by Eliza Raine
‘It’s warmer here than Libra,’ he said, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand before throwing a broken bit of wood out of the boat and onto the deck.
Lyssa’s steps faltered involuntarily. Phyleus had taken off his shirt and tucked it into the low waistband of his trousers while he worked. He was nowhere near as muscled as Epizon or Theseus, or in fact most of the other men in the Trials, but her eyes fixed on the lines of his chest, and his bare, tanned skin filled her vision. He was right. It was warmer. Sweat glistened on his body and she swallowed, reminded of the last bare chest she’d seen shining with sweat. Other than her own, it had been the only bare chest she had ever touched, and the sweat had been hers. Heat flooded her face and she closed her eyes a moment, squashing the pleasant memories of her last trip to Pisces.
‘So, we’ve pulled out all of the benches. We didn’t know if we should put new ones in or just create one big seat for you and leave space in the back for stuff.’ Len began talking at a hundred miles an hour beside her, and she tried to concentrate.
‘One bench across this middle,’ she said as they reached the boat. She hopped up onto the crate they were using as a step, then climbed over, trying not to make eye contact with Phyleus. If he’d noticed her reaction to him he was keeping it quiet. ‘I think just one bench here, near the mast,’ she clarified. She looked around, leaning on the bare mast. They had done a good job repairing the damage to the hull.
‘How’d it get so beat up in the first place?’ Phyleus put both hands on his hips. ‘A torn-up sail and a huge hole in the side isn’t your standard wear and tear.’
‘Delivery job gone wrong,’ she shrugged, trying to ignore the sounds of the axe in the background.
‘What were you delivering?’
‘Don’t know. We don’t ask.’
‘Doesn’t that bother you?’ he said, his eyebrows drawing together.
‘If everyone sticks to the code then we shouldn’t need to ask,’ she snapped, guilt lacing her defensiveness. ‘Len, where’s the sail?’
‘Down here, Cap,’ he called. ‘I’ve cut it to size and sealed the edges.’
She climbed back out of the boat and retrieved the sail from Len. It was heavy but she didn’t need to rile herself up to get the strength to lift it. Phyleus had done that for her. She threw it up over the edge of the boat, a satisfied smile spreading over her face when Phyleus yelped as it landed with a loud thud in the boat. She hoped it had hit him, rather than just startled him.
‘Sorry,’ she lied as she climbed back in. He glowered.
‘Honestly, you’re so immature. It’s like a child running a ship,’ he said, crouching down and lifting a long plank of unbroken wood.
‘Right, and you’re so grown up. How old are you, anyway?’
‘You first,’ he answered, not looking up from balancing the wood across the boat, marking where the bench would sit with a thick lead pencil.
‘I’m eighteen. You hardly needed to ask. The whole of Olympus knows Hercules was put on trial for killing his family four years ago and that his fourteen-year-old daughter survived his attack,’ she said.
‘I’m twenty,’ he replied. ‘I just wanted to see if you would tell me. Are you the youngest on board?’
‘No. Abderos is sixteen.’ He looked up at her in surprise. ‘I thought you two were pals. Did he not tell you?’ Phyleus shook his head.
‘No. I mean, I know he looks young but… What’s he doing away from his family, on a smugglers’ ship with…’ He trailed off.
‘With a bunch of hard-up misfits?’ she finished for him.
He shrugged.
‘Not my story to tell,’ she said, and started to shake out the huge piece of white material. It glittered as the light moved over it and a peaceful feeling pulsed through her. ‘Len is over a hundred,’ she said, smoothing out the creases.
‘You’re joking,’ Phyleus said. ‘I thought satyrs only lived to a hundred?’
‘Most satyrs, yeah, but not his species. Blessed by Pan himself, Len says. In fact he’s relatively young.’
‘What about Epizon?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘Epizon doesn’t talk about his past. At all.’
‘Huh. So you don’t know where he’s from?’ She shook her head and grabbed the mast, preparing to climb up with the sail over her shoulder.
‘Captain!’ Len’s voice sounded urgently in her head as well as out loud, below the boat.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said, dropping the sail and vaulting over the edge of the boat. Her breath caught as she landed.
‘We… We have a visitor,’ he said, pointing to the centaur standing on the deck of the Alastor.
Lots of female centaurs wanted Cyllarus’s affections but he was only interested in Hylonome. She was the prettiest of all the half-beasts in the forests. She won him by loving him and telling him so. They did everything together, roaming lands, exploring caves and fighting, side by side.
In one fight Cyllarus was wounded, in the heart. Hylonome put her hand on the wound and kissed him, trying to stop his last breath from leaving him. When she realised he was dead, she took the weapon that had killed him and used it upon herself, falling on her husband’s body.
EXCERPT FROM
Metamorphoses By Ovid
Written 8 A.D.
Paraphrased by Eliza Raine
9
The centaur bowed her head and Lyssa took a hesitant step forward. She was breath-taking. She had a sleek mahogany mare’s body, smaller but more agile-looking than the warriors they had seen at the feast. Her pale white chest was clad in shining steel armour with massive shoulder plates laid over leather gauntlets that wrapped around her arms. More shining plates were strapped across her human waist, hanging down to protect her flanks, and two long scabbards ran behind them. But most striking was the mane of white hair flowing from her steel headband down her back and spilling over her dark coat, matching her tail perfectly.
‘How did you—’ started Lyssa.
‘Captain Lyssa. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Hylonome-nestor-cyllarus.’ Her serious face barely moved as she spoke and Lyssa couldn’t make out what colour her eyes were. She took another step forward.
‘That’s quite a mouthful,’ she said.
‘You may call me Nestor.’
Lyssa nodded. ‘How did you get on my ship?’
‘I have Artemis’s blessing.’
Lyssa swallowed. If a goddess had sanctioned this visit, the centaur was going to get what she wanted.
‘And how can I help you?’
Nestor’s tail flicked. ‘Actually, it is I who can help you. You were there when my love was slain.’ A sick feeling swamped Lyssa’s gut. The centaurs at the feast. ‘Hercules killed Cyllarus, my husband, and you want Hercules dead. I am here to help you.’
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Nestor, I truly am. I know how it feels to lose somebody you love.’ She looked down a moment, forcing the sound of the centaur’s legs snapping out of her mind. Please let her husband have been one of the other two poor creatures, she prayed silently. ‘How can you help us?’ she asked.
‘I will join your crew and make sure Hercules dies during the Trials.’
Lyssa blinked.
‘Join the crew?’ Nestor said nothing. ‘But…’ Lyssa couldn’t take on another crew member. She didn’t even want Phyleus on board, and a centaur simply wouldn’t fit on the Alastor.
‘I can fight. I have knowledge passed down through many generations, some of which I can share with you. I have the favour of Artemis.’
Lyssa took a long breath. ‘I need to talk with my crew first.’
Nestor nodded. ‘I will return in one hour.’ She vanished with a small flash of light.
Len let out a long whistle.
‘Wow.’
‘Wow,’ echoed Phyleus, still in the longboat.
‘Was that a centaur?’ Epizon was jogging across the deck towards her, Abderos wheeling his chair along behin
d him. ‘Captain, my eyes weren’t playing tricks were they? Was a centaur just on the ship?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t know what else to say.
‘What did she want?’ Epizon’s eyes were alive with excitement as he reached her. ‘I would have come over but I didn’t want to scare her.’
Len snorted. ‘I don’t think you could scare her. Or, in fact, make her laugh.’ The satyr looked up at Epizon. ‘Her husband was killed at the feast. She wants to join the crew to try and get revenge on Hercules. By killing him.’
Epizon’s mouth fell open. ‘A centaur on our crew! Captain, this is incredible!’
‘Slow down, Epizon. The Alastor is at capacity. We don’t have the space for a centaur on board. We don’t have the supplies for another crew member. We don’t know anything about her.’ She shot a look at Phyleus. ‘She hasn’t earned a place on this crew.’
‘Lyssa, if anyone has earned a place fighting at your side, it’s somebody who has lost a loved one to Hercules.’ Epizon never addressed her as Lyssa in front of the crew. She frowned at him.
‘Her desire for revenge might make her do something stupid,’ she said. Epizon raised his eyebrows and Phyleus coughed. Anger flashed though her. ‘Since when did being Captain mean I can’t make any of my own bloody decisions! This is not a democracy.’ She stamped her foot as she said it, painfully aware of Phyleus’s accusation of immaturity only moments earlier.
‘Yes, Captain,’ said Epizon, visibly trying to suppress his excitement, and failing. ‘But centaurs are some of the best fighters in Olympus, and not prone to acting irrationally or—’
‘Enough, Epizon. I’ll think about it.’ Lyssa held her hand up and he stopped talking immediately. ‘Get on with ruining my ship.’
10
‘Captain, there must be something useful we could be doing with our time.’
Evadne twirled her hair around her finger as she spoke, watching the colour change between black and blue as it moved in the warm daylight. She needed to handle this conversation perfectly. There was no way she was being left out of another Trial.
‘Our longboat is in perfect condition, and we have the new slingshots. There is nothing we need to do.’ Hercules was sitting in his captain’s chair on the quarterdeck, his eyes closed and his face tilted up towards the sun.
‘I wonder how the others are getting on, improving their boats,’ she mused casually. ‘Shame they were given time to make amendments. You could even say it’s not really fair, when we took the time to make ours perfect before the Trials began.’ She glanced at him. His eyes were still shut and he hadn’t moved. She stood up slowly, stretching, and walked to the railings along the edge of the high quarterdeck, making sure her boots thudded on the planks as she went. The Whirlwind-class ship’s high quarterdeck meant she had a great view of the decks of the much lower Alastor and Virtus, but the giant’s huge Zephyr rose just above them, out of sight. ‘Looks like Captain Lyssa’s longboat is being patched together out of rags; I don’t think we’ve much to worry about there. I can’t see Theseus himself, but his longboat is up on deck. I wonder what’s happening on the Orion. It’s frustrating we can’t see from here.’ There was still no reaction from Hercules. ‘How long would it take to reach one of the other ships? They’re moored so close,’ she muttered to herself. She heard movement behind her. ‘It really isn’t fair that they all get to make enhancements to their boats.’ His chair creaked and boots thudded on the deck towards her.
‘Evadne, I have an idea,’ Hercules said. She felt a satisfied smile spread across her face, but replaced it with a neutral expression before she turned to him.
‘Yes, Captain?’
‘Artemis said we could use this whole area. And there are three other ships in this area. I think that sounds like an invitation.’ Evadne raised her eyebrows innocently. ‘Why don’t we pay the others a little visit, and see first-hand how they’re getting on?’
‘I take it we will be undoing their hard work?’ she asked.
‘Of course. I’ll go to the Virtus. You go to the Alastor,’ he said.
Annoyance sliced through Evadne. That hadn’t been her plan.
‘We can see from here that the Alastor is no threat. Perhaps it might be better to find out what’s happening on the Orion.’ She worded her suggestion meekly, careful not to sound like she knew better than him. Hercules looked over her shoulder at the Alastor. She followed his gaze. It was easy to make out the little boat they had set up on the top deck, and a tiny figure fighting to attach a sail to the single mast.
‘Fine,’ he said. She stopped a smile from flashing across her face and nodded sedately. ‘Go to the Orion.’
‘I’ll go now,’ she said.
‘Asterion, prepare the longboat,’ Hercules instructed aloud, then looked at her. ‘Yes. It’ll take you a while on foot.’
She gaped at him.
‘On foot? I’ll never get up onto the Orion on foot. I’ll wait and go when you return from the Virtus.’
‘No, you’ll go now. On foot.’
Evadne felt her eye twitch as she stared at him, trying to control her tongue.
‘Yes, Captain,’ she spat eventually, and wheeled away, towards the steps that led down from the quarterdeck. He was going to take his time on the Virtus. Her fists clenched as she remembered how he had looked at Hedone at the feast. Two can play that game, she thought, grabbing a coil of coarse rope off the deck and tying it to the metal railing. There was a reason she’d gotten him to send her to the Orion, and it wasn’t just to sabotage their longboat.
Evadne threw the rope over the edge of the Hybris and climbed over the railing. Carefully coiling a length around her wrist she tested the rope with both hands. Satisfied it would hold her weight, she eased herself over the edge of the ship, planting the flats of her feet against the sheer metal plating of the hull. She began to walk down the metal, one hand moving over the other on the harsh rope. When she was a few feet from the bottom and the hull began to curve away beneath her she let go, landing softly with her knees bent. The smell of soil was stronger on the ground and she took a moment’s pleasure in feeling it beneath her feet. Yellowing grass crunched as she began to walk towards the Zephyr. Not all of Sagittarius was this hot, she’d read. Some areas were shady forest and she was sure there was a mountain range somewhere on the island. Mountains were usually colder, she thought, though in Olympus you could never assume anything.
What had looked like a short distance from the high quarterdeck felt like miles to Evadne as she sweltered under the hot sun. She was regretting the black leather vest she’d worn as she trudged across the dry ground, the Orion looming larger as she approached. She studied the long wooden planks of the hull, lined with portholes and ballista windows, trying to figure out the best way to sneak on board. It didn’t look like she would be able to climb all the way up onto the deck – the ship was too large and anyone on either of the two quarterdecks would spot her when she reached the top.
She decided she would climb to one of the ballista windows and pray that she could squeeze through the gap between the weapon and the frame. It wasn’t until she was a lot closer that she realised most of the ballista windows were empty. That was interesting. The Orion hadn’t equipped most of the ballistas, either meaning they couldn’t afford to or that they had weapons elsewhere. She would need to tell Hercules.
The Zephyr was hovering eight feet off the dry grass and Evadne began cursing her captain under her breath when she jumped for the bottom of the ship and failed to get a grip for the third time. Panting, she crouched down on the balls of her feet and counted backwards from three, before launching herself up again. This time she got her fingers into the gaps between the lowest planks and she cried out in pain as her fingernail tore on the rough wood. She didn’t let go, though, pulling her legs up after her, trying to get purchase on the hull.
She ignored the pain in her finger as she climbed, slowly and carefully, to the nearest ballista window. Peering cautiously
round the edge of the frame, she checked the room beyond was empty and silently eased her way through the window and onto the wooden floor.
She was in the enormous cargo deck, she realised, looking around at dusty crates lining the hull. It was nothing like the cargo deck on the Hybris. For one, it barely had anything in it, despite it being three or four times the size. The ceiling was probably double the height of the Hybris, she estimated as she crept towards the hauler in the middle of the other wall. She was hoping that the crew would all be up on deck, leaving her free to find the one person who wouldn’t be working on the longboat. She needed information, and she knew just the man to provide it.
11
‘Antaeus? How’s it going with the—’ Eryx was cut short as he realised the figure entering his room was too small to be Antaeus. It was too small to be anyone on the crew. ‘You! What are you doing here?’
‘Shhhhh,’ hushed Evadne, quietly closing the wooden door behind her. ‘You’ll give me away.’ Something like concern flitted across her face when she took in his bandaged chest. ‘I saw what happened in the flame dish. I have to admit, you were pretty impressive.’
She walked towards the bed and he struggled to sit up. He was back in his own rooms and had been waiting desperately for news of his captain’s progress. He certainly hadn’t expected any other visitors.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said, pushing his long hair back from his face. He hated anyone seeing it out of its usual knot. She smiled.
‘I thought you might be lonely, in your sickbed.’ She sat on the edge of his bed and leaned over, picking up the glass of sludge. She tilted it from side to side before sniffing it. ‘Gods, that smells vile,’ she exclaimed.
‘It is. Why are you here?’
‘I just told you, I wanted to talk to you. And…’ She trailed off, then looked him in the eye. ‘And to make sure you were OK.’