CARNIFEX. jason grace

01. MEMORIES, TRUTHS, STRANDS

"I want to make a deal."

With Medea's words, Aisara's grip on her handshake tightens. Medea does not falter. Aisara notes that.

"Not only does your history make you an excellent candidate for this position," Medea continues, "but you also in a strange place right now, Carnifex."

"I believe we call it a dream."

Medea laughs. It sounds like nails scraping across bone. "No, dear," she says, "I mean out there."

Aisara's blood runs cold. She masks it.

"I'm sure you know the place," Medea says, tilting her head. "I can see it in your face. The gods did a lousy job of messing with your memories."

"Their power is not unlimited," Aisara says. "Certainly not enough to penetrate a Titan's protection."

"Ah. Yes. Krios." Medea cackles. "Such a weak being. An embarrassment to believe he could challenge the gods. But you—you got him close."

Aisara lifts her chin. "Maybe I did."

"And you will bring ruin to the world again." Medea smiles, wickedly. "You were right when the gods power, especially in memories is limited. But they are using your creation now. Their erasure of memory will be flawless."

Medea turns from Aisara, striding a short distance to the wall. Aisara does not have to approach to know what's on it—she had carved it herself after all. An array of sharp angles, a circle of short lines in a gauged circle-like pattern.

"It's still here," Aisara whispers. "I thought they had destroyed it."

"They would not destroy your masterpiece in craft," Medea says. "Truly, you built a power that could rival the gods."

"It was not meant to rival the gods," Aisara says, coldly. "It was meant to destroy them."

"Yes. Well, they now use it to their advantage," Medea traces Aisara's handiwork. "A single stroke, and you could have messed up the binding. You bound the Muses to this circle, and commanded them to erase the memories of mortals. Forget the gods. That would have killed them." She turns. "But now they have taken the power of the Muses for themselves. Hera is gambling with your power."

Aisara darkens. "It was not made for gods to gamble."

Medea does not wait for her to continue. "Well then, I propose you my deal." She gives a one-shouldered shrug. "I need you to deliver something."

Aisara laughs. "I do not make deals with monsters."

In her words, she sows the speed of compulsion. A gift from her mother; Necessitas, goddess of fate, inevitability, and compulsion. Aisara is not like Medea—she can not tend to deception like her through her words, but she can plant the idea—she can sow the seed. And even a seed is enough to grow demise. In Medea, she plants a compulsion. Leave me.

Medea laughs. "Charmspeak and compelling are not too different you know," she says. "We will get along nicely."

"At least one of us thinks so."

"We are both traitors to our kind," Medea says. "Girls before we were made monsters."

"You are a monster now. That is all I need to not trust you."

"But you yourself rotted in Tartarus, did you not? Only monsters would end up in such a place." Medea cocks her head to the side. "No matter. It will not affect our deal."

"I've already said—"

"I know what you said." Medea steeples her fingers to her mouth. Superiority. The same look had been on a Praetor's once. When Aisara was young, and she was—