Page 73 of Fading Sun

“How many questions will we each have?” Morgan asks.

“Two for each god, and you’re only allowed to answer questions for the gods you chose,” the Buddha says. “The test has a fifteen-minute time limit. With enough correct answers, the door to the next temple will open, where you’ll face your next challenge. With too many wrong ones… you won’t find yourselves in the light of day ever again.”

Amber

I shudder and glance at the light streaming through the windows, not liking the sound of the penalties.

Apollo, twin to Artemis, I remind myself, running through everything again in my head. God of the sun, music, prophecy, and healing?—

“Who will go first?” the Buddha asks, interrupting my chain of thought.

“I will.” I step forward, wanting to get this over with.

The Buddha’s eyes focus on me. “First question,” he says. “Who are Apollo’s parents?”

“Zeus,” I say quickly, since Zeus had a ton of children, which made that an easy one to remember. “And…”

Quickly, I comb through the “hints” I gave myself while memorizing facts about Apollo. Someone once told me that the way I study is called “mnemonics,” which means creating visual patterns to remember information.

I know this one.

I call on the visual I used to memorize it—of Apollo’s mother serving him pizza. Which never happened—obviously—but it’s my cue to help me remember her name.

Because Lido is a pizza restaurant. Apollo’s mother’s name is similar, but different. It’s…

“Leto,” I say.

“Correct,” the Buddha says, and even though I knew I was correct, relief swells within me.

I also have a sudden craving for a slice of pizza.

“Good job,” Damien murmurs, but I barely pay him attention, since I’m too busy running through more facts about Apollo in my mind.

“Second question,” the Buddha says. “What’s the name of the dragon Apollo slew as a child?”

The image from the mural of Apollo holding a bow and arrow as he slayed the dragon pops into my mind. As for the dragon’s name…

It ends with the sound “on,” because Apollo was on his game when he slayed the dragon.

“You’re losing time,” the Buddha says, which strikes me as ironic, since Buddhas are supposed to be patient. “The longer you take to answer your question, the less time your friends will have to answer theirs.”

Crap.

I need to say something—now.

“Typhon,” I say, since I know that name from Greek mythology somewhere.

“Incorrect,” the Buddha declares, and my stomach drops in defeat. “The answer was Python.”

My frustration surges, heat flooding my veins. Because not only did I get the answer wrong, but I was so close.

The Buddha’s eyes glow with an eerie light, and a gong echoes through the chamber. The sound vibrates through the air, reverberating off the walls and ceiling, so loud that my skull feels like it’s going to split open.

I press my fingers to my temples as it fades out.

Is that it? I think when it’s gone. We just get… gonged for a wrong answer?

Unless the gong scrambled my brain? Made me forget some of the facts I studied?

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