37. Nyssa
Nyssa
Poseidon was a hateful bastard.
Shortly after Apollo returned our sense of hearing, we dropped anchor to discuss tactics. We’d been able to see the Olympian shore for over an hour now but had come to an impasse: how to get the antique vessel there in one piece.
The short answer? We wouldn’t.
Directly ahead of us stretched a narrow channel between two sets of enormous cliffs. There was so little distance between them that by the time we skirted the first obstacle, I wasn’t sure the ship would fit between them.
Fronting the cliff face on the left was a gigantic, swirling vortex inhaling the ocean: Charybdis.
And to pass her, to skirt her edges, would put us directly in snapping distance of obstacle number two: Scylla.
Once upon a time, Charybdis helped her father in one of his many feuds against Zeus — none other than the dick-stick-wielding Poseidon. A powerful sea goddess, she enraged the King of Gods by engulfing whole islands in water, claiming them as Poseidon’s domain.
Zeus retaliated by striking her down with a thunderbolt.
Charybdis was cursed to remain impaled on the ocean’s floor forever, cursed to feed three times a day and never be sated — creating whirlpools as she drank. Now, she existed as a maritime legend, a warning of what happens when you fuck with egotistical gods.
Because this was one of her feeding times, we ran the risk of passing too close and being pulled into her swirling, gaping maw. But if we waited until she expelled her watery diet, we’d end up in the path of her companion instead.
Scylla was undoubtedly the more dangerous of the two. Also a cursed sea goddess — though stories are skewed as to who did the cursing. My money was on Hera.
Scylla was said to possess the upper body of a woman and tentacles for her lower half, with the mind of a cunning predator.
Where Charybdis was the stationary danger, Scylla was the huntress preying on everything that circumvented her sister.
“That bet still on?” I asked Aros casually, forcing down my worry.
He smirked, flicking a glance at Caelus. “Darling, bets are never off where you’re concerned.”
I huffed a laugh, surprised to hear an echo from Arch’s direction. I quirked a brow in question, but the god with the talented hands merely shrugged.
“Alright,” I began, signing as I spoke. “In the likely event this goes terribly, I’ll meet you all on shore. I expect payment to be made at your earliest convenience, since I’ll have outswum every single one of your fine, perky asses.”
Apollo barked a rough, rasping laugh that surprised everyone — especially himself.
Four stunned faces snapped to his. He was a portrait of shock, as though the sound had been dragged from somewhere deep inside him without permission.
Clutching his throat, brows drawn, a slow, lopsided grin tugged at his lips.
True to character, Aros harrumphed first. What started as a single huff, turned into a series of hums, then outright cackles. One by one, we all broke. Even the brooding Caelus cracked a grin at Apollo’s continuous harsh barks of gravelly amusement.
I should have known the joy would be fleeting. That Poseidon would not stand for even an ounce of it in his trial.
The moment fractured when something large slammed into the ship from below — an ear-splitting impact that had the boat lurching sideways. The deck tilted violently, throwing me off my feet and sending me careening towards the mainmast.
My face slammed into the pole. White-hot pain split my skull open like a firework. Air whooshed out of my lungs and I fell into a crumpled heap at its base.
Dazed and gasping, I looked around. Aros had hit the railing with a loud curse. Apollo and Archimedes were tangled in the rigging.
And Caelus…
My heart sank. I couldn’t see the storm-wielder anywhere on deck.
Has he been knocked overboard?
Frantically, I scanned the ship again, then turned to the turbulent waters.
Where is he?!
No glint of white hair. No sun-kissed skin. No hulking figure bobbing in the sea or disappearing beneath it.
Am I already too late?
I refused to accept that possibility. Panic had me lunging for the railing beside Aros just in time for a second blow to strike. My feet left the deck, and for a moment, I was airborne — sailing over the balustrade in slow motion.
Then a blistering-hot hand clamped around my arm, searing the skin and wrenching a scream from my throat.
Time snapped back to full speed and I ricocheted off the ship’s edge, boots dangling above the dark waters.
I locked eyes with the god of war, his hair aflame, grim determination scrawled across his features.
Aros hauled me up effortlessly, and I had never before been happier to have my feet on a rotting deck in the middle of a turbulent ocean.
“Thanks,” I breathed, gingerly inspecting the hand-shaped welt on my arm.
“You know,” he purred, “there are easier ways to fall for me, darling.” He glanced down and grimaced at the mark he’d left behind. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. I’d be shark bait without it.”
“I have a feeling sharks are the least of our immediate concerns,” he replied grimly, his brow furrowed as he scanned the water for our sea-dwelling assailant.
I was about to ask if he’d seen Caelus when the words fizzled off my tongue. A horrifying realisation struck: the anchor chain had broken, likely on purpose. The ship was no longer secure, no longer moored a safe distance from the whirlpool. No. It was gaining speed in one gods-damned direction.
The first impact had torn the anchor free. The second had launched the vessel into motion — straight towards Charybdis.
The blood drained from my face.
“Aros…” I whispered, pointing ahead. He turned, assessing the disaster in two seconds flat, and immediately began shouting orders.
Do all Olympians receive sailing classes?
“Archimedes! Man the wheel!” he barked, glancing at me as he ran to the mainmast. Apollo darted toward the foremast, mimicking the flame-wielder’s actions.
“Nyssa! Grab that rope and pull tight! We need to tighten the sails, or we’re monster dinner!”
I bolted to the area he’d gestured at, grabbing the thickest rope I could see.
“Not that one! The other one!” he yelled.
I grabbed a different rope.
“Atta girl, now PULL!”
I wrenched it down as hard as I could, relief flooding through me as the sail responded immediately, catching the breeze and propelling us forward.
But my soul felt torn in two, caught between helping to get us all out of danger and needing to go back and find Caelus.
My heart hurt. It sat heavy in my chest, tearing further with every nautical mile we gained.
“Nyssa, let go of the rope!” Aros instructed. I obeyed, watching the sail deflate, fluttering violently in the wind.
“Right. Now, Arch — steer us straight for the eastern edge of the vortex!” he commanded.
“But—”
“Don’t argue! Just do it!”
The ancient ship tilted left suddenly, creaking and groaning in protest. The rotting wood protested the sharp angle, and anything not bolted down was flung overboard into the swirling waters.
From above, Charybdis had looked manageable. She had looked deceptively avoidable.
Inside the vortex was another story. Far below us, row upon row of humongous, razor-sharp teeth pierced the surface of the water.
Any one of them could carve the ship in two.
Furies, I hope Aros can get us out of here.
“On my mark, Nyssa, grab that rope again and pull down like your life depends on it, because it bloody well does.”
I nodded once, hand positioned on the rope, waiting for his signal. Apollo did the same at a different mast.
A flash of movement caught my eye. I twisted, expecting the worst, only to spot a scarred, golden hand gripping the shattered edge of the cargo hold. Fingers dug into the splintered wood.
I’d recognise that hand blindfolded. A choked sob escaped me, and I almost lunged for it — for him.
Caelus.
The god of lightning dragged himself from the hold, his face a patchwork of purple and gold. Scratches and bruises marred his skin, and his nose was crooked at the bridge — definitely broken.
His silver eyes latched onto mine, and my lip trembled in stark relief. He was here, he was alive, and I could breathe again.
His lips parted?—
“Now!” Aros bellowed.
I reefed on the line. The sail flared open. Aros and Apollo held fast to their own sail ropes while Archimedes spun the wheel hard to the right. He braced against the helm as the ship barrelled up, up, up — almost to the edge of Charybdis’ deadly whirlpool.
We aren’t going to make it.
Suddenly, Caelus roared. He threw his hands wide and lightning flashed in the distance. Storm gales whipped around us, catching in the sails and driving us faster and harder out of Charybdis’ mighty maw.
It took every ounce of godly strength I possessed to hold onto that sail rope. I threw my entire weight into holding it down, but it still wasn’t enough.
It slipped, the friction igniting my palms. And then that same beautifully scarred hand wrapped around the rope above mine. Caelus’ body covered my own, somehow managing to hold the rope in one hand while coaxing storms with the other.
The ship finally levelled out as the swirling abyss loosened its hold. I let go, wincing as the burns on my palms flared, folding in half, clamouring for air.
I allowed myself ten full seconds to reset.
Ten seconds to catch my breath and lock my emotions deep down within me.
Emotions would get me killed today if I didn’t have a hold on them.
I couldn’t afford to lose myself worrying about the whereabouts of a certain storm-wielder, or the fact that I’d been craving his presence like a drug for the last two weeks.
I couldn’t afford to linger in his arms, inhaling that sweet, caramel scent.
And I definitely could not afford to drop my mask in a trial set by a Primal who wanted me dead.
I straightened, instantly regretting it.