Sea Breeze: Phantom Queen Book 8 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  “Having seen Scylla once for myself, I doubt that. I doubt that very much.” Obelius stared into my eyes, face stricken. In the end, however, he turned to his crew. “To the oars!”

  The crew rushed to their places, taking up the heavy oars and moving as one. Soon, the Crow Boat was speeding along the waves, the warship gaining on us only incrementally. I turned to find Narcissus smiling, his arms folded across his chest. James, meanwhile, had his back turned, watching the enemy.

  “What are ye so pleased about?” I asked the Greek, annoyed by his attitude.

  “Oh, nothing. I’ve just always wanted to see Scylla in action.” He flicked his eyes to me, then back to the strait. “She was like a horror story, even back then. One of the very first monsters. They say she was a nymph, before Circe turned her into a man-eater.”

  “Shouldn’t you be scared?” James asked, looking back over one shoulder.

  “She only has six mouths, and the giants make better targets.” Narcissus shrugged. “What can I say? I like our odds.”

  36

  The weather turned as we closed in on the strait, the sun blotted out by pregnant storm clouds. A resounding crack of thunder broke above our heads, drowning out the panting breaths of the Crow Boat’s crew. They’d lost two Laestrygonians on the beach to the dead men, which meant there were no auxiliaries to spell the scullers as they fought to keep us out of the warship’s reach. I’d offered to substitute in, but Obelius insisted I’d ruin their rhythm and draw us off course—something we really couldn’t afford as we closed in on the whirlpool. The Vegiant had taken command at the prow, calling out a beat attuned to the fall of the oars while I could only sit back and watch, unable to do anything.

  James joined me, leaving Narcissus to mope alone at the boat’s aft end; I’d castigated him for his callousness, even going so far as to threaten to throw him to Scylla myself if we failed to skirt the gap. That, I learned, was the only chance we had: to survive intact, we had to sail between the monster and the whirlpool, threading the narrowest of needles. If we erred right, we’d be swept up by Charybdis, our boat destroyed, and likely drowned. If left, we had to fend off the six heads of a horrifying, seemingly immortal monster who’d spent millennia devouring hapless sailors like us. And now it seemed we also had to contend with choppy waters and a possible thunderstorm, to boot.

  The only good news was that, should we survive, we would at least be able to return to the island of the Laestrygonians without being followed; the gap was far too narrow for a warship of that size, which meant Ryan and his crew would have to sail along the coast for hours before finding passage. By then, we’d be long gone. Of course, now that I’d had some time to really think, I had to acknowledge the bitter irony that Ryan was now the one chasing me.

  The sad truth was that, until now, I’d only considered what would happen when I got Ryan alone, when we could finally talk. I hadn’t factored the mad doctor into the equation any more than I had Mabel or his crew of undead mariners. Frankly, even if we were sailing the Jolly Roger right at this very moment, my crew of misfits at my side, I doubted we’d have stood a chance against that damned warship and her equally damned crew. I felt foolish. Reckless. Here I thought I’d been following the correct path all along, only to realize I was both figuratively outgunned and literally outmanned.

  Sail to the Underworld. Find Atlantis. Secure the Treasure. Save Ryan. These had been my objectives, my benchmarks. They’d seemed so straightforward when I laid them out like that, one at a time—a grocery list complicated only by the fact that I had to go to different stores for each item. But what had I accomplished, really, since I left the Otherworld behind? Sure, I’d “saved” Neverland, but at what cost to Eve? What if that was the last time I ever saw the flying island? What if I never saw Cathal again? And now there were the Neverlanders themselves, potentially destined to fade and die before my very eyes, all because I’d insisted they join me. And for what? So I didn’t have to do this alone? Because I thought they might prove useful? How selfish was that?

  I groaned and angrily mussed my hair, disgusted with myself, wishing I’d never agreed to my mother’s last request. Maybe then I’d be in Boston right now, enjoying a stiff drink at Christoff’s bar, spinning tales of my time among the Curaitl, of my life as Ceara. It’d been cold when I retrieved Eve, probably only a few weeks out from Christmas, if memory served. Boston would be lit up, lights strung between the branches of skeletal trees, its inhabitants tucked away inside their warm houses. Cheer and merriment would be in large supply, highlighted by Sunday football and games at The Garden. There were other faces I longed to see, I realized. Christoff’s children, Scathach, Robin, Othello, even Max—a man who’d kissed me what felt like a lifetime ago. All the people I’d abandoned to chase after someone who might very well be beyond redemption. A hard nudge brought me out of my own thoughts, and I found James leaning forward to study my face. The look was enough; he was worried about me. About me, of all people.

  “I’m really sorry I got ye into any of this,” I said. “It’s all me fault.”

  James snorted a laugh, surprising me.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Just something my father, Peter, used to say, that’s all.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “Well, I was always apologizing when I was growing up,” James continued, shrugging. “I was never very good at the games he wanted to play. My eyes were weak, when I was young. They got better, but for a long time I couldn’t see the things he threw or find the things he’d hidden. He got frustrated a lot. Said I wasn’t trying.”

  I nodded, thinking that jived pretty well with the young Peter Pan I’d encountered in Neverland’s reveries. Spoiled and easily upset. Not a great combination in any person, but especially not in a father figure.

  “Until the day,” James continued, “I stopped apologizing altogether. I realized I wasn’t sorry, I was just mad. But Peter understood anger in a way he never could understand regret. We started playing different games. More violent, certainly, but these I could win. Anyway, after that, he used to say ‘I’m so glad you lost your sorry.’ Peter thought my misery was like his shadow, I think. Something you could simply misplace.”

  “But it is like a shadow,” I said, morosely. I shook my head, my hair cascading over my knees in red waves as another thunderous boom shook the heavens. Rain began falling almost as if on cue, falling in a light mist that darkened everything it touched except my pale skin.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Misery is always there, isn’t it? Followin’ us, just waitin’ to get noticed on an otherwise bright, sunny day. Least that’s how it seems, lately.”

  “I thought so, too, once. And maybe you’re right. But for Peter, I think it really was a choice. Happy, sad, angry...he taught me the value of letting each emotion fill you up one at a time. It made him seem childish, but it also let him live a more carefree life. See, right now, I’m scared. But I’m also eager to get back to my friends. I’m worried about what’s happening to them without me there. And, deep down, I’m even more worried they’ll realize that they don’t owe me anything, and that they’re better off without me.”

  “James! They aren’t—”

  “Those emotions are all inside me, churning,” James interjected before I could finish. “Maybe more, even. But Peter? He’d take one look at that strait and swear by everything he was that we’d make it through. Then he’d be content, because he’d made his decision.”

  “He’d probably turn it into a game,” I admitted, laughing a little despite myself.

  James chuckled. “You’re probably right.”

  “So, what you're sayin’ is I should embrace the challenge? That I should keep pushin’ forward, regardless of the cost?”

  “I’m not saying anything. I was just trying to pass the time.” James thrust his chin forward, urging me to look out towards our destination. Indeed, the strait was much closer now, the cliffs visible in far greater detail.
Of course, when I turned the other way, I saw Ryan’s warship closing the gap in minute increments, its vast array of sails trailing us like kites.

  “Oy, James.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I swear we’ll make it to the other side,” I said as I rose, holding out my hand. “You’ll see Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell, again, I’ll make sure of it. No matter what it takes.”

  He took it, stood, and squeezed.

  “I’m glad you lost your sorry, Quinn.”

  I had to laugh.

  Because honestly, so was I.

  37

  The rain began to fall in sheets so thick I could have raised my face to the heavens, opened my mouth, and drowned. And yet, we continued on, our course decided long before the storm hit in full; Obelius insisted he knew which direction we were going despite the impaired visibility. Frankly, without hard proof to the contrary, I had to take his word for it; the Vegiant might have been a lot of things, but I didn’t think suicidal was one of them.

  “Slow oars!” he cried.

  And just like that, we moved at a crawl, jostled by the rise and fall of waves beneath the hull. A sucking sound—I wasn’t sure how else to describe it—rose above the white noise of rain pouring down on us. Obelius motioned with one arm, and the Laestrygonians on the right stopped rowing altogether for a moment. We veered left to the beat of Obelius’ fist on his chest, my own heart racing considerably faster as I considered what that sucking sound might be. I craned my neck to see, but the rainfall was too thick. If only I could see beyond the confines of our boat, I felt certain I’d be less afraid; given the material my imagination had to work with these days, not knowing what was out there was far more nerve wracking than being confronted by the reality.

  Suddenly, as if honoring my wish, the rain died down. No, that wasn’t it, I realized; I held out a hand and watched as a flurry of snowflakes descended, landing to puddle in the nooks and crannies of my palm. A glacial wind gusted at our backs a moment later, sending up cries of alarm from the Leastrogynians. I tried to shield myself from it, but my poor, ruined leather jacket was soaking wet and provided little comfort. Instead, I turned and watched as a colossal shadow moved through the gloom—Ryan’s warship, hot on our heels. Was all this his doing?

  “They’re crazy,” Narcissus said, eyes wide with shock, pointing to our starboard side “They’ll never survive Charybdis.”

  I spun to look where Narcissus indicated and finally beheld what I’d been so desperate to see only moments before: Charybdis. A whirlpool as wide as a football field, its interior lined with serrated rocks that jutted out like ragged teeth. The sucking noise came from the whirlpool itself, caused by the swirling water as it spiraled to the bottom. We were perhaps a dozen yards away, saved from being sucked in only by Obelius’ skilled navigation. On our left, visible as well now that the rain had given way to snow, loomed another set of cliffs—and these too close for comfort. To avoid Scylla, we’d have to sail around the whirlpool’s edge, then race through the strait and pray she couldn’t reach us.

  Ryan’s warship, on the other hand, was far too wide to pass between the cliffs without catching the frothing edges of the whirlpool—Scylla or no Scylla. Narcissus was right; chasing us through the strait was insane. Suicidal, even. Unless, of course, Ryan had a plan.

  “We have to hurry,” I muttered, mostly to myself. I faced Obelius and made a pick-up-the-pace motion. A flash of irritation flitted across his face, but he did just that—beating faster and harder against his chest, one arm thrown wide whenever we needed to readjust. Still, the warship gained on us with every passing second, until at last Ryan and his crew reached the whirlpool. The snowstorm died at that exact instant, revealing the warship in all her glory, even as she began to tip. The whirlpool had her, I thought. They were doomed.

  Except she didn’t get sucked in. Indeed, after watching for several seconds, it seemed the warship remained steadily on course despite the angle of her masts, sailing along the whirlpool’s edges as opposed to skirting them. My companions on either side noticed it, too.

  “How is that possible?” James asked. “Is their’s a flying ship, as well?”

  “No.” I pointed to the far side of the warship, to the swirling water that should have been pulling the vessel in—only it wasn’t water. Not in the strictest sense, at least. It was ice, forming along the hull like a bumper to keep the warship from turning with the tide. “It’s Ryan. He’s makin’ sure they don’t get pulled in.”

  “They’ll clear the whirlpool,” Narcissus said in a hushed, disbelieving whisper.

  I was moments away from agreeing when I heard a shout from one of the Leastrogynians. I whirled around in time to see what had drawn his attention mere seconds before it hit us. An iceberg. Nothing massive, only perhaps the height of a man, and yet still it snapped three oars in two and sent the rest of us sprawling to the deck with the force of the impact. I groaned as I rose to all fours, only to find several more blocking our path—the misshapen blocks of ice bobbing like buoys between us and the other side of the strait. Shit. We couldn’t afford to hit any more of those, or we’d risk sinking the boat.

  Obelius seemed to come to the same conclusion; he roared a command even as he snatched up one of the shattered oars. His fellow Vegiants began rowing once more while Obelius used his makeshift pole to thrust the icebergs away whenever they threatened to close in. Once I realized what he was doing, I rushed to help; I took up another oar and monitored the starboard side while one of the crew took port. I didn’t have his reach, but I was able to fend off a couple before they collided with the side of our boat. Unfortunately, there was no time to navigate. The best we could do was clear the strait, make for the island of the Laestrygonians, and pray.

  Unfortunately, in our haste to survive the floating ice sheets, we drifted; it wasn’t until the shadow of the cliff face fell over us that we realized our shortsighted mistake. It seemed that, while we’d survived the whirlpool and had thus far evaded Ryan, we’d also put ourselves in the clutches of the monster we’d all desperately hoped to avoid.

  A stench hit me as I fended off the final iceberg. Reptilian musk mingled with the acrid bitterness of spoiled fish and the rankling scent of wet dog. Another gale of frigid wind pressed against our backs, chasing the odor away. I noticed hoarfrost climbing up the leather of my jacket. I quickly tossed down my oar and threw the jacket off, worried it would slow me down. I was midway through picking the oar back up when the smell returned. I saw something move beyond the crags. And it seemed I wasn’t the only one.

  “There!” A Laestrygonian cried.

  To be honest, had I not first witnessed the horror that was Typhon and the Faeling monstrosity created by Dr. Frankenstein, I might well have said Scylla was the most hideous creature I’d ever seen. As it was, she definitely earned a place on the podium. Standing as tall as a tree on twelve writhing tentacles, Scylla was a study in contrasts: six sinuous necks emerged from her throat, spilling over like lilies from a vase, while the heads of six blind hounds snapped and snarled where the flesh of her waist met the limbs below. Her heads were somehow worse; four-eyed, lipless, and scaled like a fish, they were more teeth than anything, giving each the appearance of having a broad, maniacal smile. That is, until she unhinged those jaws to reveal forked, slithering tongues.

  Unfortunately, Scylla seemed to take notice of us just as the Laestrygonian spotted her; her six heads popped up at once, scenting the air even as the hounds began barking. The sea monster lumbered forward, the suckers on her tentacles so loud as they plopped that I might have mistaken the sound for gunshots.

  “I take it back,” I heard Narcissus mutter to himself, sounding utterly disgusted. “I could have lived forever without seeing that.”

  “Keep rowing!” Obelius roared. “Fast and steady!”

  Scylla—perhaps sensing our intent—picked up her pace, rushing to the farthest edge of the stone outcropping she called home, spittle flying from her belt of ravenous
hounds even as she gnashed her teeth. Each of her mouths were large enough to scarf a man whole, which meant even a Laestrygonian could be dragged off between her teeth. I tightened my grip on the oar, but knew deep down that there was nothing I could do, not against this creature. My improved reflexes, my increased strength, none of it would be enough. Hell, even with an arsenal of automatic rifles at my disposal, I’d have been hard pressed to do more than wound her. The only way to survive Scylla was to outrun her, and we simply weren’t fast enough.

  I dropped the oar and pressed my hand to the deck, ducking my head in defeat, my eyes pinched shut. Let it be me, I thought. I’d gotten us into the mess. Let the others survive, somehow. Take me if you must, I prayed, but let them escape.

  An alien sensation hit me like a punch in the gut. It felt like...approval. And then, almost immediately afterwards, came a flood of warmth that practically boiled my blood, instantly fending off the chill Ryan had set upon us. I opened my eyes and found green flames licking the skin of my hand as well as the deck of our boat. I looked around, but Obelius and the others only had eyes for Scylla and were already preparing to defend themselves as best they could, seizing the few weapons we had onboard. Only James noticed me kneeling. The Neverlander’s eyes were wide as dinner plates as he tracked the writhing flames to their source.

  With a sudden jerk, the Crow Boat picked up speed, churning through the water as if propelled by an engine. More green flames flared up along the hull as another rush of power moved through me to the deck and beyond. Scylla, sensing her prey moving suddenly out of her reach, lunged for us, latching onto the boat with one tentacle, her heads rearing back like snakes about to strike. But the flames quickly swarmed to sear the flesh of her limb, and she fell away, screaming, her hounds whining like they’d been kicked. The boat rocked violently as she crashed into the sea, then took off once more.