Because something was very, very wrong here.
33
It was in the air—that something. A chill that left me shivering, my breath pluming. If the others noticed, however, they kept it to themselves; James and Obelius surveyed our surroundings as if nothing was amiss even as I leaned against the hull of the Crow Boat. I watched the Vegiant making gestures in slow motion, moving his hands as if taking a measurement—relating the height of the Cyclops we were tasked with stopping to himself. A flash of fingers. Three. Three times as tall as a Laestrygonian? Three times as wide? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that Polyphemus was a monster big and strong enough to break through solid walls with the sheer mass of his body. A being capable of snatching up giants like you might a child, dragging them off into the night with the savage efficiency of a serial kidnapper.
But at the moment, none of that mattered. What mattered was the air. The sensation of wrongness that permeated the soil beneath my feet. I’d felt it before. I’d sensed it on the street that had once housed the corpses of eight mutilated women, recognized it despite the London Fog roiling outside my mother’s cosmic window, even tracked it from behind the barrel of a gun. Later—after I thought it gone forever—I’d caught a whiff of it in a blood-soaked shack in Boston, felt its presence among the labyrinthian hallways of a mad doctor. But it hadn’t been as strong, then. It hadn’t reeked of mass murder, of undiluted evil, of brutal malignancy.
And yet, there was no mistaking this. I wasn’t sure how I knew, not when I’d been so blind to it before, but I knew with a certainty that literally chilled me to my core. Jack Frost, the Winter Queen’s personal assassin, her henchfae, and once a dear friend of mine...was here. On this island. Now.
“Is something wrong?” James asked, his face coming into view in bits and pieces, blurry at first, then exceedingly clear. I realized the Neverlander had a faint scar on his chin, a tiny mole below his left eye. He was so young, his skin smooth and pliant in a way mine no longer was and perhaps would never be again. Immortal I might be, but young? After everything I’d seen, everything I’d done? No. Never that.
“Ye have to get back in the boat,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Both of ye, back in the boat.” I locked gazes with him, then Obelius, willing them to believe me. “There’s someone else, somethin’ else, on this island. Somethin’ worse than Polyphemus.”
“There’s nothing worse than that monster,” Obelius replied, sounding outraged.
“I’m not arguin’ semantics,” I said, though I was already shaking my head. “Let’s just say Polyphemus isn’t the only monster here. I’m not sure why or how, but the person—the creature—I’ve been chasin’ is on this island. Which means it’s possible this could be a trap.”
“How do you know? Did you see someone?” James scanned the horizon, then the shore, and finally the distant cliffs for signs of life other than our own.
“No, not that way. I can feel him, that’s all. Can ye not sense it?”
“Sense what?”
“The cold,” I insisted, waving my hand about, my fingers brushing the frigid air that seemed to have settled over the island like a fog.
“Is she crazy?” Obelius asked, cocking an eyebrow at James.
“Not that I’ve seen,” he replied, sounding skeptical. “No, Quinn. I don’t feel cold. If anything, it’s extremely hot.”
“Enough of this. I refuse to waste this opportunity.” Obelius began striding towards the rocks. “I’m going to find Polyphemus. If you two want our help, you’ll join me. If not, then at least stay out of my way”
James shot me a pleading look and plodded after the Laestrygonian. Unable to come up with better justification than “I feel it to be true,” I snatched up my spear and joined them both, thrusting my free hand into my jacket pocket, fighting not to shiver. I began to scan my surroundings as James had only moments ago, searching for signs of life—any life. But, as we hiked, the chill diminished and the sensation faded, leaving me feeling silly for having overreacted. Maybe Obelius was right, and I was simply being paranoid? Or maybe Ryan had been here, but wasn’t anymore. Whatever the reason, by the time we left the beach for the foothills, I could at least breathe again.
“Better?”
I found James at my side, looking concerned. I nodded, flashing a reassuring smile. He seemed relieved; the young man stepped away, rejoining Obelius at the front. They made an odd pairing—the former a ten-foot-tall, naked giant with tan, rippling muscles, the latter a pale, gangly young man in a billowy shirt tucked into leather breeches. Like a day at the Renaissance Faire meets the men’s locker room at Gold’s Gym. And here I was, the odd woman out, subconsciously waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Obelius turned and shielded his eyes, watching as the Crow Boat—crewed by his fellow Laestrygonians and a waving Narcissus—worked its way along the coastline. Soon, they would disappear around the bend and, from there, find a cove on the other side of the island where they’d presumably wait for Obelius’ signal. Whatever that was.
“So, any ideas about how we stop this thing?” James asked, directing the question to the both of us.
“Polyphemus?” Obelius grunted. “He’s not the smartest, or even nearly the smartest, of his kind. He’s easily riled. The only reason we haven’t taken care of him already is because we couldn’t be sure his father wouldn’t seek retribution. Queen Adonia worries he’ll visit this realm and wipe us all out if we slay his son. I’m the one who convinced her to let you try. As strangers to this realm, Poseidon would be hard pressed to find you, let alone punish you.”
“Then why are ye here?” I asked, confused by the obvious contradiction his presence presented.
“Truthfully, I don’t share the queen’s beliefs. I think Poseidon and the other Olympians have forsaken their children. I believe Polyphemus is on his own. And, now that the queen is not here to command me otherwise, I plan to slit that one-eyed bastard’s throat, myself.” Obelis turned to look at us each in turn. “If you want to help, then distract him, somehow. Give me time to set a trap, to find an opening. If you cannot manage that, then the least you can do is stay out of the way.”
I frowned, uncomfortable with the risk Obelius was taking. Of course, the notion that our actions might come with such unforeseen consequences didn’t sit well with me, either; nearly all of Odysseus’ troubles had started when he’d pissed Poseidon off, and I wasn’t eager to repeat his mistakes. Still, could we really let Obelius attempt this on his own? What sort of welcome would we receive if he failed and we returned to Queen Adonia empty-handed and a Vegiant short?
“Let’s see what we find when we get there, first,” I insisted. “We won’t leave ye to do this alone, though, no matter what happens.”
Obelius shrugged but didn’t disagree with me, which was the best I supposed I could expect. Instead, he pointed towards another bluff in the distance. “Polyphemus lives in the cave that sits at the base of that cliff. Once, before the grass gave way to stone, he and all his kind lived here. Sheep grazed all over this island. But it’s said that Helios got distracted while driving his chariot one day, and that the heat of the sun turned the lush fields to ash. Eventually, this drove the other Cyclopes away. They took their flocks and left blind Polyphemus behind. To appease Poseidon, Helios gave Polyphemus a new eye of molten gold. A gift to replace his missing organ.”
I studied the island from our new vantage point, noting the inhospitable beaches, the frothing seas. It really was nothing like the island we’d left behind, despite being only a few short hours’ away by ship. A thought struck me, then. “How does Polyphemus get to ye?”
“What?”
“To your island,” I clarified. “Does he use a boat?”
“He can breathe underwater and walks the bottom,” Obelius replied, his voice laced with disgust. “That’s why it’s so hard to stop him. He can strike from any direction and always waits until nightfall to attack. We laid traps all over th
e island, but we believe his new eye is gifted with Helios’ prophetic sight, which means he can see through any of our ambushes. The worst are the nights when Selene refuses to sail the sky, when we are forced to send out sentries with torches…” Obelius drifted off, unpleasant memories playing themselves out behind his eyes. “We don’t know what he does to those he takes, not for sure, but he taunts us with their fates. Sometimes he’ll leave their bones scattered on our shores. It was these our people were searching for when they found your crewmates. It’s something the families of those who’ve lost someone do routinely.”
“And did ye lose someone?” I asked, gently.
Obelius jerked as if I’d slapped him.
“That’s enough talking,” he insisted. “Let’s go.”
James and I exchanged looks, but eventually followed in the giant’s exceptionally large footsteps; I had to pick up my pace considerably to keep up with him, which meant James was basically jogging behind us both. Still, we made good time; we reached that distant bluff in perhaps an hour. There was no footpath this time, which meant—if we wanted to sneak down unnoticed—we had to follow the slope, each of us keeping our eyes peeled for signs of the Cyclops we’d come to maim. But there was no sign of anyone or anything, no indication that a living, breathing creature had made this place his home. Not, that is, until we stepped onto the beach below and heard the screams.
34
The ear-piercing, tortured wails mingled with the pounding of the surf against the shore as we huddled together behind one of the boulders strewn along the beach, staring at the cave’s gaping mouth from which the sounds emerged. The bone-numbing, discomfiting chill I’d felt earlier was back, only this time I wasn’t the only one to notice it; frost-coated pebbles gleamed beneath the sun in a swath around the cave entrance as though they’d been soaked in liquid nitrogen. James and Obelius rubbed at their arms, emotions rippling across their faces. Confusion, anxiety, even fear.
“Who is that screaming?” James asked.
“It sounds like Polyphemus,” Obelius replied.
Indeed, the screams were horrifically loud—far and away more sonorous than what a human throat could produce. And yet, they were so full of pain, so tormented, that the notion they came from something as dominant as the Cyclops boggled my mind. What the hell was going on? Now that the sensations had returned, I felt I knew the answer. Or at least part of the answer. Ryan was here. Not merely on this island, but on this very beach, inside that very cave. Somehow, he was responsible for the noises coming from within, just as his predecessor had been responsible for the harrowing screams of his victims. The real question was why. What possible motive could Ryan have for attacking Polyphemus? Sadly, there was only one way to find out.
“I’m goin’ in there.”
Obelius blocked me like a mother guarding her children from running into the middle of the street, his face contorted with unease. I sidestepped his stiff arm and shuffled towards the cave entrance, bobbing from one boulder to the next, keeping my eyes peeled for signs of life. The screams stopped as abruptly as they’d begun, leaving an eerie, pregnant silence in their wake. I paused just outside the mouth of the cave, listening. Scuffling sounds from behind brought me around, panicked, only to find James and Obelius hustling towards me. I groaned inwardly, waited for them to join me at the entrance, then gestured for us all to huddle up.
“Let me go in alone,” I insisted in a hushed whisper.
“Are you sure?” James asked.
“Aye, trust me. If it’s who I t’ink it is in there, then I’ll have the best chance of stoppin’ him.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Obelius said, his eyes dancing wildly back and forth from James’ face to my own. “Whatever is in there will be dangerous. Deadly. I never thought to hear Polyphemus make such sounds.”
I sighed. In a way, I pitied the poor Vegiant. He’d come here, certain he’d at last have a chance to settle things with his people’s greatest nemesis, only to be confronted by the possibility of a bigger, badder fish. And he was right; in a straight fight, superior numbers were an asset. But our goal had changed the instant we stepped onto the shore. What we needed now was information, not conflict. To get that, we needed someone who could move well in the dark, who had at least a vague idea of what to expect, and who wouldn’t flinch when the time came to make the tough call. Granted, I’d experienced a lot of uncertainty lately: an identity crisis, trust issues, and even a crisis of faith or two.
But pulling the trigger was, and always would be, my specialty.
“Your queen sent me here to do one t’ing,” I said. “I’m here because I can sneak about with the best of ‘em. Which means ye would only get in me way.”
“I would not—”
“Ye would.”
Obelius snapped his mouth shut and glared at me.
“She’s right,” James said, tapping the Laestrygonian’s bulging forearm. “We should signal the boat and wait, just in case we need to leave in a hurry.”
“Good idea,” I acknowledged. “And keep an eye out for other ships, while you’re at it. If the...monster I’m lookin’ for really is in there torturin’ Polyphemus, then he had to get here somehow. And he’ll have to leave, eventually.”
Obelius flinched and began scanning the horizon, one beefy hand shading his face. James, however, only had eyes for me; the Neverlander studied my face as though it were some sort of riddle he could solve if only he had the right clues. At last, the young man cocked his head.
“You promised you’d take us home.”
“That I did.”
“Well then, don’t get yourself killed and break it.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Fingers crossed.
35
The yawning entrance to the cave gaped like an open mouth—its cavernous maw as tall and wide as the side of a six-story building. Skin-prickling cold leaked forth from its stone lips, visible as a sort of listless fog. That chill grew worse as I stepped from the harsh light of day into its dark recesses, almost as if I’d crossed the threshold of a walk-in freezer. The smell, however, was not that of flash-dried ingredients but of freshly carved meat mingled with a stale musk. The stench clung to the back of my throat, so thick I thought I might be sick. But I wasn’t. Instead, I crept forward, keeping to the deepest shadows, relying on my improved night vision to move silently despite the uneven ground below and the deadly spikes above. The cavern was massive, and yet difficult to navigate at first; twice in as many minutes I had to retrace my steps, to work around a knotted tendril of stone which ran directly from ceiling to floor.
Eventually, however, I began to see patterns in the stone where it had been cut away, where it had been widened or raised—stalactites scraped clean from the ceiling to leave apertures like teeth fallen from a child’s mouth. I also found refuse strewn about, discarded remnants of bygone times: bent and rusted swords buried amongst shattered shields, snapped footwear, threadbare rags, and broken spears. I gripped my own tighter, aware that I alone would be hard pressed to kill the Cyclops if it turned out my supposition was wrong. And yet, I was inexplicably certain those screams had belonged to Polyphemus. What were the odds of another creature his size being tortured on this island? Slim, I decided. Which left only the question of what had been done, what damage inflicted, to incur such piteous wails.
The answer, I suspected, would be clear the moment I found Ryan. I could sense him still, stronger now than ever. It was almost as if we were tied together at the navel; his presence tugged at the core of me, my guts practically writhing with each step that drew us closer. It wasn’t merely the cold, nor was it the repulsive sensation I’d picked up when I’d first stepped foot on the island. No, this was something more symbiotic. A recognition that left my bones aching, my flesh pebbled, my breathing shallow.
After perhaps ten minutes of walking, at last, I heard something other than the scuffle of my own steps, the occasional dribble of water, and the low moan of glacial air w
afting past. A voice, hissing and fierce with anger. A voice I recognized.
“I can’t get it out!”
I froze, picturing the speaker immediately, though I’d not had cause to think of the Faeling in ages. In my mind, I saw Mabel, Ryan’s former lover and my would-be assassin, with her perfect, sun-kissed skin, bright eyes, and blonde hair. What was she doing here?
The Faeling cried out in frustration before I could dwell on that. Up ahead, a dim blue light shone, rippling across the stone. The cold was even harsher here, somehow, the ache that much worse. It practically hurt to breathe.
“The eye was put there by a god,” another said. “I doubt it will be so easily removed.”
This voice was Ryan’s, though there was nothing in it of the warmth and playfulness I’d become accustomed to over the years we’d spent in each other’s company. Nothing human in it at all, really. I slipped forward, moving carefully, until I could see what was happening through a gap in the cave walls. I bent forward, pinning my face to the frigid rock, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
The blue light belonged to Ryan. It spilled from his cerulean skin, flickering across his face and hands like eels beneath a frozen lake. I watched those brilliant strobes for a moment, mesmerized, until Mabel stole my attention with another agonized grunt. I turned to find her straddling Polyphemus’ neck, her arms drenched in gore to the elbows, her upper body perched over the Cyclops’ enormous face. And it was enormous; as tall as the Jolly Roger was long, the rest of his body extended so far into the darkened cavern beyond that all I could make out was his chest and shoulders. Standing, his head would have brushed the ceiling, making him even larger than Obelius had suggested. But then, the Cyclops wasn’t standing.
He was dead.
A pool of blood had crystalized on the floor beneath the corpse—a frozen liquid surface disturbed only by slender footprints. Mabel’s footprints, if I had to guess, from when she’d crossed to mount the body, unmindful of the frostbite which clearly blackened the Cyclops’ chest and throat. And so Polyphemus, son of Poseidon, had died screaming, hoping to force air through windpipes that no longer supported life. It was a horrifying way to go, even for a ravenous monster who abducted peace-loving giants in the middle of the night. And Ryan had been the one to do it—I was certain of it. Unfortunately, as I looked on at what he was capable of, I was equally certain of something else: Ryan had grown stronger since we’d last met.
Sea Breeze: Phantom Queen Book 8 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 19