Dreamless

up, as if hundreds of beings the size of skyscrapers had died heaped on top of each other. The scale was increased to such an extent that it was as if Helen were looking through a microscope. From her perspective, each pore inside the sequoia-sized bones was so large it appeared as though they were made out of layers of lace. She ran her hand over one of the latticed surfaces and looked over at Orion.
    “Do you know what these creatures were?” she whispered. Orion dropped his eyes and swallowed.
    “The Ice Giants. I’ve read stories about this but never believed it was real. This is a cursed place, Helen.”
    “What happened here?” she whispered, as awed by what she was looking at as she was by Orion’s emotional reaction.
    “It’s an entire battlefield brought directly to the Underworld. That can only happen when every last soldier fights to the death. The Ice Giants are extinct now,” he said in a hopeless monotone that was so unlike him. “I’ve had nightmares about another field like this, transported to the Underworld. Except instead of Ice Giants, all the bones belong to Scions.”
    His usually smiling mouth was pinched and forbidding, and Helen was reminded of what Hector had said. Orion had lived a rough life. She could sense it in him now, like a sad note in what was otherwise meant to be a joyful song.
    She tilted her face under his until she caught his eye. Pulling him closer to her, she shook his arm gently as if to wake him.
    “Hey,” she said softly. “You know what always bugged me about history class?”
    “What?” Orion was startled out of his morose reverie by Helen’s seemingly random question, just as she intended.
    “It’s all about war and battles and who conquered whom.” Helen wrapped both her hands around one of his thick forearms and started to lead him along again. “You know what I think?”
    “What?”
    His face broke into a smile as he allowed her to lead. Helen was delighted to see the storm clouds that had darkened his face clear so quickly, as if she had the power to banish them at will.
    “I think for every battle date they make us memorize in history class, they should make us learn at least two awesome things. Like, how many people get saved every year by firefighters, or the number of people who’ve walked on the moon. You know what’s awful? I don’t even know the answer to that.”
    “Neither do I,” Orion said with a quiet smile.
    “And we should know that! We’re Americans!”
    “Well, officially I’m Canadian.”
    “Close enough!” Helen said, waving an enthusiastic hand in the air. “My point is that considering all the amazing things that people are capable of, why do we focus on war? Humans should be better than that.”
    “But you’re not human, not really, not wholly human. Pretty little godling,” hissed a slippery, wheedling voice.
    Helen heard a ringing scrape, and a bright flash caught her eye as Orion unsheathed one of the many blades he kept strapped under his clothes. He pushed her behind him and dug his fingers into her hip, his large hand pinning her in place in case she tried to do something idiotic, like jump out and start swinging.
    “Come and face me,” Orion challenged to their adversary. His voice was calm, icy—almost like he had been waiting for this.
    Frustrated with herself for being so helpless without her lightning, Helen resolved to learn how to fight like a mortal as soon as she was back in the real world. If she ever made it back.
    A thin, warbling laugh echoed through the forest of bones, and a haunting almost-song wove its way toward them.
    “Big baby godling! Bigger than most, like the hunter he was named for! Want to fight me, foolish Sky Hunter? Caution! I invented war. War, little beauties, I invented it. But, no, Sky Hunter won’t heed. He will fight! And he will forever chase her across the night! For how prettyprettypretty she is!”
    The singsong voice slid off into peals of childlike laughter that made Helen’s teeth grind together until they squeaked. As Orion circled defensively, Helen caught a glimpse of a long, gangly figure darting this way and that through the Ice Giants’ graveyard. He was scrawny, nearly naked, and painted all over with blue-dye curlicues, like some Stone Age wild man.
    “So like my sister, my lover. So like the Face! Oh! The Face that loved, that launched, that spilled so much bloodbloodblood! Again, again! I want to play the Game with the pretty little godlings