Chapter 18 #2
She felt as though she was looking down on the ship from above.
Everything was smaller, as if the boat was just a toy bobbing on the surface of a pool.
She could see herself, a little figurine on the deck.
She knew she had to go on, but there was pain down there, so much pain.
Up here, there was only endless sky. She could just float away and never look back.
You do not run, you fight, said the voice.
She returned to her body with a jolt. A surge of nausea clenched her stomach as she looked down at Manto. The weight of their sacrifice was crushing. She didn’t know how she would be able to bear it.
She didn’t have a choice.
“They will pay. I will make them pay,” she whispered to Manto’s corpse.
Danae carefully wrapped Manto’s body in the fabric of their robe.
The contents of Manto’s bag had remained secure and after removing it from them, she fished two obols from its depths and tucked them into the blood-soaked folds.
The coins should have been placed on Manto’s eyes, but she wanted to make sure they weren’t lost, or Manto’s soul would have nothing to pay the ferryman and be left stranded on the banks of the Underworld.
While she worked, those who’d survived the attack by jumping in the water clambered back on board. There weren’t many of them. Only two of the crew remained. Dion, the helmsman, and an oarsman whose left arm had been clawed through to the bone.
The color drained from the helmsman’s face as he took in the disemboweled captain and realized that, by default, he was now in charge.
“Right...” He looked at the blood-slicked deck and scattered body parts. “I need everyone who’s able to wrap the dead.”
A young mother, her child’s face buried in her skirts, cried out, “What if they come back?”
They won’t come back, Danae thought. They think they got what they came for.
“I hear you,” said Dion. “But we can’t row with—”
“We’re an open target out here!” shouted a merchant who’d been the first to throw himself overboard.
The child began to wail.
“Poseidon, why have you forsaken us?” His mother sank to her knees, clutching her sobbing son to her chest.
“We can’t leave them like thi—stop!” Dion lunged toward the merchant, who’d grasped an oar and was frantically rowing, sending the boat in a futile curve.
As he struggled with the man, the helmsman began to breathe heavily.
He backed away from the flailing merchant and sank down onto a rowing bench, clutching his chest and looking thoroughly overwhelmed.
Danae glanced up from Manto’s body. The boat had descended into chaos. Something had to be done.
She rose to her feet and shouted, in what she hoped was an authoritative voice, “Be quiet, all of you!”
Silence fell. Even the child’s crying reduced to a whimper.
“Who are you?” the merchant asked, taking in her black dress and short hair.
“She’s a seer,” breathed Dion as he pushed himself off the bench.
Now she had their attention, what in Tartarus was she going to say?
Like the seer in Athens had done, she tilted her face toward the sky and rolled her eyes back.
The line of blasphemy was so far behind her it was no longer visible.
But if the gods already wanted her dead, what harm would a little false divination do?
A single cloud floated across the sun, sparing the boat from its glare for a brief moment. She raised her hand and pointed.
“It is a sign! The gods’ rage has been sated and we have all been spared by our virtue. But we must honor Poseidon and give the dead to the sea.”
A tense pause stretched across the ship, then the young mother shouted, “Praise the Lord of the Ocean, praise him!”
While Danae was speaking, the child had spotted Lithos. He detached himself from his mother and walked across the deck to tentatively pat the dog’s ears. In return Lithos licked his hand. The child smiled.
Danae’s eyes met Dion’s, and the helmsman inclined his head, then took back command.
“There’s a canopy stowed under the helm platform and spare sail tarp, we can use that.”
Wrapping the bodies was stomach-churning work. Loose guts slipped through their fingers like eels, and the stench grew increasingly pungent in the heat. When their task was finally complete, they stood back, breathing heavily, arms and clothing drenched in blood.
“Will you say the rights?” Dion asked.
As the helmsman, the merchant and the other two women began to heave the wrapped bodies over the side of the ship, Danae cleared her throat. She’d heard the words so many times but she’d never been the one to say them.
She raised her middle finger to her forehead. “May the Twelve see you and know you, may the Keres spread their wings over you as you walk the path of judgment. May your souls find peace across the final river.”
“Go with the blessing of the Twelve,” murmured the others.
Danae felt a lump settle at the back of her throat as she watched Manto’s body bob away on the glinting waves.
Her vision blurred. She never got to see Alea buried. She should have been there, should have helped her mother wash and anoint her sister’s body, should be mourning with her family.
While the others observed a moment of stillness, soundless tears tumbled down her face.
After the silence, Dion climbed up onto the stern platform. The heat was stifling now, with no wind to offer a breath of relief. He considered the unfurled sail and sighed, then pointed to the merchant.
“You take the top right bench. And you the middle right.” He placed the injured oarsman behind the merchant, then sat himself on the top left bench.
“I can’t row,” said the wounded man through gritted teeth.
“You’ve got one good arm, haven’t you? Use that.”
The man glared at Dion’s back, then sank onto his designated bench.
The helmsman turned to Danae and the other two women. “I’m sorry to ask, but we’ll never get to shore, just the three of us.”
“We can row,” Danae said quickly. The other women nodded.
Dion gestured for the mother to share a bench with the injured man, and Danae and the blue-cloaked woman took the bench opposite. The child sat against the stern deck, Lithos curled in his lap.
They grasped the oars, and Dion called, “Follow my count, one, two, one, two...”
Danae’s palms ached. She could already feel blisters forming. There was nothing to look at, nothing to distract her from the pain of rowing, except the sparkling blue-on-blue horizon.
She glanced at her companion. The woman’s face was obscured by her hood, her pale fingers decked with rings. One, on the fourth finger of her left hand, was dazzling. It held the largest sapphire Danae had ever seen, set in a bed of diamonds. The woman winced every time they pulled their oar.
“It will hurt less if you take them off.”
The woman looked at her, and Danae caught a glimpse of her rowing mate’s face. There was something familiar about the shape of her jaw and tilt of her nose. The woman seemed skittish and avoided making eye contact. Danae couldn’t blame her after what they’d just been through.
“I can row alone for a moment.”
The woman nodded and Danae took over as she slipped her rings into her cloak pocket. “Thank you,” she said as she clutched her section of oar again.
If the jewels weren’t enough, her accent confirmed it. This woman was nobility.
From behind her blue hood, their eyes finally met, and Danae’s mind sparked with recognition. It must have been written on her face, because the woman muttered, “Please, I don’t want anyone to know who I am.”
Danae was suddenly cold despite the heat and exertion of rowing. Out of all the people in Delphi, she had ended up on a bench with the Queen of Athens.
“I won’t say anything.” She hoped she was unrecognizable from the last time Phaedra had seen her in her novice’s disguise.
“Thank you.” The queen’s words were stilted by the effort of rowing.
A few mores strokes of the oar fell between them.
Danae stole another glance at the queen. She was so like her sister. From what Ariadne had told her back on Naxos, she wondered if Phaedra even knew her sister was still alive.
She bit her lip. She knew it was risky, but she had to say something. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t.
“I’ve met your sister Ariadne.”
Phaedra’s hands jerked from the oar, sending their shaft bashing into the man in front.
“Middle left!” Dion shouted. “Keep rhythm!”
Fumbling with sweat-slicked hands, Danae and Phaedra regained control of their oar.
“You are mistaken.” The queen’s voice was all edges. “My sister died a long time ago.”
“I promise you, Ariadne is alive and well on Naxos. She lives with a collective of women, the Maenads. She’s happy.”
Phaedra was silent. Danae looked across and saw the front of the queen’s cloak was stained with tears.
“Theseus told me she was dead. All those wasted years.”
“You still have time.”
Phaedra shook her head. “There are some things you cannot come back from.”
“I know only one, death.”
The words came with a sharpness Danae hadn’t intended. Phaedra’s head snapped toward her. She bit the inside of her cheeks, but she couldn’t stop her thoughts from tumbling out.
“I would give anything, everything, to see my sister again. But she’s in the Underworld, and I will have to wait a lifetime. You could go to Ariadne now and live with her for the rest of your days. Don’t waste the time you have left.”
They continued to manipulate the oar in silence, their labored breathing the only sound between them.
“I’m sorry,” Phaedra said eventually. “About your sister.”
Danae didn’t trust herself to speak. She returned to gazing at the gleaming shards of sunlight skipping across the water.
She wondered how long it would take her to reach the end of the world.
Guilt twisted her stomach. She’d made a promise to Manto, yet without them she had little hope of finding their father.
She didn’t even know his name. And ever constant, the words of the prophecy lay heavy in her heart.
Prometheus was her only hope.