Chapter 2

A cool breeze lifts the sweaty hair from

Hephaestus’s brow as he emerges from the mountain. After the

darkness of his forge, he has to squint against the dying sunlight.

With his walking stick tucked under one arm, he balances

precariously for the moment it takes to untie the asbestos apron he

wears to protect himself while working. Once it’s loose, he ducks

under it and lets it fall to the earth.

The breeze dances across his bare chest,

drying sweat that dampens his kinked hair into matted clumps. He

scratches at his pectorals as he stretches—his spine crackles with

a satisfying sound and his arms tingle with renewed feeling.

Another lonely night awaits him. There is a Minoan town to the

north, not far from Thera—he could venture over for a drink, but

only after the sword is finished. He’ll seek out companionship

then.

Beneath his apron all he wears is a

loincloth, dingy with sweat, but by the time he reaches the pond’s