Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)

Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)
P.C. Cast


PROLOGUE

Thetis of the Silver Feet rose from the depths of the hidden cove. Her son was already there, awaiting her arrival. With that odd, almost preternatural sense of calm that had been his to command even as a babe, he stood on the beach staring with quiet intensity at the distant, watery horizon. He had not yet noticed her, so she took the opportunity to study him carefully.

Though he had barely lived sixteen summers he more closely resembled the man and warrior he would become than the child she’d held at her bosom what seemed but a moment ago. He was magnificent—her golden eaglet, her pride, her heart—her Achilles. And today her soul wept for what Zeus’s oracle had revealed to her. Thetis wished she could deny the truth of it or even simply run from the choices the great god had revealed. But she, too, was a deity, born of the water, daughter of Nereus, an ancient sea god, and she knew all too well that the prophecies of the gods could not be avoided—that to run from them left only chaos and heartbreak and ruined lives in the wake of consequences. Fate could not be avoided, so it must be endured.

At least Achilles had been given a choice.

The small splinter of hope that thought gave Thetis was short-lived. It worked itself free of her heart as she continued to gaze at the wondrous man her son was becoming.

Before his conception the oracle had foretold that her son would be greater than his father—thus freeing her of the tiresome courtships of Zeus and Apollo. Neither god would ever have suffered a son to outshine him. She had eventually married Peleus, King of the Myrmidons. A slight smile touched her shapely pink lips. Peleus had desired her so desperately that compared to her smooth, white thighs the oracle’s predictions were inconsequential. Thetis tossed back her silver-blond hair. She hadn’t, of course, been able to settle permanently with a mortal, king or not, but she did think of him fondly and often. Perhaps she would visit him later that night. He always welcomed her joyously into his bed and she would need the distraction of passion after hearing Achilles’ choice. Sadly she knew her son too well; what the oracle at Dodona had prophesied for him would, indeed, come to pass. Thetis drew in a deep breath and readied herself.

“Achilles!” she called to him.

His response was instantaneous. He turned toward her with a dazzling smile and a formal bow so deep and respectful that Hera herself would have been pleased.

“Mother, what news from Dodona and Zeus’s oracle?”

Thetis glided to him, extending her soft hand. “Not even a hello for your mother? Are oracles and prophecies all you care about, my son?”

Achilles’ blue eyes, which were the exact color of the turquoise depths in which his mother had been born, sparkled with mischievous humor. “Forgive me great goddess of the sea!” He took her hand, kissed it fondly, then tucked it around his already well-muscled arm as he led her from the warm Aegean waters. “And how is your health, Mother? Has it changed in the two days since last I saw you?”

She pushed at his shoulder, which felt even more rocklike than it had two days before when they’d taken lunch together in this very cove. “My health is perfect, as you very well know. And I am but a lowly sea goddess, not one of the Divine Twelve, so there’s no need to flatter me as such. As you also know very well.”

Achilles bent and kissed her quickly on her cheek. “You are my goddess, Mother, and more divine to me than any of the Twelve.”

Instead of replying with her usual good-natured banter Thetis met her son’s sparkling eyes and said sharply, “Do not jest about the gods. Were I to usurp one of the Twelve Olympians, even just in your mind, it would be a grave insult and my hubris could be punished severely.”

Achilles frowned. “What has happened, Mother?”

Thetis sighed and unwound herself from her son’s arm. Silently she walked to a chair-sized rock and sat. Then she looked up at her son. Where he was standing, with the sea at his back and the sun caressing his youthful body with its golden rays, he seemed for an instant like a gilded statue of himself, like something a great people—perhaps in the distant future—would erect of him to memorialize the remembered exploits of a warrior whose life had blazed like a comet and then burned out much too soon.

A shiver passed through Thetis’s body.

“Mother?” Achilles repeated. He began to walk toward her, but her upraised hand stayed him.

“This will be easier if you remain there.” Then she wouldn’t be tempted to clutch him to her as if he were still a babe, and beg him to be wise… to consider… Thetis drew another deep breath. When she finally spoke, her voice was emotionless, as if she were an oracle herself. “Zeus’s oracle presented two choices for you, Achilles.” She closed her eyes and recited: “One path to the future will lead to a long, prosperous life. The Myrmidons will flourish under your rule. You will have a fruitful wife who will bear you many sons and daughters. You will know peace and tranquility and love. Your long life will be full and rich and you will die quietly in your bed when your beard is white, surrounded by those who love you. You will be deeply mourned, but eventually your name will be forgotten as just a speck in the countless sands of history.” Thetis drew another deep breath and continued, still not opening her eyes.

“Another path to the future will lead to acclaim that will outshine all other kings and warriors. You will lead the Myrmidons in battle with a red ferocity that will burn everything before you. Your fire will rage hot and high so that your name will be remembered for thousands of years in lands past the edge of the world. But like a fire that burns too hot too quickly, you will be consumed, and never see the close of thirty summers. Rage will destroy your life. You will only glimpse peace and love and tranquility—you will never know them.” Thetis paused long enough to ready herself for what she knew she would see, and then she opened her eyes.