Sea Breeze: Phantom Queen Book 8 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  “I agree with the Greeks,” I admitted, then held up a hand before James could retort. “Gettin’ off this island should be our main priority. I’ve seen what these giants did to that fleet of ships. We can’t risk ‘em doin’ the same to this one.” I shook my head. “But if we rush this, we may end up somewhere even worse. So, I propose a compromise. At nightfall, we go look for supplies. Food. Water. Anything else we might need, we take. But if,” I added, holding up a single finger, “we find the means to get the Jolly Roger off this beach, we have to try.” I searched the faces around the room before I met the young man’s gaze. “I don’t want to leave the Jolly Roger behind any more than ye do, James, but this is the best I can come up with.”

  James bit his lip, a child’s gesture, but eventually nodded.

  “And does that work for ye?” I asked, swiveling to face Helen.

  “It will suffice, for now. But you should know that you won’t always be able to compromise, not if you intend to lead. There will be tougher decisions to make before this is through.”

  “Lead?” I waved that away. “No t’anks.”

  James coughed into his hand. “Actually, we’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” he said, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

  “This young man thinks you should be named Captain,” Narcissus interjected when James didn’t immediately speak up. “I did try to explain that I’d be a much better candidate, especially seeing as how it’s my map we’re using, but he’s far too smitten to listen to reason.”

  “That’s not true,” James replied, hotly. “I mean, not the smitten part, anyway. Look, I just think we need someone in charge. Someone decisive.” He scanned the faces gathered around the room, though he pointedly skipped over mine. “When the ship was getting hit, Miss MacKenna—Quinn—stepped in and got us working together. And I’m not sure where you two stand, but she’s the only reason Tinkerbell, Tiger Lily, and I are here.”

  “She is a warrior, as Peter Pan was. But also a survivor, like Hook,” Tiger Lily added, her tone decidedly neutral despite giving me all the eye contact James hadn’t. “Of course, in this as in all things, we will support James.” The brave gestured to Tinkerbell, who took the opportunity to raise a half-hearted thumbs up before slumping back down, shielding her face with her arms as she nuzzled up against the collar of James’ jacket.

  “I agree,” Helen said, surprising me yet again. “If we are going to continue, we should be led by one voice, not several.”

  “Yes,” Narcissus chimed in, nodding. “I vote we choose the voice with the most experience. Show of hands. Who here has actually sailed a real ship before?” Narcissus held his own hand up. James followed suit, though tentatively. “And who here has set a course without the help of a faerie? Navigated using maps? Ran a very profitable, extremely fashionable cruiseliner company?”

  James dropped his hand.

  “I thought so.”

  “Narcissus, that’s enough.” Helen reached out to lower her companion’s arm. “I’m sure our new Captain will find you immensely valuable as a helmsman. Without your expertise, we’re likely to go nowhere. But these Neverlanders do not trust us. Nor can we expect them to.”

  “You’re bein’ awfully understandin’ about this,” I said, suspiciously. “Don’t ye want the job?”

  Helen huffed a laugh. “No.”

  “Smarter than ye look,” I said with a sigh. Helen straightened a bit at that, probably offended by the implication. I shook my head, waving that off. “Sorry. Look, I don’t want the job, either. So, let’s table the Captain talk until we have a ship to sail, alright?”

  “Alright,” James echoed, though I could tell he wasn’t pleased about it.

  Narcissus twitched for the second time before leaning towards his companion, one hand shielding his mouth from view, though when he spoke it was more than loud enough for us all to hear. “You know, for someone who doesn’t want to be the boss, she’s awfully bossy.”

  “Narcissus…” Helen cautioned.

  “Teasing, my dear. Only teasing.”

  22

  I’d left the cabin following Narcissus’ catty comment, opting to get some fresh air before I really did throttle the smug bastard. The problem was, he wasn’t wrong. I always found excuses to take charge in groups, even when I didn’t objectively want to. There was simply something about other people’s way of doing things that rubbed me the wrong way. In any case, what I’d told James was the truth. I hated the thought of being Captain; I’d seen the price of authority firsthand and had no desire to lose any sleep at night wondering if I’d made the right choice—if I’d said the right thing or chosen the correct path. Unfortunately, I disliked the thought of anyone else being in charge at least as much.

  With all this swirling around inside my head, I decided to go for a walk. I leapt off the side of the ship, landing easily in the sand, and strolled towards the sea. The tide had come in a fair amount since we’d arrived, the sun several hours from setting. The island was chillier than I’d thought it would be, especially with the breeze coming off the waves; my hair whipped about in ginger tangles, occasionally flitting across my vision so that I literally saw red. Above the sound of the surf, I could make out footsteps crunching towards me, accompanied inevitably by the drag and swish of a cloak.

  “My husband used to stare out at the waves much as you are, now,” Helen said as she came up behind me.

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Paris?” I asked, recalling the myth that had made her infamous.

  Helen spat indelicately, a gob of spittle emerging from her shadowed cowl to stain the sands. “No. My husband was always Menelaus. Paris and I never married.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that; Homer’s description of events, from what I could recall, had included a torrid love affair spawned by interfering gods, complete with abduction, bloodshed, and—supposedly—romance. Of course, it was entirely possible my memory was tainted by alternate, televised renditions; Hollywood had a way of skewing one’s perceptions of literature towards gratuitous sex and violence.

  “It was not Helen of Sparta’s choice to become forever known as Helen of Troy,” she continued. “Menelaus was a hot-tempered man, but honorable in his own way. Fierce, passionate, but loyal. Paris was nothing but a child. A naive child, cursed by his own choice. And don’t get me started on Menelaus’ brother, Agamemnon, that power-hungry cretin...” Helen bit off her tirade, stepped up alongside me, and waved all that away. “Forget it. Ancient history.”

  “I had no idea. Sorry for bringin’ it up.”

  “I’d love to say times have changed, but I’m afraid the days of men taking what they want, of doing whatever they please, are not as numbered as I’d prefer.” Helen turned to face me, the shadows beneath her cowl taking on an ominous element in the harsh light of day. “You seemed surprised that I sided with the others against Narcissus’ wishes. Would you like to know why?”

  Though I sensed a trap of some sort, I nodded.

  “Do you know what the Greek word ‘pathos’ means?”

  “No.”

  “It was a term coined by Aristotle. I expect you’ve heard of him.”

  “The philosopher?”

  “Yes, though he was far more than that,” she replied. “Aristotle was a man who turned our history into fables, who made myths out of our tragedies, our realities. He and his predecessors kept us alive, in many ways.” Another gesture of dismissal. “Anyway, the word translates directly to mean ‘suffering,’ though what it typically refers to are the emotions that can be drawn out of an audience.”

  I nodded along, unsure where Helen was going with this little lesson; until now, she’d gone out of her way to compartmentalize information, to share only when it was required. In fact, it was that reluctance on her part which had bothered me from the start. What was she hiding? Or, more importantly, why was she hiding it?

  “Alright,” I prompted, “so what’s your point?”

  “You may not
know this, but we Greeks are famous for our tragedies. Our heroes have a tendency to make questionable judgment calls, our gods to behave like spoiled children. In this respect, we are the perfect display of pathos and all its trappings. Aristotle’s lessons were meant to guide humanity, to underscore our failures so that they wouldn’t repeat our mistakes. And yet...”

  “I don’t understand,” I admitted. “I mean, I appreciate the history lesson. But what’s any of this got to do with me bein’ Captain?

  Helen waved that away.

  “Tell me, Quinn MacKenna, what are you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can sense it in you, bright as the sun above our heads and hot as the sand beneath our feet,” she said as she held out her hand, letting it hover just a few feet from my gut the way you might before pressing it to the bulge of a pregnant woman’s stomach. “The spark of divinity. Ever since we fetched you out of the water, it’s been there, flickering. Except it’s different from others I’ve encountered. Less certain. Unaffiliated, perhaps.”

  “Unaffiliated?”

  “You will have choices to make,” Helen said, as though I hadn’t spoken. “Decisions that will determine the sort of being you will become. Who you will answer to. Who you will condemn, or save.”

  I found myself covering my stomach with both arms, shielding the so-called spark Helen had referred to as if there were indeed a child growing in my belly. “It’s not mine. It’s me ma’s power,” I admitted, liking less and less the way this conversation was going. “Her essence. Spirit. Whatever.”

  “Just because it’s inherited it doesn’t mean it isn’t yours.” Helen snorted a quick laugh that was anything but ladylike. “Don’t you see what this means?”

  “No,” I replied, defensively. “So why don’t ye explain it to me?”

  Helen let her hand fall back to her side.

  “I’ve overstepped. I apologize.”

  “No, it’s time ye say what ye came to say. But be quick about it, because I’m gettin’ tired of the runaround.” I fought to keep the frustration out of my voice, but it wasn’t easy; part of me desperately wanted to flee before I had to confront yet another uncomfortable truth. But then, no matter how much I’d changed of late, I supposed deep down I simply wasn’t the sort of person to avoid confrontation.

  “You are the first of your kind to emerge in millennia,” Helen replied after a lengthy pause. “The first since the Old Ones abandoned the mortal realm. Haven’t you wondered what that means for our future?”

  “For our future?”

  “It means,” Helen continued, “that the old magic is returning. The old forces. Perhaps the Old Ones themselves.”

  “Now hold on a minute—”

  “I agreed with the boy,” Helen continued, cutting me off, “because I believe you have a destiny to fulfill, and because I want to see what you will do with your newfound power. It’s possible you will succeed where others have failed. Perhaps you will become an unblemished, untainted deity destined to rise and never fall. Or perhaps you will make the same mistakes which ruined so many before you. Only time will tell.”

  “Oh, golly, ye really t’ink so?” I asked in a child’s voice, eyes comically wide, making a mockery of her bold pronouncement.

  “Would you like to know the real reason I agreed to help you? The reason I agreed to come along on this journey?” Helen asked.

  Even though I’d suspected Helen’s motives, I was surprised to hear her admit it; the demigoddess didn’t seem the type to give up her secrets willingly. If anything, she struck me as a strikingly premeditated person. Perhaps that was why all I could do was wonder what purpose her sudden candor served. I gestured for her to continue, fighting to keep the skepticism off my face.

  “It was foretold, long ago, that I join you on this quest of yours.”

  “Foretold by whom?”

  “By someone who insisted the fate of us all depended on you and your allies—or your enemies, depending on the choices you make.”

  That sounded too familiar. My mother had said something similar, perhaps more than once. Others, as well. But I only knew of one prophet who’d decided to meddle in my affairs, lately. “I swear if ye say Merlin put ye up to this...” I said, eye twitching at the mere thought that my father might have been involved in recruiting Helen as well.

  “Merlin? No, not at all. I’ve never even crossed paths with him. No, the prophetess I spoke to died long before you were born. We knew her as the Pythia, though many refer to her now as the Oracle at Delphi. It was she who told me that I would be sought out by a wounded god, and that through him I would be introduced to a child who belonged to two worlds. At first I thought she meant a literal child, but now I realize she meant a child in relation to someone who has survived the ages. Regardless, the Pythia insisted I should follow that child to the edge of death and back if I would see my greatest wish fulfilled.”

  “Your greatest wish?”

  Helen hesitated. “To awaken my mother, of course. As I said.”

  “Of course,” I said, pretending I hadn’t noticed the pause. “And how long ago was this, exactly?”

  “Several thousand years, give or take a century.”

  Unable to decide if Helen was being glib or not, I was forced to seriously consider the fact that, at some point in the ancient past, she had indeed met with the infamous prophetess—a fortune-telling priestess who’d pointed her in my general direction. It wasn’t a pleasant notion; it spoke to the nature of predestination, suggesting the trajectory of my life was already determined.

  “Does everyone know what me future looks like besides me?” I wondered aloud.

  “It doesn’t work like that,” Helen replied. “Prophecies are vague, open-ended things which tend to make sense only after the fact. Even with the Pythia’s guidance, even after spending centuries preparing myself for this journey, I don’t know anymore than you do about what’s coming, or how it’ll come about. I can’t even tell you how we’ll make it off this island, for example, or whether we’ll all survive.”

  “Well, aren’t ye the life and soul of the funeral.”

  “The Pythia did give me one clue, however,” Helen said, ignoring my jibe. “And this is why I voted for you, why I believe you are the one I was meant to follow.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “She called the child ‘Captain.’ She spoke it in English, which is why I remembered it. Your language hadn’t even emerged yet, and so the word was not easily forgotten.”

  Even better, I thought. According to Helen of Troy, it seemed I’d been inadvertently appointed Captain by a prophetess thousands of years before—a predestined promotion, as it were. I wished the idea were laughable. Unfortunately, despite my misgivings, it appeared the insidious influence of destiny was already at work; if fate decreed I was to become Captain, I doubted there was much I could do about it. I turned my back on the sea and started towards the ship.

  “Gather everyone on the main deck when the sun goes down,” I called over my shoulder. “And have the others keep an eye on the cliffs, just in case.”

  “Very well. And what will you be doing?”

  “I’m goin’ to see if Hook kept any booze on that damn boat.”

  23

  Unfortunately for me, it turned out Hook was a teetotaler. Either that, or he was a hell of a lot better at hiding his alcohol than he was his leather fetish. Regardless, I spent the few hours leading up to sunset aimlessly wandering the ship before returning to the cabin to meet with my would-be crew. My thoughts churned as I ran my fingers along the wooden railing, occasionally reaching out to swing around the taut ropes, relishing the sensation of being alive. The breeze had picked up, the sky darkening beneath rows of stratocumulus clouds rolling as if to reflect the surface of the churning sea. My own emotions were similarly disturbed. After my stilted conversation with Helen, I felt oddly unsteady. Uncertain.

  When this all began, everything had revolved around Ryan. Whether b
y stopping or saving him, the outcome would be the same; I’d end his plotting and make the world a safer place. But now I wasn’t so sure. To find Atlantis, we’d have to seek out the entrance of the Underworld to speak with the spirits of the dead. But which spirits? Who would come calling if and when we engaged in this seance? What more would I have to endure, what new secrets would come to light? To be honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know; I had an ominous feeling about this journey, a sense of foreboding that sent chills up my spine. And yet, with nothing concrete to go on, there was still work to be done.

  So, I headed for the cabin at last and laid out my plan for the evening’s activities.

  “It’s a simple scout and report job,” I said. “Tinkerbell, ye and Narcissus will take the northwest. Ye keep an eye on everythin’ from above and keep the Greek from gettin’ into any trouble. If ye two t’ink there’s any danger, double back and wait for us here. But make sure ye aren’t followed. No sense doin’ all this sneakin’ around just to get caught and turned to jelly when they start tossin’ boulders at us.”

  “Why do I have to go with him?” Tinkerbell asked, her face scrunched up in distaste.

  “Because if he finds a mirror, I worry he won’t ever make it back.”

  Narcissus opened his mouth to say something, thought about it, then closed it. He nudged Helen, smirking. “It’s like she knows me.”

  “James, I want ye and Helen to go north. Same rules apply. Ye won’t have anyone lookin’ out for ye from above, so you’ll have to be extra careful.” I glanced sidelong at the demigoddess. “That little trick when ye take off your hood, is it useful?”