“Nor I,” Kassandra agreed, suddenly feeling the air in these deep underground vaults turn chilly. She left the antechamber and followed Chrysis, Silanos and Diona, all now moving deeper into the complex. A thousand voices screamed in Kassandra’s head: talk of lands being controlled by the Cult of Kosmos, men offering their own blood, the Oracle of Delphi herself in the palm of these creatures. She wandered in a daze into a great chamber, and felt a deep, reverberating hum shake her to her very marrow. It was the sensation she felt whenever she touched her ancient—and absent—Leonidas spear. But this was something else, something stronger. Much stronger.
Huge stalactites hung from the cave’s high ceiling, and a circle of polished stone in the center of the floor was studded with several dozen cloaked, masked figures: the torturer brute ambled into place with them, as did the one called Chrysis and the one with the bandaged wrists too. Three more hurried in behind Kassandra and took a place in the circle. Each of them sang long, deep notes in a constant drone, and only when it faltered slightly and some of them looked back at her, did she realize she was expected to join them. Striding over to a vacant space she stepped into it, making up the ring. The endless chant filled the cave and sent shivers scampering across her skin, and her eyes beheld the plinth of red-veined marble in the center of the circle, topped with a small, golden pyramid.
The artifact.
The misthios in her instantly valued the piece and imagined what it might buy. The warrior in her wanted to stride forth and challenge every one of these masked whoresons—murderers of her baby brother, destroyers of her life—to a death fight. Her hands clenched into fists under her robe, cursing Herodotos for convincing her to leave her weapons behind. But then she realized that it was the pyramid itself that was resonating, causing the chamber to shiver, sending those strange impulses through her.
One of the Cultists stepped forward, reaching out in great reverence to place a hand over the pyramid. The rest muttered and sighed in envy, some shuffling impatiently, eager to take their turn. Kassandra was sure that it must contain a candle or lamp within, for it glowed, gently, with a golden light. “I see it: invisible chains around the necks and ankles of every man and woman. The dying of the chaotic light. The narrow corridor of thought, of pure devotion, pure order.”
The rest rose in a babble of appreciation. Three more approached, one at a time, to speak of what they saw, before Chrysis whispered to Kassandra. “It works fully only when the champion touches it at the same time as one of us—he sees our thoughts and allows us to see further. But it is still a wondrous thing to place your hand upon it alone. You, you must take a turn.”
Kassandra gulped, grateful for the mask, then stepped into the circle’s center. She reached out, her hand hovering over the pyramid tip. Her heart thundered, the buzz of voices shook the air around her, sweat stole down her back despite the chill, and then…
Crash!
A door at the back of the cave smashed back on its hinges, pins and screws flying loose and the door sagging, broken. A tall, sculpted vision lunged into the chamber and fell into a swaying crouch, like a maddened animal. His legs and arms were hewn with muscle and he wore a white breastplate dripping with golden pteruges and a white cape. His thick, dark waves of hair were held back in a topknot, draped down his back. He wore no mask, and his handsome face was spoiled by a look of uncaged anger. A warrior. A champion. Deimos?
“There is a traitor in our midst,” he snarled. “Forty-two of us there are, and I count forty-two here. Yet how can that be when one of our number lies cold and dead in Kirrha?”
He lifted a severed head and tossed it across the floor.
Kassandra stared at the head as it rolled to a halt, horror rising from the soles of her feet and through her like an icy tide. Elpenor? But she had not cut off his head. This animal must have desecrated the corpse to make a point.
“Who is it?” he raged, his voice like a war drum. “Remove your masks!”
Kassandra’s mind sped, terror rising in her heart.
“That is not our way, Deimos. We choose to remain anonymous to each other,” spoke one Cultist.
Kassandra’s alarm eased a fraction, and then Chrysis stepped forward. “Let us each show our devotion to the Cult by laying a hand on the artifact along with our champion, as has always been the way. Deimos will see what they see and will spot any secrets they harbor.”
Deimos lumbered down the steps from the door and barged into the circle. “Very well,” he snarled, looking at Kassandra—already by the pyramid—up and down. “You, go ahead. Touch it and tell me what you see. You cannot lie, because I will see it too,” he said, placing his hand on one face of the pyramid.
Kassandra stared at the champion. His tawny-gold eyes were ablaze with hatred. For a moment, she saw her own doom in them. But what could she do? She let her palm drop and rest on the opposing face of the pyramid. Nothing. For a moment, she felt a strong urge to laugh at these fools. What happened next was like a mule’s kick to her head.
Her neck arched and white light flashed through her mind. It was not like those moments when the spear conjured memories of the past. This was real. She could taste the autumnal air, smell the damp bracken, hear the chirruping of birds in the Eurotas Forest.
She was in the lands of Sparta.
I crept through the ferns under a bruised afternoon sky, watching the plump boar ahead, thinking of the delicious meal it would make—and of how strong they would think me, only seven summers old—were I to fell it myself. I knelt, drew back my spear, holding it on an outbreath, lining up the tip with the boar’s flank. But then doubt crept into my thoughts: should I wait, should I loose, or should I…
With a flash of silver, another lance flew over my head and speared down into the dirt, startling the boar. The beast squealed and bolted. I leapt up and around to face the mystery thrower. “Who’s there?” I yelled. “Come out.”
Mother emerged from the trees, cradling baby Alexios.
“Hesitation only hastens…” Mother began.
“… the grave,” I groaned, realizing I had failed her lesson. “I know,” I replied. “Father will be disappointed when he hears I am still not ready.”
“Your form is improving, and you are tenacious. But the greatest skill is knowing when to act.” She paced around, setting Alexios down on a fallen tree, then plucking the lance she had thrown from the earth. “Perhaps it is time for you to have this.”
I took the spear. It caught the gray light and dazzled me. Such a fine weapon. The haft was broken, but it was a perfect length for me.
When I touched the leaf-shaped blade, I felt an odd shiver, a fluttering inside. “I… I felt something.”
“Oh?” said Mother, smiling.
I touched it again and again it sent a strange sensation through me. “This is no ordinary spear.”
“No it isn’t. It carries with it a long line of power. A bloodline of heroes—the same blood that runs in you and me, in our family. And once, long ago, in King Leonidas.”
“This is… was… King Leonidas’s spear?” I croaked.
She smiled, stroking my face. “Leonidas had great courage, and he made a great sacrifice at Thermopylae. You share in his blood, and the strength he possessed. We are able to feel certain things happening around us. We are quick as lions to react to danger. That is our family’s gift. But not everyone understands that. Some recognize the power we bear and want it only for themselves. They will try to take it from us.”