Broken Fate Read online

  Ares wants to set out on our mission immediately, but I want to visit my family one last time. I don’t want to disappear without a word. I want to say goodbye in case I fail and end up cut off from them forever. Plus, I want to warn them about what might be in store for them. They deserve a chance to make contingency plans. Besides, I need to pack.

  After arguing for thirty minutes in the car, Ares finally gives in and says we can go back to my house for the night. I get to spend one more night in my room. Ares can bunk in the damn basement, for all I care.

  Once that’s settled, I can’t get him to stop blathering on about his plans for war. I tune most of it out, wanting to live in a bubble of denial for just a bit longer, but I tune back in when he starts discussing an actual battle scenario and my role in it.

  “It will be bloody and painful. Especially for you,” Ares muses.

  “Why more for me than for you?” I ask.

  He stops talking and stares at me. “You really don’t know?”

  “Know what?” I ask.

  “Did you ever ask Zeus why you have to dip your sword in your own blood to bring it to its full size?”

  “No. I just assumed that it was so I could easily conceal it in whatever I was wearing.”

  “Partly, yes. But Zeus insisted that it be made that way so that you couldn’t injure someone without injuring yourself. It was supposed to make you think about the consequences of your actions and to make sure that you only used the sword when there was a good reason. In other words, something so important or life-threatening that injuring yourself was worthwhile.”

  “Did Zeus think I was going to go around hacking people’s heads off for no reason?” I ask.

  “Not necessarily. It was a precaution. All the gods who have weapons, except for Zeus’ siblings and myself, are under similar restrictions. Ever notice how some gods are only given weapons when they are sent on a specific quest? Or how weapons are only given as gifts after a certain level of trust is reached? And how most of you outside of Olympus don’t even have them?”

  “I noticed, but I never thought much about it,” I confess.

  “You only have your sword because Hades stood up to Zeus and made a convincing case as to why you should be armed. He felt that someone dealing with death needed protection. Turns out he was right.”

  “So what is Zeus protecting against? Against one of us going rogue and killing humans?”

  “No. He’s protecting himself and the other Olympians. The fewer armed gods and demigods, the fewer threats to his power.”

  “Well, that’s kind of ridiculous,” I say. “It’s not like we can kill him.”

  “No, but enough gods working together could capture and bind him. You know that Zeus overthrew Kronos, his own father, and that Kronos overthrew his father, Uranus, before that. Zeus lives in fear that one of his children will do the same to him. Therefore, the limit on weapons.”

  I start to laugh at the very idea, but then I realize it makes a twisted kind of sense. Maybe Zeus’ paranoia is justified, given his family history. “So to wage war on the Keres, I will have to repeatedly cut myself in order to use my sword.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I could just leave it extended permanently,” I say.

  “Aside from the attention a claymore-wielding young woman would draw among the humans, your sword won’t stay extended forever.”

  “It won’t?”

  “No. You’ve always retracted it yourself to keep it from being noticed or in the way but if you don’t retract it, it will retract itself after six hours.”

  “Well, that sucks,” I say.

  “It does. It likely would never have been a problem for you, but in a full-blown war campaign that will likely have many long battles, you’re going to get awfully tired of slicing yourself open,” he says. “Even if you do heal quickly,” he adds.

  “Can’t you loan me some other weapons?” I ask.

  “No. Zeus was very clear on that point with regards to helping you. I can help you, and I can fight for you using my own weapons, but I cannot give you anything of mine.”

  “Zeus sure did think of all the ways to make this as hard as possible for me, didn’t he?” I ask bitterly, already wondering how I can steal a few swords. Where do you go to steal a sword, anyway? It’s not like they sell them at Walmart.

  “I’m still looking for loopholes,” Ares says. “It would be helpful if I found a few before we begin this suicide mission.”

  His comment about suicide reminds me that there is likely a consequence for him, too.

  “You didn’t tell me what happens to you if we fail,” I say. “Do you get off completely free, since you were only added to this game to make it sporting?”

  “No, I don’t get off free. Do you seriously think Zeus would miss a chance to punish me? If we fail, I will no longer be the god of war. That job will go to Athena. Can you imagine? She’s never waged a proper war in her life. Too busy being the peacemaker and protector. She doesn’t have the killer instinct,” he says.

  “That’s a shame,” I sarcastically mutter.

  “I will be made mortal and normal. Weak.” A shudder passes through him at the very thought of being reduced to normalcy.

  “I will die eventually. Unlike you, though, I’ll at least get to go to the Underworld. Zeus said that since I’m his son, he couldn’t deny me that right.”

  “But he could deny it to his daughter,” I say.

  Ares shrugs. “You know he never makes sense.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “You didn’t have to get involved in this.”

  “Don’t be. I wouldn’t have volunteered if I didn’t believe we could win. And if we lose, well, I think it will have been fun to try.”

  “Fun’s not the word that comes to mind,” I say.

  We are silent for a while, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Ares speaks.

  “You know you can’t save him, right?”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Alex. You do know that nothing that happens will bring him back. He’s lost to you forever.”

  “I know that. And that’s not why I’m doing this.”

  But if I am honest with myself, there is a part of me that is taking on this suicide mission for exactly that reason. Some part of me believes that I can save Alex. If I just prove myself good enough or strong enough, surely the gods will restore him to me.

  “Keep telling yourself that and maybe you’ll believe it,” Ares says. “I see it on your face. You’re harboring some hope that victory will give him back to you.”

  “Look. I know you’re right and I’ll adapt to that reality soon. But he’s only been dead for two days. For crap’s sake, aren’t I entitled to a few fantasies?”

  “Sure you are. But war is a costly thing. All the killing, the pain, and the suffering will cost you your soul. I’m immune to that because my soul was compromised a long time ago. I have nothing left to lose. But you do.

  “It’s fine to go into it wanting vengeance because vengeance is something you can attain and, once you have it, you can live with and justify the things you did in war. Wanting vengeance can carry you past the ugliness to victory.

  “Wanting to save someone is no reason for entering into war, though. You can’t win that battle and the war will only leave you emptier than you are now. So if you’re only doing this to save him, to bring him back, go to Zeus and take your punishment now. You’ll be better off.”

  “Wise words from someone like you,” I say.

  He shrugs. “I’ve seen it all, and I know which wars are winnable and which are not. You have two wars you can fight here. The war fought for vengeance against the Keres and Thanatos is winnable. The war fought for personal gain or the return of love will bring you nothing but loss, in every way.

  “Then I’ll fight for vengeance,” I say.

  “Good girl,” Ares says. “As Shakespeare said in Henry the Sixth,

  ‘Oft have I
heard that grief softens the mind,

  And makes it fearful and degenerate;

  Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.’”

  “I didn’t know you had a poetic bone in your body,” I say.

  “Grief has no place in war. Bury it deep and concentrate on revenge.”

  We reach my house, and I pull into the driveway. Chloe and Mom come running out to meet me. Of Lacey, there is no sign. They stop and glare as Ares unfolds himself from the front seat of the Thunderbird.

  “What’s he doing here?” Chloe asks.

  They look ready to murder Ares. They know our history, of course, and it’s gratifying to see that they so readily defend me.

  “It’s a long story,” I say, herding everyone inside.

  As Ares and Chloe pass through the front door, Ares bending so he won’t conk his head on the lintel, I hang back and pull Mom with me.

  “Ares and I leave tomorrow to try to get my shears back and end this business with the Keres and Thanatos.”

  I give her the quick-and-dirty version of the game Zeus has laid out for me.

  “Is it a good idea to go with him?” Mom asks, looking into the house at Ares, who is looking at our family pictures on the mantel.

  “Probably not,” I admit. “But he’s all I have now; the only one who can help me.”

  “Do you trust him? He has a tendency to switch sides in battle just for the fun of it, you know. He might sacrifice you for his own gain.”

  “He might, but I don’t think he will. He has a stake in this, too, and I think he’ll play fair. But no, I don’t really trust him.” I sigh. “I have no other choice, though. Thank Zeus for that, would you?” I say.

  Mom just reaches out and hugs me. “You go kick their butts from here to the Underworld and back. Just be safe doing it,” she pleads.

  “I’ll try. If I fail, and Zeus carries out his punishment, I’ll never see you again and you’ll have to live with Ker. I just want to say goodbye and thank you for helping me through the centuries. And to apologize if you get stuck with Ker.”

  “Don’t even talk like that,” Mom says. “You’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Maybe. But I just wanted you to know that I love you. I know I don’t say it often, but Alex opened that part of me again, and I want you to know it.”

  “I know it. And I love you, too,” she says.

  We stand there on the sidewalk, nothing left to say. Mom has tears in her eyes, and I hate that I’ve put them there. She reaches for me again and we embrace until we hear Ares yelling from inside.

  “Little Atropos, your sister baked a cake and I want to eat. Get your butt in here.”

  Mom and I break apart, laughing.

  “It’s going to be a long journey,” I say. “With him, at least, it won’t be dull.”

  “Well, then, let’s go inside and eat that cake and get you packed. The sooner you go, the sooner you can return,” Mom says.

  We walk inside, arm in arm. My family will help me get ready for this battle, and they’ll be here if I return. If I don’t return, well, I can only hope they’ll find some happiness in life and maybe miss me a little. Knowing my mother, she’ll make it her mission to make Zeus’ life miserable for eternity. That thought makes me smile.

  When we walk into the kitchen, Ares extends his hand to me and I take it, joining my other hand with Mom’s as he leads us to the table. We eat and talk for hours, everyone offering opinions and ideas on how best to defeat the Keres.

  It’s well after midnight when Mom and Chloe decide it is time to turn in. Before she leaves, I tug Chloe aside.

  “Where’s Lacey?”

  She shrugs. “Don’t know. She took off right after you left for Alex’s house and hasn’t come back since.”

  There’s something odd about that. Lacey doesn’t just “take off,” and I can’t see her wanting to miss all the drama circulating through the house. If nothing else, she’d enjoy being here to lap up my failure. I don’t have time to figure out her quirks, though.

  “Should I take the couch, or would you rather I sleep outside?” Ares asks after Chloe’s gone upstairs.

  “Neither. I don’t want long, drawn-out goodbyes in the morning. I’ve said all I need to say. Let’s just go,” I say.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very. Just let me throw some things together. We’ll go tonight.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait outside.”

  Running upstairs, I pack as quickly as possible, taking only the essentials. I double check that the necklace Alex gave me is fastened around my neck, and I throw the only picture I have of him into my bag.

  I took it the day after we brought Maggie home, during Alex’s first visit to my workroom. He was sitting on the stool by the door and he’d smiled for me, but beneath the smile was awe and wonder at my room and my job. I realize now that it was one of the last times I really saw him smile before his illness took that spark away.

  Zipping the bag shut, I drag it downstairs to the basement. I want to check my workroom to see if there’s anything there that might help me. When I open the door to the room of lifelines, I’m shocked by the change. Instead of the glittery, soft lifelines that shimmered so brightly from my racks, I see only rusty, stiff, jagged lines. They look more like old coat hangers that have been unfolded and left to hang out in the weather for decades.

  People are dying in unnatural ways and at unnatural times, and their lines aren’t being disposed of properly. It doesn’t mean much outside of this room, but to me, it is a horrible sight to see. It only illustrates just how far out of control death has become.

  I don’t find anything in my work area that will help me, so I head back upstairs. At the front door, I pause long enough to look around my house one last time. I know now what Alex felt when I carried him out of his room on his last night. To think or to know that you’ll never return to your home is to feel scared, lost, and sad all at the same time. This is just one of many houses I’ve shared with my family, but the sense of loss is as strong as if it were the only one.

  Ares is waiting for me on the front porch, and I hand my bag to him. We climb into the Thunderbird. I crank the engine and back down the driveway.

  “Which way?” I ask as I pull out on to the main road.

  “We’ll head for my place on Mount Washington, first, so I can gather what we need. We’ll take a couple of days there to plan.”

  He glances over at me as I drive.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Not really, but I’ll get it together before we have to fight. I won’t fall apart on you in battle, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Good. You know, I’m not a complete asshole. I’ll do whatever I can to help you win this war.”

  “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  Surprisingly, it does mean a lot. I still hate him for what he did to me, but I can see a hint of greater maturity in him. He is no longer the man of my dreams but, as he said, neither is he a complete asshole, either. He’s a man with his own motivations, but also a desire to help me. To make amends. I begin to think that we might be able to pull off this crazy mission, after all. And if we fail? At least I won’t fail alone.

  THE END

  The biggest thank you goes to my family. You all never fail to support whatever strange endeavors I pursue. Jimmy, thank you for never giving up on me and for telling me that I could do it, no matter how many times I swore I couldn’t. Mom and Dad, thank you for raising me to be a reader and a lover of stories. You never batted an eye at whatever weird stuff I carted home from the library and you launched my writing career with a kiddie typewriter and a promise to pay a penny per page for my stories. (I’ll collect my $2.80 for this one soon.) I only hope my stories have improved over the years.

  I’d also like to thank the fabulous folks at Clean Teen Publishing. Thank you for opening your door to me and making me feel welcome from day one. You took the ugly little file that lived on my co
mputer and turned it into a swan. Thank you especially to Melanie Newton for seeing my pitch and getting this crazy hamster ball rolling, Cynthia Shepp for a thorough education in editing, and Marya Heiman for a gorgeous cover. Most of all, thank you all for making this process fun.

  I also owe a big thank you to my friends at iSlaytheDragon.com. You pushed/shamed me into getting on Twitter, even though I didn’t want to be there. But now you get to say, “I told you so,” because it was my participation in #Pit2Pub that led to Broken Fate’s publication. I owe this one to you guys.

  Jennifer Derrick became a writer at the age of six when her parents bought her a child’s typewriter for Christmas and agreed to pay her a penny per page for any stories she churned out. When she got older, Jennifer realized that she needed to make (much) more money from her writing so she first turned to the corporate world (where she learned that she is spectacularly unsuited to cubicle life) and ultimately to freelancing where she now writes everything from technical manuals to articles on personal finance and European-style board games. Her writing career came full circle when Clean Teen Publishing published Broken Fate, her first novel. By her calculations, her parents owe her about $3.00 for the book.

  She lives in North Carolina and, when not writing, can often be found reading anything she can get her hands on, playing board games, watching sports, camping, running marathons, and playing with her dog.

  If you are enjoying Broken Fate by Jennifer Derrick, be sure to subscribe to our newsletter. You will be the first to find out about sequel updates, exclusive giveaways anymore. Plus, get a free gift when you subscribe

  Check out the book America is talking about. If you have one diverse novel you plan to read in 2016, Nora and Kettle by Lauren Nicolle Taylor is it. "Lyrically written, this powerful and at times painful read captures the reader and does not let go. Told in alternating chapters from the two characters' perspectives, their respective narratives cross and intertwine, drawing Nora and Kettle closer until they finally unite. Parallels to Peter Pan and Wendy provide motif and depth without overwhelming the reader. Firmly rooted in the history of internment camps and racial prejudice, this remarkable novel educates subtly while focusing on themes of home, acceptance, courage, and the danger of secrets." ~ Starred Review from Booklist Magazine.

  Get your copy today!