Page 124 of The Mortal Trials

The girl nods. “They did not choose me, so they don’t own my choice.”

Pele glances from August to me. To Ogun, then Triglav. She smiles. “Very well, Sura Larsa. Since you asked so nicely.”

The girl winces when she takes Pele’s hand and steam pours from the spot between them. The girl’s long pencil dress turns to burnished cinnamon as she stands with the goddess, and the two disappear.

The slender girl left behind brushes her straight black hair away from her face. Triglav seems like he’s not sure what to think of her. “I want to fight for you,” she says to him.

Triglav’s glower is menacing. “You’re too meek.”

“I’m not!” she shouts, before mastering her temper. “I am not meek. I am angry, and so are you.” She stares Triglav in the eye. “My blood belongs to the Chinese deities, but my fury will be yours if you’re strong enough to accept me.”

The god of violence, surprised, offers an approving nod. “As I’m late to join, I suppose you’ll do, Wen Yao.”

The girl stands to clasp his wrist and her velvet wrap dress turns to lavender. Triglav’s divinity flickers and where one face was, boasting a thick chestnut beard and high cheekbones, now there are three. He twists his head to see us with each face and then disappears with Wen.

A terrible silence fills the space despite the musicians’ lovely song. I sip my water, unsure what to say. August and I are the last mortals without champions.

Ogun looks over the courtyard, the steaming pool, and into the hillside beyond it, like he can see through earth. He tilts an ear westward. “Ares is making the announcement. We have only a moment to speak freely.”

I swallow thickly, hoping he’s right and that someone isn’t listening in.

“Do you know why Ares asked the deities to refer to themselves as champions in this game when throughout history, mortals were the champions of the gods?” He mentions a few by name. “Hector. Odysseus. Beowulf. Gilgamesh. Kaulu, Makoma…” Ogun waits a moment for us to answer.

August folds his hands on the table in front of him. “I’m not sure.”

“Mortals who play in the games will need divine help to survive,” he reveals. “In the contests to come, the gods will show their power, how they strategize, and how cunning they can truly be. These games will not reveal a new hero.”

“They’re a threat,” I quietly breathe. To anyone who thinks they can survive without the gods’ favor.

Ogun inclines his head. “An effective one.” The African god sips from his glass. “Anansi told me everything.”

My ribs tense.

“I’ll come back to speak with you after the fourth trial, August. As you needed time to consider me, I need time to consider you, and all that is in play,” he says.

He uses his napkin to wipe his mouth and sets it on the table. Finished. The meal. The conversation. The evening.

Ogun vanishes from his chair.

August and I stare at one another. Even though Ogun said he would come back to talk to him, I still can’t tell him where I got that tea. That means no other gods are coming.

What if Ares winds up being the only option left for us both? I will not ask him to champion me. But after what he said on the beach tonight, I’m worried August won’t, either.

26

Three days pass. Three days during which Koda sleeps and recovers in a way no one realizes or expects.

Before dawn on the day of our fourth trial, I wake Koda as August showers. He surprises me by sitting up in bed by himself. He tells me good morning, and I say it back.

His symptoms never returned after he drank the single cup of tea. No fever. No cough. No chills. Nothing. And while that’s remarkable, that’s not the miracle Koda experienced. The miracle lay in the other ways his body healed…

When he gets out of bed, he reaches for his cane, but when he starts walking, finds he doesn’t need it. Koda’s back and legs are straight again.

An hour before dawn, while twilight washes the sky azure, Niall, dressed in a black uniform reminiscent of the one we wore for Morrigan, arrives at the front door. He offers to go retrieve some clothes for Koda, but Koda stands energetically and says he feels like walking home.

Niall frowns as he watches our friend gather his belongings, bending easily, carrying things instead of needing them to be carried. And in his frown sits the question: How? How is this possible?

I can’t answer him. Partly, because I don’t know. Some of the ingredients in that tea were simple plants that grow in Abuela’s garden. Plants she puts in all her blends. I recognized the petals. But there was something else in it, and whatever it was, the other gods want it.