Killing Olympia

Dennie Marcus Heart—A Son, A Friend, A Lover, and a Grandfather to Generations Past, Present, and Future. That's what his gravestone said, the words etched just deep enough into the stone for whatever little rainfall to trickle down each letter and into the fresh soil. It was a short funeral on a quiet Monday when the rest of New Olympus was still trying to shelter itself from the morning drizzle. The New Year didn't bring any parties or street-wide celebrations like it usually did. The fireworks came and went. The cheers had died by two o'clock in the morning. The next couple of days had been quiet in comparison, almost like everyone was afraid something was going to happen. I guess New Olympus was pretty used to their city falling apart by now, but the ground didn't shake, the Earth didn't move, and all that swept throughout the graveyard was the fresh smell of muddy soil.

Only a handful of people came for the funeral. Mom wasn't strong enough to leave the house without needing a break every other minute. I hadn't spoken to Ava in several days, didn't even know where she was or what she was doing. Emelia came and stood beside me, a hand on my shoulder all the way through the pastor's sermon and through to when the casket sank into the grave. Most of Dennie's friends had died years ago. His wife would finally rest right beside him, and his sister, too. And just like that, it was over. It had felt like a minute. Like I had blinked and suddenly the entire thing was done. Nothing left to say. Nothing left to do but stop and stare. I had to stop myself from breathing too deeply because of all the bodies in the soil, so that meant no more crying, no more trying to swallow my breaths to calm my racing heartbeat anymore. I avoided the graves in this city for a reason—they reeked, sometimes so much I had to swallow bile that would creep up my throat and threaten to come out. If it wasn't for Cleopatra and her scent, then my lungs would've seized right up and so would my stomach.

"Thanks for being here," I said quietly. The rain had just stopped falling, and the umbrella she'd used to keep us both dry was put down and folded. The earth smelt wet. The cold still felt bitter. Sunlight, though, was fighting its way through the sheet of clouds in the sky, piercing through the dull gray with watery beams of light. They weren't strong enough to heat the air. Yet. "I'm sorry that…" I breathed in, breathed out. "I tried to save him."

Cleopatra smiled softly. "You did what you could in the moment. And from what you've told me, he made you promise to keep his dream a reality, and if there was one thing I knew about Dennie, it was to keep smiling, to keep hoping—to keep trying." She put her hand on my shoulder. Nobody else was around anymore. The few who'd come had already left. It was just the two of us now as she led me away from the grave and toward a bench near the gravel path. We sat in silence for a while. I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. The world was so quiet. So still. You'd almost think the entire city had died. "Rylee," she said. I looked at her. Hair in a single neat braid. A black turtleneck and suit pants that hugged her body. She wore large sunglasses that obscured most of her face, but the news had broken already—Cleopatra was alive. It was on the police body cam footage circling the web. On smartphones that had been whipped out by stragglers who'd watched her appear out from thin air to catch me before I fell. There was a silent buzz in the city because of it, this quiet brand of excitement that rippled through the air. The news couldn't stop talking about her. The entire world couldn't stop talking about her.

Most of them still thought it was a shapeshifter, or someone who kind of looked like her.

I guess it didn't really matter now—the sole reason she couldn't come back to New Olympus was nothing but a severed head locked deep inside the basement of a heavily guarded and derelict shopping complex. At least, that's what Ava told me through text a few days ago. She offered to show me. I declined. My body was still reeling from the past several months. It was even a miracle I'd been able to stand for so long without passing out. But I had a knack for pulling off the impossible, even though my knees felt like they'd been put to a grindstone and my shins throbbed with agony every time I moved. I'd apparently fractured several bones over a span of these few months. Small breaks that had meant my entire body was one tumble down the stairs to closing shop until I'm eighty.

By mom's orders—and about half a dozen other people, or whatever—I was on superhero leave.

Besides, I couldn't fly anymore, anyway. There was that, too.

I've kinda lost my powers. Just a little bit.

Just enough to be more than normal, but normal enough not to be super.

Was I scared, shocked, maybe even terrified? I'll be honest.

I was kinda relieved.

I'm beat. Mentally and physically. I haven't even been able to sleep all that well because of my nightmares and what Emelia was guessing is some kind of PTSD from all the shit that I keep dumping into the back of my brain and hoping to deal with later. I swear, the past few days at home have just been one psychoanalysis from Becca, mom, Emelia and Cleopatra over and over again, like I'm some kind of war vet. "It's not that big of a deal," apparently, wouldn't float anymore. So it meant times like this, when Cleopatra looked at me, that I couldn't just fly away from anymore.

I stopped my hands from shaking by picking my fingernails. A very old, very bad habit.

She slowly rubbed my back and let the umbrella rest against the bench. She looked out at the graveyard, then slowly removed her sunglasses, letting them rest on her head. "We never got the grace of being able to bury any of our dead." I sat back against the bench. "Being able to live long enough to see those you fought alongside slowly wither into their graves is both a blessing and a curse, because someone must be there to ensure the others are resting. There will always be one who's funeral will be quiet, but not alone—Dennie was not alone, and if not for him, then the hundreds of arms that stood waiting to embrace him on the other side wouldn't have been there."

"I just wish he would have stuck around a little longer," I muttered. "He died knowing I wasn't any—"

"There comes a time when the love you have for yourself will be the only love you might have," she said. "Being a superhero isn't easy, and telling you of all people is almost pointless. Hate is common in our lives. Love is rare and hard to find. We avoid it and we are afraid of it, because we often think it's what makes us weak, fragile, vulnerable. You and I could topple entire nations." Didn't you already do that when you were younger? "But it's love that would make us hesitate or become irrational the moment it is threatened. But you cannot expect to love the world whilst harboring hate for yourself. Sometimes loathe your actions, yes, but learn from them. Be better because of them. And if there is one thing you deserve, Rylee, it's to give yourself a chance, a time of day, to realize you deserve love's security." She smiled at me and gently pulled a strand of hair away from my face. "I've lost count of the people you've told me about. And I'm sure it's only half the story." Barely a grain of it, lady. "But you're young. You're not even allowed to drink without breaking the law. You'll spend your entire life learning, growing, and changing—so don't let what's happening now be the place where you stop. Tomorrow will come. Nobody knows if it will be better. All we can do is try. We must, it's the least we can do for the people who cannot. It's—"

"Our duty?" I said, finishing her sentence. Cleopatra nodded. I slowly shook my head and tilted it back so I could see the sky. I sighed through my nose, then nodded again. "How was it, the sky, when Capes were around?"

She didn't say anything for a while, then finally spoke. "Busy," she said. "Exciting. Terrifying. Golden and dark and glorious and horrible." She laughed a little, and I think a piece of me deep down shifted, almost like it wanted to get a little closer to her so her warmth could trickle its way inside of me. "The sky always sang to us."

"Sang?"

"Capes, flags, bursts of fire that would carry people through the clouds, or pairs of wings that lifted people so far into the sky you'd think the sun would force them back down, and it created this…symphony, this song, that always made sure the city hummed." I glanced at her. She was staring at the hill of graves around us. "What a song."

"Do you miss them?" I whispered. She turned to look at me. "The Olympians?"

Cleopatra smiled. "Some. I missed the blind naivety that came with first believing we would save the world, that I had finally found people who would leave no stone unturned to make sure justice meant victory and defeat meant wrongdoing to your fellow man. I was young. Hopeful. Some people might say I was a little bit…"

"You led an army through a dictator's city and killed him on live television," I said.

Yeah, I paid attention in history class. Cape Theory must've been the only class I passed.

She waved her hand as if to bat away the thought. "Light smites darkness. Shadows hide. They cling to whatever they can and vanish from sight but remain in plain view—we razed cities to make sure there was none, and my light, I assure you, made very sure that none of it ever resurfaced. Yes, the UN might describe me as a terrorist or maybe even a warmonger, but the truth is simple." She held my hand and turned it over, using her index finger to draw a lightning bolt onto my palm, making it glow softly. "We do not yield to evil. We do not make deals with evil. We eradicate evil. We conquer evil. We have a sworn duty to not only shine light, but spread warmth, to offer guidance, and to let others learn for themselves who and what exactly it is that's hiding in the shadows they cannot otherwise see." She closed my hand. Warmth from the lightning bolt melted into my hand and spread through my arm. I looked up at her, and she looked at me. "I say to hell with what the world might say about you now after leaving the clone in his state or decimating the Olympiad. Keep fighting. Your purpose was to be strong where others cannot be, and in due time, I'll maybe be able to teach you how to sing, so the world can learn, too."

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

"But…" The light dimmed between my fingers. "The world needs people like you who know their stuff. I mean, Jesus, you're right—I'm eighteen. I don't even have a highschool diploma or anything, and they want me—"

"My time came and went," she said. She stood up and offered me a hand. "Like generations past, we must know when to move aside, and when it's time to let those following after us reach heights we could never." She put her hand on my shoulder, and I swear, for a moment, my body felt lighter, easier, like my lungs could fill up that little bit more. "Each generation stands on the shoulders of the next, and I think it's time someone helped you up."

Dad never taught me how to fly. I'm not even sure mom was the one who taught me how to walk.

"Are you sure?" I asked her. "I'm kinda stubborn. And don't listen sometimes. I also think I've got a couple anger issues that I haven't really dealt with, and I'm trying to fix the shit Zeus did to me, and that means I'm…" I stopped. I thought she'd cut in. But she was silent, listening, both hands on her umbrella as if she had her sword plunged into the soil at her feet. The wind swept through the graveyard, but it never got to me—it stopped behind Cleopatra. I swallowed, pulled my tie a little lower, and said, "I want to learn, I have to learn, so I don't end up like the people I know I can become. But…stick around, please? I'm not perfect at this yet, but I know I can be worth it."

Just give me a shot.

One more shot.

Cleopatra raised an eyebrow. "My biggest mistake was letting you out of my sight the moment your…the moment Zeus died. You're a young woman now, with her own personality, her own dreams and goals and fears, and I'd much prefer to make sure I don't make a mistake again. Besides," she said, as we started walking down the path, "I'm going to speak to your mother tonight about the legal process of me becoming your godmother. If you'd—"

"Oh, fuck yes!" I said, laughing. I apologized when she glanced at me. "I mean, yeah. Sure. 'course. Cool."

Ha! I've got a godparent!

One hell of a delayed Christmas gift, tell you what.

"I just don't know how your mother will take it," she said. "We've rarely ever seen eye to eye."

I shrugged. "I guess she'll just have to deal with it. I mean, you're you."

"You flatter me too much when I'm no more than just another person with a heartbeat."

I stopped walking.

She did too after several footsteps, then glanced over her shoulder.

"You're an Olympian," I said, waving my hand to the city. "The only reason this place even exists is—"

"Rylee," she said, almost tiredly. "Let the past remain the past. We live here, right now, in the present. I'm not as young as I used to be, and what I achieved is what she achieved. Lately, I haven't accomplished half as much as I would have liked by this age, but if I can rectify that, it would start today, by making sure you understand that my name isn't Cleopatra—it's simply Kayana, I am your godmother, your guardian, and whatever else you might need me to be. Putting people on pedestals is the reason supervillains exist so easily. Gangs. Cults. Ideologies that do nothing but harm. I was nothing more than a public servant, and if I managed to inspire a few people along my journey, then all the better, but my God, it's freezing today. And you haven't eaten anything, too. Before we return home, why don't we get something to eat? That is, of course, if you've remembered to carry your wallet with you."

I'd started walking again, but froze and looked at her. "Wallet?" I repeated. "These pants have holes in their pockets, lady. I'm flat broke. I'm pretty sure if I cracked my piggy bank open a few dead flies would fall out."

Kayana laughed, and that seemed to give the clouds their cue to leave. The air got a little warmer. The birds roosting in the trees lining the path ruffled their wet feathers and stirred awake. It doesn't hurt all that much anymore, I thought, flexing my fingers. "I kid," she said. "But that's a conversation we'll have to have soon, too."

"About money?" I asked. "Who cares about cash if I've got my old room back? Plus, I'm a superhero."

"And what might that have to do with being unemployed? They don't quite pay like they used to."

"I dunno," I said, pocketing my hands. "I figured I'd just work in a restaurant or something all my life whilst I saved the world every other Tuesday. Besides, if I was in this game for the money, then one, I wouldn't wake up everyday feeling like shit, and two, I would've bailed from this city and followed Em to the West Coast by now."

"Your mother," she said, as the hill levelled and we approached a rotting wrought iron gate, "wants you to possibly think about applying for university." I stared at her, waiting for the joke, but I guess she was all out of those for the foreseeable future as we walked toward mom's black SUV. "She mentioned it to me last night, and for once, the woman has a point." She held up her hand to stop me when we reached the car. "It's just something to think about. You're still young, Rylee. There will be days you won't have anything to do, and besides, having a life that doesn't always demand your heart and your soul and your blood and all they're worth grounds you. I learnt that too late in life for me to fully ever enjoy my time being someone else." She paused when she pulled the keys out of her pocket. "Your mother and I are also concerned you don't have many…good friends around you. Normal, everyday friends a person your age would spend time with, instead of bloodthirsty adults salivating after your capabilities or that one girl, the devil's daughter, who seemingly brings you nothing but trouble constantly."

I leaned against the car and folded my arms. "I've got plenty of friends, and Ava's harmless."

"Maybe in your previous state. Not this version of yourself," she said. "Emelia is your only friend."

I blanked as she opened the driver's side door, then said, "She's one of my friends, by the way."

She opened her mouth to speak, then frowned and checked her phone. Her face had gotten smoother, a lot less rigid than what it had been during the first time we met. But the rigidness rushed back to her cheeks and her eyes the second she picked up the phone and held it to her ear. If I had my powers, I would've heard the person on the other side of the phone as clear as the gravel underneath my sneakers. Instead I waited, something I was still getting used to, until her eyes flicked toward me, she nodded, then said, "Ok. We won't be long. I'll tell her."

"Tell her? Tell her what?" I asked as she cut the phone.

Kayana didn't look at me at first, but when she did, she looked me up and down, as if she wanted to check if I was all in one piece. I had painkillers in my pocket and two under my tongue that I chewed on throughout the funeral. It was all I could do to not feel the throb of pain coming from my bones and the bandages wrapped tightly around them—more for the compression than anything else, to force down the swelling and the gathering bruises.

Human enough to hurt, super enough to split the seams of my sneakers when I shifted my foot. A balance I was still getting used to, but a silence that I was slowly starting to love listening to. It was one thing being able to hear birds rustling in their nests across the city, but another thing entirely being able to hear them right next to your window. It kinda made me feel more…present. In tune with every minute that ticked by. Suddenly, life wasn't fast.

Suddenly, hours felt like hours again, and days didn't feel endless. Nights ended. Mornings blossomed. And by the time I felt exhausted in the afternoon, I could head upstairs, get in bed, and fall asleep, no questions asked. A part of me felt guilty. That was a plain fact nobody had to speak out loud. Crime didn't stop. Lower Olympus was still being cleaned up—the rebuilding process wouldn't start for another month. People needed help.

But, like Em said to me a few days ago, "You can only really help them if you're strong enough to do it."

And honestly, I…I don't think I am right now. Not mentally. Not physically. Not yet.

I just needed a little bit more time to breathe.

"You're killing me with this silence, K, what's going on?" I said. "Is my mom Ok? Who was that?"

Cleopatra turned around and slid herself onto the driver's side seat and shut the door. It was so fluid and easy it was almost like she'd forgotten I was standing right there in front of her. I blinked, then I had to go around the car and open the door and stare at her, confused, maybe a little pissed—those anger issues I was talking about earlier—that she'd just aired me like that. Kayana was already looking at me as she turned the car's engine on.

"When we were on the farm," she said, "you spoke to the Rangers about a girl. Ben's sister."

My heart stuttered. I stared at her, mouth slightly agape, head nodding.

My fingers dug into the leather seats so hard they nearly tore right into the padding. Thoughts flashed through my mind. The kind of thoughts that made me sick enough to clench my jaw and swallow bitter saliva. I didn't need another death on my hands. I didn't need to have to start this fucking year with seeing her in a casket.

"Tell me about her," Kayana said quietly. "I'll drive the long route so you can take your time."

"Is she Ok?" My voice caught in my throat. I climbed inside the car. "What happened to Bianca?"

Fate, Universe, Lucian. I swear, whoever's so much put a finger on her—

"Well, if I'm to meet her for the first time," Cleopatra said. "I'd like to at least know a little bit more about her other than the fact she can turn your cheeks red and your hands restless. But if she can make skin as thick as steel burn just as brightly as any sun, then…" She shrugged. "I might as well understand how just another girl has managed to make you of all people stop in your tracks the moment her name is even whispered. It's…impressive."

I stared at her. Really hard. For a really, really long time.

"She's…"

Kayana nodded.

She's alive.

Bianca's alive.

For the record, I did not squeal—Gods, I'm not some chick who loses their shit so easily over a crush.

What came out is a war cry, and that's what it will be, and that's what it'll always be. A happy war cry.

Maybe a little bit of a cry.

A lot of crying, until my chest hurt and Cleopatra had to wrap her arms around me and hold me and maybe try to stop me from forcing my way out of the car and making my body, by fire or by force, fly. I muffled myself against her chest. I let myself fall to pieces as I dug my fingers into her shoulders. But that was because I was happy.

Hell, those weren't even really tears!

It was literally just raining outside a few moments ago. Get with the program, folks.

Superheroes didn't cry. Rylee Addams did not cry.

But I think the girl in love with Bianca does.

I'd never met her properly, and she'd been buried under so much noise, so much fighting, so much chaos over the past several months, that I had kinda ignored her. But I guess, since I was on leave, I might get to know her.

Maybe just enough to make sure she didn't leap out and wreck my body whenever she wanted. I haven't lived through the fights I've fought just for my body to scramble the second I saw Bianca again, so…so yeah. Yes.

Fuck it.

I'm in love, deal with it.

And this might just be the day I finally let my heart hammer against my chest with something other than fear, adrenaline, or outright blood lust. It beat because it wanted to. It beat because it needed to.

It was beating, had been beating through everything, because Bianca's was too.

Maybe Dennie was right about me, I thought as we left the graveyard. Maybe I am a lover.

Maybe he knew Olympia better than I ever did.