Mother squeezed his hand before ushering him farther into the poorly lit cavern. “Your training, how has it progressed?”
Her cinnamon and vanilla scents fought for attention, and he stifled a sneeze. Her scent was the most powerful, but it bordered on overwhelming. “You have brought me back from Vologda. It is in deepest Russia where the cold is intense and the winds are so strong they can cut a man in half.” Alek looked to Maiden’s eyebrows, arched in worry. He loved spinning his tales of heroism for his youngest mother. “Though my mission was extremely dangerous, I managed to pursue and trap Solomon, the escaped soul. You should find him back where he belongs,” he added smugly.
Mother rolled her eyes. “Solomon was a thief. He stole medicine from his village and sold it.”
“A dangerous thief,” Alek muttered, his pride wounded.
“Son, I have seen Solomon. He was as round as he was tall in death, just as he was in life. I have no doubt you did well and that your training has prepared you, but you have greater foes to encounter.”
“I have yet to meet an opponent I did not crush.”
“You have only been to the Mortal Realm but a handful of times, and have yet to meet a worthy opponent.”
“I assure you, Mother, when I do, the outcome will be no different. I haven’t trained long, but I will prove myself as the Immortal Warrior of Tartarus, and our home shall finally be rid of this curse.”
“You would run headfirst into a brick wall so long as you leave an Alek-shaped hole in it afterward,” Crone chuckled.
Maiden swept her auburn hair off her shoulders as she took a seat at the granite table. “That is why we have called you home, my son. The last looking pool in the Hall of Echoes has grown dark. We can no longer see into the Mortal Realm.”
“We are defenseless,” Mother added gravely.
“You are not defenseless. You have me, Mothers. Send me back to the Mortal Realm, and I will be your eyes.” He pulled out a chair and sat next to Maiden.
“And we shall. However, it is true that you have not been training long, and this matter must not be mishandled. The price is too great,” Crone said.
“I know what’s at risk; the lives of mortals and our place in the Underworld. I will succeed.”
“This is not a battle that can be fought and won in one day. It took centuries to capture the evil chained in this realm. You would be a fool to think you could do the same so quickly,” said Mother.
“I am not a fool, and I cannot be afraid to act. The evil loosed in the Mortal Realm must learn to fear me as they once feared the great Tartarus,” Alek said sternly.
“With time, they will, my son.” Maiden placed a hand on his shoulder. “And with help, you will bring about change much more quickly than you could alone. The spirit of Pythia bestowed upon us an amazing gift with which to aid you.”
Crone sat herself next to Mother. “She has gifted us each with a piece to locate one of her descendants so you might resurrect the ancient Oracle strength still living in her bloodline. As you are only too aware, you are able to walk in the mortal world, but if you venture there too long you will lose your immortality and other divine gifts. You cannot save the mortals if their world has drained you of all that is required to help them. Together, you and this descendant of Pythia will bring about the end of Tartarus’s darkness and free the Mortal Realm of ancient evil.”
“I do not need help, Mothers,” Alek insisted. “Whoever he is, he will only get in my way.”
“No,” Crone corrected gently. “He will not. And he is not a he.”
“The person who is to fight beside me as my equal is a girl?” He crinkled his brow. “I have been around girls, Mothers. I have seen how they act in the Mortal Realm. They are not like any of you. How is a girl supposed to help me protect and restore Tartarus and the Mortal Realm?”
“And that is all he heard.” Crone drew in a deep breath from her place at the head of the table. “Your appearance will stay youthful forever, but it is my hope that that is the only part of you that does so.” The ladies’ laughter made the air around them twinkle and the moonflowers in the center of the table burst suddenly into blooms the delicate color of infants’ flesh.
“She is not simply a girl,” Mother corrected. “She is a descendant of Pythia.”
“And who is Pythia?”
“You will learn. Call upon her. She has foreseen this and will come,” Maiden assured.
“If she has foreseen this, why does she not come now? Why must I summon her?”