Discord's Apple

Mab pricked her ears forward and growled.

The figure, a woman of average height, in early middle age, slim, and with thick black hair hanging loose down her back, walked up the driveway.

“Shit,” Alex muttered, turning up the collar of his coat and slumping against the wall as if he were an unconcerned vagrant.

The woman was cinnamon-skinned, with Latina features. Mab’s growling doubled in ferocity, lips pulled back from her teeth. The strange woman stared at her, made a motion with her hand—and Mab fell quiet, frozen in her place.

“Evie Walker?” she said.

Evie nodded.

“I’ve come to deliver a message. Hera has your father. She’ll trade him for the apple. Will you trade?”

Evie’s muscles flinched in panic. Yes, yes! The words were on her tongue, but she couldn’t say them. Instead, she said weakly, “Gave up trying to bust in?”

The woman’s expression was cold and superior. “She found a better way. What’s your answer?”

“I—I need—” Yes, anything, don’t hurt him! “I need to think about it.”

“Come to the cemetery this afternoon. Bring the apple. Come alone.” She bestowed a fleeting glance at Alex as she turned to walk down the driveway.

Mab collapsed with a heartbreaking whine; Evie knelt beside her and helped her to her feet. The dog didn’t seem hurt physically. But her eyes showed fear, and her tail was locked between her legs. Evie hugged her close.

Evie’s voice cracked when she said, “Who was that?”

“She’s working for Hera.”

“What will Hera do to my father?”

“I don’t know.”

“I have to give it to her. I don’t care, I have to—”

“Evie, think for a moment.” Alex took hold of her shoulders; Evie gasped, surprised, trembling. “Think what it is—the apple of Discord. Hera will use it to start wars. She could destroy the world with it.”

“The world’s already at war. And I don’t care, it doesn’t matter—”

“Would your father want you to give it to her?”

“I don’t care!” He was in her face, urging her, and she didn’t want to listen. There had to be another way, had to be something she could do. “Arthur—I have to find Arthur, he can help. If we can get him back without giving her the apple, Arthur and Merlin will know how—”

“Arthur’s been here? King Arthur? Did he take the sword?”

Evie nodded, and Alex breathed, “Excalibur.” Then he said, “He’s still here in Hopes Fort? We’ll find him. You’re right. He’ll help.”

Nodding absently, Evie agreed, and wondered which part of Hera’s plan she was falling into.

A group of six army helicopters flew by, passing over the house and heading south. They pounded the air with their rotors.

Marcus screamed and dropped the axe he’d been using to chop firewood. Terrible visions struck his mind all at once, like lightning. The sky was clear, the sun warm. No storms raged; no lightning flashed. All was peaceful, except for the throbbing in his mind. Stories. Hundreds of tales, voices telling them all at once, in languages he didn’t recognize, cadences that were foreign. Gods, beasts, golden fleece, enchanted swords, all stored inside a well-worn leather bag—

All stored in the cellar under the villa. He’d never gone down there, but somehow he knew. He could picture shelves of artifacts, racks of swords, golden apples and winged slippers, icons of the gods—all under his family’s small house?

He ran to the house, then to the stone steps that led down to the roughly carved-out cellar. His father didn’t permit any of the family to enter here. Even at their most mischievous, his children obeyed him. Somehow, the place repelled curiosity. Not anymore. He pushed back the sheepskin that hung from the lintel at the bottom of the stairs, marking the cellar entrance. Even in the dim light, he could see it was just as he had imagined, the wondrous objects of a thousand tales spread before him.

His heart and lungs raced, unwilling to accept the magnitude of what he saw. This was larger than him, and he wasn’t ready for what his being here meant. What is this?

This is the Storeroom, the vision that had struck him from within said. You are its heir.