“What was that?” I yelled, my voice barely audible even to my own ears as I peeled away from the desk. Unsurprisingly, no one responded. Instead, the Greeks scrambled to their feet, watching the door as though it might explode inward at any given moment. A thread of noticeable tension filled the room. The ship took another blow, from the starboard side this time. I nearly stumbled, but found James at my side, keeping me upright. Helen—thinking quickly—grabbed hold of the rope that ran the length of the wall, but Narcissus wasn’t so lucky; he tumbled over a chair and flipped head over heels to land in the inky stain I’d left behind moments before.
James gripped my arm, tight, his expression panicked. He waved a hand, seeming to indicate the ship as a whole, and shook his head. No more, he mouthed. I nodded, knowing what he meant even if he hadn’t said it aloud; the ship wasn’t built to take hits like these. Even with Tinkerbell’s magic, if the hull sprung a leak, we’d be hard pressed to stay afloat, especially in a squall like this one. I hurried to Helen’s side, convinced she’d know more about what was happening than I did. Unfortunately, with her hood up and earplugs in, I couldn’t tell if she even knew I was there.
“What is it?” I asked, wheeling her about to face me. I pointed towards the door, jabbing my finger at it several times over. “What’s out there?”
A hand on my shoulder brought me around. It was Narcissus, half his face smeared black like some football fanatic on gameday. He shouted, though I couldn’t make out the words. Another blow—only slightly less violent—took us all out; I inadvertently tackled the Greek with Helen riding my back. We landed in a jumbled heap, and the volume skyrocketed.
“I’m going to die!” Narcissus was shrieking, pawing at his ink-stained chest. “I’m bleeding! Oh, I should never have agreed to this! I’m too lovely to die!”
I fought to stand, forcing Helen to grab hold of me lest she collapse to the ground. The storm outside had intensified, the spray slapping audibly against the hull from one direction after another. I’d lost an earplug. Fortunately, it seemed the siren’s song had either abated or had never begun, which meant the only sounds I had to withstand were those of Narcissus’ pitiful wails. I reached out and slapped the clean side of the Greek man’s face.
“That’s enough, ye crybaby! It’s just ink!” I yelled. I motioned for everyone to remove their earplugs. At this point it didn’t matter whether the sirens called to us or not; we’d drown the ordinary way unless we figured out what was happening. Helen dropped from my back, pried the foam stoppers from her ears, and gripped my arm.
“This storm is unnaturally strong, and there is an energy to it that I’ve felt only once before. It has to be Typhon. I don’t know who else it could be, not unless Oceanus himself is guarding passage into the realm.”
“Who’s Typhon?” James asked as he tossed his earplugs.
“The Father of Monsters,” she replied, hurriedly. Helen turned her attention back to me as if willing me to believe her, to acknowledge the threat this Typhon represented. “You’ve probably heard of his offspring. Cerberus, the Nemean Lion, the Sphinx, the Hydra. They’re all his. And trust me, at best, they’re a pale imitation of their father.”
“And ye knew he would be here?” I asked, yanking my arm free of her grasp.
“No! I thought it possible he’d be somewhere in this realm, but his being here makes no sense. Having him watching over this entrance is like…like...” Helen threw up both arms in exasperation.
“Like replacing the front gate with one of Daedalus' labyrinthes,” Narcissus finished for her, idly rubbing at his injured cheek with one hand as he studied the ink-stained fingernails on the other. “But Helen, if it really is him, then he isn’t trying to sink this ship.”
“Yes,” Helen replied. “Yes, you’re right. Typhon could do that in an instant, if he wanted to. Which means this must be his way of trying to get our attention. But why? Why let us live?” Helen voiced the last two questions as though speaking to herself.
“Maybe he wants to talk,” Narcissus suggested.
“Are ye actually insistin’ that was Typhon’s knock? Bit over-the-top, don’t ye t’ink?” I let my incredulity show as I spoke, unable to believe what I was hearing. First a violent storm, then sirens, and now this? For perhaps the first time since I’d opted to chase after Ryan, I found myself forced to acknowledge the possibility that our voyage might end with my bones decorating the bottom of the sea. After all, if this was the gate, how on earth were we going to survive the yard?
“For a Titan,” Helen replied, matter-of-factly, “I would call that extremely subtle.”
18
Unfortunately—what with the immediate threat of being sunk and all—we didn’t have time to play multiple rounds of rock-paper-scissors to decide who’d step out to have a chat with the Titan presumed to be ramming our ship. And, seeing as how I was all out of short straws, we did the only democratic thing I could think of: we played the pointing game.
“On the count of three, everyone points to who they t’ink should go talk to the Titan,” I explained. “Whoever gets the most fingers loses. Make sense?”
Everyone nodded.
“Alright, then. One, two, three!”
I dipped my fist on each count before bringing it round to point at the person I felt best equipped to handle this Titan business, only to find all other fingers pointed at yours truly. I blinked rapidly, shocked to see that even Narcissus had chosen me as his representative. The self-absorbed son of a bitch spun his dirty digit in tiny, concentric circles, the way you might call attention to a mouthwatering dessert, a shit-eating grin nearly bisecting his two-toned face. My own finger, naturally, was aimed straight at Helen; it was obvious that the demigoddess knew a hell of a lot more about what was going on here than I did, which meant she most definitely had a better shot negotiating on our behalf. Once, perhaps, they’d have been forced to hold me back from going out there and shooting my mouth off, guns literally blazing. But I was wiser, now. Less petulant. Not nearly as eager to get myself and everyone around me killed.
“I must not have adequately explained how the game works,” I said, clearing my throat. “Let me go over the rules, again.”
“We understood,” James interjected nervously before glancing at Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell for support. “We all think it should be you.”
“But why?” I asked, surprised by the Neverlanders blind faith. “I mean, I know I survived that fall and all, but I’m not exactly immortal—” I bit back the rest of what I was going to say, realizing it could very well be a lie. Frankly, I had no idea what perks came with accepting my mother’s sovereignty. That being said, I had zero interest in testing those limitations here and now; just because we were sailing Greek seas didn’t mean I had to be a victim of hubris. “Listen, I’ve never even heard of Typhon until today. What if I go out there and accidentally insult his mother, or somethin’? Ye know how these deities are with their petty, inbred bullshit. No offense,” I added, glancing Helen’s way.
The Neverlanders stared blankly at me.
“Ah, right. Well, if ye lot ever meet one, you’ll understand.”
“I will go with you.”
I turned from the Neverlanders to find Helen within arm’s reach, the edges of her robe in hand, clearly prepared to venture outside. Now that surprised me—perhaps even more than the results of the pointing game had, if I was being honest. Why had Helen volunteered? Once again, I found myself questioning her motives, sensing an underlying ambition I couldn’t account for. But, in the end, it didn’t matter; if she wanted to step out into the squall with me and help ensure our safe passage, I certainly wasn’t going to stop her.
“I appreciate it,” I replied, cagily.
“I have no idea what he wants, which means we’re still at a disadvantage,” Helen said, completely ignoring my expression of gratitude. “And he won’t want to hear from me. The Titans have no love for the offspring of Olympians.”
“Olympians?” I ec
hoed, struck by the title of those who’d lived and served on Mount Olympus, according to ancient myth. Narcissus twitched at the word, his face scrunched up in distaste. “I didn’t realize Nemesis was an Olympian, that’s all,” I admitted.
“Oh, she wasn’t, dear,” Narcissus chimed in, the lines of his face smoothing away in an instant. “Nemesis was Helen’s mother. Her father—”
Another brutal jerk of the ship sent us reeling before the egomaniac could finish his sentence. I fell into Tiger Lily’s arms this time. Though significantly shorter than I was, there was a solidity to the brave, a lean muscularity which I couldn’t help but appreciate—especially when she used it to keep me from careening across the room.
“How the hell are ye lot stayin’ upright?” I asked, cursing as I disentangled myself from the Neverlander and stumbled back to my feet.
Tiger Lily snorted, then pointed to her feet. I scowled, squinted, and drew back rubbing the bridge of my nose once I realized Tiger Lily and James were floating inches above the cabin floor, entirely unaffected by the lurching ship. Tinkerbell took one look at my face and began laughing so hard she strobed a brilliant shade of scarlet, the din of her chortles eerily similar to those of an alarm clock. I glared at her.
“You’re a cruel little bug, ye know that?”
Her laughter cut off abruptly.
“I am not a bug!”
“We don’t have time for this. We have to go,” Helen insisted, snatching my wrist and dragging me towards the door before I could flick the faerie across the room for holding out on the rest of us. “If Typhon gets impatient,” Helen continued, “he’ll destroy us. The Titans aren’t exactly rational beings, and Typhon was always more monster than he was anything else.”
“And how d’ye know all this?” I asked, wondering under what circumstances Helen of Troy would have encountered Titans—certainly not in the tales I’d read. After Troy, maybe? I could see how that was possible; the historical gap between now and then included things like the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, the birth of Christ, two world wars, the moon landing, and the invention of the potato chip. And yet, Helen’s intimate knowledge of our current assailant struck me as especially convenient. What were the odds we’d run into an old friend of hers this soon into our voyage? What if this was all some sort of trap? If so, had Oberon set me up, or was this someone else’s idea? I hated not knowing.
Helen swung the door open without answering, inadvertently engulfing us both in ocean spray. I sputtered as she marched us out into the storm, still clutching my wrist. For a moment, I could barely see; the downpour was so intense it felt like I was being pelted with pebbles from above. In mere seconds, I was soaked for the second time in half as many days; my hair clinging to my shoulders and back like wet, tangled ropes, my leather boots all but ruined. I pulled away from Helen, planning to return to the cabin to find something to cover my head with when, inexplicably, the downpour abated, leaving little behind but the lightest drizzle.
Who wishes to sail across the Eighth Sea?
The voice seemed to ride the wind only to crash into me like a wave, the booming cadence of it swirling about the ship so that the final word grew louder and louder before fading. The effect was disorienting to say the least. Helen nudged me forward, pointing to the sky. I scowled at her but turned, though I was unable to make out anything beyond a seething mass of grey storm clouds which reminded me of writhing snakes. No, not snakes. Something winged. I ran my forearm across my face, flinging the water from my eyes, wondering when this Typhon character would show himself.
Suddenly, two smoldering orbs pierced the murky gloom. Then two more. Eyes. Four sets of eyes in the face of a creature from nightmares more terrifying than any I’d had before. I gasped, realizing what I’d mistaken for clouds were in fact the long, sinuous necks of winged dragons; hundreds of them sprouted from shoulders so broad that they took up half the sky. As one, the dragons began breathing fire, cutting through the post-storm gloom. My eyes traveled inexorably to and fro, finding a set of wings that rose above the clouds, hands with dozens of wriggling serpent fingers, and a pointed beard of cragged stone. Lava trickled from his mouth, running down his chin like drool.
The orbs, impossibly far away and yet each several hundred times as big as the Jolly Roger, seemed to fixate on us—on me. I could sense Typhon’s attention, could feel it resting on me the way you might if you were being tracked by a vicious predator. I also realized he’d asked us a question. And yet, it was all I could do to stay steady on my feet in spite of the hideousness of this gargantuan monstrosity, this thing which made even the gods I’d encountered up until now seem ridiculously underwhelming, perhaps even comically pitiful by comparison. But it wasn’t simply his size that put me off, it was the wrongness of him, the incongruity; he reminded me vaguely of another misshapen, malformed creature I’d encountered in the mortal realm—a surgically-enhanced version of Frankenstein’s monster, crafted from body parts taken from members of Boston’s Faeling congregation. A being created for one purpose, and one purpose only: to kill a godling.
“We do, Typhon,” Helen replied, glancing sidelong at me.
A cacophony of sounds sent me to my knees, hands clasped over my ears. The cries of hundreds of creatures filled the air as if coming from every angle at once. The bleating of goats, the snorts of a boar, the moans of cows mingling with the screams of leopards, the howls of wolves, and the shrieks of eagles. I glanced up through watering eyes to see the heads of these creatures and more emerging from Typhon’s throat, each of them voicing their displeasure before slipping back into the dark mass of his flesh.
We are not speaking to you, faithless wife.
Faithless wife? I shot Helen a look but she wasn’t paying any attention to me. Anyway, it seemed to me that he wanted to talk, after all. I gathered myself to stand, knowing I had no choice but to see this through; potential goddess or not, I wasn’t equipped to take on a being of this magnitude. Frankly, I doubted anyone was. Still, that didn’t mean I had to meet his eyes while we had our little heart-to-heart; I kept my gaze locked on the deck beneath my feet, refusing to look up. I found if I did that, I could at least function—Typhon’s existence was simply too much for my brain to comprehend.
“So, you’re talkin’ to me, then?” I asked as I inspected my poor boots, distracting myself with their sorry condition.
You are unfamiliar to us.
“If ye mean I’m not from around here, then aye, that’s true.”
Do you seek death?
I thought about that for a moment, chills running up my spine as I contemplated whether or not Typhon was threatening me. But it hadn’t sounded like a threat, it had sounded like a legitimate inquiry. Like, did I have a death wish? Or was I seeking a manifestation of death, like Hemingway? Or perhaps a place associated with death? That was the trouble when dealing with obscenely powerful beings from different eras: their grasp of the literal and the metaphorical was remarkably intertwined.
“I’m not sure what you’re askin’,” I admitted.
Do you seek death?
The words were the same, and yet this time the tone suggested something else altogether; Typhon wasn’t asking if I sought death in particular so much as he wanted to know what—if anything—I was seeking. I hesitated, unsure how much I should tell the Titan. Would he care about the details of our visit? I doubted it. If what Helen had said was true, Typhon wasn’t the sort to concern himself with trivialities, or even nuances. The truth, then, and nothing but the truth, I decided.
Here’s hoping he could handle it.
“I seek the deaths of others,” I replied, at last.
Helen twitched beside me.
The deaths of our kind?
Our kind. That was a curious way to phrase it. Did he mean the Titans? Other monsters like himself? I shrugged, realizing the answer was the same no matter which group he was referring to. “Not unless ye lot get in me way. I’m lookin’ for someone.”
“
Are you trying to get us all killed?” Helen hissed.
You hunt the Cold One.
“I do,” I replied, ignoring Helen altogether, my pulse speeding up at the mention of Ryan—assuming that was who Typhon meant. Which meant he had come through this way. I frowned, aware that meant he, too, must have encountered the storm and its denizens. Had Typhon spoken with him, already? Had he survived?
Will you kill him?
Typhon’s question this time was anything but casual; I could sense an undercurrent of animosity in it that reminded me of the tone he’d taken with Helen. And yet I sensed his anger wasn’t directed at me; it seemed there was a grudge brewing between this Titan and my old friend. What the hell had Ryan done, I wondered, to provoke the Father of Monsters? And, of even greater interest to me, how had he managed to survive after having done so? I shook my head, wishing for the billionth time that I had more information to go off of.
“If I must,” I replied, at last. “If I cannot save him from himself.”
Save him?
“Aye. He was me friend, once, before he became a...” I bit off the word I was going to use and cleared my throat. “Before he became what he’s become.”
He is not worth saving. For what he has done, he must suffer.
“What has he done?”
You will see.
Before I could ask Typhon what the hell that meant, the weather shifted once more; the scent of burning ozone permeated the air for only an instant before the downpour resumed, the sudden onslaught forcing Helen and me to duck back beneath the eaves of the cabin’s slim canopy. I had only just turned to ask her what she thought was going on when I felt the waves beneath us surge, catching the bottom of the boat and lifting it high into the air with such speed I fell back, pinned to the deck by the sheer force of gravity, my teeth gritted, my spine rigid against the deck.
Sea Breeze: Phantom Queen Book 8 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 11