Blistered

By Deidre Huesmann

Bearing the Curse
Azalee wants a home—one that isn’t a cold, dirty prison deep within the earth. Even if she wanted to escape, she can’t walk in sunlight. Her skin will burn and flay, blisteredby a god.
Defying the Fates
Joel wants to get her somewhere safe. Both are outcasts, shunned, and forbidden from taking proper Greek names. He breaks her out of an underground prison, and they flee toward Mykonos.
Angering the Gods
The battle-worn Kurios sends Niribelle after them. She’s gorgeous, she’s cunning, and she seems to have a thing for Joel. She arrives armed with Hecate’s magic, and blessed by Aphrodite’s beauty.
Inciting the War
Soon the three teenagers discover one horrifying thing: Mykonos will be no paradise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Teen
• Release date: Nov 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781773390734

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Published by Evernight Teen ® at Smashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright© 2016 Deidre Huesmann

ISBN: 978-1-77339-073-4

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Audrey Bobak

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For Tarina D., Elyn T., and Kristin H., who have supported this story from the first word.

And for my sister, Kimberly, who never gives up her creative dreams.

BLISTERED

A Modern Greek Myth, 1

Deidre Huesmann

Copyright © 2016

Chapter One

The Getaway

Only a Spinel would be stupid enough to break into prison. And only a Spinel would assume his over-six-foot frame could stand comfortably in a cramped dirt box.

Ow! The young man before Azalee doubled over and clutched his head. After a moment of probing, he checked his fingers and appeared relieved to find them free of blood.

How odd, thought Azalee as she stared, that the giant oaf seemed genuinely surprised when he peered up at the low ceiling. She couldn’t stand up straight here, and she was significantly shorter.

When the cell’s iron bars swung back to bounce off his rear, Azalee snorted. She remained seated on her cot made of old lambskin and wool, the most luxurious item she was allowed. The intruder looked at her in chagrin.

She said flatly, Get out.

He grinned as though she hadn’t spoken. Even in the weak lamplight his teeth were straight and dazzlingly white, like any other Spinel. In fact, but for his height, he was unremarkable compared to other Spinel. Flaxen blond hair that had been sheared at least a couple weeks ago, cutting muscle, broad shoulders. He had the same appearance as every other man Azalee remembered in her life.

Except for the fact he was streaked with dirt. The only hint she had to his more privileged background was the sheer whiteness of his tunic in large patches where it wasn’t stained or smudged.

Hey, he said, shifting to crouch on his haunches. A bag the size of a fat child protruded from the stranger’s back like a tortoiseshell. Azalee caught a faint scent of wheat beneath the dust, as though he’d spent long hours cutting the grain before finding her. I’m here to rescue you. C’mon, let’s go!

She winced at his booming voice. Can’t the guardians hear this oaf? Even if they slumbered away, this young man’s voice was loud enough to rouse the dead.

What time was it? Azalee struggled to recall when her last meal was brought to her. Time down here had come to mean very little.

Azalee hesitated before she spoke, taking a moment as his words sank in. Something about this young man bothered her. Aside from the fact he was clearly insane.

Seriously, who broke into a prison cell?

Perhaps her concern had to do with the soft fuzz of light thrown around by his lamp, highlighting the gold-and-bronze of his coloring in an eerie manner. It made him look less like a human and more like a statue.

Get out, she repeated, lying back down on her side.

Puzzlement drew lines down his face. I’m serious.

So am I.

He blinked, but quickly recovered. The young man—Azalee guessed he was maybe eighteen by his face—removed the bag from his back and set it on the dank floor between them. He yanked the drawstring and removed a handful of papyrus sheets bound by leather from the top of the sack.

Though Azalee was curious, she remained where she lay. This guy was suspicious. She needed him gone.

With brilliant enthusiasm, he opened the book and said, You’re a Chertz, right?

Azalee scoffed. What gave it away? My blinding paleness or the red Typhon eyes? Certainly not the hair. Even Chertz weren’t known for that particular oddity. Most Chertzes bore tresses blacker than a midnight sky. Azalee’s hair was white—though it was hard to tell with what feeble light the stranger brought with him. After all, no one had given her pumice or clay in five days, and aside from her bed, she had nothing but soil and iron to touch. Dirt smudged her body and old, unwashed tunic as though she were a lowly field hand.

Or, more aptly, a prisoner.

He ignored her and flipped through the pages. The village always said Chertzes were abominations born of Hades, but I never really bought that. Seemed too convenient, you know? All that hatred over nothing. Hades isn’t a bad guy.

Now she was intrigued. Azalee pushed herself up on scarred elbows and frowned at him. The texts spoke of Hades as the ruler of the Underworld, but the manner in which he’d tricked Persephone had gradually come to be frowned upon over the past few decades.

Hades was, in fact, considered a bad guy.

The young man continued blithely. So I went digging. Always thought Spinel were everywhere, but there are a few places we’re not allowed. Lots of places don’t have Spinel anymore. And look! He shoved the book toward her, pointing to a faded map. You don’t see these in modern cartography.

Azalee’s ears pulsed with heat as she pressed her lips tight. Even if she could make out more than a couple lines, she didn’t know the first thing about cartography. That was an art reserved for the highly educated, not prisoners shunned and isolated.

Definitely not a Chertz.

Rather than admit her ignorance, she said loftily, Huh.

Mykonos. The bronze stranger as he tapped the map stubbornly. This is the big one, right here. And legend has it that it’s a sanctuary for your kind.

Years ago she might have bristled at his uncouth words. Azalee instead felt numb. She dismissed him with a wave of the hand while she cast furtive glances at the paper. Legends. Great. Glad you broke in to tell me bedtime stories. When you leave, lock the door so I don’t get in trouble. It wouldn’t be the first time someone else’s idiocy brought punishment down upon her.

The intruder’s brow crinkled unhappily. Will you just look at it? He pointed again. See, here’s Delos, and over to the east there’s Icara, but our maps don’t show Mykonos.

Azalee sighed. Then it probably sank. She might not be educated, but did he think she was stupid?

He shook his head. And it’s the only island that did? No, it has something to do with the Chertzes. I have all kinds of papers on the subject. You can read them on the way.

On the way? Sweet Elysium, this guy must have lost his mind.

Azalee casually slid her hand beneath her cot as she shifted. Why should I trust you?

Because, he said with cheer. I’m your destiny.

Yup. This guy was absolutely crazy.

I see, said Azalee. Then, as his smile faltered, she clasped her fingers around a thin, cylindrical object and whipped it toward him.

His eyes widened. How—?

Boedromia, she said pleasantly, referring to the famous festival celebrated by the villagers. Kept a bone of the leftovers and sharpened it. You’re not the first or last to pull something stupid on me, but I’ll give you points for being the most creative.

Just because she was a prisoner didn’t mean she would allow herself to be defenseless.

Azalee narrowed her eyes. Saving me. How noble.

The stranger appeared more crestfallen than angry. He held up large hands with surprisingly slender fingers. Maybe I went about this the wrong way. I’m Joel—

You’re a Spinel, she retorted. That’s all I need to know. Still, the name surprised her. Only children born from shame were not christened with Greek names.

Joel cast a nervous glance over his shoulder before his hands went down to loosen his tunic. Azalee tightened her grip on her makeshift bone knife, prepared to sink it into his throat the moment he did anything inappropriate. Fiery furies, maybe she should anyway and save herself the trouble of fighting him off.

Thankfully, he only pulled his garment down enough to reveal the sharp curve of his hip bone. Azalee tried to keep her gaze level on his face, but curiosity pulled her eyes downward.

She blinked. Stared at his bared skin. Then looked at the map.

You see, said Joel, excitement entwined with his words. This proves it.

He had a birthmark that looked like an old, healed burn against the taut flesh of his hip, so pale it was almost the color of her skin. The mark was a perfect replica of the island he claimed was no longer lost.

Azalee kept her weapon aloft. That doesn’t prove a single thing. She cursed her voice for shaking.

Except birthmarks proved everything in Illyria.

Birthmarks were deeply entwined with Fate.

That could mean anything, she assured herself aloud. You’re destined to rediscover it. Or find the ruins. Or—

"You are my destiny, maintained Joel. And I’m going to bring you to Mykonos, even if I have to stuff you in this bag to do it."

Azalee shifted to her knees, lowering the tip of her makeshift weapon a fraction of an inch. He was a Spinel, she reminded herself. Of the same people who had imprisoned her for the crime of her birth.

Say I believe any of this. What’s to stop the village from coming down on us and bringing me back?

His eyes brightened. In that moment they were startlingly brilliant, clear and deep blue, just like azurite. His hand darted forward to grab her wrist. Before she could strike him, he said, "I’ve been digging this tunnel for years. No one’s found it all this time. Quick, clean escape. Just a few hours and we’ll be across the border into Macedonia."

He was insane. No way could this be anything but a trap.

Yet something about the birthmark plucked a string deep inside her soul. A tiny song began to thrum deep in her chest, swelling to a longing harmony of traitorously optimistic thoughts Azalee had quashed into the ground long ago.

He was a Spinel, part of the followers of Apollo and blessed with golden good looks. Azalee carried the Curse of Selene, lending to her pallid appearance.

This stranger, just like any Spinel, could not be trusted.

But Azalee let out a short breath and nodded.

Joel grinned. Great. His smile faded a little. But, uh, could you stop pointing that thing at me?

She had forgotten about her shiv. Azalee shook her head and pulled out a strip of one of her old tunics beneath her cot. She wrapped her weapon and secreted it into the leather strap beneath her ribs.

Come on! Before she could respond, Joel spun and scrambled out of the iron cage. Once over the prison threshold, he stood and gestured for her to follow.

Azalee took in a sharp breath before crawling through. She tensed in anticipation, expecting the guardians to pounce the moment her hand touched the rough floor outside of her prison.

There was nothing. Not a sound when she stood up straight for the first time in months, and trembling aches slithered down her muscles. Oh, beautiful mother Gaia, it felt such a blessing to stand upright. There was nothing when Joel quietly closed the gate and latched it shut. Not even when he held up the lamp and led her through a corridor reinforced with clay brick.

Halfway down, Azalee noticed a hole in the wall near Joel’s feet. It widened up to her knees, big enough for a large dog to squirm through.

Joel dropped to the floor and hustled in. Azalee paused at the entrance and glanced around. If this wasn’t a trick, then now would be the last time she’d look at the only real memories she had of home.

Because if anyone tried to drag her back this time, she’d bite off her tongue and bleed to death. No way was she living through this again. If, upon her death, the Fields of Punishment were as awful as the stories said, Azalee would rather brave them a thousand times over than remain in this squalor.

Azalee, called Joel from inside the tunnel. You coming or not?

Fiery furies, she muttered to herself. She had to crawl now? It felt like she’d just stood up.

She bent down once more, hopefully for the last time, and went after the faint lamp highlighting the stark silhouette before her. No matter how this ended, Azalee would ensure her Fate did not entail remaining a prisoner.

As she crawled, her makeshift weapon comforted her with every jab to her side.

Chapter Two

Burned

It didn’t take long for Azalee to regret her decision. When she’d entertained the idea of changing her Fate, never had the concept of how long she’d be forced to crawl after a man’s buttocks come to mind.

Her hands and knees had begun to bleed from the rough trek. The pain did not distract Azalee from her suspicion of the youth.

A hog’s flank is more appetizing than this sight, she informed Joel. It also smelled better—downright delicious, in fact. Roasted hog was delectable on the rare occasion she was permitted a slice.

Since she didn’t plan to cook this boy, Azalee kept silent on the matter.

Besides, with her lack of a bath, she wasn’t in any position to talk.

Joel didn’t hesitate in either movement or speech. I’ll let that one go since you probably haven’t seen anyone’s rear in years.

Azalee opened her mouth to retort, but her hand landed on a tangle of her hair and accidentally pulled. She winced and choked out a curse.

This time Joel stopped. You all right?

Worry about yourself, she muttered.

If I do that, this journey won’t go very well for either of us.

Azalee gritted her teeth. His perpetual positivity was beginning to grate on her nerves. She held her tongue and focused on stuffing her hair into the back of her tunic. There wasn’t much room to work with. The tunnel was barely wider than Joel’s broad shoulders, and they’d been crawling at an achingly slow pace for what felt like hours.

On the bright side, it was a lot more exercise than she was used to. It hurt to flex unused muscles, yet at the same time reminded her she was still alive.

Besides, said Joel suddenly, as though they’d continued talking for the last several minutes. All things considered, I’ve probably worked longer and harder than a hog ever has. I think my butt serves more purpose.

Azalee shot him a quizzical look, not that it mattered. He never looked back as they made their tortuous journey.

For a short period, there was only the sound of dirt shifting and crunching beneath their weight. Wisps of hair began to escape Azalee’s tunic. She paused to tuck them behind her ear.

So, said Joel, so suddenly she started. I know you’ve been down here since you were a kid, but I’m not sure how much you know about the outside world. Did the guardians ever let you read?

No, she said. Not since I was four. But I’ve been told stories. The guardians had to, or my family would not be looked upon with favor. Apollo did not care for his people ignoring their history. Tales of his jealous wrath falling upon other villages kept the fear against historical ignorance high.

Azalee had been borne under the wretched Curse of Selene. That didn’t mean she was permitted to make slights against Apollo.

You heard the tale of Thanatos?

That was an obscure choice of god. Azalee wracked her brain, trying to recall any reference to the lower deity. I know he claims peaceful deaths. And he is not thought of well.

He’s under Nyx, the goddess of night, confirmed Joel. Hypnos is his twin brother, and the Keres take souls under violent means.

That was all well and good, but Azalee couldn’t fathom why he’d brought up the God of Death. So all tied to Selene, she guessed. Shunned by followers of Apollo.

Joel’s sigh floated back toward her. Not so much. We might curry Apollo’s favor, but that doesn’t mean everything associated with the moon and night is evil.

Could have fooled me.

He ignored her self-deprecating jab. "Anyway, what most people don’t hear about is the time he fell for a mortal woman."

Gods and goddesses seemed to frequently fall in love or lust. Even children were told the full depravity of Zeus’s dalliances, to warn their sons against earning the jealous ire of their future wives as Zeus often did Hera’s.

Either way, Azalee wasn’t interested. She tried to say so, but the swaying buttocks before her seemed to have a mouthpiece attached to them for the better or worse of her trek.

He became smitten with a young girl named Desdemona, said Joel. Tale has it that when he went to claim her soul, his breath was literally stolen by her beauty. Not that such a thing really matters to a god of the dead.

He chuckled to himself. Azalee rolled her eyes.

Joel continued, "Though Desdemona had fallen deathly ill, Thanatos allowed her to linger far past her appointed time. He began to shirk his duties just to watch her, which suited the Keres just fine. During this period of lovesickness, they aided Ares as he