Muse of Avalon: Rebels of Olympus, #4

By Michele Amitrani

This Muse needs no lyre to inspire. Her song is in her sword.

 

When Muse Calliope and her sisters flee from burning Greece, the Titan Mnemosyne tells them it is north they need to go: to a barbarian land the natives call Britain. There the Greek goddesses can find shelter and spread their culture for the benefit of the land's inhabitants.

 

But Britain proves to be a hostile land, filled with fire-breathing demons and snake-shaped gods, where the strong prey on the weak and men believe the only way to deal with life is by the sharp edge of a sword.

 

Calliope realizes that to help Britain prosper she needs to embrace a culture where the sword is a symbol of justice and power.

 

Can the sword in the stone help her find the pure-hearted leader who will give Britain its much-needed peace, or will she fail in her mission and see it succumb to blood and anarchy?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michele Amitrani
• Release date: Mar 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781988770161

Book preview

1

SEEKERS OF GLORY

Fools like this man come all the time to my mountain. The promise of glory brings them to me with their chins held up, their heads already polluted with images of bards singing songs about the great deeds they have accomplished, even before they are accomplished. Each, in his mind’s eye, sees the royal court filled with people toasting him. And himself, gazing at the crowd, a crown upon his head.

Fools, as I said.

It all starts the same way. Somebody tells him the story I spread long ago, or at least a version of that story. It promises him power as the ruler of a nation. That is why they are here, these aspiring heroes, to pull the sword out of the stone.

So few realize it’s not about the glory; it’s not about the crown. These are just consequences of the valor they are supposed to already possess. What they need to prove their worth is courage, integrity, and a spirit of self-sacrifice for a bigger cause.

None of them has any idea that I live inside this sword, a goddess who chose to bind her soul to the iron of this blade. How could they know? It’s not a part of the story they heard. I left out that part, for a reason.

It pains me to realize that after all this time, after so many men have come and attempted to pull the sword from the stone, I can predict who has a chance and who is doomed to fail from the very beginning.

Always, I hope I am wrong.

Look at this man, standing in front of me.

When he reached the mountaintop, his eyes were eager and his mouth half-opened in a satisfied smile. He thought the hard part was behind him. The mountaintop is flat and wide enough for a dozen men to stand abreast.

He is catching his breath now. Climbing the mountain is a long and hard task, filled with peril. There are poisonous snakes and scorpions lurking between the rocks, and the cliff-like slope is steep and razor-sharp.

Many men abandon the quest after merely looking at the mountain. Others wish they had done so when they are halfway up.

But this one made it here, and I suppose I should give him some credit, and maybe the benefit of the doubt.

He is a tall fellow, his shoulders wide and round as water pots turned upside down. A British lord, by the look of him. He wears a coat made of furs the color of dry maple lumber; his hands are hidden in leather gloves. A lion breathing fire is painted on his breastplate.

I try to imagine the way he must have heard of the sword—from a sailor or a fisherman, perhaps, maybe from a farmer if he’d ventured into the countryside. When his eyes catch the iron of the weapon, they glint with desire.

He moves toward me, glances at the metal scabbard beside me that, too, is thrust inside the stone, with a magic even I cannot undo. His eyes brush past the riddle written in the stone, meant to help the seeker find the only way to draw me out of the mountaintop. He grunts at the riddle, as if it is unimportant. I wonder if he can read. The scabbard he disregards quickly.

Typical.

What he wants is the promise of the legend. He who can draw me from the stone will become the king of a nation. An enticing promise, and all this man cares about.

When he is in front of the sword that is my prison, his smile is so wide I can see the back row of his teeth. He flexes his biceps; opens and closes his hands with growing excitement. My fear solidifies.