Some part of me recognized the speaker as Zanthos, but I didn’t care. If I had been capable of forming any sort of thought I could easily have stabbed him just to get him out of my way, but at that moment my mind could hold no intent but the driving need to reach the source of that sweet sound filling my head.
As I flailed to get free, a lucky scratch caught him below the eye and he cursed, letting go of me to clap a hand to his face. I scrambled back over the rail and was about to jump when his arm caught me again. “Determined little thing, aren’t you?” came his voice. “Well, I can’t say that I blame you, having heard it myself. But it’s no use struggling. I’m not letting you go, no, not till we’re well past those creatures.”
I continued fighting, but the earlier throbbing desperation was ebbing, flowing back out like a receding wave. The music was fading, the insistent song growing quieter behind us as we pulled away from the island.
I looked down to find myself kneeling on the rail. What was I doing up here? Behind me, Zanthos was holding the steering oar with one hand, his other wrapped tightly around me. Blood trickled down his cheek from a deep scratch.
“Zanthos?” I began uncertainly, memory coming back.
He shook his head, taking his earplugs out at a signal from Phidios. “Don’t worry about it, boy,” he said. “If you hadn’t given me your wax we’d all be feeding the eels now.”
I glanced toward the stern. The island was still visible, but the music was almost inaudible, now nothing more than a pleasant hum, an echo of the bliss that had filled me. I shook my head, trying to clear the sweet longing from it, when I realized where I had felt this once before. It was as we left the island of the lotos-eaters, watching it recede behind us, that I had felt the same desperate sense of loss, knowing that a part of me would forever long to return.
That evening we pulled up onto a pebbled black beach, a round-shouldered mountain just visible inland in the dusk. I sat alone for supper that night, hoping to avoid Lopex, but he found me anyway, sitting in a dry creek bed up the beach and gnawing on a slice of dried pork.
“Boy.”
I twisted around to see him standing behind me at the edge of the wash, hands on his hips. “Yes, sir?”
“I gave you an order today. You didn’t obey.”
“Well, no, I—”
“Do you know what would have happened if you had?”
I nodded. “I heard the music too.”
His eyebrows raised for an instant and I added, “Zanthos— he stopped me.”
“Ury would have become the new commander.” Lopex’s voice was dry.
Gods! I hadn’t thought of that. Ury in command? I wouldn’t have lasted a day. Or worse, he might have kept me alive. I stared at Lopex, speechless.
Lopex looked me directly in the eye. “It’s a good thing for us both that you disobeyed, then.”
CHAPTER TEN
Between Monster and Maelstrom
SOMETHING WAS WORRYING LOPEX. He had been pacing back and forth on the foredeck near me all morning, pausing occasionally to peer at the horizon, hardly visible under a grey sky. A cold wind was whipping spray over the bow from the tops of the waves, leaving the foredeck slick and our clothes damp. Twice Lopex turned as if to address the men as they rowed, but each time he stopped. It was during a water break that he finally spoke.
“Men! Soldiers of Achaea!” he called out as the men lounged on their benches. From where I squatted against the bow rail it looked like he was avoiding their eyes.
He paused. “This has been a long voyage. We have had more misfortune than anyone should have to bear.” One of his big hands was twisting an edge of his tunic. He frowned at it for a moment before going on.
“Misfortune,” he repeated, staring at his hand. “I wish I could say that it was over, that our misfortune was done. And with the help of Pallas Athene, we may be near the end. The end,” he repeated. Gods, he was almost rambling. He noticed the men’s odd looks and seemed to collect himself.
“I want you all to know that, whatever happens . . . I have been proud to command you. Whatever dangers we may find, you will face them with courage and fortitude. I will expect nothing less.” As he turned away, he added, in a low tone that only I heard, “Athene protect us.” His face was as grey as the sky.
He stood at the bow the rest of the morning, gazing at the sea ahead. Behind him the men muttered as they rowed. The sun was hidden, but it must have been around noon when I saw him stiffen. Peeking out between the bow rails, I saw what seemed to be a solid line of cliffs on the horizon. “Set course for that gap,” he called to Procoros. “No, there. To port, between those cliffs. There should be a passage there.”
As the rowers drew us nearer I began to hear a noise, a powerful gurgling, like water draining through a monstrous sluice-gate. Dead ahead of us, a gap in the cliffs hinted at a way through. I couldn’t be sure, because a thick, sea-born mist filled it from one side to the other. Lopex grabbed Procoros by the shoulder.
“As the gods are your guides, keep our course to port, along the eastern cliff. We’ll be safe there. Safer.” He glanced up at the cliffs to port and turned around to face the rowing benches. “Men of Achaea! No matter what happens, no matter what you see, do not abandon your oars. It is imperative that we keep our speed up through the passage. Above all, do not let your oars foul or we will lose headway. Phidios, set the pace to double time.” He lowered his voice again and bent his head to speak quietly to the navigator. “Procoros, arm yourself and take up station at the stern.”
Watching him, I felt the hair prickling on my arms. Not once, facing the Cyclops, the ship breakers or even Hades himself, had Lopex ever looked uncertain. But now, as I watched him climb out of the forward hold carrying his bow, two spears and his helmet, his expression was uneasy, even anxious. He stalked past me at the bow rail and continued up to the prow to peer forward.
As we sliced into the fog, the sound of the rushing water beneath our keel ceased as though a bronze door had closed. Even the oar splashes were muffled, sucked away into the swirling mist that I watched grow thicker until I could barely see past my outstretched hand. Ury and a silent man named Demetrios were just shapes on the forward rowing bench, their backs toward me, the rest of the ship invisible in the fog. By the bow, I could just make out Lopex’s broad shoulders and the crossed-axe emblem on his helmet as he peered out at the sea ahead.
At our doubled rowing pace, the ship was lunging forward at every sweep of the oars, and I clung to the forward rail for balance. Racing through the fog at this shipwreck speed, a cliff lurking unseen somewhere off to port, seemed like six kinds of madness, and I wondered again what could be so dangerous that this was the safer choice.
“Look there! Who saw that?” A shout made me turn. Through the fog I could just make out a figure on the forward rowing bench. It was Ury, his finger stabbing at the fog to port.
“Out there!” he was shouting angrily. “Curse the gods, it’s out there!” Peering into the fog, I expected to catch sight of the cliff, but could see only mist. As I stared, there was a sudden sharp crack of wood on wood and a curse from the rowing bench just beyond Ury’s. At this high speed the oarsmen needed perfect timing, and two of their oars must have fouled. An extended wooden clatter and a series of oaths ripped from the fog as the remaining port-side oars, their rhythm interrupted, crashed into one another in a wave. The ship’s headway slowed immediately and it slewed sharply to the left.
“All rowers! Break stroke!” Lopex shouted. The starboard rowers halted and the Pelagios drifted to a standstill in the mist. Striding down the benches toward the stern, Lopex shouted again. “Phidios! Restart us now!”
Ury was peering suspiciously out to sea as Phidios shouted from the rear deck to turn the ship and restart the rowing sequence, Lopex relaying his commands forward from the centre bench. The ship slowly began to move again, and Lopex came past me and disappeared into the grey haze as he returned to the bow, spears in hand.
; There was no warning. Directly above Demetrios, a huge, green-scaled head lunged down out of the mist, its jaws gaping to engulf his head and shoulders before snatching him up into the air. Demetrios disappeared upward into the fog, legs still kicking. The most terrifying thing about it had been the complete silence—he hadn’t had time to utter a sound.
I leapt to pull his oar out of the way, opening my mouth to shout a warning, but caught myself. If the rowers were distracted, the oars would foul again, and it was suddenly clear what Lopex meant—we had to escape this channel as quickly as possible. I unlaced the oar quickly and heaved it up onto the foredeck, hoping the worst was over.
It wasn’t. As I leapt back onto the foredeck there was another commotion amidships and a muffled shriek, instantly cut off. Then another, further back, and still another. “Keep rowing! Get those oars clear!” Lopex had returned from the forward rail and his bark cut through the fog like an axe. Already rowing their utmost, the men found new strength in their terror. There was a crack from the fog as an oar snapped under the strain. “Ship the stub!” shouted Lopex. “Maintain your stroke! Pull! Pull!” Backing away in terror, I felt a cold sensation and turned forward.
Nearly beside me on the foredeck, another huge head had appeared silently out of the mist over the starboard bow rail directly between Lopex and me. Hanging above the deck, it slipped past me, turning from side to side, its mouth gaping open, its narrow tongue flickering as it tasted the mist. Lopex, his back to the bow as he pointed his spear into the fog over the rowers, hadn’t spotted it.
I opened my mouth to shout a warning but terror had gripped my throat and all that came out was a strangled croak. The head whipped around at the sound and came at me, jaws horribly wide, huge fangs above and below curved inward to pierce and hold. I scrambled backward across the deck and found myself holding the oar before me like a spar. Without thinking, I swung one end around to smash the side of the creature’s head. It snapped at it reflexively but released it as it tasted the wood and turned back toward me.
Backing up, I was stopped by the port bow rail as that huge mouth continued to approach. Deep in the thing’s oily red maw, ropy muscles lining the throat stretched and rippled, preparing to swallow. Impelled by terror, I levelled the oar at the creature like a spear and thrust the blade of the oar between the fangs and as far down its throat as I could.
The creature stopped its advance instantly, shaking its head to dislodge the oar but it was caught fast, powerful contractions already drawing the oar deeper into its throat. The gods had never designed it to deal with unwanted food leaping into its mouth. Twitching spastically, the head withdrew into the fog and vanished.
There was a sudden gust of wind, and the fog cleared for a moment. We were less than two oar-lengths from a sheer cliff that came down to the water’s edge. I scrambled to my feet and looked up to see six snake-like heads dangling down the cliff on impossibly long necks, now withdrawing into a cave high above the port side. Five of them held men, wriggling like fish impaled on hooks. With the mist gone, their muffled screams assaulted our ears.
“Lopex! Sweet gods, please save us! Gods, please!” The sixth head whipped frantically back and forth as it tried to shake loose the oar already drawn halfway down its throat.
The men in the boat stared up in horror. “Sweet Athene, look!” someone shouted. “Lopex! Do something! Name of the gods, save them!”
Lopex dropped his spears and in a single continuous motion plucked his bow from his shoulder and sent five arrows flying upwards. They sank deep into the chests of the five men, who stopped wriggling instantly. The heads retreated into the cave.
He turned back to the men. “I told you to row, gods curse you! That was just a snack. She’ll be back soon. Put your backs into it!” Terrified, the men unfouled their oars and began to pull, peering anxiously upward as we passed below the cave, but the creature’s heads stayed hidden inside.
There was a roaring from the sea off to starboard, a noise that had been muffled by the mist. I turned to look over the opposite rail and realized why Lopex had taken our course so close to cliffs. On our other side, the ship was sliding past the rim of a monstrous whirlpool. Even as I watched, a broken oar whipped around it to vanish into its dark eye, swirling and sucking only a stone’s throw to starboard. Its outer lip was lapping at our hull, while its far edge was up hard against another cliff only a bowshot away. A thick mist streamed from it like breath, spreading across the water to hide it again as I watched.
No wonder Lopex had kept us to this side. Any farther from the cliffs and we would have been drawn into that whirlpool, losing the ship and everyone on board. At least this way we had lost only a few men. Circe must have warned him.
Lopex was fingering a spear as he peered up at the portside cliff, the creature’s cave slipping into the mist behind us. I frowned. Circe had warned him? I gasped as I realized what that meant. That was why he had been anxious—he had known that we would lose those men. Even before we set sail, Lopex had known.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Island of the Sun God
“ABSOLUTELY NOT. Under no circumstances will we land here.” Lopex was staring down Procoros the navigator, who was glaring back at him, brandishing his sheepskin map. I had poked my head out of the forward hold to watch. Slipping past us to port was a green, lush island. I’d been on board long enough now to know what to look for, and even from here I could see a stream running down into a sheltered beach. With evening coming on, it would make a good drawing-up point for the night.
Ury stood up, letting go of his oar, which began trailing in the water. As it fouled the others, the Pelagios lost headway and began to drift. I ducked back into the hold to avoid a kick in the head as he stepped past me onto the bow deck.
“Why aren’t we stopping?” he asked Procoros, gesturing angrily to port. “There’s a watered beach right there!”
The navigator turned to him. “Lopex won’t let us.”
Lopex spoke up. “I have good reasons. Believe me, we will be safer.”
Ury stared back at him. “Safer? Like we were with that sea monster? Who told you this, anyway?”
Lopex looked impatient. “You know the answer as well as I. It was Circe, the sorceress. All that she has predicted has come true. And she warned me that great harm would befall us if we land on that island.”
At the mention of Circe, Ury’s voice took on a tremor. “That witch? You trust her? She turned your men into pigs!”
The navigator spoke up. “Lopex, my charts don’t show this island, but they don’t show any others on this course for a day’s sailing either.” He sniffed. “The breeze is rising and smells of rain. We need to beach.”
Lopex drummed his fingers impatiently on the rail for a moment, then turned toward the rowing benches. “Men!” he said loudly. “We will stop here for the night on one condition. Each of you must swear an oath to me, by the six children of Cronos, that you will do no harm to the cattle that live here.”
The men stared back. A nervous laugh came from somewhere. “Cattle? You mean cows? Rrrr-rrrr cows?” someone said, making the odd sound that Greeks thought cows made.
Lopex looked at him seriously. “Yes, Thersites, cows. We will land only if you swear not to harm any cattle you find here.” The men clearly didn’t find it that serious, but they swore willingly enough and took up their oars again.
As we rowed in, I was struck by something: the entire island was covered in gently rolling hills, not a rock or gully to be seen amid the blanket of dark green grass. Behind me, one of the rowers had noticed the same thing. “Look at all that grass. You’d think it was pastureland for the gods.”
That evening I was sitting on a log by the soldiers’ fire between Pharos and a sharp-faced man named Leonidas, one of the men who had come on board after the disaster with the ship breakers. Part way around the fire, Ury had been drinking heavily from a looted gold rhyton of wine, muttering and shooting angry glances at me. Draining it in a final
swallow, he dropped it and lurched to his feet. As he passed he launched a vicious kick that was probably aimed at my head, but caught the edge of my shoulder.
Pharos frowned. “Harm not our healer, cousin. He may heal you someday, perhaps.” Ury blinked at him and staggered off.
Leonidas turned to look at me, shaking his head. “Just can’t stand the sight of you, can he?” he asked. “So what did you do, boy?”
I shrugged. “Not much. I told him he stank. Back in Troy.”
Leonidas looked quizzically at me. “That’s it? I thought you’d tarred his beard at least.” Hot tar and wine in a drunkard’s beard was a Greek favourite. It took days to comb out, and meanwhile the scent drew flies.
Beside me, Pharos let out a long, smoked-fish belch. “More, I think. Our healer lives, where young brother of Ury died. Now Ury seeks Trojan blood for his brother’s.”
I kept my mouth shut with an effort. It wasn’t my fault— the Greeks had invaded us! I hadn’t killed his stupid brother, but I’d been just behind him on the steps when my sister had, stabbing him as he hauled her out. In the darkness, the Greeks had thought the person on the steps had done it. Thank the gods they didn’t know it was me.
I shook my head. “Pharos?” I blurted, anxious to change the topic. “How did the Greeks get into Troy, that night?” I half hoped he wouldn’t answer, but he turned a slow eye toward me, the dying firelight making his face ruddy. “The giant horse. The horse of Troy.” His face clouded. “An unholy ruse. Mocking the gods.”
Sitting cross-legged on a square of sailcloth nearby, Deklah was drinking wine from a double-handled bowl. He put it down unsteadily, splashing a red stain across the cloth. “Maybe,” he grunted, his accent strong tonight. “I’m not proud of it. But if we hadn’t, it might have been your bones outside Troy now, Pharos. Have you forgotten we were starving?”
We hadn’t exactly been eating turtle eggs and sweet pork inside the walls either. My mouth twisted at the memory of stringy, half-burnt seagull.
Cursed by the Sea God Page 11