Poseidon's Scar

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Poseidon's Scar Page 29

by Matthew Phillion


  Artem carefully slid his one remaining sword back into its sheath and scanned the horizon until he saw the Endless, so close he almost cried. He began an exhausted, clumsy swim toward the ship, weighed down by the breastplate he wore. For a moment, he thought about cutting the straps, but despite what he’d learned about the Amazons, regardless of what had happened to his father, this armor was the only thing he had from that place that was his, and he would not let it sink to the bottom of the ocean.

  He laughed at himself, suddenly remembering the earring he wore that let him breathe underwater, and had a ridiculous image of himself trapped at the bottom of the sea, too heavy to swim, unable to drown.

  He reached the ship and looked for a handhold, but found none. He thumped a fist against the hull, noticing new scratch marks and splintered areas where the fish-folk had done damage. Barnabas would be furious, he thought, chuckling at the idea, then wondering if the magician had survived the encounter at all.

  He felt himself tiring, his limbs aching, and called up to the ship for help, hoping anyone were alive to lend a hand.

  One lean, strong arm reached over the rail and, unthinking, Artem reached up to grab it.

  He looked into his mother’s eyes. And she looked half-dead herself.

  A second Amazon, her right eye gummed shut with blood, also appeared then, and together, the women pulled Artem aboard. He fell to the deck, limbs shaky from the swim, from the fight, from everything. Orithyia knelt down beside him, a hand on the nasty gash on her side. The other Amazon, the one with the wounded eye, ignored Artem to instead unbuckle Orithyia’s armor and examine the wound.

  “We need to get you stitched up, general,” the Amazon said.

  “We need to get everyone stitched up,” she said. “I can wait.”

  Artem looked across the deck. They’d traveled with seven Amazons, Orithyia included. None were uninjured. Three walked around to the others, tending their wounds. Two were on their backs, and Artem couldn’t tell if they lived or not.

  Muireann helped tend the wounded. She seemed to have some sort of healing touch, Artem noticed, seeing the tips of her fingers glow blue as she touched the injured. Maybe she’s simply dulling their pain. He didn’t understand magic and didn’t care to, really. It was good to see the ondine still lived, though.

  And at the bow of the ship, Barnabas Coy stood watch, hands as always in his pockets, staring out at the sea. He’s looking for the others, Artem knew. There was a haunted look to the magician, though, and Artem wondered what cost using the Eye of Dreams had demanded from him. Barnabas glanced back and noticed Artem, a bright smile crossing his face. He started toward him, but Artem held up a hand, mouthing the words “Not yet.”

  Artem turned his attention to his mother.

  “I think we won this war,” Artem said.

  “We did,” Orithyia said. “I know it sounds stupid, but I’m proud of you. Of what you’ve become.”

  “I want to say that means nothing,” Artem said. “But dammit, after everything, Mother, it does mean something. I’m glad you’re still here.”

  “I’m happy we got to fight at least once alongside each other,” Orithyia said. “It’s a ludicrous thing for a mother to say, but there it is.”

  “It’s what we do. We fight. We do what we think is right.”

  “You deserve a better life than you were given, Artem,” Orithyia said.

  He studied his mother’s face, pale from blood loss, shadows beneath her eyes. But he saw in her so much of himself, his features, his personality, the things he defined himself by. He saw someone who was flawed, like he was, and who was many things he did not wish to be, and many others he knew he’d always strive for.

  Artem took his mother’s hand and leaned his head back against the railing of the Endless.

  “I have lived the life I was meant for,” he said. “And you should feel no regret in that.”

  Orithyia, general of the forces of New Scythia, warrior of the Amazons, put her head on her son’s shoulder.

  And they said nothing for a long time, thinking of the past, and of the future.

  Chapter 58: The exit music to Jaws

  Echo drifted in the sea.

  She could see the Endless, saw the lanterns lit against the darkness, saw Barnabas watching from the bow. She watched as Artem was hauled on board and breathed a sigh of relief. She could almost make out the ghosts now, returning to their duties, their ship safe, as was this town, as was the world, for a little while.

  She leaned against a stray piece of driftwood, one she assumed came from the wreckage of the Amazon vessel. Or maybe it was something else. There’d been so much carnage, after all. So much death and destruction.

  I used to be a surfer, she thought, recalling the Zen-like peace of mind she felt riding the waves. I used to be a simple person. I thought I was boring, and I thought I was ordinary, and now, every day, I know I’d give almost anything to get that back. But I can never go home again. I know that now.

  Is this the life ahead of me? She thought. One horrific thing after another, one war, one monster, one apocalypse, over and over again? Is this what heroes do?

  She worried about Yuri, the only one she hadn’t seen since the titanic creature had submerged itself back beneath the sea. His life was ruined too. To be a good person, to be a hero, there is a cost. I know that now. And because of that, I know why people refuse to be heroes. It’s easier to ignore what’s going on in the world. It’s simpler to turn a blind eye.

  If you fight, you lose. You always lose. Even when you win.

  And so Echo rested there in the cool New England water, letting the surf lull her into a peaceful, meditative state, until she noticed bubbles begin to gurgle up beside her. She watched them, curious but not afraid, certain nothing that came up from the depths could hurt her any more than she’d already been hurt.

  Then she saw the dorsal fin, the great silvery back, the gill slits, the terrifyingly comic toothy grin of a were-shark staring at her. She laughed, and watched as Yuri let himself transform back into his human face, shirtless and more than a little beat up. He doggie-paddled over to rest on the same bit of driftwood Echo was holding onto and rested his chin on his arms.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, you,” she answered.

  “Y’know, I came back to find you and we jumped right into saving the world,” he said.

  “I know. That sucked,” she said. She looked at her friend, with his never-quite-right beard, looking especially baby-faced without his glasses. Her best friend. “I missed you, kid.”

  “I missed you too,” Yuri said.

  “Thanks for coming back,” Echo said.

  “Hey,” he said, tapping the leather wrist cuff he wore. “This thing. It always points to you. It always will.”

  “Are you going to leave again, now that we’ve saved the world?”

  “I’d rather not,” he said. “I should go find Whitetip at some point. My teacher. And thank him. Make sure he’s okay. But you should come with me. I’d like you to meet him.”

  “That’d be nice,” Echo said. “I mean, I brought you to Atlantis. The least you can do is introduce me to a were-shark buddy or two.”

  “I’ll set something up,” Yuri said. “We’ll have a potluck night.”

  They treaded water in silence for a few minutes, taking in the quiet, the strange stillness of the night, and more than anything, the way the ocean no longer scared them.

  “So, this is our job now,” Yuri said. “We’re superheroes.”

  “I hate it,” Echo said.

  “I love it,” Yuri said.

  “Can I steal some of your enthusiasm?” Echo said.

  “As much as you need,” Yuri said. “Sidebar, I met a guy, he’s an agent of something or other, might need to talk to him about what just happened.

  “You were gone like five minutes. When did you have time to meet an agent?”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I kno
w you better than anyone, Yuri Rodriguez,” Echo said.

  “True,” he said. “Should we paddle for the boat?”

  “I guess,” Echo said.

  “Can I hum the exit music to Jaws while we do?” Yuri said.

  “Whatever you need to do,” Echo said. “I just want to go home.”

  Chapter 59: Balancing a scale

  “We need to get the Amazons medical attention,” Echo said, pulling Barnabas aside on the quarterdeck. The sun was just beginning to rise, turning the foggy skies pink and hazy. “How fast can we get them home to New Scythia using the faerie paths?”

  “Fast enough,” Barnabas said, reading doubt in Echo’s expression. “Trust me. We’ll get them home.”

  “We can’t bring them to the mainland for help. If the authorities get even a whiff of what any of us are, they’ll never let us go.”

  “A ship full of beings who aren’t supposed to exist? I can’t imagine why they’d stop us from leaving,” Barnabas said. He called out a few orders to the ghosts around them, who, their home now safe from invasion, leapt into action, preparing the Endless to set sail.

  “Guys,” Yuri yelled, standing in some sort of oversized bathrobe he’d found in the hold and standing on the prow. “We have company.”

  Another vessel appeared out of the mists, one they’d seen before. It was battered and filthy now, with blackish grime marring its once pristine white hull, but Barnabas recognized it immediately.

  “I hate necromancers,” he said, rushing to the bow with Echo.

  Muireann, seeing the new arrival as well, dashed to their side.

  “No,” she said. “Not now.”

  Artem limped up to join them as well, leaving his mother resting under a blanket on the deck behind him with her warriors.

  “And here I thought the fight was over,” he said.

  “We can’t fight him right now,” Echo said. “We’re a hot mess, and I don’t know how much time some of the injured Amazons have left. We can’t waste time in a fight with this idiot.”

  Something caught Barnabas’ eye on the other ship’s deck that caused a twist in his stomach.

  “His crew is dead,” Barnabas said.

  “What?” Echo said.

  “Oh gods,” Muireann said. “They’re all… he’s raised his crew from the dead. Look.”

  “I can see them,” Barnabas said, watching as different sailors shambled around, their bodies hunched and grotesque, an echo of the humanity they once possessed, shells of the living.

  “They were alive when we left them,” Echo said.

  “I swear I didn’t kill any of them when I jumped on his ship last time,” Yuri said. “I just scared them a bit. Guys, those were not sailors who were used to fighting people like us.”

  “Looks like he wanted a ghost ship of his own,” Artem said.

  “And now he has one,” Barnabas said.

  Muireann put a hand on Barnabas’ shoulder.

  “Leave me,” she said. “I’ll deal with him. Just leave me and take these Amazons home. This is my mess. My problem. Let me handle the consequences.”

  “Let’s see what he wants,” Barnabas said. Muireann stared into his eyes, searching, as if she assumed he was up to something. Safe assumption, Barnabas thought. He stepped forward, in front of his crew, and called over.

  “Hey there! Come to parlay?” Barnabas yelled.

  Tessier stood on his own deck boldly, unarmed, surrounded by the walking dead that once was his crew. He looked worse for wear now, bags under his eyes, skin sallow. He looked angry, but also afraid. He’s already sold that piece of himself, Barnabas knew. He’s afraid of what happens when you fail to pay up in a deal like that. Which means either he’s in no position to bargain, or he’s willing to die to get what he wants. And necromancers are notoriously hard to kill.

  Barnabas let the two ships get so close they no longer needed to yell. Close enough he could smell the decay on the yacht.

  “Looks like you’ve seen better days,” Tessier said.

  “You too,” Barnabas said. “Feeling okay?”

  Tessier shrugged.

  “I’m feeling rather immortal, actually,” he said. “I see you have my little friend with you.”

  “Go to hell, Anson,” Muireann said.

  “Planning on setting up a summer home there,” the necromancer said. “Care to join me?”

  Muireann fumed beside Barnabas, but said nothing.

  “Look, I can see you’ve got a boat full of wounded,” Tessier said. “I’m not an ungenerous man. Just give me what belongs to me and I’ll be on my way. Hell, you can keep the ondine. I just want what she stole from me.”

  “How bloody generous of you,” Muireann said. “Like I’m something to be traded.”

  “We could see how you do in a fight against a ship full of warriors,” Artem said.

  Tessier laughed.

  “Oh, I like you. One on one I wouldn’t like my odds against you, whatever you are,” Tessier said. “But you’ve done me a tremendous favor. I see corpses floating everywhere in these waters. I can’t tell what those corpses are from, honestly—ugly little things, aren’t they? But any corpse will do in my line of work. You won’t just be fighting me. I’ll raise every single one of these pale, bloated things to climb aboard your ship and do you immeasurable harm until I get what I want. I’m more than willing to go to war this very moment, my friends.”

  “Can he do that?” Echo said out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Yes,” both Barnabas and Muireann said simultaneously.

  “I hate magic,” Echo said.

  “It’s over,” Muireann said, dejected. “I appreciate that you’re willing to fight for me. I really do. But I can’t ask you to save me after you just saved… everyone else. This isn’t a fight you can win. It’s okay. I know I brought this on myself.”

  “I have a better solution,” Barnabas said, and he pulled the sphere containing Tessier’s life force from his pocket.

  “You bastard,” Muireann said. “When did you steal that? Give it to me.”

  “Like I said, I have a better idea,” Barnabas said, and with an underhanded lob, he tossed the sphere to Tessier, who lazily stretched out an arm and, with a simple spell, drew the sphere to him.

  “No!” Muireann said. She grabbed Barnabas’ arm with both hands, digging her nails into his skin hard enough he felt it through his coat. “That was not your choice to make! You’ve doomed me! Do you know what you’ve done?”

  “I know exactly what I’ve done,” Barnabas said.

  “This better be some sleight of hand stuff, Barnabas, or I will throw you off this gods-damned boat myself,” Artem said.

  Tessier inspected the sphere, which went from pale white to a sickly green in his grasp. This seemed to satisfy the necromancer, who smiled, held the globe up like an apple in his fingers, and nodded politely to Barnabas.

  “See, that wasn’t so bad,” Tessier said. “And here I’d heard that the infamous Barnabas Coy was a fool without honor. I’ll tell tale of your fairness in the circles of magic, Coy.”

  “That thing wasn’t worth the price she was going to pay for it anyway,” Barnabas said. “You corrupted it long before you pulled that piece of you out of yourself.”

  “Power does corrupt,” Tessier said. He pocketed the shard of himself, smirked a little, then laughed. “I honestly thought you were going to put up a fight.”

  “In another situation, we might have,” Barnabas said. “But I had some time to figure out a better option.”

  “Barnabas, you knew I don’t have much time left. I needed that life force. You’ve killed me,” Muireann said. “You should have just let him do it. It would have been less cruel.”

  “Barnabas,” Echo said. “What are you up to?”

  Rather than answering, Barnabas reached into his pocket and felt for a cool, round object within. He withdrew the item and held it in his palm, presenting it to Muireann. It was smaller than the sphere he’d thro
wn to Tessier, but glowed with a similar light, though purplish blue rather than sickly green, brighter and warmer, with little flaws of lavender coursing through it like veins.

  He handed it to Muireann, and felt his skin grow cold. He saw the flesh of his hand go pale, almost silvery, as the ondine accepted it, taking the globe in her thin fingers.

  “What’s wrong with your face?” Yuri said. “You just turned two shades paler. Are you going to throw up?”

  Barnabas let out a little laugh, a bit breathless, but kept his eyes on Muireann as she studied the egg-sized sphere he’d handed her.

  “Is this what I think it is?” she said.

  “What did you do, Barnabas?” Echo said, an edge of fear in her tone.

  “Nothing bad,” he said. Muireann looked up from the sphere to study his face, and the magician smiled. “You need this, and I wasn’t using it anyway. So… it’s yours.”

  “This is a piece of your life,” Muireann said, her voice barely audible over the sound of the sea crashing against the side of the ship.

  “Just a piece. Freely given,” Barnabas said. “I had time to learn a bit about this. You don’t need as much if it’s freely given. Because it means more. Magic is funny that way. All full of meaning.”

  “You didn’t have to do this,” Muireann said.

  “And what, let you use a filthy sliver of soul from that guy to stay alive?” Barnabas said. He stole a quick glance at Tessier, who watched from his ship with an unexpected respectfulness. “I mean, my life isn’t perfect, but it’s better than that. I’m not all evil, after all. Just a little bit evil.”

  “Will that work?” Echo said. “I seriously, seriously hate magic. None of this makes any sense. Are you going to die instead now?”

  Muireann shook her head.

  “Just enough,” she said. “What does this mean for you, though?”

  “And why are you slightly blue?” Yuri said.

  “I’m as much nereid as human,” Barnabas said. “This is a bit of my humanity, to help keep you here, in the mortal realm. But our life force doesn’t want to be empty. It abhors a vacuum. And so that other part of me just filled in the gaps.”

 

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