Page 17 of Incubus

11

Lilah

Two years ago

A windswept cliff on the Mediterranean

I’d been climbingfor days, desperately searching for some sign of a tributary from the crystal waters of the Cephissus. Following the river was the only way I’d ever be able to reach the well-hidden entrance to the Oracle of Delphi. After so long on the mountainside, I was beginning to lose hope of ever finding the soothsayer I’d been seeking for what had seemed like an eternity.

A blustery gust of wind blew past, sending me listing to the side, my fingers gripping the rock face as tightly as they could. They were blistered and sore from the climb. Though they healed whenever I stopped to rest, each new bout of climbing rubbed them, and my reserve, raw. The mountain taunted me—its gray crags leering at me as I scaled the unforgiving stone.

As I continued my climb in the elements, I thought I spied a small crevasse in the mountain’s otherwise unbroken surface. I laughed through cracked lips, having drunk the last of my water the day before. This wasn’t the first time during my climb that I’d seen a way through, only to find the “crevasse” was a slightly darker shade of stone or a sharp edge that resembled an opening. I looked down between my dangling feet and saw the waves crash onto the shore far, far below. Though immortal, in my weakened state, a fall like that would likely kill me.

So, I pressed on and hitched a leg up to the nearest tiny ledge, crabbing my way across the stone toward the illusion of the opening in the rock. My fingers stung, and my muscles felt like molten fire was pulsing through them. Sweat dripped into my eyes as I labored on, closer and closer to the slash in the granite. The slightest runnel of water spilled out through the vertical opening, leaving a dark indention that marked its flow. If the water could get out, I could get in. Finally. This was it, what I’d come for. It had to be.

With a last heave of my body, I clambered into the narrow hole, bracing my back against one side and my feet against the other. I gulped deep breaths of air and let my arms dangle so the blood could return, despite the aching protest from the nerves in my fingers. I got a good look at the opening. It began widening from the point where I’d wedged myself until it had enough room for two people to walk abreast, but then abruptly curved to the right. The rivulet of water followed the same path deeper into the mountain. Though my body screamed at me to stop and slake my thirst, I couldn’t risk drinking tainted or bespelled water. The Oracle was well hidden for a reason. The pains it took to reach her were a defense mechanism, and I didn’t know what others might be in play.

I shimmied farther in, moving my feet and back along the wall until I could step down on solid ground. Just the feel of stone beneath my shoes instead of under my fingers had me sighing with relief.

I followed the stream along its harshly twisting and turning path. The rock above me opened as the path grew wider. Eventually, the stream led me to a larger one that created a magnificent waterfall over the side of another sheer cliff face. The water never made it to the ground, blowing away into a thousand refracted drops and forming a constant rainbow in the azure sky. It was the singularly most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

Still, I pressed on.

After what felt like miles of trekking through the stone wilderness and following streams until they turned into a river that shone as if it were made of melted mirrors, I finally saw what I’d been searching for. An enormous stone statue of Apollo stood watch over the valley where all supplicants to Delphi had to pass. His likeness was undeniably handsome, though I detected the slightest hint of mischief in his sparkling eyes. Carved into the mountain below his feet was a set of stone doors that no doubt led to the Oracle.

There was only one problem—I had to cross a wide river to get to it.

The stone cliffs on either side of the water rose to an impossible height, and no bridge beckoned. I toyed with the idea of scaling the stone wall to get a better view, but my fingers ached at the thought of more climbing.

No, the only way to the door was through the mysterious waters of the Cessiphus.

The river was placid as it pooled in front of the great doors, seemingly motionless in its brilliance as the sun played across its unbroken surface. I reached down and chose a flat splinter of rock from the stone shards that littered the hard ground. With a flick of my wrist, I sent it bouncing across the mirrored surface until it disappeared beneath the water. I waited, tensed for anything. Nothing happened. The ripples eddied outward, unbothered, and no huge tentacles or man-eating piranha appeared.

Somewhat reassured, I shouldered my pack and pulled out a blade. Gripping it in my teeth, I eased one foot into the river, always keeping an eye out for trouble. The water was cool, refreshing even, after my long climb. I kept going deeper until my feet no longer touched the bottom, and then I began an all-out swim toward the other side. The faster I could get out of the water, the safer I’d feel, but the weight of my pack slowed me down, and the shore seemed to get farther away instead of closer.

When I felt I was finally to the halfway point, I treaded water to catch my breath. The far shore was nearer now, the doors revealing hand-carved scenes of what looked like the battle of Troy. I only tarried for a moment before setting off again. Well into my stroke toward the far shore, I kicked something under the water. An alarm bell went off in my head and instead of stopping to investigate, I kicked harder and swam even faster. When a hand fastened around my ankle and yanked me down, my scream was cut off as I sank beneath the surface.

I barely caught the knife as it fell from between my teeth, and I could see nothing in the inky dark, my night vision no match for the enchanted waters. Whatever had pulled me down let go of me when I kicked it with my free foot. I fought to the surface and continued swimming, now for my life. Drowning wouldn’t kill me, but whatever lurked beneath these waters just might. When I felt the water swirl around me, I gripped my blade and waited for the attack. This time, I felt something encircle my waist. Not giving it another chance to drag me down, I sliced out with my dagger and struck something solid. The thing released my waist and a pink bloom of blood spread in the water. Kicking out hard, I continued toward the far shore—now so close. I could only imagine what terrible beast was lurking just beneath me, its giant fangs readied for a meal. The thought of such a gruesome death put gas in my tank, and it wasn’t long before I could touch the stone bottom on the other side. Once the water’s edge was within reach, I tore from the river and landed on my back, chest heaving from the effort. I kicked and scooted back until I was well clear of the water before resting my head on the rocks and staring up at the sky.

“Why’d you go and do that?”

I bolted upright and found a male standing waist-deep in the river and nursing a cut on his forearm.

A triton. Figures.

“Why don’t you keep your goddamned hands to yourself, triton?” I kept an edge to my voice, though I was relieved to see my attacker was not the giant squid monster with rows of razor teeth I’d supposed, but a son of Poseidon. The tritons were a rough-around-the-edges sort of merman, and this one was no different. He clearly hadn’t shaved in months and looked blotto with his bloodshot eyes and swaying movements. The triton’s hair was a mass of golden curls that desperately needed brushing, though he didn’t seem to mind. He’d probably stink to high heaven of body odor and rum if he didn’t swim around all day. He was a perfect male specimen, with muscles and a masculine vee of a torso. Tritons were notorious womanizers and ne’er-do-wells. The giant tattoo of a large-breasted, naked nymph that ran the length of the titan’s upper arm told me this one was no different. He wasn’t a threat, though, especially not now that I was on the dry rocks. Tritons, unlike true mermen, could never fully leave the water.

“Ol’ Ferallo was just trying to get a little lovin’,” he said with a shrug and a hiccup. “Don’t get too many visitors up in these parts. ’Specially not ones that look like you.”

“Ol’ Ferallo needs to learn to keep his hands to himself.” I tossed my dagger in the air end over end and caught it by the hilt. “Wouldn’t want to get another boo-boo, now, would you?”

He leered at me and made an unbelievably coarse gesture involving two of his fingers and his tongue before adding, “Why don’t you come back in? Water’s fine.”

“I’ll pass.” I didn’t bother to hide my disgust.

“Suit yourself,” he said, seemingly hurt. “You’re gonna have to swim back across sometime.”

“Yeah, and I’ll still have this”—I flipped the blade up into the air again—“when I do.”

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