Beside me, Helen screamed.
Which was the last sound I heard before I went blind.
19
Several hours later, I stood on an unfamiliar beach, surveying the landscape, using my free hand to shield my eyes from the glare. The sun overhead was both uncommonly large and therefore uncommonly bright, which is what had blinded me; the rogue wave had carried us out of the storm and deposited the Jolly Roger so far inland that it sat moored, buried so deep that half its hull lay beneath the sands. That we’d survived at all was a testament to Tinkerbell’s infusion of faerie dust—something she no longer had enough of to get us out of this mess.
“Quinn! It’s time!”
I turned to find James waving from the ship’s stern. The others were likely already in the captain’s quarters where we were having a meeting to discuss our next step. Personally, I was counting on someone else to have a plan. I’d already wracked my brain for possible solutions and—barring a miraculous discovery of some sort—had no idea how we were going to get off this godsforsaken spit of land, especially with the Jolly Roger stuck a hundred yards out from the nearest body of water. Worse, I wasn’t sure how we were going to survive at all without finding some nourishment soon; my throat was beginning to ache with a nagging thirst, my gut rumbling from hunger.
“Comin’!” I replied.
I took one last look at the bluffs which overlooked the shore, my eyes darting across the top, searching for any sign of movement. There was none. At last, I turned and made my way back to the ship, still pondering our circumstances and the bizarre events which had precluded them. Had Typhon sent us to this island on purpose? Had he known we’d survive, or had he intended for us to crash upon the shore and die? And how did Ryan fit into all this? I had too many questions and not enough answers.
“Do you need help up?” James asked once I reached the ship’s ladder, offering his hand. I took it, though I could likely have leapt the ten or so feet. The Neverlander huffed as he drew me up but then quickly disengaged. While he’d been relatively cordial since we crash landed, James and his companions hadn’t particularly cared for their home’s origin story or my description of what had transpired on it. In hindsight, I could see why they’d balked: it must have been hard for them to grasp the stark realities I’d been shown, to hear the truth about the Hangman’s Tree and its connection to Peter Pan. Of course, the fact that Neverland had somehow fused with my talking tree only to go rogue and fly off to heaven knew where hadn’t helped.
“How’s Tinkerbell?” I asked.
“She’s alright. When we left Neverland with Hook and his pirates with the other survivors, the same thing happened. She’ll feel better once she’s rested.”
I nodded, feeling for the Faeling—even if she was a bratty little shit. Since we’d arrived on the island, the pixie had grown visibly ill, her light dimmer than I’d ever seen it. If anything, I’d have said she was suffering from a bout of the flu. She had that tired, malaised look about her. Still, I had to admit part of me hoped to find out what pixie vomit looked like.
I was betting glitter.
“And Tiger Lily?”
James snorted. “She refuses to take it easy. Says she’s fine. But she’s suffering, too, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. I catch her making pained noises under her breath when she moves about. Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m not affected. I’m from Neverland, same as them.”
Except you’re human, I thought but didn’t say. Unlike Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily, who’d been on the island perhaps longer than Peter Pan himself, James had mortal parents. Hook and his mother may have spent centuries in Neverland, but that didn’t mean they shared the same ties with the place that the Faelings had. I couldn’t be certain, but it was entirely possible the severing of that connection was responsible for their sorry states, and—worse—that they wouldn’t get better until we got them back home.
“So, ye want to feel like shit, is that it?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
“Of course not. I just...I wish I knew more about what was happening. We know you did your best to save our home, but this…” James drifted off, making a sweeping motion with one hand. “Will we ever see Neverland, again, do you think?”
“No. Not as it was, anyway,” I replied, painfully aware of James’ crestfallen expression.
“I see.”
“I swear I’ll help ye find it, James. The island, that is. When this is all over, once I’ve done what I came here to do, I’ll help ye and your people find your home.” Of course, that wasn’t a difficult promise to make; the truth was that—assuming I resolved this crisis with Ryan—finding NeverEden was at the top of my priority list.
She had my dog.
“And what is it you came here to do?” James asked.
“Ah, right,” I said, nodding idly to myself. I waved for him to follow me to the captain’s quarters. Together, the two of us strolled across the deck, accompanied by the sound of the surf and the thud of my new boots on the hardwood; I’d found a chest full of clothes and assorted gear in Hook’s cabin, including flintlock pistols and a bevy of quality pirate attire that could have doubled for sexy roleplay. I’d swiped a black leather bodice to replace my soaking wet shirt, traded out my ruined shoes with a pair of ankle-high boots, and snatched up a marvelously tailored black leather coat with wonderfully ornate buttons and flowing sleeves, because fashion.
As we approached the cabin, I mulled over James’ question and how best to answer it. Sure, I’d originally planned to chase Ryan down, recover what he stole from me, and ideally get him to rethink his vendetta against Nate Temple. If that meant sailing all the way to Atlantis, so be it. But now I had to ask myself how far was I willing to go? Encountering Typhon in all his awful glory had put into rather stark perspective just how little I knew, how little I’d thought this through or prepared for the journey ahead. What I needed was intelligence. Information. I needed to share my intentions with the Greeks and find out how much they knew before I started gallivanting around, putting myself and others in danger.
“I’ll tell ye what, let’s talk about this inside with the others,” I insisted. “That way I don’t have to go over it twice.” Unfortunately, by the time we opened the cabin door, it seemed no one was much interested in discussing much of anything.
They were all too busy trying to kill each other.
“I warned him not to touch me,” Tiger Lily growled, hoisting Narcissus into the air by his throat. Sick or not, the Neverlander clearly had the egomaniac outclassed; Narcissus kicked wildly, his lovely face turning purple, hands clutching at her wrist.
“Put him down, or this one will never fly again.”
I turned to find Helen standing to the side with Tinkerbell caught in one hand, the pixie’s wings pinched between two fingers as though planning to pluck them off. The pixie struggled lamely, beating her diminutive fists on the demigoddess’ flesh, insisting she also be released. As Mexican standoffs went, I had to admit this one at least had a bit of flair.
“What is goin’ on here?” I demanded.
“Tiger Lily, put him down,” James snapped.
Tiger Lily snarled and tossed her hapless victim to the floor. Helen set the pixie down with much greater care before going to her companion’s side. Neither of the females answered me. James, meanwhile, quickly waded into the room, gathered up Tinkerbell, and settled in alongside Tiger Lily.
“What happened?” James asked, squeezing her shoulder.
“I don’t like him, that’s all.” Tiger Lily shot a glare at the Greek that would have done Medusa proud as she spoke. “He’s vile.”
“Nonsense,” Narcissus croaked. “Everyone loves me.”
“He reminds me of Peter Pan,” Tiger Lily continued, as though the Greek hadn’t spoken, “but he’s no warrior. He is like a shallow pond who thinks himself an ocean. It is pathetic.”
“I believe you’ve misspoken,” Narcissus interjected, massaging his throat. He’d regained mo
st of his color and managed to look indignant even as he sat propped up against Helen’s legs, clutching at the hem of her robe like a child. “The word you’re looking for is ‘perfect’.” He reached up to pat Helen’s hand. “We really must help these savages with their grasp of the language, my dear. Remind me to give them lessons, at some point. I’m an excellent teacher, you know, when I put my mind to it.”
“That’s enough,” I said as I stepped between the two parties, shielding Narcissus from view before Tiger Lily—who was indeed savage, though perhaps in ways Narcissus likely knew nothing about—gutted him like a fish and ruined what little goodwill I’d hoped to nurture between the two groups; whatever we decided to do, our odds of success were much improved if we worked together. Our odds of survival, too, come to think of it.
“I believe it’s time we put all our cards on the table,” I said, urging everyone to take a seat as I shut the trunk of clothes I’d found and plopped down on its gilded lid. “We’re stranded on some uncharted shoreline with no food and water, very little means to protect ourselves, and no clear cut way to contact the outside world for help. Suggestions? Or would ye all prefer to slit each other’s throats and call it a day?”
Helen cleared her throat. “I know exactly where we are.”
“Wait, since when?”
“Not long. I had to check the other shore to be certain, but given what I found this has to be it. Narcissus, give me your map.” Helen held out a hand imploringly. “I believe we’re on an island, one of those Odysseus and his fleet encountered not long after his men betrayed him.”
“You won’t believe what I had to do to get this,” Narcissus said as he passed over a bound scroll. “That sailor wanted me to...”
But Helen wasn’t listening. Instead, she removed the ribbon and spread the map across one of the tables. I rose and loomed over her shoulder, staring down at the mass of squiggles and notations. The map was crudely drawn and matched no cartography I’d ever seen; I saw not one familiar shoreline. Granted, my knowledge of topography was shoddy, at best, but the fact that it all looked so odd meant we must really have crossed over into a strange new realm. What had Typhon called it? The Eighth Sea? Honestly, I’d hoped the hoary bastard had simply miscounted; easy to do when you have so many extra fingers with minds of their own.
“It’s as I thought. Here.” Helen pointed to an island shaped vaguely like a heeled boot, then to what would have been the toe. “We’re on this stretch of shore, here. But if you climb the rocks like I did, you’ll see the main shoreline.” She slid her finger along the top of the shoe. “This is where you’ll find all the other ships.”
“Like a dock, ye mean?”
“No, not a dock.”
“Then what?”
“A graveyard.”
20
Helen was right. It was a graveyard. A graveyard of shattered ships, the debris piled up on the far end of the beach in mounds as tall as a person. I could make out the remains of even larger vessels in the shallows, their masts poking up from the waves like the tips of swords. The demigoddess and I stood a few feet apart on the tallest boulder we could find, overlooking the distant cove. From where we’d landed, that was all we could do; the two shores were divided by impassable stone and frothing sea. Indeed, had Helen not known to go searching for the wreckage, I doubted we’d have found it at all.
“They must have thrown their stones from up there,” Helen said, pointing to the cliffs above the cove, several hundred feet high at least. “That Odysseus survived at all is a testament to his cleverness. He always was a cautious man.”
“What d’ye mean they ‘threw stones’? And who are ‘they’?” I frowned at the distance between the sea and the cliffs above, then at the decimated ships. “Also, how are these ships still here? They look ancient.”
“My apologies, I forget how few of you mortals know of Odysseus’ journey. The Laestrygonians, a race of cannibalistic giants, were responsible for this. After they caught and ate one of his men, Odysseus and his fleet tried to escape, but the giants rained boulders down upon them. This is what’s left of those ships.” Helen huddled further into her cloak as a cold breeze blew across the water, her face still miraculously obscured beneath the shadows of her cowl despite the bright sunlight. “And, to answer your other question, they are still here because this realm was created not long after the age of heroes ended. They have been, it seems, preserved.”
“The Eighth Sea,” I said, echoing Typhon’s use of the term.
“That is one name for it. There are others, though they all amount to the same thing…” Helen drifted off, shuddered, and gestured for me to follow her back down. “This realm belongs to the Titans. It was fashioned for them, in a manner of speaking.”
Unlike the Father of Monsters, whose existence I’d never come across, I’d heard of the Titans. Precursors to the Olympians ruled by Zeus, the Titans were allegedly born from the coupling of deities who represented the primordial elements. Vast manifestations of earth and sky. From what I could recall, the distinction between the two groups lay in temperament and chronology only. The Titans were what you might call first generation gods, which meant they were older, rawer, and perhaps a tad more powerful than those who eventually overthrew them. The Olympians, meanwhile, were younger, cleverer, and far more melodramatic. Not so different, if you thought about it, from Baby Boomers and Millennials.
“Titans like Typhon,” I suggested.
“Yes and no,” Helen replied as we dropped from one boulder to the next, working our way back down to the beach. “Typhon is technically a Titan, yes. But he should not have been guarding the entrance to this place. Long ago, Zeus defeated him and cast him into the pit. Into Tartarus. From there he was able to bear his offspring, even to cause many natural disasters, but never to interact fully with the world. Indeed, the last time he walked the mortal realm, the seas boiled.”
Now it was my turn to shudder. Having come face-to-face with the Father of Monsters, I was only too aware of how devastating his presence could be were it not restrained in some fashion. I’d heard of Tartarus—a make-shift prison for Titans felled by Zeus and his cohorts during the Titan War. “So, what, did he escape?” I asked.
Helen froze. “Gods forbid. No...no, it’s far more likely he was released. He seemed a great deal more...reasonable than I’d expected.” She adjusted her cloak. “Anyway, this is the realm we must survive if we wish to reach Atlantis.”
“About that,” I said as I dropped a good ten feet to the sands, unwilling to scurry the remaining distance, “I t’ink it’s time ye and Narcissus filled us all in on what to expect.”
“What do you mean?”
“Atlantis. How do we get there? What sort of trouble will we run into along the way? What does Odysseus’ Path actually mean?” I gestured to Helen’s breast where I’d seen her pocket the map. “Show me where Atlantis is so we can plot a route to get there, assumin’ we ever make it off this island.”
“But, I thought you knew…” Helen drifted off.
“Knew what?”
“There is only one way to reach Atlantis, and you will not find it on this map. On any map. To get there, you must speak to the dead. Only the dead can tell you the way. That’s what kept it protected, even from the gods. That’s why we came here.” Helen descended to the beach alongside me and retrieved the map, brandishing it. “Odysseus’ Path is not the one he took to return home to Ithaca. It’s the one he took to reach the Underworld.”
21
The six of us were gathered in the captain’s quarters once more, the two groups hotly debating our next move. The Greeks, it seemed, felt we should salvage what we could from the other shore to build ourselves a boat and sail away from this island of man-eating giants at first opportunity; their arguments were sound. Narcissus preferred the dangers of the open sea to the threat of being eaten, while Helen was clearly eager to move on to our primary objective. The Neverlanders, on the other hand, refused to leave their s
hip behind, insisting we find another way. Obviously, the Jolly Roger meant a great deal to them, and abandoning it on a foreign shore they were unlikely to ever see again was a brutal ask.
I, meanwhile, took the opportunity to mull things over while I looked about the cabin. We’d straightened everything up after the crash, returning Hook’s quarters to how they’d looked before the storm—minus a few busted picture frames, a shattered vase, and an ink-stained rug. The walls were largely dominated by landscape paintings, the tables covered in maps pinioned at their corners by daggers from various eras. Warm light streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows which were bookended on either side by lush, red velvet curtains, illuminating the profile of a marble bust sitting atop an upright piano. The face was unfamiliar, and yet I found myself staring into the statue’s blind, enigmatic eyes, struck by the notion that Captain James Hook had spent centuries in this room.
“Miss MacKenna, what do you think?”
I looked over my shoulder to find James and the others staring at me. The young man’s hands were mottled where they gripped the captain’s desk, his face flushed from the argument. The others seemed less affected; Narcissus studied his nails, Tinkerbell lay on James’ shoulder, and Tiger Lily sat cross legged on the floor, fussing with her moccasins. Only Helen seemed to share the young man’s fervor, though it was naturally hard to tell what she was feeling without being able to read her expression.
“Call me Quinn, please, James,” I replied. I adjusted my chair so I could see everyone and steepled my fingers, weighing our options. After having studied the map, I knew precisely the path of least resistance we could take to reach the entrance to the Underworld—there were clear avenues that would keep us away from the greatest dangers Odysseus encountered. That being said, to get there we’d have to cross a fair distance, all while avoiding any unforeseen catastrophes which cropped up along the way. Except none of that accounted for our biggest problem: without readily available stores of food and water, we’d have no choice but to deviate from our planned route, which meant making landfall on some other island—many of which were perhaps at least as dangerous as this one.
Sea Breeze: Phantom Queen Book 8 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 12