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Chapter Nine

Hebe

W hen Atum suggests we stop to give the horses a rest, relief fills me for so many reasons. I could also use a respite from this chariot, though I would never utter it. More than that, I absolutely need to be anywhere other than in Prometheus’ stiff embrace.

I still do not understand how he changed form, but there is no doubt in my psyche that Prometheus’ muscular frame is anything less than real and solid.

Prometheus is the only one who doesn’t seem to like the thought of stopping. Still, he slows the horses and leads them off the path and toward where a sliver of the river flows through the ravine. It’s only half as deep as it was this time last year.

He orders the horses to halt and finally peels away from me. I practically dive off the chariot in my desperation for distance.

“Where are you going?” Prometheus calls, his words halting my escape.

Atum, who has shifted into a sitting position, answers for me. “Likely to attend to her mortal needs. Unless you have said something that might drive her to run away?”

“I-I’m not running away,” I blurt before Prometheus can think of smiting me.

“See?” Atum gestures at me and smiles warmly.

Prometheus is still scowling, like he somehow knows I desire distance from him more than anything else. “Don’t wander too far. We are in danger mortals, Primordials, and beasts alike.”

“I am fully aware of the dangers of being a mortal,” I assure him, grasping my spear. “But I know this land. The women of the village and I come here before for ceremonial bathing before marriages and—”

“And your sacrifice-turned-marriage?” Atum offers softly.

I nod, not caring to speak further.

They evidently have no further words either, and I make my departure. The only disturbance in my little quest is the pale eagle squawking above.

The trees grow more densely upstream, where a portion of the ravine breaks off into a slow-moving pool. That is where I was brought just yesterday morn for my preparations.

It is private enough for me to attend to my mortal needs that would disgust Prometheus more than sleeping. Then I wash my hands and face in the pond.

I move to the faster flowing river to satiate my thirst when I hear a thunderclap above me.

Glancing upward, I wonder if I misheard. The skies were perfectly clear only moments ago.

However, dark clouds are moving in at an alarming rate. They block out the sun, making it seem like evening rather than noon by the time I get to my feet.

“Hebe!” Prometheus calls over the howling winds.

I rush toward him just as a bolt of lightning strikes down.

Throwing myself forward, I fall on my face as I’m temporarily blinded by the flash. There is a crackling sound, and I look back as one of the trees snaps in half from the lightning.

Rolling to the side, I just barely miss being crushed by the dead limb.

The sound of the crashing tree is echoed by the loudest thunderclap I’ve ever heard. I slap my hands over my ears just as the rain begins pelting down. Something scrapes my back. When I reach back, my new spear is gone, stolen by the wind.

“Hebe!”

Dropping my hands, I push myself onto my hands and knees and lift my face.

Prometheus is running toward me, the wind whipping his flaming hair around his face.

I push myself to my feet, but the wind is blowing so violently that I can’t stand upright. Every step I take forward is unsteady, like I’m just learning to walk. It doesn’t help that chilly rain is fusing my gown to my skin and making it so much heavier. That heaviness is a mercy, though, when it feels like I am on the verge of being carried away in the storm.

Prometheus is facing similar resistance, but he is making better progress than I am. Until he has to dive to the side as our two horses suddenly gallop past him.

I desperately try to grab one of their manes so they can carry me to safety, but their speed is too great and the wind is too violent. It’s all I can do not to topple over into the horses’ paths.

Lightning flashes again, illuminating the rain that is no longer just pouring downward. Is Poseidon pouring out his wrath? Surely, it’s not—

Prometheus reaches me and pulls me into his arms. The embrace I wanted to escape from all morning is secure and grounding. Prometheus’ garments are cold and wet, but I feel the warmth of his body beneath, calling to my frozen soul.

“This is the wrath of Zeus!” Prometheus bellows.

No. “Then we are dead.”

“I’m not done with you yet.” Keeping one arm wrapped around me, Prometheus uses his other hand to undo the rope around his garment. Once he tugs it free, the wind more violently yanks at the cloth, but he doesn’t seem to care. Instead, he wraps the rope around my waist and then around him again before knotting it off.

Anchored to Prometheus, I no longer feel like I am on the verge of being plucked up by the wind. Still, I wrap my arms around him like a second rope. I do my best to move with him as he leads us back toward the chariot that seems too far away. Is Atum still there, or has the storm dragged him away in his weakness and condemned him to a mortal’s death?

My husband and I trudge forward, apparently both intent on finding that out. Then Prometheus glances upward. “By the mortals!”

I follow his gaze and find a funnel forming out of the dark clouds above us.

Then Prometheus is practically dragging me toward the chariot. It’s tipped over on its side, and Atum is crouched beneath it.

I move to crawl underneath with him, but then Prometheus drags Atum out.

“What are you doing?!” I yell.

“This won’t shelter us from what’s coming.” Prometheus glances up at the dark funnel, which is reaching for the ground at an alarming speed.

My gut lurches, because there is no other shelter. At least not with lightning crashing down on the trees. And without horses, there is no way we can outrun the storm.

“Over here!” Prometheus keeps one arm around me along with the rope as he drags Atum with the other. He leads us to the ravine.

“Down!” Prometheus bellows over the wind that is tugging at the chariot.

Atum tries to climb down, but he is moving too slowly. I fiddle with the rope, trying to loosen it so I can assist.

Just as I release myself , my bridegroom kicks his master in the chest. Atum falls, crashing into the shallow water at the bottom of the ravine.

I dive after Atum, the water deep enough to soften my landing. Grabbing Atum, who is floundering, I roll him onto his back.

Then Prometheus splashes into the creek as the storm howls even louder.

Craning my head, I look up to see the chariot flying through the sky like it weighs little more than a blade of grass.

I gasp.

Prometheus swims between Atum and me and wraps his arms around us both. He awkwardly shelters us with his body that I believe has grown again.

“What do we do?” I gasp, barely keeping myself on the above water with so much terror flowing through me.

“Pray,” Prometheus gasps, “to any of your gods but Zeus. He hasn’t the mercy to relent from his wrath.”

Gripping my husband’s damp chiton to secure myself against the winds and waves, I bury my face into Prometheus’s shoulder. Unless there is a greater god than Zeus, I shall perish the day after my sacrifice.