Midway through the next day the fore-looker standing on the stem platform of the lead ship gave a great shout and pointed to the hazy outline of an island on the horizon. The captain hurried the news along and Peeta soon found himself watching the smudge of gray and green bob in and out of sight.
"Clove waits," he said, his voice trembling with emotion; his companions could not decide if it sounded like lust, hunger, or hatred.
"Are you prepared?" Cato asked.
"Aye." Peeta turned aside and signaled first to the captain to steer the ship straight for the island, then to the fore-looker to signal the other ships of his intent. All the other captains had been forewarned of the early break in their journey, and all would turn their ships after Peeta's, and anchor off the coast while he went ashore.
Despite constant buzzing and swapped information about the decks, no one could name the island, or confess to having seen it there any day prior to that one. Peeta smiled knowingly at their confusion.
Slowly, they came upon their destination. The captain shouted some orders, and four men dropped overboard a small rowboat. Into this they placed a beautifully crafted pottery flask of their best wine.
While they readied his craft, Peeta stripped himself of his waistband and cloth and washed himself in some pails full of seawater on the side deck. As he soaped his shaggy, curly hair, Katniss wandered up out of nowhere, and sat on a barrel close by. She eyed his naked, glistening body, but he could see no derision in her eyes.
"Where do you go?" she said, watching as Peeta sluiced a pail of water over his head to rinse out his hair.
Some of the soapy water splashed Katniss' robe, but her face did not twist in distaste as he would have predicted. She merely lifted the sodden piece of material away from her body and flapped it a little in the air to dry it. Her eyebrows lifted inquiringly as she saw him watching her.
"The island," he said, nodding toward it, "is a most sacred place. A goddess… like Artemis… awaits me there. She will show me where to direct these ships."
Katniss' eyes flared, perhaps in awe at his mention of Artemis' name in so casual a manner. "You are favored by Artemis?" she asked.
"In a way."
Her face stilled – it was not scowling, and Peeta found that he liked her that way, this way – and she leaned forward slightly. "Have you ever heard of a goddess named Seeder?" she asked him.
Peeta held her eye, curiously. "No. I have not. Why do you ask?"
Her interest in him seemed to fade instantly, and she straightened again, turning her eyes to the length of blue sea; he ignored the instinct in his arm to reach out and pull her back around. Katniss sighed, and said offhandedly, "You know, Artemis is an eternal virgin. She can satisfy no man."
"That is not why I go," Peeta said, flatly; he returned to his bathing, no longer wishing to pull her back.
"I meant no disrespect."
"I thought disrespect was the creed you prayed to. I have never had much else from you."
Her face hardened and tilted back his way. "I have never had anything but from you, whoever you are."
Peeta gave her a strange, inquiring glance. "I am Peeta. Your husband."
Katniss turned her head once more. "No. Peeta has blue eyes. You are not him."
A laugh broke from him. Underneath, his stomach twisted around itself and he squeezed the gold band around his thigh. Gods, Clove, I cannot take it any longer. Too much death. He ignored his wife, picked up a fresh waistband and waistcloth; they were of fine ivory linen threaded through with gold. Peeta tied the waistband about his waist and then slid his feet into some sandals.
"You are a curious wife," he said, finally, breathing deeply and twisting the golden band above his left elbow into a more comfortable position.
"I was never fit to be a wife," Katniss said monotonously. He wondered if she was hiding pain, hatred, or disgust. Then, as if suddenly reminded of something, she looked up at him and said, "Only yours."
He laughed, again, although it was difficult to tell if there was any humor behind it. He said; "The first lesson in the art of deception, Katniss, is not to take the act too far." Her eyes flew comically wide, but Peeta had already turned to walk away.
Peeta dipped the paddle gently into the water, guiding the boat toward the small beach. His eyes were fixed on the island, his body rigid, and he ignored the evermore frantic beat of his heart. As the bottom of the boat scraped the sandy bottom of the small bay, Peeta climbed out, careful not to splash his clean waistcloth, and grabbed the rope at the stem of the boat and tugged it closer to the beach, grunting as he eventually hauled it above the high tide mark in the sand.
Once he'd secured the boat, Peeta glanced one last time at the forest of black-hulled ships standing out to sea, then turned and studied the landscape beyond the beach. Sand rose sharply twenty-five paces away into rocky ground sparsely foliated with gray-green spiky-leaved shrubs that after another thirty paces, gave way to a dark forest of pine.
Even through the thickness of the trees Peeta could see that the ground rose steeply toward the island's central peak. He'd seen the mountain top from the ship, flat and wide, and he knew that was where he'd find the meeting place. He'd have a climb ahead of him. Peeta leaned back into the boat, took the flask of wine and carefully slung it over a shoulder.
He climbed upward for what felt like hours but which, Peeta realized from the occasional glimpses he could see of the sun through the pines, was probably not much longer than the morning. The going was steep, but not otherwise difficult. No vegetation grew beneath the pines, and the forest floor was soft and thick with a millennia of discarded pine needles.
He'd only been here once before, and it seemed more like a dream then.
Apart from the occasional movements of birds overhead, there was little evidence of life. No smoke from village fires billowed to the clouds, no soft whistles broke the air from wandering shepherds, no sound of domesticated animals echoed against the tree trunks. There was not even any sound of the wildlife he might have expected in the forest – squirrels, foxes, hares.
It was a forest of the gods; theirs and theirs alone.
About mid-way up the mountain he picked up on a whispering in the breeze; nothing substantial. It was words and screaming, pain and joy, and he heard laughter, deep and booming. Within the mix a voice called his name. Another whispered Hades' in grief, then Poseidon's in outrage. Thresh was there; a presence, eyes, somewhere, watching Peeta. That's when Clove materialized at his side and hooked an arm through one of his.
"My love," she greeted him.
Though surprised by her sudden appearance Peeta could not tear himself away from the stream of information flowing around him to reply.
"It's overwhelming at first, I know," Clove said, referring to the whispering breeze. "But you will soon learn to block it out and find only the pieces you wish to see and hear."
"See?" Peeta ventured.
"Soon enough." Clove eyed the wine. "A gift?"
"For myself."
"Ah, but I won't be taking the bands off," she said, knowingly. "You will not need the wine."
Something in his face shifted. "You won't?"
"No need."
A protest threw itself up his throat only to be squelched by Clove, mentally smothered by her power. Anger zinged to the surface of his being, welled, and Peeta fought off her suppression with Hades' own gift. He did speak; "A night, only. Just that." It was the first time he had been able to combat her power, though it was minimal and sloppy.
"No," she said, simply. Clove's sweet face twisted into a scowl. "We meet with the others today, I want you like this."
"Peeta can act."
Clove arched an eyebrow. "You speak as though you are not Peeta. You are still the same person, you know that. Don't talk to me as though you are not he. Why do you suddenly believe otherwise?" He felt her probe at his memory, felt her draw closer, forehead to his and he could not resist completely. Clove's power was more potent and practiced than the tittering thing he'd just earned. She came away smirking. "Your troublesome wife." He did not answer but watched as her face turned from amused to appalled. "She said that, truly?"
"Said what?" Peeta asked. "That she thought I..."
"No, no. Seeder. She said the name Seeder? You are certain?"
"Yes. Why?"
Clove did not answer. She turned away, walking forward in an agitated twitch. On the wind there was a laugh again, very womanly, and Clove's responding hiss rang in its wake. "Bitch!" she shouted toward the sky. It echoed in Peeta's mind, against all the other voices, feelings, and sights. He felt Thresh's rush of elation, somewhere far distant.
There was someone else, too. Someone closer.
They gave off a pang of welcome to him when they realized that Peeta had noticed their presence. A meek wave of hatred for Clove came from their way, but then a kiss to his cheek; merely a sensation. He raised a hand to his face and it was warm where he'd felt the press.
Who? he thought, vaguely.
Clove snarled at him, not really paying attention, "Who what?"
He turned his head and thought he saw a shape of a woman beneath the shadow of a tree.
He blinked.
It was gone.
"Nothing," Peeta said.
Together they continued the climb.
As the noon sun slunk sullenly down into afternoon, Peeta began to feel the exertions of climbing. Twice he'd had to ask Clove for a break by a stream to drink or to rub cramps from his knees. All the while he felt her fuming disapproval; she expected more god-like quality from him than these petty human ails. It soured her mood considerably, and small-talk was near impossible – seeing as how Peeta could not quite shake anger of being forced to endure another night in his confines, and Clove still seemed impossibly shaken by what Katniss had said.
"You will not tell me who this Seeder is?" he asked, for what seemed the hundredth time.
"She is no one."
"You are upset at Katniss for knowing the name, I can tell." I feel it in the breeze. In the lines of connections, that we gods share, that exists in a tangled net about this high mountain and forest. Peeta could distinguish more now that he got used to the hopeless mess of it, and the closer to the peak they got. He could pinpoint specific gods and their feelings and their thoughts... but he also learned quickly, that if you are going to go probing into the midst of the web, you leave yourself far more exposed to others to probe into your own mind in return. The less you look, the less they see of you.
Thresh took advantage of that; Peeta felt the great man exploring his mind. In return, Peeta lapped up everything Thresh exposed – but that meant very little. Thresh was not afraid of showing anything. He was confident, and his location was unreachable.
Clove snapped a finger in Peeta's face and pulled him out of the breeze with her own power, hands on her hips. He had stopped walking without realizing it.
"You are giving away too much," she said.
Peeta shrugged. "Nothing more than the obvious."
Clove narrowed her eyes. "You are not yet in practice of dealing with these people. Leave it to me."
"I can handle–"
The idea made Clove snort harshly, and she demanded, "Who is the one following us, then? Do you sense her at all? She wants to speak with you, you know."
Peeta paused and refused to look about. He settled on looking straight at Clove. "I sensed her before..."
"And I shooed her," Clove said, expecting him to challenge that.
Instead, Peeta was at a loss for words and merely touched a band to show surrender.
Clove sneered, her eyes going behind his shoulder. "You underestimate these people. She's the murderer of Poseidon, my prince. She is stronger than me. Than you, as well. She draws her power from the sea and is just as wild and unruly. Some say she is crazy, even Thresh fears her... and Thresh is the one who has taken Zeus' power. He is the king of gods right now, prowling the heavens… and he is afraid of a broken girl. Do you think we should be too?"
Peeta listened to the breeze; he tasted salt and heard a voice, soft. Turn to me. Speak with me.
He did not turn.
Close smiled. "You are loyal." She was content in that statement. "Come, the others await us."
In the hour just after noon the two finally reached the meeting place at the island's peak. It was an almost perfectly circular sunlit glade. Here gray weather-worn rock had pushed its way through the ground, creating a smooth hard surface covered in part by irregular patches of soft, emerald-green moss. The rocks arranged themselves around in a circle and sloped gently toward the center of the clearing where stood an altar pedestal made of the same gray, weather-pitted rock.
Before and beneath the arch a shallow basin had been dipped into the stone. A woman sat there in the grass, fingers dancing over the rain water within the depression. To one side of the glade Peeta could hear the soft murmur of a natural spring, and it competed with the net of gods ringing in the back of his mind.
Two shadowed figures lingered at the edge of the trees opposite to Clove and Peeta but did not move to greet them. Peeta detected nothing from them – which meant they did not dare touch the web-network.
The woman rose, smiling, as the two stepped out.
She was the only ally Clove and Peeta had, up on this mountain, and while part of Peeta was happy to see her, another part ached.
Delly had once been his childhood friend and a distant cousin, back in the palace he had grown up in, before his father's murder… before he had ever met Clove. Once, Delly and Peeta had been arranged to marry. While he never loved her, she was familiar to him. Now, well… Peeta had brought her into all this trouble. Clove had recruited her for the Enlightened soon after she had recruited him…
"You are well?" Peeta asked. Slowly, Clove wandered over to the altar, and Peeta followed, stopping at Delly. He set the flask of wine near the basin, which was just as soon taken up by Delly. She dutifully emptied the basin of the rainwater and filled it to the brim with the crimson drink.
"I am well enough." Delly cupped two hands, sank them beneath the wavering bruised surface, and watched the sunlight play purple against her fingers, then brought the handful to her lips. They were pale enough to stain red in that one draught. "And you? I have not seen you in so long." Even her teeth had come away a bit red; it almost made him smile.
"Well, I…" He found that he wanted to tell her of his most recent trails, but as soon as he started to speak of Nuiva, Hades, and even Katniss, Clove flinched in his direction and drowned out the thoughts.
Clove detached herself from the altar and came to stand at Peeta's side. "Soon enough, we will share the news, but not yet, my prince," she said, sweetly.
Peeta smiled stiffly and nodded. Clove's power on him was a great weight, smothering him physically inside and out, threatening to both shove him off his feet and close his throat. The thoughts were pushed away, refused to be thrown into the web, and Peeta turned abruptly from both. His eyes sought out the mist of a nearby waterfall. "I think I wish to refresh myself," he said, rushed.
"The others will be here soon," Delly told him softly, concern in her eyes.
"Aye," Clove said, real force behind her tone. "Hurry."
Peeta made for the nearest trees and followed the trickling sound of water until he came upon the source. He crouched down by the small pool of clear opal liquid and carefully washed his face and hands, murmuring a prayer as he did so. A prayer to the old gods: The Olympians. How many of you have fallen? he wondered tiredly. How many are left of you? How many of you expected us, the Enlightened, the rebels – a band of ambition powered humans with just a drop of gods blood – to swoop in and turn you on each other, then lunge when you were weak, taking everything that you possessed…?
Suddenly, he regretted what he did to Hades. The god of the underworld was still dying, slowly fading and his power becoming more and more Peeta's own. He could still hear the moans in the breeze, could feel the power seeping into him, and feel the loyalty of all those Hades' once controlled turning to him.
"Peeta."
Startled, Peeta jumped to his feet, a hand moving itself to his belt as though to find a sword. Which was foolish. No one could fight a god with steel. However, the woman did not notice his mistake. She merely focused her eyes on his. It took a moment for him to get her in complete focus, and even when he did it was hard to take in the full of her; just like the sea, the woman seemed, in of herself, unstable and wild, but breathtakingly beautiful.
For a moment all Peeta did was blink at her. Her wide, impossibly bright green eyes were beguiling to hold, for they appeared bewildered and possessed a great combustibility that made Peeta shrink slightly from her, as though something awful would come crashing over him from her at any moment. Yet, there was no danger. Only her gentle hand reached out and graced his tensed forearm.
The smile on her face was broken; a distracted, meek thing. There was a skittish essence that tasted strange in the air about her movements. Everything seemed at odds around her; the core of her power mowed him over, yet there seemed something caressing about it as well as it hung between them; a ready axe over his neck or a source of fulfillment? It could go either way in a moment's notice. "You've left Nuiva, yes?" the woman asked. "Your ships sail across the deeps now?"
He nodded, hesitant.
"I wish to come with you," the woman whispered. "You will pass a place I know well, with a man who prays to me well, and I wish to come."
Could he refuse her? She did not seem to ask him, but merely informed him. He probed at her in the webs and found her easily, her name was Annie, and he explored miles and miles of thoughts that seemed to collapse into heaps of nothing with each move he made. There was nothing to read from her; Peeta was bewildered by that. "I do not know where I am going yet," he told her, resorting to honesty.
"I do," Annie said. "You will pass his island. I wish to meet the man who loves my child so well."
"Child?"
"The sea," she said, her mouth curling tightly; the curve a rippling thing. "My unruly child."
Poseidon was the… Peeta had begun to think, but Annie seemed to hear it in the instant. Her eyes widened further, and her eyebrows arched high on her forehead. She shook in the shoulders, the tremors moving down her body. "It was never his. The sea is mine. Always mine."
When Peeta opened his mouth to correct her (he was no fool, she was misled or beyond reason, because the sea was most certainly not her creation) Annie's arms moved sharply to hug herself and he felt a whip's length of her power lash out at him. Essentially it was not physical, nor an object, but hard as leather, and Peeta fell with a violent splash into the water. He clutched the throbbing left half of his face.
Annie mumbled something under her breath, ignorant to his fall, and pressed hands into her ears and stumbled to the left, then shimmered in the sunlight and appeared for a breath as though falling rain. Then she disappeared into the mist, shaking, scattered in a hundred different splays of water-droplets.