Daughter of Poseidon: Chapter Five

Cover illustration and design © Gabrielle Ragusi

Syrena has a chance to make a difference, and so long as there's a chance, she has to try.

Five hundred years after the Greek gods destroyed the modern world, Syrena, Daughter of Poseidon, lives under the gods' tyrannical rule. However, a centuries-old prophecy says a war will be waged on them. And if that means there's a possibility to help those the Olympians have hurt, a possibility to change things for the better, Syrena will do anything to bring this prediction to life.

Even if it means losing everything she loves.

"Daughter of Poseidon" is a short story that serves as a prequel to War on the Gods, a completed series perfect for fans of Greek mythology and dark YA fantasy. Binge it today!

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Missed chapter four? Read it here, or go back to chapter one here.

CHAPTER FIVE

PATHS

Syrena assumed it would hurt like Tartarus when she hit the ground after falling from such a large height, thought it would kill her. But strangely enough, it felt a lot like barreling into the frothy waves of one of her father’s many seas, and it most certainly did not kill her.

She’d clamped her eyes shut before, bracing herself for the landing, but now she opened them, brows raised in surprise. Diana, Hecate, and the pegasi were nowhere in sight, and she was completely engulfed in frigid blue ocean that nipped at every inch of her skin as she floated down toward its sandy floor. High above, rays of sunlight poured into the water, the scales of vibrantly colored fish gleaming as the sea creatures swirled all around. Is this real? she wondered. Or a trick of Hecate’s? It was late at night when we left Olympus. That much time couldn’t have passed already . . .

She parted her lips and gulped down some of the cold liquid, allowing it to spill into her lungs, and as she’d suspected, it felt no different from when she was submerged in any other sea. As a child-of-Poseidon, she possessed the ability to breathe in air or underwater. If she was trapped in a hallucination right now, Hecate was doing an incredible job of making things seem real.

The Daughter of Poseidon paddled upward until she reached the surface, and once she emerged, she swiped the dripping curls out of her face and shook the water from her ears. She squinted against the bright beams of an evening sunset and glanced around. Where was she?

Within moments she found the answer. Not too far in the distance there was a beach—a beach she recognized as having visited with her friends often, one quite close to Olympus that the demigods were permitted to frequent from time to time—and whether her heart leapt with joy or anxiety at the young man who stood there, she couldn’t be sure.

Spencer, Son of Hades, looked as handsome as ever, a wide smile spread across his angular features, his brown skin and curly hair glowing like dark bronze in the nearing twilight. A gentle breeze blew his long black robes to the side, and he extended his muscular arms out toward Syrena as though beckoning her for an embrace. “What are you doing all the way out there?” he called playfully in his deep voice. “Come see me.”

Syrena wanted to swim to him. No, she wanted to gather up all this saltwater and make a wave so strong she could splash onto the beach’s sand in seconds, leap into his arms, and never let go, but she knew now this couldn’t be real. There was no way Hecate had transported her and Spencer all the way out here for a romantic getaway. It just didn’t make sense. This has to be an illusion, she thought, blinking hard. I need to focus. Focus on finding Diana, breaking whatever spell this is, and escaping Hecate’s wrath.

Then we can find the Fates.

“Syrena, I know what you’re thinking,” Spencer continued. “That this isn’t real. I believed the same when I woke up on shore. But trust me, all of this”—he gestured at their surroundings—“isn’t an illusion, or a figment of our imaginations. There’s no need to worry. Just settle in and enjoy.”

Syrena waved her arms and drew up the surrounding saltwater into a large wave with her floating on top. She pushed her hands back, as though to throw herself forward through the liquid, and her wave coursed ahead, carrying her toward Spencer like a chariot.

However, before she reached shore, more strange events transpired. One moment only Spencer stood waiting for her, but the next another figure appeared, as if he’d been manifested from thin air. Immediately she recognized him—it was Karter, Son of Zeus. He can’t really be here, and neither can Spencer. Right? When she reached shore, she released the wave and splashed onto the beach. As she tentatively stepped toward her companions, warm gritty sand found its way into her sandals and in-between her toes.

“Syrena, you made it in time,” Karter exclaimed, stepping toward her and enveloping her in one of his famously tight embraces. She’d never known him to be touchy with many, but he didn’t hesitate to hug the few people he deeply cared for. This meant he’d nearly crushed her to death on several occasions, since one of his abilities as a child-of-Zeus was super-strength.

The embrace felt real enough to not be the trick of an angry goddess of witchcraft, and yet . . . “What did I make it in time for?” she squeaked out as Karter lifted her off the ground and gave her a squeeze.

“This will be the last time we’ll ever have the opportunity to watch a sunset on the beach with you,” Karter explained, lowering her. “So of course we were hoping you’d be here.”

Her heart ached at his words, and she turned to Spencer. “What is he talking about? Why will this be the last time?”

Spencer stepped forward, wasting no more time, and once he reached Syrena, he cupped her cheeks with his palms and pressed his lips against hers, kissing her fiercely. She leaned into him and rested her hands against his chest. He smelled as he always did, faintly of sandalwood and patchouli. His full lips were as soft as ever.

He is most certainly not an illusion, Syrena thought. This is real. All of it, both of them. There’s no other explanation.

Just as Spencer pulled back from their kiss, Hecate’s regal voice sounded in the air, echoing above their heads. “I know this is what a perfect day looks like to you, Daughter of Poseidon. Talks with loved ones, an evening at the beach. Laughter, hugs, kisses. After your betrayal, these two don’t believe they’ll ever get these precious days with you again, but what if I told you it’s not too late? That you can still enjoy many more times such as this?”

Syrena backed away from Spencer and glanced up, trying to spot the Goddess of Witchcraft, but all she saw were strokes of orange and purple and pink. It is a trick, but why? Why show me all of this and make it seem so real? Is she trying to disorient me? Mess with my head?

“What does it matter?” Syrena asked. “Why do you care?”

“I’m a goddess of crossroads,” Hecate replied. “Do you know what that means for you, Daughter of Poseidon?” Syrena wished Diana were here. If she were, she’d have already answered Hecate’s cryptic questions. But she must be somewhere else, perhaps in a hallucination of her own.

Syrena huffed. “No, I have no idea what that means for me, and quite frankly I don’t care. What I do care about is that if you don’t plan on turning me in to Zeus or killing me yourself, that you let me go and allow me to return to the Daughter of Apollo so that we can resume our mission.”

“Darling, I have no intention of turning you in to the King of the Gods, nor of killing you myself. But I also cannot allow you further passage until you’ve learned of both the paths at your crossroads and made a final decision on which to take.”

“I already know exactly what I want to do!” Syrena yelled, shaking her fists. “Just let me go. Take me back to Diana.”

“Not until you choose.”

Before Syrena could argue further, someone clasped her wrist and she swung around. It was Spencer. He gave her a nod, then let her go and backed away until he reached Karter’s side. Just as he did, the pair went as still as the marble statues that lined the halls of Olympus. For some reason, the sight of them standing like this, their gazes void of any emotion, made Syrena’s skin crawl. “Hecate,” she began, “what’s going on?”

Just as Syrena finished the question, the beach turned gray, all the color sucked away until it appeared as dreary as she imagined the Underworld to be. Lightning flashed across the sky. Thunder roared.

“Hecate!” Syrena cried as rain began to pour from the clouds. “Hecate!”

Finally, the goddess responded, but it was not how Syrena anticipated she would. Spencer and Karter opened their mouths and, when they spoke, Hecate’s voice was what came out. “There are two paths to choose from at your crossroads, Daughter of Poseidon.”

It was then that Syrena’s demigod companions melted into the sand, morphing and liquefying atop the grains until they’d formed cobblestone paths like those in the mortal cities. Each footway trailed for miles in a different direction than the other. All the while, Hecate’s voice reverberated over the booming thunder—“Choose your path wisely, because once you decide which to take, there is no going back.”