Page 51 of The Games Gods Play
A shiver racks through me as my muscles try to generate warmth. It’s August, so I guess this is the warmest it gets here, and living on the Pacific Ocean, I’m already used to chilly water. But most people wear wetsuits to swim in water this cold. I’m still in my champion clothes, which cling to me but don’t provide warmth.
“Hey!” A male voice rings out. “Where in the Overworld are we?”
“A cave in the ocean, dumbass,” a snappy female voice answers in Spanish. “Do you really need to know more?”
“What kind of fucked-up Labor is this supposed to be?” someone else yells.
What exactly were they expecting from the gods? Charades?
A flare of black wings through the small patch of visible sky tells me the Daemones are here. So where is Poseidon? Or do we just get started on our own and figure it out?
I strain against the ropes to lean out and look to my right and left.
The other champions are here, all dangling from their own posts in a straight line, each spaced about twelve feet apart. Some are just waking up. A few are thrashing about, starting to panic. To my right, easily identifiable by her red hair and green outfit, is Neve, who is not panicking but looking around like me. She catches my eye and shoots me a glare. Of course they’d stick me next to the one champion I’ve already pissed off.
To my left, in the direction of the cave opening, I recognize the only shaved head among the group—maybe the sexiest shaved head I’ve ever seen. He is Dex Soto, Athena’s champion, dressed in turquoise like the others of the Mind virtue. If my memory is right, he’s from an island somewhere in the Caribbean.
A cry comes from farther down the line past Dex, and I lean out as much as I can, my shoulders protesting the stretch at this angle.
My heart trips at the sight of the ocean beyond the cave bubbling up like a geyser erupting from underneath, churning and frothing, until Poseidon bursts through, lifting his trident to the sky. Behind him, two dolphins launch into the air, doing flips before diving back into the water.
Is he kidding with this right now? Does he really think any of us care about a grand entrance when we’re tied to posts in freezing water?
But, of course, the display isn’t for us. It’s for the immortals watching these proceedings so avidly. Seems like Poseidon might be as much of a showman as Zeus.
Riding a wave that swells around him, he slides into the cave to float directly before me on a spinning column of water that lifts him higher. I must be positioned in the center of the group.
He is clearly in his element, no longer wearing armor but shirtless, showing off his sable skin and impressive physique…and also not hiding anything with skintight pants that look like metallic blue fish scales that shimmer in the water. He has tattoos over his chest and arms and what I’m pretty sure are gills at the sides of his ribs. And his dark-blue hair, when wet, turns black, matching his trim beard.
“Welcome to Fingal’s Cave!” He says this like we’re here on vacation.
“We’re in Scotland?” Neve’s question has the god smiling.
“Yes, young mortal. Staffa Island is one of two magical sites that sit directly across the sea from each other. They are at opposite ends of a bridge built by the Irish giant Fionn mac Cumhaill to enable his passage to Scotland to battle his gigantic Scottish rival, Fingal. The Celtic gods have been kind enough to loan it to me for this Labor.”
Neve doesn’t say anymore, and I’m left wondering. I don’t know that set of gods like I do my own. Is Fingal’s Cave a good or a bad thing?
“For your first Labor, your bindings…” Poseidon waves at us. “Are not your only problem. There will be a bigger challenge.”
His smile turns enigmatically self-satisfied. “There is no time limit. The winner will be the one who finds a solution to the bigger challenge first.”
He looks down the line of us as we all swish back and forth on our poles, pulled by the ebb and flow of the swells, hung out on lines like bait.
The water is semi-clear, but I can’t see too far down. What’s in here? I run through all the ocean creatures the ancient Greek gods like to use. A selkie? Sirens? A hydra seems like overkill and too big for this cave.
At least my shivering is starting to ease as I adjust to the water.
Poseidon continues. “This Labor will test not only your courage but your wits, and even an ability to work with those who would see you fail. All skills a leader would need.”
Why would being a leader be anything the Crucible needed to prove? The mortal winner won’t be leading anything. Their god or goddess will.
Poseidon’s smile is damn near gleeful, though I can’t tell if he’s bloodthirsty or just incredibly proud of what he has in store for us today. It’s the first Labor, so does that make it the hardest? Or will they get progressively more difficult?
“Oh…” He chuckles. That dickhead actually chuckles. “You’ve probably already noticed the temperature of the water. It’s summer, so it won’t kill you right away, but it will start to affect you the longer you’re in it. I suggest you hurry.”
Fuck me.
The Crucible truly is just a game to the gods. We aren’t real to them or worth worrying over. This isn’t life and death to them, just a little sport.
