Chapter 56 #3
One set of jaws snapped shut where he had stood a breath earlier, teeth shearing into the earth with a violent impact that shook the ground. Another head swept sideways, aiming to smash him against the cliff, but Achilles rolled beneath it, sand kicking up in his wake.
He came up on one knee with his shield braced, his blade flashing out to cut across a scaled throat. Black ichor sprayed and sizzled where it struck the ground. The wounded head recoiled, but the others struck harder, faster, as if enraged by its pain.
Theron pushed himself off the mast, brushing a fleck of something from his sleeve disdainfully. “Of course,” he sighed, “the golden boy charges in first. He can’t stand to let anyone else have any fun.”
I shot him a glare. “If you’re so desperate for fun, perhaps you should stop leaning on wood like a drowsing cat.”
His lips slanted, ready with some retort, but a Sidon soldier chose that moment to vault the railing, landing hard on the deck in front of me. His pale face gleamed with silver dust, his spear already raised.
I didn’t think. I lunged.
The small knife I kept hidden in my sash drove forward, sinking into his neck. His scream split the air as he stumbled backward, crashing over the railing and vanishing into the sea below.
I stared unblinkingly at the railing where he’d disappeared, a strange, jittering feeling shooting through my veins.
Theron’s brows arched high, his smirk turning wicked. “Remind me not to surprise you at dinner.”
Menelaus barked out a savage laugh. “At last! A taste of Sparta in her blood!” He spread his arms wide.
The deck suddenly groaned under weight and motion as more Sidonian assailants leapt onto the boat.
I backed away, my knife feeling like a pin against such menace … until Theron lifted his arms and sketched shapes across the air. Sigils flared bright against his skin, each line burning with blue light as words slipped from his lips in a curling chant.
The air split and the Sidonian assailants screamed as an unseen force ripped them from the planks and hurled them back into the sea.
Theron wasn’t done though. Beneath our keel, the water rippled, then convulsed. A deep vibration ran through the hull, rattling my insides as a terrifying growl came from somewhere beneath. Scarlet froth boiled up around us, seething higher, higher, as though the sea itself had been stirred awake.
I gripped the railing, staring down at the writhing water.
As if hauled up from the depths of the earth itself, a sleek shadow surged upward, its massive jaws snapping open as it broke the surface.
The sea serpent’s scales glistened as it rolled through the waves, its ridged back bristling.
Water sheeted off its body as it coiled forward with eyes dark and gleaming with hunger.
My breath seized. It was the Skylla, the same monstrous shape that had torn at our hull days ago, dragging men screaming into the sea. The same nightmare I thought we had barely escaped. And now—it was here, not wild at all, but bending, bowing to Theron’s call.
Bastard. I knew he had chosen to let it attack.
A roar followed and the ocean convulsed as another vast shape rose out of the water.
Its hide was mottled gray and black and barnacles crusted across its ridges.
Eyes like lanterns glowed in its massive head.
It screamed, the sound shaking the very cliffs, and the Sidonians faltered, their formations crumbling as they dropped their spears.
“What is that?” I whispered as Roz stirred beneath my chiton, its small body tightening. The ribbon-tail slid against my skin, and for a moment it felt less like a creature searching for comfort and more like a soldier bracing for a command … poised, alert, ready to strike.
“The Cetus,” Theron said proudly, like he was introducing me to his pet bird.
Menelaus’s laugh cracked beside me. “The old sea-wolf,” he said, triumph swelling in his voice. “They swore it was Poseidon’s punishment, but now it’s mine. And it bends to Sparta.”
I could only stare as the monster hauled itself from the surf.
Massive clawed limbs struck the sand, gouging trenches as it drew its vast body forward.
Each step shook the beach, the weight of it crushing shields and bodies alike beneath its bulk.
Its barnacled hide glistened in the light, water streaming from its scales in rivulets.
Theron wasn’t done yet. He moved a hand through the air lackadaisically, and tentacles lashed out, each one thick as a mast. They slapped down upon the beach, crushing men beneath their suckered grip.
I didn’t need anyone to name this monster.
The Karybdis was a primordial force that even the gods had tread lightly around.
It heaved itself into view, a mountain of muscle and eyes and writhing limbs.
Its stench, a foul mix of brine and rot, rolled across the deck.
Menelaus gagged, jerking his head aside, one meaty hand clamping over his beard as though that might block the reek.
Theron rolled his eyes, and his lips bent in faint disdain. “Gods forbid war should smell unpleasant,” he muttered, as if the sight of a king retching bothered him more than the monsters tearing the beach apart.
Spartans and Sidonians alike froze.
I could scarcely believe my eyes. Three monsters, stories, nightmares, gods of the deep, were on the beach in front of me. And Theron was commanding all of them.
My gaze tore to him. Fear spiked in my chest as I realized once again how powerful he was.
It seemed to never end.
My gaze snapped to Menelaus, searching his face for even a flicker of concern over the display of power before him. But there was nothing. He was only wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes filled with a greed that made my skin prickle.
Theron’s sigils were still glimmering faintly on his skin, his expression maddeningly casual, as if directing nightmares cost him nothing at all.
As if he felt my stare, he turned his head—and winked.
I scowled. Gods help me, he was enjoying this.
The Hydra shrieked, forcing my attention back to the beach.
Its heads thrashed as the creatures closed in around it.
The Karybdis’s tentacles snapped two necks like reeds, slamming the writhing heads against the cliff face until bone cracked and ichor sprayed.
The Cetus lunged, its jaws seizing another head, tearing it clean from the body and thrashing it into the surf.
The Skylla surged low, coiling up the Hydra’s trunk, its teeth ripping flesh with a frenzy that left the beast screaming.
It ended as quickly as it began. The Hydra writhed and staggered, collapsing beneath the weight of them. Its lifeless heads soon sank into the red foam.
And then the feeding began.
The Karybdis’s tentacle swept across the beach, plucking Sidon’s soldiers as if they were dolls.
Screams shredded the air as men vanished into its maw, their shields tumbling uselessly across the sand.
The Cetus stalked along the shoreline, snapping up those who tried to flee, their pale faces disappearing in a froth of teeth and blood.
The Skylla darted through the shallows, its jaws snapping down on stragglers as their comrades stumbled over each other to escape.
One Spartan screamed as a tentacle coiled him by mistake. The crunch was sickening, the body gone in an instant.
Theron arched a brow. “Oops,” he muttered, as if he’d knocked over a cup of wine instead of loosing nightmares on two armies.
Menelaus only laughed, drunk on the terror of the soldiers and the triumph unfolding before him. He threw his arms skyward as though he were even now demanding Olympus take note.
“This is Sparta’s mercy!” he roared. “Let Sidon learn it. Let everyone hear it. Sparta is unstoppable. Our kingdom will burn the seas, the skies, the earth itself—whatever it takes to reign!”
The words hung heavy in the salt-thick air, daring the heavens to answer.
I glanced at Theron. For a heartbeat, something flickered in his gaze, strange and glinting. Then he felt my eyes and smoothed it away, his expression settling back into feigned disinterest, as though nothing had ever stirred there at all.
A war cry split the air.
My gaze lifted to the cliffs and found Achilles. He stood there, atop the heights, his bronze armor stark against the ochre stone. Directly in front of him was the Sidonian commander who had protested Sidon’s innocence.
He raised a double-headed axe, wickedly curved like a demon’s grin—and advanced.
They met at the precipice, so near the edge that grit and sand sheared away beneath their sandals.
Steel screamed as sword struck axe, sparks spitting into the sea air.
Achilles yielded no ground. Blow after blow, he danced away from death’s edge, every motion scored from years of discipline and rage.
The commander whirled the axe in a low arc. Achilles sprang aside on the wall’s eroded edge. His sword flashed back, tapping the man’s thigh with a ringed clang that echoed like a challenge.
Steel struck again in a dazzling clash and sand danced down the wall. Achilles ducked beneath a massive blow, then swung hard … the blade slicing across the commander’s back. He staggered, and Achilles added a second gash along his side, but the Sidonian refused to fall.
The commander’s blades slashed, wild with desperation, but Achilles drove into him, teeth bared in a near grin as he closed in. He stepped inside the man’s guard and his blade sank into flesh, forcing the commander backward until the cliff gave him nowhere left to stand.
There was one last desperate parry, and then Achilles pivoted, his sword arcing upward in a savage sweep. His steel bit through flesh and bone with a sickening rip, and the commander’s head tore free of his shoulders, spinning into the air as blood fountained across the cliff’s edge.
It struck the cliff and tumbled, bouncing stone to stone until it vanished below with a final, dull thud as the Cetus chose that moment to scream.