All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [55]
In this diagram, however, Fiona saw leaves and intricate wood grain, and upon the tips of the upper branches were neatly printed names, and on the lower branches Greek symbols, cuneiform . . . and then older unrecognizable symbols.
“The ancient forces,” Miss Westin lectured, “the Old Ones, the gods, Infernals, and the Fey—these are our murky past, and much of what we know of it are lies. As you review the texts, note the obvious embellishments and question all ‘truths.’ ”
She gestured at the lowest branches, the ones gnarled and clearly dead. “We merely mention the existence of the Primordial Ones from before time. All are dead or forever banished—incomprehensible now and forever-more to mortals and Immortals alike. We leave their delicate and dangerous studies for your junior and senior years.”
The symbols on those lower branches were lines and dots and tangles of geometries that compressed to points as Fiona stared at them. She felt suffocated—strangled. She blinked, and the symbols were once more flat and plain chalk.
She should be writing this all down. Fiona fumbled out her notebook, accidentally nudging the boy in front of her.
The boy turned around. “Do you mind?” He was pale; his hair, dark and straight and falling in a neat angle across his glare.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Eyes up front, cad,” Jeremy spat back.
The boy snorted, but nonetheless turned back to face the lecture.
Fiona’s face burned. She was glad she was in the shadows. She nudged Eliot so he, too, could take notes, but his eyes were riveted on the blackboard to where Miss Westin next pointed.
“The Titans,” Miss Westin said. “Their origin and connection to the Old Ones is murky at best. This branch, with one notable exception, is now extinct.”
Fiona squinted. She read crossed-out names on that branch: Oceanus, Hyperion, and Tethys. The one not crossed out was Cronos, the Harvester, Keeper of the Sands of Time, founding member of the League of Immortals, aka Cornelius Nikitimitus.17
Uncle Cornelius? The frail old man on the Council was one of the oldest living things in the world?
Fiona scanned the other names, followed a side branch, and her breath caught in her throat as she read: (Son of Iapeuts) Prometheus, Bringer of Fire, aka Perry Millhouse.
Perry Millhouse had been a Titan, too. Nausea rolled inside her as she remembered how it had felt to cut through him.
“The Titans,” Miss Westin continued, “were the progenitors of many of the gods of the prehistoric and classical eras. Their children rose up to challenge them, recruiting some to their cause—but in most cases eliminating their parents altogether.”
Fiona’s mouth dropped open, horrified. Uncle Henry, her mother—they had murdered their own mothers and fathers? Was that what they were afraid Eliot and she might do one day? Was that the reason Immortals treated their offspring so badly? Because they were afraid of them?
“This transition from Titan to the Immortals,” Miss Westin said, “occurred circa eight thousand years B.C.E.”
That was ten thousand years ago. They were all so old. Fiona felt suddenly insignificant. Was that what she glimpsed when she looked into her mother’s eyes? The experience and knowledge of millennia judging her fifteen years of attitude and arrogance?
She searched the next branch—the Immortals—and found two familiar names: Hermes, messenger/spymaster for the League of Immortals, aka Henry Mimes; Ares, League of Immortals Warlord, aka Dr. Aaron Sears.
There was another branch next to this—connected only by a dotted line and punctuated by a question mark.
On this offshoot were three names: Atropos, Lachesis, Clothos.18
“Atropos,” Fiona whispered to Eliot. “Audrey . . . Post.”
He nodded.
She wanted to ask Miss Westin what that dotted connecting line meant. Fiona started to raise her hand, but she hadn’t seen anyone else interrupt the lecture. She’d wait until the end of class.
Miss Westin indicated another branch.