Ares climbed the steep steps to Phorcys’ villa with measured strides, gathering his thoughts along the way. Since this was something he must do, he had resolved not to dread it.
A stiff sea breeze snagged at his red locks and rustled his himation. His attire was black from head to toe, following the old tradition and showing his willingness to reflect the solemnity of her loss. Yet he doubted it would matter. This visit was wildly out of character.
I apologise, Ceto. If you view me as some unfeeling cad, then so be it.
How many times has this happened to Ceto? Four, five times? He wasn't sure. He had never paid a condolence visit in the past. It still surprised him that the Moirai insisted he be the one to visit. When he argued that Demeter was a better option, she waved it off, talking about how the goddess had earned a well-deserved break.
And you and Phorcys are brothers in arms. The Moirai had said, reminding Ares of his accursed duty. Ceto will trust you more.
It was at the tip of his tongue to mention that Demeter was also Zeus’ general, but he gave up. He had since learned the Moirai always had a reply in these types of arguments.
The villa entered his view, its high limestone walls, towering pillars and fluttering house flags painting an imposing picture. Everything appeared ostentatious, with bubbling fountains, regal sculptures and trimmed hedges marking the expansive front lawn.
Though it appeared majestic, the home hardly reflected Phorcys' person. The man Ares remembered was a quiet, deadly fellow who abhorred excessive finery in appearance and fighting style. This villa… Ares' gaze lingered on the imposing doors bearing intricate carvings of sirens and vines. The villa was too grand to exist outside Olympus. Zeus had called it a fitting compensation.
Despite the burn of your disloyalty, you have given the most to the monolith in the past two centuries. I shall stagger your punishment.
It was one of those memories Blue Tears brought back with stark clarity. Ceto had been present that day, watching in sorrow as Phorcys knelt and stonily took his punishment. Rumours in Olympus said he had rejected her affection since the beginning, so what happened within the two hundred years of his punishment? They even married, with Ceto being the only goddess to bear a child four times.
Very odd, indeed. It was impossible to reconcile that bloodthirsty general with the image of a doting husband and father who led a carefree life in the chosen continent.
“Ah, I’m curious,” Ares mumbled as the call of seagulls and the sound of crashing waves mixed in the background. But not like this. This wasn't how he planned to answer his curiosity. And Phorcys wasn’t even here.
Now before the door, Ares paused as he raised a hand to touch the brass knocker. The Moirai’s instruction returned to his mind, emphasising the importance of this moment.
Turning to his right, Ares peered into the distance and frowned. Despite seeing nothing out of place, he did as the Moirai asked and made a beckoning motion.
His action made no sense, but he had experienced enough wonders in the hands of the Moirai to trust her directives. Perhaps someone he couldn’t see was watching.
Turning back to the door, he knocked twice. A stocky maid, awakened from what he could sense, opened the door. Her eyes widened when she saw his face; offering a deep bow, she ushered him.
Ares sensed it the moment he stepped over the threshold. Death. A harvest happened within these walls, and very recently. So the staff weren’t just murdered. How unfortunate.
He took it all in as he trailed after the servant, noting with disinterest the extravagance of his surroundings. Those blasted symbols. Carvings of owls over every doorpost. Because there was only so much Zeus could do to punish one who can never die, he had grown creative with his punishment. Even the villa's interior hadn’t escaped Zeus’ will to pass a message.
Soon, if all goes as the Moirai planned, this unending circle of torturous existence will end. And that child was the key.
Medusa. She was quite a puzzle. The Moirai had only given a vague explanation as to how Phorcys’ mortal child was in Tartarus. Athena should be crying to Zeus, demanding a harsh retribution for the blatant disregard of the terms of Phorcys’ punishment, but nothing of that nature had happened. So, Athena was clueless.
There was also the confusing detail of Medusa being ten. The girl he saw looked nothing like her supposed parents and was too tall and mature to be a ten-year-old. Just what had the Moirai done?
Ares shook his head, driving away the thoughts. What mattered was the possibility of killing gods. He hardly cared for the methods the Moirai applied to reach that goal.
They came upon a spacious sitting area with flourishing indoor plants and a black and gold decor. At the sound of their footsteps, Ceto looked up and fixed red-rimmed eyes on Ares.
She blinked at him, seeming to struggle to recognise his face. “Why, Ares?” She offered a serene smile. “Have you come to see my pain like the rest?”
She arranged the skirt of her flowing black garment around her feet before pulling the equally black scarf over her hair. Gone was the robust look of youth and the shining eyes of one consumed with adoration for her husband. The woman in front of him was so thin she bordered on skeletal.
“Please, sit.”
Ares settled across her, trying and failing to smother the flames of rage burning his insides. Just how much mental torture had she suffered through to be left in such a state? “I came to see you…” He searched for the right words to say. “I heard about Phorcys.”
Instead of answering, she turned to the lone servant and raised a bony hand. “Bring Tea. The one from Sicili that I love.”
As the servant left, Ceto stared after her. “I only recalled I had a younger daughter when Galene returned.” She shifted her focus to Ares and flashed a sad smile that forced him to look away.
“I wrote a letter in Phorcys’ hand and sent it to Phorcydes to assure her that nothing…” She gulped and tried again. “To assure her that all is well. You know how she is. Unpredictable. Temperamental. She’s still angry because of her brother. For her…” She released a laboured breath, appearing drained from speaking so many words. “I am rambling. I apologise.”
The silence stretched. Ares resisted the urge to bounce his knee as he drowned under its weight.
Finally, the tea came. When he stood to serve, she raised a hand to stop him. “No. You're the visitor. Allow me.”
It was excruciating to watch. The silver kettle appeared heavy enough to snap her wrist, and it trembled as she poured red liquid into both cups. She smiled when she was done, appearing pleased that she managed the task. “Forgive the splash.”
Ares offered a polite nod. Although he had no care for tea, he took a sip. It tasted like nothing, but he kept his opinion to himself. Unwilling to drag this out any longer, he spoke, “She sent me.”
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Ceto flinched, her cup freezing on its way to her lips. Lifting her eyes, she watched him with an unreadable expression. After carefully dropping her cup, she crossed her wrists on her lap and quietly asked, “What did you say?”
Keeping his face straight, Ares repeated his words.
“I should have known.” She released a bleak laugh. “Why else will you be here?” Her gaze turned pained. “How foolish. Did you not see what happened to my husband?”
Ceto’s sanity may snap if she learned her youngest child was following her father's path.
“I am a slave of hope,” Ares answered simply. There were signs that Zeus suspected he had ties with the Moirai, but he had never attempted to punish him. Some may call it the sentiment of a father, but Ares knew the ugly truth behind his wilful blindness.
I spared you because they took Hephaestus from me. Remember that.
Perhaps he would watch Medusa kill Zeus before surrendering his life.
The sound of a sniff pulled him from his grim thoughts.
Ceto wept, her bony shoulders hunched and shaking. “I can’t do it,” she finally said.
Even though Ares suspected what she was referring to, he asked anyway. “Can’t do what?”
Something clattered on the table between them. When Ares took a closer look, his suspicion was confirmed. The Moirai was proven correct yet again.
Ceto clutched her chest, groaning as if in physical pain. “They will come tonight and take me… but I can’t. That awful ritual. I wish… I wish for death.” Her eyes turned desperate. “They keep taking my babies, but if I could just die. I wish for death. Why can’t I die?” She released a mournful wail and beat her chest.
Unable to bear the sight of her pain, Ares pressed forward with the reason for his visit. He drew out the vial and set it next to the summoning stone. “Phorcys asked her to prepare this.”
Ceto stopped weeping as she observed the contents of the little vial. Beaded black liquid floated in clear oil.
She lifted her eyes, a plea in them. “Is this from Phorcys? Speak the truth. Swear by the monolith.”
“I can only swear by what she told me. I was absent when Phorcys made the request or wrote his message.”
“I see.” She nodded as she stared at the vial with a torn look. “Would… would this kill me?”
Ares shook his head. “That is impossible.”
Her face fell again. “But it's possible. They killed my babies. They—” she looked away and pulled her shawl around her shoulders like a blanket. “You think I'm crazy, but I know they took them.”
“You’re not crazy,” Ares offered, wishing he were anywhere but here. All the years he'd lived, comforting distressed women was still the least of his abilities. “Read the note.” A folded parchment paper appeared next to the vial. “It contains Phorcys’ message. It's sealed in his blood, so you should know.”
Ceto read its content once, twice, then tenderly hugged it to her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered before looking away. “I would like to be… I want to be left alone.”
As Ares retreated, he felt a small, albeit selfish, rush of relief. It was mercy that Aphrodite died at the beginning. If Zeus had chosen to drag his suffering in such a manner, he'd be wandering the Fields of Woe, his mind broken beyond repair.
***
Poseidon ripped off the helm and flung it aside when he appeared in Athena's study.
Confusion mixed with rage muddied his mind and ruined his ability to think straight. No. This was not a feeling he enjoyed. That look in Ares’ eyes. How did he know?
Panting, he slammed a fist against the wall, cracking it.
Maybe Ares was up to something. Perhaps he could see through his plans by some miracle. That dog was Hera's favourite after all. They both know. They undermine me, snickering at my back and hoping to shame me.
“Athena!” Poseidon roared, uncaring if her little temple collapsed. “Come here this instant!”
Argh! His head was ablaze. What was Ares’ business with Ceto? Why would that reclusive groundhog emerge from his burrow? Why now, of all times?
“You seem upset,” Athena said from her spot at the door. Her focus drifted from him and roved over the items that had toppled off her shelves. “Why did you barge into my temple screaming my name?”
“He was there.”
Athena strolled in and retrieved the helm from where it lay discarded in a corner. “Who was there?”
“You think he favours widows now?” Poseidon asked, as his mind raced with every possibility.
“You should speak clearly.” Athena settled behind her desk and carefully set the Helm of Darkness before her.
Athena was enraged, but he hardly cared. She was the one who brought her ‘foolproof’ plan to him, filling his head with heady possibilities until she sparked his ambition. But now? Now he could sense it. Something had shifted out of place. This plan may explode in their faces.
“Ares was there.”
Athena raised a brow. “Ares was where? You are killing me with the suspense.” Though she smiled, it appeared pinched and ugly.
“At Phorcys’ villa. I saw him while using that!” He pointed at the helm.
“Marvellous.” Athena clapped, that hideous smile still in place. “That's—”
“But he saw me.” Poseidon paused his pacing as he glared at the helm. “The helm is broken because there should be no way.”
“That’s impossible.”
“But he saw me!” Poseidon repeated hotly. “He glared at me and beckoned me over. Like I was his… his dog or something!”
A puzzled frown squeezed Athena’s brow. “Why was he there?”
“Is that what's important? He saw me while using the helm. Something that shouldn't happen.”
Athena scowled. “Then you should have approached him while wearing the helm.” She cocked her head, a look of disapproval colouring her face. “Even if he did see you, you should have lingered, entered the villa and confirmed why he visited. But I'd wager you left in a rage. How foolish.”
Poseidon's control snapped, and he waved his hand. Water burst from the earth, enveloping the goddess as he tripled the pressure. He struggled against her resistance until Athena summoned a sword and cut through his attack. The water lost its form, splashing and flooding the place as it released its prisoner.
Coughing, Athena glared at him with enraged eyes.
“Go on.” Poseidon reflected her glare. “Fight me, fiery warrior of Zeus.” He was prepared even to use his trident to teach a lesson.
Instead of answering, Athena stood, pretending grace as she returned to her seat. She could dry herself, but she didn't. Instead, she sat there, wet as a dog, mutely staring at him.
Poseidon willed water off the seat across her desk and settled in with a huff. “I apologise for the outburst,” he said, but refused to drain the water flooding her study. Next time, she'd think twice before calling him foolish.
Now that he thought of it, her point was valid. But in the darkest corners of his mind, a truth he wouldn't dare whisper out loud mocked him. The only reason he didn't approach Ares was because he was… somewhat wary of him. He definitely wasn’t scared of the man.
“He may have approached her to offer condolences as Zeus advised,” Poseidon said.
Athena still wouldn't speak. Her stare remained, with fingers tightly woven together.
“Do you think the helm is defective?”
Athena blinked, finally breaking her stare. “I shall visit Zeus.”
Poseidon released an aghast laugh. “What? You wish to report me?”
He hoped not. Zeus’ attention was something he did not need.
The Helm vanished. “I shall overlook this insult by ending your use of the helm.”
Clicking his tongue, Poseidon folded his arms across his chest, unaffected by her decision. He'd have to forego seeing Demeter with it, but that was hardly a loss. He possessed every right to visit Drys Valon after all. The problem was Athena. Joining hands with her may have been a mistake.
As Athena stood, the water evaporated off her body in steam. “I wish to witness the ritual, hence the visit.” Water splashed around her ankles as she strolled to the door. “Phorcys’ humiliation is one of my favourite pastimes, remember?”
Misgivings sat like a dense, oily mess at the pit of Poseidon’s belly. This woman. Not only was her original plan daring, but if she decided to pin the blame on him if it failed, he'd be worse off than Phorcys.
“What if I wish to remove myself from the plan?” Poseidon had no desire to, but he needed to know if what he suspected was true.
She paused by the door and sent him a tight, chilling smile. “It's too late, dearest Poseidon. Either sail with me or watch me sink you to the fiery core of Hades.”
Athena vs Poseidon. Who'd win?
