The Cult of Kronos Read online

  “Praise virtue.”

  -Delphic Maxim

  iii.

  After the gods left the house of Lycaon,

  their hearts were weighted by the darkness of man.

  And so it fell to Philemon and Baucis

  to redeem mankind.

  Zeus and Hermes took the frail forms of beggars

  and appeared on the elderly couple's stoop.

  The pair were poor and had nothing to offer

  but welcomed them still.

  Baucis scraped together a plain, humble meal

  with the last of the eggs, dried figs, and olives.

  His wife set to preparing their only bed

  for the strangers' rest.

  With his heart warmed by their hospitality,

  the goblet of Zeus began to fill itself.

  When Baucis recognized this sign of the gods,

  he fell to his knees.

  As it is in the control of the gods

  to change the shapes of their selves and surroundings,

  Zeus showed his gratitude by shaping their home

  into a temple.

  For their sacrifice, Philemon and Baucis

  were set aside from harm and died together

  some years later as keepers of the temple,

  the favored of Zeus.

  “Boys throw stones at frogs in fun, but the frogs do not die in fun, but in earnest.”

  -Bion of Borysthenes

  III.

  Zach Jacobs carried a cardboard box filled with his wife’s books to the car parked in his mother’s front yard. June followed behind him, carrying a hanging garment bag with the suits and jackets that just couldn’t afford to be folded. They had few possessions; the couple had sold and donated a lot of their things back in March when June’s father had kicked her out of the house. There just wasn’t room in the small bedroom of Zach's mother's house for all of the junk they had collected in their eighteen and a half years of life. Mrs. Jacobs had told them that it was a mistake, that there was still time to get the marriage annulled, but after a long late-night conversation the night before Peter's funeral, she had realized that young couple was not going to budge and decided to support them.

  Now they were off to college. Zach deposited the box in the trunk of June’s Mazda station wagon. His own car, a green Tesla Roadster (that his father had impractically given him nine months before to try and make up for his absence) had no back seat and hardly any trunk. Their luggage would be limited to what June could haul in her car.

  June hung the garment bag in the station wagon and sat down in the hatchback. She brushed her red bangs, moist with sweat from being so active in the blistering August heat, away from her fair skin. June's style idols were all wives of Presidents, but in this heat, even she opted for a tank top and shorts. Zach offered June a hand to pull her to her feet. “One more trip,” he said.

  They walked back into the house, June rattling off their to-do list for comfort, and stopped for a minute to enjoy the air-conditioning. Zach opened the refrigerator and plucked out a bottle of strawberry lemonade. June leaned on the counter and watched the eight-inch TV that was mounted under the cabinet. Some generic morning show was on.

  “We have a week and a half before classes start,” Zach said between gulps of juice, “after we get there. What do you want to do with all that time?”

  “Unpack?” June suggested as the hosts of the morning show brought out some self-help phenom.

  “For a week and a half? We have one room worth of stuff.”

  “Well, there’s furniture shopping, right?”

  “And then?”

  June shrugged and turned away from the TV. “I guess we drive around, get used to the city. Learn our way.”

  Zach crinkled the now-empty plastic juice bottle and threw it in the trash. He pulled his t-shirt away from his chest and let it fall back. Zach went to the kitchen table, the spot where they had staged the boxes the night before, and picked up the last box. June followed him outside. He placed the last box on the stack. June sat down on what little bit of carpet was left with all of their worldly possessions packed into the car.

  “How much fit in your trunk?” she asked Zach, reaching for his hand.

  Zach, tall, unshaven (well, he had shaved, it just never mattered much because his beard grew so quickly), and glistening with sweat, turned and placed his hands on either side of her. “Just my football stuff.”

  “That’s it?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “At least you don’t have to smell it for five hours to Gainesville.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips, lingering there and enjoying the moment. The warm early-morning sun beat on his back, and the air smelled of orange blossoms. They were getting ready to start the next phase of their lives. Zach had a scholarship to play for the Gators, and June had an academic grant that paid for half of their apartment. Zach’s father, who was getting out of paying tuition, was still obligated, according to the divorce settlement, to provide twenty-thousand dollars a year for books, food, and housing. Zach anticipated four years of paradise. “I’m glad you’re coming with me,” Zach whispered.

  “Well, we are married.”

  “I know, but Brown and Harvard,” Zach said. “That’s a lot to give up.”

  June smiled. “Remember that the next time we have a fight. And there’s always grad school.”

  A cool breeze suddenly swept in, chilling Zach’s back. He stood up and turned around, nearly whacking his head on the tailgate of June’s car.

  Lewis Mercer stood behind them, the wind from his wake rustling the bushes all down the street.

  “Lewis,” June snapped, her teeth gritted. “How many times do we have to tell you not to do that in public.”

  Zach could see, however, that something was terribly wrong. Lewis’ eyes were red and his almost permanent smile was nowhere to be found. He swayed uneasily on the spot, and Zach could tell from the way he flexed his fingers and shuffled his feet, just wanting to run at full speed and never stop. “What is it?”

  “I—Frank—we…” It was not like Lewis to be at a loss for words.

  “Did something happen to Frank and Devon?”

  Lewis shook his head. “Frank’s mother works the nightshift at the hospital,” Lewis said. “There was an accident. They brought them in last night. Dr. Davis is dead.”

  June stood up fast, knocking Zach forward. “That’s not funny.”

  “I know it’s not,” Lewis said. “I just ran down to Mercy. There are police everywhere. It’s a murder investigation.”

  June’s face twisted into a grotesque mimicry of herself. She grabbed Zach’s t-shirt and pulled. Zach wrapped her in his arms, his chin resting on her head as she began to cry. Lewis sat down on the sidewalk, finally letting himself lose control. “I have to tell the others,” he gasped, his voice broken by tears. “It’s my job to tell the others.”

  Zach stared at the pavement, trying to force the moment to feel real. He felt guilty, feeling numb while the two most important people in his life fell to pieces. His eyes stared ahead, watching Lewis’ shoulders quake. The humid summer air distorted everything ahead of them, and a little black bird trilled screechily from the shrubs behind them. His mind darted back to the postcard they had received in March—the threat that had come with no follow-up.

  Murder. That only meant one thing for members of The Pantheon. Another Titan had arrived. Kronos.

  “Either with it or upon it.”

  -Spartan Motto

  iv.

  He was wearing the armor of Achilles

  when Hector had met him on the battle field.

  The renowned warrior blamed himself as he

  set flames to the pyre.

  And as the tendrils of flame licked the timbers

  and consumed the body of his closest friend,

  Achilles swore to enact his vengeance on

  Hector, prince of Troy.

  “Oh, if I had Orpheus’ voi
ce and poetry

  with which to move the Dark Maid and her Lord,

  I'd call you back, dear love, from the world below.

  I'd go down there for you. Charon or the grim

  King's dog could not prevent me then

  from carrying you up into the fields of light.”

  -Euripides

  IV.

  A doctor was needed to declare her dead, but everyone knew the truth before the ambulance had arrived. An old colleague had called Jason Livingstone the moment the ambulance had brought Celene's body in.

  There hadn't been time to find a babysitter, and so Jason had arrived with his three children in tow. The call had been cryptic, a “sir, are you an acquaintance of Dr. Celene Davis?” and a “we need you to come down to Mercy tonight. There's been an accident.” Jason had driven faster than he should have in the rain. The reflections of the traffic lights and the street lamps and the garish neon signs of gas stations blended into a chaotic mix of colors that made it hard to see the lines on the road.

  Haley, Jamie, and Scott had been excited to go on a late night adventure, but now they were asleep, propped up in awkward and uncomfortable positions on the blue waiting room chairs, cheeks smushed up against the plastic arm rests. When the nurse came out to find him, she was accompanied by a cop. Beneath the buzz of a dying fluorescent light, the police officer had shown Jason the contact card from Celene's wallet; despite the fact that he had ended his relationship with Celene in March and severed all ties with The Pantheon, it listed him as Penny's emergency contact. Celene Davis didn't have any family in the country. And now she was dead.

  Jason saw himself, in his mind, collapsing to the floor in fits of sobs. Instead he stood steady, all expression vanishing from his face. He wanted to kick over the empty gurney in the hall and scream, but he just stood there, listening and nodding in response to the officer's questions. After numbly answering a line of traditional questions—“no, she didn't have any enemies” (lie) and “I can't think of anyone who would want to kill her” (another lie)—Jason had brought Penny back to his house. He couldn't leave her there with no family. Social Services would take her, and Jason couldn't let that happen. There would be headaches and paperwork, but Jason was cleared to take her home for the night by her emergency contact card. There was a Titan out there looking for blood. Jason couldn't leave her undefended. He had tried to leave The Pantheon, but here he was, sucked back into it all.

  Jason placed the phone call the morning after Celene's death. He sat at the kitchen table, still dressed in his shirt from the night before, a crinkly, collared, light-blue oxford. He hadn't been to bed yet. Jason anxiously tugged at his short beard as he spoke. All of this felt oddly familiar, like the morning after Felicia had passed away when he had been up for hours, unable to sleep because the quiet allowed him to think. He remembered that night vividly. Every time he had tried to sleep, grief overtook him and wracked him with fits of painful sobs. Jason spent this morning calling colleagues from the school, because Celene had no family, and he was trying to stay busy to stay numb. After the phone tree had been activated and after a long call with Principal Phillips, Jason called his father. When he heard his father's voice on the other end, Jason couldn't help but remember that morning years before.

  “I need you or Aunt Elizebeth to come get the kids,” he said.

  “What happened?” Paul Livingstone asked.

  “There's been an accident. Celene passed away last night.” He heard his voice crack when he said it. He needed someone to take the kids before the numbness broke.

  “I'm the only one who can take Penny in.”

  “What kind of accident?” Paul asked.

  Jason was silent for a moment. Did he want to worry his father? “She was murdered ”

  “Then that's no accident,” Paul said.

  Jason didn't respond.

  “They catch the bastard who did it?”

  “No, Dad. He was… they don't know. There was a car accident, and then he—I really don't want to talk about it.

  “I told you that city wasn't a safe place to raise kids,” his father said. “Too many gangs.”

  Jason's fist clenched the edge of the table. Paul Livingstone had always preached the evils of city life. He was a survival nut, growing more paranoid of criminals and populated areas as he aged. Jason knew that gangs had nothing to do with what had happened to Celene, but the real culprit was far more frightening. He knew, logically, that he should take his kids and get out-of-town with them. That would have been the intelligent thing to do, but Jason had always prioritized right over smart. “It's only for a little while. I don't want them around. They're too young to understand. And I've got all these meetings with social services.”

  “Of course. We'll be there this afternoon.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  When Jason hung up the phone in the kitchen, Penny was standing behind him, her right arm hanging in a blue, cotton sling.

  “You're sending them away?”

  Jason twisted around in his chair, startled. Whatever peace of mind Jason had found after stepping down from his role with The Pantheon had been shattered by Celene's death. He took a deep breath and nodded. “You saw him rip the seatbelt apart like a party streamer. It's a Titan, and I'm not going to have them in the line of fire.”

  Penny nodded. “Of course.” She started to turn from the room, but stopped. “I'm sorry.”

  Jason frowned. “What for?”

  “For dragging you back into this.”

  Jason shook his head and stood up from his seat. “Hey, don't be. I jumped right in two years ago. When you know a secret like that, there's no going back.”

  “You didn't have to come back.”

  “And leave you to the system?” He slid his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans. Jason knew that Penny wasn't safe in foster care. Even if she managed to hide her powers for two years until she aged out of the system, she ran the risk of being placed far away from The Pantheon. With Titans running around, Jason couldn't take that risk. He had to take care of Penny; he owed it to her mother. “Listen,” he said, “Tomorrow, make me a list of what you need from your apartment, and I'll go get it after my meeting with your case worker.”

  “It's okay. I can go too.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Penny nodded. “Yeah. I mean, my room is a mess, so you'll need my help anyway.”

  “Alright.” Jason nodded. “Well, how about we do that tomorrow, and then get ice-cream?”

  “I'm not seven,” Penny said, smirking.

  “Does that mean you don't want ice-cream?”

  “Oh, no, I'll take the ice-cream.”

  “Good,” Jason laughed. “Because I'm in the mood for some chocolate chip cookie dough.”

  They held the funeral three days later. The Episcopal church was filled with equal shares of students and teachers and rubberneckers. All around were whispers of the horrific murder. Why would someone murder a biology teacher? Remember two years ago when she was kidnapped with those kids? Now that poor girl is an orphan.

  There was standing room only, and even that was crowded. The Pantheon had claimed a pew early on, and Frank Guerrero's massive figure, made almost comedic by the five-month-old baby in his arms, capped off the row and kept anyone else from trying to squeeze in. Baby Xander wore a sun hat to hide the stubble of his metallic gold hair, and he slept peacefully, drooling on Frank's navy blue dress shirt.

  Along the row sat the rest of the group: Devon, Lewis, Zach, June, Minnie, Evan, Valerie, Astin, Diana, Nick, and Teddy. Even Astin Hill, with his sun-kissed skin, looked pale and shaken. His arm around June, Zach managed to hold back tears. It didn't matter; despite his appearance, they all knew that the unforeseen rainstorm outside was Zach's doing.

  None of The Pantheon felt like gathering, and Jason did not invite guests back to his house to eat. He couldn't do it. The site of her, eyes closed, displayed in that wooden casket made it all too real. The woman who l
ay there was a shell, not really Celene. Celene was gone. The moment Jason saw her on display at the funeral home, before the procession to the church, he had felt a crack in the dam that was holding back the floodgates. After the service, they went their separate ways. They said a few words, shared a couple hugs, and then packed into cars to head home.

  There was no internment, as they had to wait to cremate the body. It was an ongoing murder investigation. Celene had died of a broken neck and severed spinal cord. The angle of the break was not consistent with a car accident, but the coroner just couldn't see how an unarmed man had been able to apply the amount of force necessary to cause such damage.

  Only The Pantheon knew the truth, and the members who had been interviewed by police over the last few days had kept it to themselves. They had all seen Zach's postcard back in March. Celene hadn't been murdered by a gang or a meth-head. This was yet another Titan. This time it was Kronos.

  “Evil draws men together.”

  -Aristotle

  v.

  From the waist-up the creature, Kampe, looked human,

  if not for the writhing bodies of serpents

  that made up every black lock of her hair—

  constantly shifting.

  At her waist, her flesh gave way to gleaming scales,

  and her long drakon body slid through the dirt.

  From that body grew the hundred heads of beasts,

  each gnashing their teeth.

  When she rose up she rested on thousands of

  vipers where she should have stood on human feet.