Herald

Prologue

Prologue

381 CE

Somewhere across the Sea of Atlas

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Titus slept a tortured sleep, but he could not wake.

It had begun as a whisper—a mere hint - a secret shared once and caught by the warm breeze. Tousled through the richly scented valleys of the Peloponnese, the cryptic message was safely delivered to the edge of the blue Mediterranean waters.

And there was where it was accepted and written into myth.

Hermes had not meant it to happen, but honestly, after being one of only three surviving gods, he had grown desperate. There was no way in hell or on earth that he would leave it with Hades. The thought made him chuckle before sighing deeply. Poseidon would have to do. He could bury it beneath the waves, down within the leviathan depths of the sea. He could carry it to the ends of the earth for all he cared but this one thing—this last remnant of power—his staff possessing the ability to raise the dead—could not be found by the mortals.

Zeus had smiled in his death. He had never counted on the mortals having absolute power in the end. To lose their faith had meant the end of their kind and one by one, the Greek gods melted into oblivion. How strange it was that Hermes, a mere presence of sorts, would be one of the last to fade away. So it was with a heavy heart that he summoned the second brother of Zeus.

He waited, tapping his feet in the quietness of the delay. The air grew thinner by the minute and he knew he did not have long before he too, would become a pinch of glittering sand cast upon the golden Greek beaches.

The azure waters breached, pulling back along themselves, revealing a dulled glow that once had been more vivid than the most lustrous of stars.

“Poseidon,” Hermes said, his tone revealing his relief.

“Hermes,” Poseidon acknowledged, dipping his head.

“I wane.”

“As do I.” Poseidon motioned to the aura about him. “I’m sure it is most apparent.”

“I have no choice but to deliver the staff to you.”

Poseidon frowned. “You have not yet concealed it?”

“I cannot. I have no time left.”

“It will be Hades and I who linger.”

“But not for long, I think.”

“No, not for long.” Poseidon smiled sadly. “It should not have come to this.”

“And yet, here we are.” Hermes extended the Caduceus. “I hope to meet you among our ancestors.”

“May you be remembered,” the god of the Seas accepted the staff and nodded his farewell.

The waters advanced, descending Poseidon into the deep.

Hermes watched until the waves cyclically returned. A warmth had spread throughout his chest, radiating to the ends of his fingertips. Holding his hand before him, he clenched his fist and watched his glow brighten once more before bursting into a shimmering shower of gold.

The wind, ever greedy in its need to collect treasure, caught the remains of the god and carried it to the clouds.

Titus sat bolt upright, the memory of the dream still fresh in his mind. He’d been tormented by these dreams, these visions, since the accursed staff had come into his possession. Now, more than ever, he was convinced of its power.

“I was right to take you far across the sea.” He directed his words at the crate in which the staff was secured.

They’d captured it from a sinking Corinthian vessel. The lone surviving sailor, driven mad by his injuries, could only mutter “herald” and “return.” The man had died soon after, and when Titus took the staff from his death grip, he’d received a shock, both to his body and his mind.

One glimpse of the terrible visions convinced him that he must rid his beloved home of the foul sorcery. He had lost count of how long they had spent crossing the great ocean, and he began to give up hope. Perhaps he should simply have cast it into the water and have done with it.

No sooner had the thought passed through his mind, than a cry rang out.

“Land! I see land!”

He tore his gaze away from the crate to see a tiny speck of green on the horizon. An island! Was this the place the gods had chosen?

As if in reply, the sun was blotted out. Thunder boomed and the wind roared. A chill ran down his spine. He understood! Jupiter had set the island before him as a safe haven, but Pluto called him to the world of the dead.

“We must get to the island before the storm reaches us!” he shouted.

His men bent to their oars, and he felt the boat surge forward.

He looked back, mesmerized, as the dark clouds rolled in, the hand of the Underworld reaching out for him.

“We must make it,” he whispered. “We must.”