, just not when it involves being stupid. And that’s what going out there would be. Stupid.” Her gaze shot to the orb resting on the coffee table in front of her. “If you two stopped moping long enough, maybe we could put our heads together and come up with a way to help.”
“Like what?” Callia asked, exasperated.
Casey picked up a book she’d set next to her on the couch. “Do you both know the history of the Horae?”
“No,” Callia answered. “Reading hasn’t exactly been high on my priority list lately.”
At her snarky remark, Isadora smirked.
Casey rolled her eyes. “Before Nick took off with the guys he gave me this.” She gestured to the encyclopedia-like tome. “There were three. Sometimes called the Hours, or the Seasons. But mostly they were the wardens of the sky and Olympus. Eunomia was responsible for order in society. Dike maintained justice. And then there was Eirene—the peace and balance between the other two. And they all bore a mark: a winged omega.”
“Eirene,” Callia breathed, easing down to sit next to Casey on the couch. “That’s what Atalanta called me in the cabin.”
Isadora moved to sit opposite them on the other couch. “Our specific powers relate well to the Horae. My foresight, Casey’s hindsight, your balance. It doesn’t surprise me that Atalanta recognized you as Eirene.”
“But I’m a healer. I don’t—”
“What is a healer?” Casey asked. “Someone who restores balance to the body. Callia, you’re the balance to us.” She nodded at Isadora. “To the Chosen.”
Callia glanced between them with the distinct feeling these two were tag-teaming her for something she wasn’t sure she was ready for. She’d yet to adjust to the fact she was the king’s daughter, and here they were throwing mythological bonds at her. “You know, that sounds all cool on the surface, but why do I get the impression there’s more to this than nifty names and historic links?”
“Orpheus mentioned a weapon,” Isadora said. “He told me that the three of us had something we wouldn’t yet understand. I didn’t believe him before, but…I know you both felt that electric shock when the orb was brought out.” She held her hands over the orb resting on the coffee table between them.
“Um…what are you doing?” Callia asked. Sure, she’d felt the jolt Isadora described, but she still had no idea what it meant.
“Orpheus has been teaching me how to focus my abilities,” Isadora answered.
“Wait,” Casey said, holding up a hand. “What the hell do you mean, Orpheus has been ‘teaching’ you? And I thought you lost your power of foresight. Did it come back?”
Isadora’s forehead wrinkled. “No, not yet. But this is different. This isn’t looking into the future or the past. It’s looking at the present. I’m curious…If we all focus on the same thing, maybe we can see an image. Or a location.”
Callia’s nerves hummed as realization dawned. She swallowed hard. “You want us each to focus on the guardians. See where they’re going.”
“No.” Isadora’s brow lifted. “Screw the Argonauts. I want us to focus on Atalanta.”
Casey and Callia darted worried looks at each other.
“It makes sense,” Casey said after a lingering moment. “We know a ten-year-old couldn’t have outrun a daemon. Atalanta won’t kill him. But she will hide him. If we can figure out where she’s holding him, we could radio the Argonauts and tell them his location.”
Hope, the first hope she’d felt since the guardians left, filled Callia’s soul. Her palms grew damp. She rubbed them across her thighs. “What if she can see us? I mean, is it safe? If we can look at her, is it possible she can look back?”
“It could be, I suppose,” Isadora said. “But what would that matter? She won’t know where we are.”
Callia looked from Isadora to Casey and back again. No one spoke. It made sense, but indecision roared within Callia. What if they were wrong? What if Atalanta’s powers were strong enough so she could see them, what they were planning, read their thoughts or some—
Casey scooted forward. “So how do we do this?”
“Touch and focus is how I was always able to see the future,” Isadora said.
“And I the past,” Casey added.
Isadora looked to Callia. “Ready?”
No, Callia wasn’t ready. But Casey was right. At least they were doing something, and the odds things could go wrong from simply looking were slim to none.
Tentatively, she lowered her hand onto the orb. The metal was cold beneath her fingers. Casey and Isadora lowered their fingers to touch the curved disk. As soon as all three made contact, heat flared up from the metal and shot through Callia’s arm.
Callia sucked in a breath. The glow grew in intensity, changing from a soft pink to a bright red radiance that arced out all around their hands.
“That’s it,” Isadora whispered. “Now focus. Remember the goal.”
Callia closed her eyes and pictured Atalanta. What she knew of Atalanta. Not so much the image of a deity, but the essence of her soul. Colors flashed behind her eyes. White, gold, blue, black. It was the black that stayed, like a stain, like the evil Callia imagined coursed through the demigod’s veins. A picture flickered. Fuzzy at first, but growing steadily clearer the longer she concentrated. Green rolling hills, a great river, cliffs, a winding road and domed building with three tiers that looked completely out of place perched high on a cliff overlooking the gorge below. And Atalanta, seated on a throne inside the building, dressed in bloodred robes, looking up at the circular balcony above and the twenty or so daemons from her army peering down, awaiting instructions.
This was not the mountaintop truck stop Zander and the Argonauts were heading for. This was somewhere else. Somewhere green and damp, not snow covered and cold. Voices rumbled but she couldn’t make out the words. The daemons scattered until Atalanta was alone in the octagonal shaped room. She lowered her face and peered straight ahead. And seemed to be gazing…right at Callia.