The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)(85)

Each sapling rose about three feet high, its branches white, its leaves pale-green diamonds that looked much too delicate for the desert heat.

‘Those are ash trees,’ I said, dumbfounded.

I knew a lot about ash trees … Well, more than I knew about most trees, anyway. Long ago, I had been called Apollo Meliai, Apollo of the Ash Trees, because of a sacred grove I owned in … oh, where was it? Back then I had so many vacation properties I couldn’t keep them all straight.

My mind began to whirl. The word meliai meant something besides just ash trees. It had special significance. Despite being planted in a completely hostile climate, these young plants radiated strength and energy even I could sense. They’d grown overnight into healthy saplings. I wondered what they might look like tomorrow.

Meliai … I turned the word over in my mind. What had Caligula said? Blood-born. Silver wives.

Meg frowned. She looked much better this morning – back in her traffic-light-coloured clothes that had been miraculously patched and laundered. (I suspected the dryads, who are great with fabrics.) Her cat-eye glasses had been repaired with blue electrical tape. The scars on her arms and face had faded into faint white streaks like meteor trails across the sky.

‘I still don’t get it,’ she said. ‘Ash trees don’t grow in the desert. Why was my dad experimenting with ash?’

‘The Meliai,’ I said.

Joshua’s eyes glittered. ‘That was my thought, too.’

‘The who?’ Meg asked.

‘I believe,’ I said, ‘that your father was doing more than simply researching a new, hardy plant strain. He was trying to re-create … or rather reincarnate an ancient species of dryad.’

Was it my imagination, or did the young trees rustle? I restrained the urge to step back and run away. They were only saplings, I reminded myself. Nice, harmless baby plants that did not have any intention of murdering me.

Joshua knelt. In his khaki safari clothes, with his tousled grey-green hair, he looked like a wild-animal expert who was about to point out some deadly species of scorpion for the TV audience. Instead he touched the branches of the nearest sapling, then quickly removed his hand.

‘Could it be?’ he mused. ‘They’re not conscious yet, but the power I sense …’

Meg crossed her arms and pouted. ‘Well, I wouldn’t have planted them here if I’d known they were important ash trees or whatever. Nobody told me.’

Joshua gave her a dry smile. ‘Meg McCaffrey, if these are the Meliai, they will survive even in this harsh climate. They were the very first dryads – seven sisters born when the blood of murdered Ouranos fell upon the soil of Gaia. They were created at the same time as the Furies, and with the same great strength.’

I shuddered. I did not like the Furies. They were ugly, ill-tempered, and had bad taste in music. ‘The blood-born,’ I said. ‘That’s what Caligula called them. And the silver wives.’

‘Mmm.’ Joshua nodded. ‘According to legend, the Meliai married humans who lived during the Silver Age, and gave birth to the race of the Bronze Age. But we all make mistakes.’

I studied the saplings. They didn’t look much like the mothers of Bronze Age humanity. They didn’t look like the Furies, either.

‘Even for a skilled botanist like Dr. McCaffrey,’ I said, ‘even with the blessing of Demeter … is reincarnating such powerful beings possible?’

Joshua swayed pensively. ‘Who can say? It seems the family of Plemnaeus was pursuing this goal for millennia. No one would be better suited. Dr McCaffrey perfected the seeds. His daughter planted them.’

Meg blushed. ‘I don’t know. Whatever. Seems weird.’

Joshua regarded the young ash trees. ‘We will have to wait and see. But imagine seven primordial dryads, beings of great power, bent on the preservation of nature and the destruction of any who would threaten it.’ His expression turned unusually warlike for a flowering plant. ‘Surely Caligula would see that as a major threat.’

I couldn’t argue. Enough of a threat to burn down a botanist’s house and send him and his daughter straight into the arms of Nero? Probably.

Joshua rose. ‘Well, I must go dormant. Even for me, the daylight hours are taxing. We will keep an eye on our seven new friends. Good luck on your quest!’

He burst into a cloud of yucca fibre.

Meg looked disgruntled, probably because I had interrupted their flirty talk about climate zones.

‘Ash trees,’ she grumbled. ‘And I planted them in the desert.’

‘You planted them where they needed to be,’ I said. ‘If these truly are the Meliai –’ I shook my head in amazement – ‘they responded to you, Meg. You brought back a life force that has been absent for millennia. That is awe-inspiring.’

She looked over. ‘Are you making fun of me?’

‘No,’ I assured her. ‘You are your mother’s child, Meg McCaffrey. You are quite impressive.’

‘Hmph.’

I understood her scepticism.

Demeter was rarely described as impressive. Too often, the goddess got ridiculed for not being interesting or powerful enough. Like plants, Demeter worked slowly and quietly. Her designs grew over the course of centuries. But when those designs came to fruition (bad fruit pun, sorry), they could be extraordinary. Like Meg McCaffrey.