Poseidon's Scar

by Matthew Phillion

  “What the hell are those, Simon?” Clarissa said.

  “I have no idea,” Simon said, pulling out his phone. He’d stuck into a matte-black case intentionally, turned the screen brightness to its lowest possible setting, and made sure the flash was deactivated a dozen times before setting out tonight. Simon snapped a few quick photos before turning on the video feature.

  “Welcome!” Father Branson said, splashing out into the surf to great the newcomers. “Our brothers in faith! The Priesthood of the Fallen Star has waited so long for you. The sacrifice awaits.”

  The creatures didn’t speak. Instead, one shoved Branson off his feet into the surf. The others set upon him viciously. Simon couldn’t make out the details between Branson’s dark robes and the darker surf, but from the screams—and their sudden stop—as well as the horrific sounds of rending and tearing, it appeared Father Branson’s life ended as a meal.

  One of the scaled beasts, who had not partaken in eating the priest, pointed at the remaining cultists with a long, pointed finger.

  “Prepare,” it said in a gurgling voice. Then it pointed back out to sea. “Soon. Prepare. Ready.”

  The lead creature turned his back on the cultists and dove into the waves, disappearing. The others glared back angrily at the cultists, but left them be, also returning to the sea. Someone sobbed in the darkness.

  Simon turned to Clarissa, who had gone sickly pale, covering her mouth with both hands.

  “We need to get out of here,” Simon said. “Come on. Quickly and quietly now. Okay?”

  Clarissa nodded.

  They made their way back exactly the way they’d come, struggling to move slowly and casually rather than run like the devil himself was at their heels.

  They almost broke into a run as they returned to the street, instead ducking quickly into Clarissa’s apartment building, pulling the foyer door tight behind them. Simon nudged Clarissa farther into the building until they couldn’t be seen from the street.

  “What were those things?” Clarissa said. “They killed that man! They ate him, Simon!”

  “We shouldn’t talk here,” he said, eyeing the various first-floor apartment doors. Who knows who else is in on this in town, Simon thought. Anyone could be listening. Clarissa led them up to her apartment, where she slammed the door shut and bolted it.

  “This is insane,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Why are you not reacting like you just saw the craziest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?” she said.

  “Okay, that was a top ten,” Simon said. “But I… look, I deal with weird things like this all the time. It’s my job.”

  “Homicidal fish people and creepy beach cultists are your job?” Clarissa said, incredulous. “I will never complain about dealing with people who are picky about their lattes ever again.”

  Simon exhaled heavily. This is not what I wanted to do when I volunteered to open this field office, he thought.

  “I have to call this in,” Simon said. “You should stay here.”

  “The hell I should, I’m a block from the crazypants beach party,” Clarissa said. “How can I stay here?”

  “I think the one thing we don’t want to do is let them know we saw what happened,” Simon said. “But it sounded like things are going to get worse. I just meant you shouldn’t go back on the street tonight.”

  “Oh. Oh no, no I’m not going back out outside tonight. Are you? You’re not going back out there, are you?”

  Simon sidled up to the window, which faced the water, and, without moving the curtains, tried to peer outside. He couldn’t see the bonfire from here.

  “I think I need to call this in,” he said. “But maybe I should wait until daybreak to get back to my house.”

  “Call it in where?” Clarissa said. “Your job is… sea monster prevention?”

  “Not exclusively,” Simon said. “I work for the Department of What.”

  “The Department of Who?”

  “The Department of… never mind. Yeah, bizarrely, this sort of thing kind of falls under my job responsibilities. Though I didn’t move here thinking I’d be bringing my work home with me.”

  “Well, I think you’re right to stay off the streets,” Clarissa said.

  “The morning commuters will give me cover to get back,” Simon said. “Walking around this time of night will make me a target.”

  “This might sound weird, but you can stay here, y’know.”

  “Thanks,” Simon said.

  “Well, I’m not sleeping,” Clarissa said. “I just watched the local priest get eaten by a fish-man.”

  “Me either,” Simon said. “Do you have any coffee?”

  “I’m the manager of an Ishmael’s,” Clarissa said. “All I have is coffee.”

  Chapter 42: Wisdom from the mouths of were-sharks

  Yuri couldn’t quite get comfortable on the Amazonian ship.

  It wasn’t the ship itself, although compared to the Endless, which was not a big ship to begin with, the Amazonian craft was cramped. It was narrow, like a blade, built for speed and combat. An attack ship, Yuri thought, almost laughing at the idea. But everything about the Amazons was a strange combination of anachronistic technology and modern flair. He’d had a few days to look at the armor the Amazon warriors who accompanied them wore, and while at a distance it looked like ancient armor or something you’d see in a period film, up close he could see the materials were modern, more like military body armor than a breastplate a hero of the Trojan War would wear. They avoided guns, but the bows they carried glittered up close with improvements on classic designs, and their arrows were made of a lightweight metal Yuri couldn’t identify.

  This wasn’t an ancient culture unprepared for the real world, he knew. They honored tradition in how they built everything they touched, but they were more than ready for what waited for them outside New Scythia.

  But the ship still made him uncomfortable. He knew why, too. It had been too long since he’d transformed and been beneath the waves. The shark inside him called out to hunt. It made Yuri uncomfortable. Not the desire itself, but by how much his conscious mind wanted it, too. He’d become so accustomed to the solitude of deep water in his time apart from Echo and the others. Before his transformation, Yuri had been a little bit afraid of the ocean and very much afraid of himself, never comfortable in his own skin, always haunted by a sense of being out of place.

  Somehow, this monster he had become gave him a sense of purpose and place. It felt like home.

  And right now, it really wanted to go for a swim.

  He found Artem near the prow, watching the horizon. That was what Artem did, apparently, Yuri thought. He watched the horizon looking like a movie star, his hair blowing in the breeze. Yuri wandered up to stand beside him.

  “I was thinking about going for a swim,” Yuri said.

  “Business or pleasure?” Artem said. Artem had been wound tighter than Yuri had ever seen him on this trip. Bad enough to be surrounded by Amazons who seemed to quietly, but actively, resent him. But avoiding his own mother on a ship this size was nearly impossible. That part made Yuri particularly uncomfortable. He’d lost two mothers of his own, after all. Seeing someone struggle to reconcile, or not reconcile, with his own mother twisted a knife in Yuri’s heart.

  “I gotta let…” Yuri thumped his chest. “…the big guy out for a bit. Thought I might kill two birds with one stone, dive in and have a look around.”

  “Makes sense,” Artem said, his tone quiet, but friendly. “You should do that. You won’t have any trouble keeping up with the ship I assume.”

  “I’m so fast as a shark, man,” Yuri said. “And as a shark-man. Heh. C’mon, Artem, that was at least a little bit funny.”

  Artem cracked a smile.

  “A very little bit funny. I’ll grant you that,” Artem said.

  “Hey, so, when was the last time you slept?” Yuri said.

  “You say that like I can actually remember
,” Artem said. “Eh. It’s been a while. I feel fine.”

  “I know you’re the professional warrior and all, but maybe getting some sleep before the big fight might be beneficial, yeah?”

  “Parenting me now, Yuri?” Artem said.

  “Hey, dude, I just don’t want the most dangerous man alive grumpy because of sleep deprivation is all,” Yuri said.

  Artem shook his head in disbelief and rubbed his eyes.

  “Okay. Okay, fine, you win,” Artem said. “Go for your swim and I’ll try to sleep for a few hours. Don’t get lost, and wake me if you see anything.”

  “You got it,” Yuri said. Artem headed below deck, leaving Yuri in the prow of the boat alone. He looked over the rail, then looked to the starboard side, trying to figure out the most dignified way to jump ship without looking like a fool.

  “At least he talks to you,” a new voice said behind Yuri. He turned to see Orithyia walking toward him in full armor.

  “Well, y’know. Artem and I have been through some stuff. We’re buds,” Yuri said. “And by buds, I mean he really doesn’t talk to anyone much. He’s not, y’know, a talker.”

  “He talks to me least of all, but it’s good to know he’s not talkative by nature,” Orithyia said.

  “He’s… I don’t know,” Yuri said. “I think maybe he was happier before. When I first met him, he was happy. He was in love.”

  “Really,” Orithyia said. Yuri picked up on a shift in her tone—no malice to it at all, but a hunger, a desire for any scrap of knowledge about her son she could acquire.

  “I shouldn’t be telling stories that are his to tell,” Yuri said.

  “I understand,” Orithyia said.

  “But… I don’t know. He introduced me to the instructor who tried to teach me how to fight.”

  “Tried?”

  “I’m a terrible student,” Yuri said. “And he smiled then. But then Merrick was killed and, well. I mean we’ve all lost a lot recently. But I think Merrick changed him.”

  “Loss does that,” Orithyia said. “We’re never the same afterward.”

  Yuri studied the Amazon’s face, trying to get a read on her. And what he found there surprised him. This was a general of a mythical army, the warrior-mother of someone he respected more than almost anyone else in the world, but what he found in her eyes was a profound loneliness. Yuri took a deep breath and spoke.

  “So I lost my father when I was young,” he said. “He was a fisherman. Lost at sea. You’d think in the modern world that wouldn’t happen, right? But it does. Because the sea’s still dangerous. It’s what, three quarters of the planet? Of course it’s dangerous. It should be dangerous.”

  Orithyia watched him intently, saying nothing.

  “And then my mom died when I was a teenager. Cancer,” he said. “You wouldn’t put the two side by side, the ocean and cancer, but they’re these two unstoppable forces, right? They’re inevitable, and relentless, and we’ll never fully understand either of them, and they take things from us. And… I guess the ocean I can forgive. It took my father, but the ocean gave my father a fighting chance. If you’re brave and strong, the ocean will let you win. I can respect that. I miss my dad, but the ocean was where he lived his life. I think honor’s a stupid concept, it makes people do stupid things, but dying doing what you’d spent your life doing makes a depressing sort of sense to me. But cancer. There’s no honor to it. It cheats. It doesn’t respect you. So yeah, I lost my dad, and then I lost my mom.”

  “I’m sorry,” Orithyia said, a soft empathy to her tone.

  “But then I went to live with Echo and her mother, right?” Yuri said. “And it was okay. More than okay. Not everybody gets to land somewhere they’ll be loved. Somewhere that lets them stay close to where they were born. Meredith, Echo’s mom, she gave me a chance to still be me. She was my mom’s friend, you see, and she promised to look after me, and she did.”

  He cleared his throat, surprised at the way the words caught in his mouth.

  “But then one night monsters like me—I mean literally like me, were-sharks—showed up for Echo and Meredith, and they killed her. They infected me with this… power later, and I’ve come to understand it, even use it, but at the time, they were just another unstoppable, unforgiving, senseless force taking away a person I loved,” Yuri said. “So yeah. Anyway. I’ve had three parents, and I loved three parents, and they all loved me back, and they’re all gone.”

  “You’ve had a hard life,” Orithyia said.

  “I haven’t. Not compared to most. And I’m not saying all this to make you pity me. I think I’m saying it because I see you trying and I think whatever mistakes you’ve made, trying is important. Even if Artem doesn’t know it yet, I see what you’re doing. Someone should say it. So I’m saying it.”

  “I don’t think he cares.”

  “At this point, you’re sort of an abstract concept to him,” Yuri said. “It’s easy to be mad at an abstract concept. It’s harder to be mad at a real person.”

  “Do you have any suggestions as to how I might make myself human to him?” Orithyia said. “I know that sounds flippant, but honestly—you know him better than I do now. I haven’t seen him in almost twenty years. I don’t know what he needs to hear from me.”

  “Tell him your story,” Yuri said. “We’re all just stories in the end after all. Tell him yours. Maybe he’ll tell you his. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a were-shark in my head demanding I go for a swim, so I should do that before I start chewing through the hull.”

  “Of course.”

  Yuri pulled off his loose-fitting top and prepared to jump off the deck into the ocean. He could feel the fierce beating heart of the shark in his chest, ready to be unleashed.

  “Yuri,” Orithyia said. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  “Lotta people have been kind to me my whole life,” Yuri said. “Just doing what I can to pay it back.”

  Chapter 43: A hole in the world

  Grimmin offered to deliver a message to Echo’s father for her before he left to tell the Atlantean council about the latest developments. Echo said no, not sure what she’d say to her father at this point. He was still mostly a stranger to her, after all, despite their best effort to get to know each other during those few days in Atlantis.

  No, she thought, I take that back. It wasn’t our best effort. It was a bit of effort. A try. But not our best.

  Grimmin did give Echo something useful, however—a thin chain she could attach to her trident and then to her belt in case she dropped her weapon in the trench. It was a fairly common accessory for Atlantean warriors, but one she hadn’t had before, so the old spymaster gave her his own. She tried to turn it down, but he waved her off.

  “I can get another. This is more useful to you today,” he said.

  And not for the first time she realized she was more comfortable around an aging spy than her own father, that the spy had been kinder to her in many ways, but she filed that information away for another day, watching as Grimmin and his guards dove beneath the water on their seahorses to return to Atlantis.

  “Are you ready to go?” Muireann said, joining Echo on the deck.

  “No reason to wait any longer,” she said. Barnabas also joined them, hands in his pockets.

  “I’ll keep the engine running, metaphorically,” he said. “All you have to do is find a stick at the bottom of a giant underwater ravine, and then we’ll be ready to run off and save the world, right?”

  “Easy peasy,” Echo said. “Muireann?”

  The ondine nodded, then began to speak the words to the divining spell. A whorl of white light drifted around her hands, which she lifted in front of her face. With her right hand, she placed her index and middle fingers on her closed eyes. Withdrawing her hand, she opened her eyes, which were now pupil-less and glowed with the same soft white energy of the spell.

  She peered over the edge of the ship and smiled.

  “It worked,” she said, smiling. The gri
n looked eerie beneath her glowing eyes.

  “Did you know the spell would do that?” Echo said to Barnabas.

  “Yeah, of course,” he said.

  “Didn’t think to warn us about the creepy glowing eyes part?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Barnabas said.

  Echo’s shoulders slumped. She put a reassuring hand on Muireann’s arm.

  “Here we go, then,” she said, and together, they dove into the water.

  Poseidon’s Scar was little more than a shadow at first, a darkness at the bottom of the ocean. But they moved quickly, Echo swimming with powerful grace, Muireann with an effortlessness that belied her water spirit heritage. Her whole appearance changed below the water, Echo noted—she still looked like herself, the same features, the same face, but her skin turned a ghostly bluish white, her hair no longer jet black but a deep, deep blue, the hint of a subtle pattern across her skin, like the dappled surface of water beneath the sun.

  The ocean grew colder around them as they dove deeper. The last time Echo entered the Scar it was to prevent a war, the area filled with fighters ready to kill her, the sound of the submarine’s great engines clanking, the squeal of its breaking metal hull deafening. Now the war zone was a vacant lot, a ghost town, haunted by the spirits of those who died here.

  Beside her, Muireann absorbed the emptiness, her eyes gleaming in the darkness like twin lanterns. Together, they dove deeper, the opening to Poseidon’s Scar like a dark, cavernous mouth on the sea floor.

  The temperature began to rise. Echo hadn’t noticed this before, but it would make sense—they knew volcanic activity occurred deep down in the Scar, so heat would naturally make its way in the direction of the surface here. She tried to judge the size of the Scar, but she did not have the mathematics to put it into words. Was it as wide as a football field? Wider? The ravine was enormous, and long enough that it faded into blurry obscurity in either direction.

  She did notice one detail, though. New tears in the earth and stone at the mouth of the ravine, drag marks that looked terrifyingly, but unmistakably, like something had dug its way out from here. She tried to judge the size of those claws, swimming closer to use her own height to judge. Nearly as wide as she was tall, many times longer than her full height, whatever creature those fingers and claws were attached to, it must be vast. Tall as a building. A moving mountain of flesh.