A Curse of Gold

by Annie Sullivan

  My heart breaks for him, and I fight to keep my voice steady as I change the subject. “Perseus used his shield.”

  Phipps relaxes slightly, sinking back into the sand as he shoves another handful of food into his mouth.

  “My men aren’t used to fighting with shields,” Royce says, “and neither am I. They aren’t practical to carry around and maneuver aboard a ship.” Royce purses his lips. “But they might be our best option if we can find some.” His eyes slowly drift to Triton.

  “Why are you looking at me?” Triton asks.

  “I thought you could use your powers to gather some shields from some nearby shipwrecks,” Royce clarifies.

  “Oh, now you want my powers again,” he says.

  But after a look from me, he clears his throat and sighs. “Fine. Sharks patrol the shipwrecks to keep other fish away. I’ll ask some of them if they can find any shields inside.”

  We all sit quietly staring at Triton, waiting for him to act. But he just keeps tossing the ball of water back and forth, letting it squish against his hands, nearly coming apart as it stretches around his fingers before it reforms and slings back the other way.

  “What?” he finally says when he notices us still staring.

  “Are—are you going to talk to the sharks or something?” I prod.

  “I already did.” He points to his head. “One of them is having trouble fitting inside the tiny human-sized hole in the ship’s deck, and he’s waiting on his cousin to show up to help. The others are rummaging around as we speak.”

  “Oh,” I reply. “I didn’t realize . . .” I trail off.

  He waves his hand dismissively. “You can go back to discussing how you are going to somehow not die on that island. It’s going to be quite the spectacle. I might even watch.”

  “You’re not coming?” I say.

  The water splashes into the sand as Triton’s eyes shoot up in surprise. “You thought I was joining you on that island?”

  “I thought—” I simply assumed he was coming. “You’re the only one who’s faced them before, who knows what that island terrain is like. We could use your help.”

  But my attempt to flatter him and his ego goes nowhere.

  Triton holds up his hands defensively. “I hate that island. I’ll wait for you down here where it’s safe.”

  “I guess you’re not the all-powerful lord of the sea or whatever it was you said you were,” Hettie challenges without bothering to turn around and face us from where she’s sitting with Rhat.

  “Listen,” Triton says, “you don’t know what it’s like up there. It’s smelly and desolate, and this fog emanates from these pools of—of—” He throws up his hands. “I don’t even know what to call them. Mud is too clean for whatever is in there. Even the freshest ocean water takes hours to wash that smell off. The whole island is a death trap.”

  “If we die, you can’t deliver us to Jipper and earn your freedom,” I remind him.

  “I don’t know. My father might let me off on account of human foolishness.”

  “Or he’ll think you led us to our death,” Hettie throws back, finally turning to glare at him.

  I can’t decide if her comments are helping or hurting, and before I can make up my mind, shadows fall over her face. Then dark shapes burst through the air bubble and rain down around us, exploding into the sand.

  Hettie screeches and ducks, curling into a ball in the sand. Men tumble over each other to get out of the way. Rhat dives just in time to avoid being crushed by one of the objects. He rolls away into the sand, landing in a crouch, eyes wide and chest heaving as he scans the area.

  Dark objects continue to clink down all around us.

  Royce throws himself atop me, covering me with his shoulders and forcing us both to land several feet away in the sand. I clutch against him, my hands circling around his back to hold him to me.

  Over his shoulder, a dark shape hazes into view in the water above us. Then, droplets rain down as another object breaks through the bubble.

  It’s headed straight for Triton.

  He’s the only one who hasn’t moved, sitting there as calm as a statue.

  I’m about to scream for him to get out of the way when his hand shoots out and grabs the object, stopping it midfall.

  A shield.

  He inspects the circular edge, turning it over in his palm to reveal a crest with two waves crashing together over one center tower.

  “Yes, these will do,” he calls upward, and the rain of objects stops.

  Hettie crouches on all fours, her hair dangling down over her face. “You did this?”

  Triton tosses the shield onto the sand, where it clinks against another one. “You said you wanted shields.”

  “You could’ve warned us!” Hettie cries, scrambling to her feet. Rhat holds her back before she can even get close to our supposed benefactor.

  Triton shrugs. “I told the sharks to drop them off. They aren’t like octopuses, who can carry these things like those serving people you have. I didn’t think they’d literally drop them through the opening, but sharks aren’t the brightest.”

  “You could have killed us,” Hettie steams, her cheeks taking on a red complexion. Rhat has his arms clamped tightly across her shoulders to hold her back as she tries to claw her way toward Triton.

  Triton spreads his hands wide. “But I didn’t. And now you have shields. So you’re welcome.”

  Rhat leans down and whispers something into Hettie’s ear. Her glare doesn’t soften, but she stops struggling against him. She stomps off toward the edge of the air bubble, kicking several shields for good measure along the way.

  Royce pulls me to my feet and starts inspecting the shields. Some are round, others square. Some have crests with birds and spiders. Several have creatures I don’t even have names for, with twisted heads and clawed wings. And many are too rusted to even make out what creatures are carved into the front.

  I flip over the shield closest to me.

  Where a shiny, unblemished underside should send back a distorted reflection of my face, a layer of rust clogs the effect.

  I pick up another and another. They’re all rusted on the back, thick patches of dark red crust clinging to the metal.

  “Are any of them usable?” I ask.

  Royce keeps searching. The crew jumps in. Phipps flips over shield after shield while Lenny moves along next to him, kicking the rejected ones toward the edge of the bubble. Hettie glares when he kicks one too close to where she’s positioned herself to watch the scene. Lenny shrugs apologetically and keeps going.

  By the time we’ve searched the hundred or so shields, only eight have a clean enough surface to send back a decent reflection.

  Hettie finally pulls herself away from the edge and shoves through the crowd of sailors around us. She snatches up one of the good shields, scraping at a small patch of rust with her fingernail. “I’m taking this one.”

  Royce’s eyes rove over the crew and then back down to the pile of useable shields. “We can’t take the men onto the island without shields, so we’ll have to leave most of the crew on the edge of the beach. We could leave four shields with them, and then you, Kora, Rhat, and I will take the other four onto the island.”

  I nod. Even though I’m pretty sure Prince Ikkin said a leader should stay away from the battle, protected—that they should be seen on the field as a sign of encouragement but not participate. But I can’t do that. I’m the only one who can turn someone to gold if they get bitten.

  “You can leave three shields with your men,” Triton says, coming up and taking the shield with crest of waves crashing against a tower from the pile.

  “You’re coming?” I try to keep the hope from my voice.

  He throws up his hands. “If you humans can barely survive some falling shields, if I want my freedom, I’ll have to make sure you live long enough for me to get it.” Several strands of seaweed shoot out from the ocean and tie themselves to either end of the handholds on
the underside of the shield. Triton then hoists the shield onto his back, shiny side out, and uses the seaweed as makeshift straps to keep it there. “See—now you can see what’s sneaking up behind us as I lead you across the island.” He tilts back and forth for effect. “You’re just lucky I can’t be turned to stone. Otherwise I wouldn’t be going anywhere near that place. But,” he says as he climbs to his feet, “if you’re foolish enough to want to, then we might as well get this over with.”

  With those words, the remains of our lunch bury themselves back into the sand.

  Then Triton trudges off into the depths of the ocean, leading us straight toward an island full of gorgons.

  CHAPTER 19

  The island looms large overhead. I can just make out the outline of the rocky shore above us. Though we’ve been steadily climbing upward in the sand for the past hour or two, and I’m too out of breath to celebrate.

  Even Hettie rests her hands on her knees and takes a few deep breaths as we gather at the base of the island.

  I squint up through the sunlight filtering down around us. I haven’t been this close to the surface—or the sun—in what feels like a lifetime.

  “So here’s the plan,” Triton says, gathering us all around him. “If we can get a gorgon head or two, we’ll just have to make it back with enough blood in them to drop into the sea.” His face has lost his usual smirk. “The thing about gorgons is that they don’t have a lot of blood in them to begin with, and you’ll have to slice off the head because their necks are their thinnest, weakest point. If you manage to slice off a head, you’ll have to turn it upside down quickly to prevent blood loss. Oh, and avoid looking it in the eye and avoid getting bitten by the snakes on its head.”

  My stomach rolls, but I try not to think about what we’re about to attempt.

  “We could stab our swords into the heads after we cut them off,” Hettie says without the scorn I’ve come to expect. “Then we could carry them far enough away from our bodies so we wouldn’t get bitten.”

  “That should work for carrying the head as long as the additional wounds aren’t too deep,” Triton says. “But as soon as you kill a gorgon, the snakes start separating from the scalp, leaving more holes for blood to escape. We’ll have to move very quickly.”

  “Couldn’t you use your powers to bring water with us?” Rhat asks. “Then we wouldn’t have to carry the heads back.”

  Triton studies the surface above us. “It’s worth a try, but it might not work. The water doesn’t—it doesn’t always react the same way when it’s not part of the ocean itself. It doesn’t have its full connection.”

  “It’s still worth a try,” Royce says.

  “Then let’s go,” Hettie says.

  “Wait,” Phipps calls before dropping his voice to a whisper, as though the gorgons are right above us. “How are we supposed to avoid getting bitten?”

  Triton closes his eyes as if pained and takes a deep, heavy breath. “Do whatever it is you do on a daily basis to not get bitten by your land creatures.”

  Phipps opens and then shuts his mouth. “Oh—okay.”

  With a twist of Triton’s finger, another watery staircase appears. “Here we go.”

  Halfway up the stairs, a brown haze starts to clog the tunnel. It drifts down toward us, swirling around us like a ghost. It slides across my cheeks, down the bare skin on my hands, and then laces its way through my nostrils. The scent of rotten flesh mixed with the sharp scent of burnt hair floods through me. My nose feels like it’s decaying just smelling it. Somewhere behind me, I hear someone vomit.

  I shiver but force myself to keep climbing. I thought the sun would become brighter the closer we get to the surface, but it doesn’t. The fog drowns out everything.

  On the surface, dark rocks point up like fangs along the shoreline and far into the water. The water that pounds the coast has a layer of brown foam atop it—the same color as the cloudy fog around us. But the brown fog doesn’t simply float on the water, it clings like oil to my skin.

  “Welcome to Gorgon Island,” Triton says.

  Farther inland, loose rocks lead up to steep cliffs full of boulders. Boulders where anything could be hiding. I tighten my grip on my shield’s handles. The rest of the island is swallowed by the fog.

  Royce surveys the haze. “This looks as good a place as any to station the crew while we go inland.”

  “What should we do if we see a creature?” Phipps asks from where he’s standing without a shield behind the rest of the men on a strip of brown sand beach.

  “Don’t look at anything but the water,” Triton says. “If you have a shield, use it to see what’s around. And if you hear one coming, swim a ways out. Gorgons can’t swim.”

  “What do they sound like?” Phipps swallows.

  “Hissing,” Triton says. “Lots of hissing.”

  Phipps nods slowly, his hand on his sword hilt. He takes a few steps toward the water gurgling onto shore, motioning for Lenny to do the same. The men look frightened. Half stare at the ground, and half stare out to sea. No one wants to look into the brown fog we’re about to enter.

  We turn toward the dark mist. It creeps toward us, swirling around our feet and threatening to claim us. Bigger bits of brown dust and dirt float amidst the haze like stars unable to shine in such a toxic space.

  I can’t make out much in the murkiness besides some rock formations. I drop my eyes to the pebbles at my feet and run my hand along the back of my neck. My hair sticks to my skin and sweat runs down my spine. The island is hot, almost as if the fog itself gives off heat.

  Next to me, Hettie’s normally unruly hair has already started to deflate and stick to her forehead and cheeks.

  “What are we waiting for?” She adjusts her grip on her shield and pulls out her sword.

  “We should let Triton lead the way,” I say.

  She doesn’t acknowledge my words.

  At my side, Triton twirls his finger, summoning a pool of water to surround our feet.

  “You can use the pool as another reflective surface,” he says. “And if we’re lucky, we can use it to make some pegasi.”

  Hettie trudges forward into the water without waiting. By some sort of magic, no ripples appear in the water.

  We move slowly, all of us straining to hear hissing. I can’t tell if the fog absorbs sound or if everything has gone quiet, like crickets do when something approaches.

  Rhat and Royce both travel with their shields held high so they scan the reflected area around them.

  I swallow and concentrate even harder on the water at my feet, finding it easier to look into than hoisting my heavy shield.

  Although my eyes hurt from watching the world pass by upside down. Every shriveled shrub that comes into view sends my heart racing. I clutch my shield close to my chest and hold my sword out at the ready.

  “Whoa,” Royce cries, his hand shooting out to steady Triton, who’s on the verge of teetering forward because one foot is submerged in a thick brown substance.

  “I hate this island,” Triton cries. He jerks backward over and over again without being able to free his foot.

  “Here,” Royce says, stepping forward to brace against Triton’s side.

  Together, they heave backward, and after a few tries, there’s a wet sucking noise as Triton’s foot slips free.

  Both men stumble back, and Rhat puts up a hand to stop them.

  “Thanks,” Triton says to both with an acknowledging nod.

  “What is that?” Rhat asks.

  Before us, a bubbling, muddy pit is barely discernable from the rest of the landscape. Brown gas leaks out of it and clogs the air.

  “Gorgons hunt around those pools,” Triton says, “looking for things that get caught in them.”

  “What is there on this island for them to eat?” Rhat asks.

  “There are a couple small animals, but mostly they eat each other,” Triton says. “And anything stupid enough to come here, because as you can see, it’s really ha
rd to get out of these pools once you get stuck in one.” He tries to shake the grime from his foot, but it doesn’t come off.

  I swallow, my throat dry. My tongue sticks to the top of my mouth. When I take in a deep breath, the scent of rotting, sweaty flesh is overwhelming. Every bubble that wriggles to the surface of the pool lets out another gust as we walk past.

  Vomit crawls up my throat, and I gag it back down.

  Then I hear the first hiss.

  My body goes cold. The sweat sliding down my side sends chills racing across my skin.

  In all this fog, it’s impossible to tell where the sound is coming from.

  Hiss. Hiss. Hiss.

  Everyone stops moving.

  Hiss. Hiss. Hiss.

  The sound is all around.

  “Get close,” Royce whispers.

  Everyone retreats to the center of the puddle. We stand in a circle with our backs to each other, each of us staring down or at our shields, waiting for a gorgon’s reflection to appear.

  Royce breathes heavily beside me.

  The hissing gets louder, closer.

  My heart hammers in my chest. I tighten my grip on my sword and raise my shield even higher, ready to cover my eyes.

  “There!” Rhat cries.

  I spin around to see the reflection of a gorgon lunging toward Rhat and Hettie.

  The creature is easily taller than Rhat, with gray skin that looks like it could be made out of rock. The top part of the creature looks disturbingly human, minus the fingers that have been replaced with long claws. The bottom half is like a snake. Black rings circle around the thick tail at even intervals.

  But the most frightening thing of all is the head.

  Dozens of green snakes twist in all directions—some with small tongues diving in and out and others hissing and snapping their jaws, displaying sharp fangs. They curl around the gorgon’s face and lash toward Hettie while she goes for the gorgon’s midsection.

  The creature lets out a terrifying screech that seems to echo off the fog around us, reverberating in our ears. I cry out and cover my ears. But the noise is already inside, bouncing around my skull, making me want to crumple into a ball and shake my head until the sound is gone.