by Chris Howard
“Lady Kassandra wears the Wreath of Poseidon, as you can all see, and she has escaped her prison, that school, escaped the king for now. She has come seeking her teacher.” One corner of Kallixene’s lips bent up, as near a smile as she probably gave anyone. “We will give her the strength of our hand in return.”
There was a pause like the silence of the abyss.
Kallixene drifted a few more inches in the water. “We will give it to her.”
A Rexenor woman in her twenties swam away from the crowd, letting her feet drift down to the stones. She shot me a really nasty look and then turned it on Lady Kallixene.
The woman reminded me of Nicole, but a little older. She had long black hair, braided into threes, deep reddish-brown eyes, fury in them like windows into a volcanic interior. She wore a tight black top, nothing about her pale and flowery. The black material angled in at her throat and left her shoulders bare—muscular shoulders.
Kallixene nodded. “Yes, Phaidra?”
Given the floor, the woman turned back to me.
“Is it true, the Olethren have been awakened for you? That they will follow your path to the earth’s end? And that your presence here draws them to us?”
Oh, shit.
“I—” I started, holding back the urge to call up my armor and sword. It made me feel powerful, but this woman’s fierceness melted away any hope of defense.
Of course, I had other methods. I let my anger stir to life, even gave it a bit of stoking.
Phaidra’s gaze dropped a little to take in what I—the Alkimides princess—wore, and then they locked on mine again, along with the scorn they’d just picked up.
Don’t make me mad, Phaidra.
I lifted my head higher and drew in a deep breath. I called up a storming anger. It was ready to roll uncontrollably forward, blind and destructive. I felt my face tighten, my brows tilting into each other, forming a wrinkle above the bridge of my nose.
“They are marching toward the school in Nebraska where I grew up. Not here. That means they have been awakened to kill something I hold dearer than my life or the existence of the Wreath itself.” A trace of a thank-you for Andromache’s and Praxinos’ formal language teaching flashed by in my thoughts. “Because I will stand between the Olethren and their prey and let myself and all the Wreath-wearers perish before I’ll let their rot and death and clutching fingers touch my father, Lord Gregor Rexenor.”
I gave Phaidra a challenging glare. Then I spent a second congratulating myself.
Then I noticed the blaze in Phaidra’s eyes had doubled.
“You—!” Phaidra sputtered. “What do you know of Gregor, you stupid girl from the surface? What do you know of the ocean? Or any of this?” She waved her hand to indicate the gathered seaborn and the village beyond. “You wear the Wreath. It’s plain. It is your intention or any possible attachment you could have to the sea that strikes me wrong. Would you defend the life of a man you never knew?”
Kallixene swam in, shifting to ancient Greek. “And you, daughter, only knew as little more than an infant. As Telemachos knew only the contrived madness of Odysseus, a father weary of war in the moments before he departed for Troy, and returned not for twenty years.”
Holy shit! Aunt Phaidra?
While most of my mind was stuck on the woman doubting me, I spent one thread of thought trying to figure out what my grandmother had just said. I knew all the names, Telemachos was the son of Odysseus. He was a baby when his father went off to war against Troy, and twenty years old when he returned.
Phaidra kicked up into the water a few feet, shouting at her mother. “By that small piece I cling with every grain of my thought and strength. What of Gregor does she have to hold? Nothing. She never knew him.”
“Do you think she doesn’t know what a father is? She wears the Wreath and so knows of her ancestors. We all create what we can out of the sorrows and history we can pull together and hold onto.”
“But out of nothing?” Phaidra snorted doubtfully.
“Sometimes it is out of the complete lack of the thing you value that the stronger purpose emerges. Having the smallest memory as the harbor in which to anchor your grief has given you enough to crush any desire to pursue the possibility of your brother being alive. I am equally at fault, for I held my memories of my son in place of the hope that he was still among the living. Having nothing, the fleeting thinness of the air above, which is incapable of holding the teeth of an anchor, drove this girl—my granddaughter—to seek what we have and more, the smallest of footholds, a memory, a conversation, anything, even the hope of saving Gregor.”
Phaidra crossed her arms obstinately. She lifted a finger off her muscular biceps to indicate me, and her gaze landed on me like prey-birds. “She’s a scared little girl. Your fear is as clear to me as the gift of Poseidon. What are you going to do? Spit on the army of the dead before fleeing like a goby on the flats?”
The shock dumped my mouth open. I started to get my response ready, but Kallixene’s angry voice cut through my reply.
“Do you know where this girl stood one night ago? On the floor of the abyss north of the Nine-cities where the lithotombs are anchored. She spoke with one of the deathless ones enslaved there and learned that Gregor is alive and a prisoner of King Tharsaleos. Even as she set out on her journey, the king ordered Gregor moved from the abyss. We think the king has sent Gregor to the school where Lady Kassandra grew up, as a lure and trap for her. That the Olethren are moving toward the Mississippi River confirms this.”
That silenced Phaidra for the moment, but I still had my inferno-like wrath at full height with no place to contain it.
I unleashed it on the woman, my voice lethally sharp.
“I’ll go and defend my father against the Olethren with or without your help. If you want to cower down here in the dark, you have my permission!”
Phaidra’s eyes went wide. Her teeth came unclamped, but only for a heartbeat. She bared them, pulled up her fists, and whirled into a fighting stance.
I stiffened, closed my eyes, then opened them. My toes pressed against the tiles and when I brought my focus back to the courtyard full of seaborn, the pale green armor plates wrapped my body and the sword arced into a point a few feet from Phaidra’s face.
The weariness that always followed served only to temper my anger—but only a little. I glared back from under the brow ridges of my helmet.
Show me what you got, Aunt Phaidra. I dare you.
Chapter 26 - You Can Only Lose Once
The currents of the wreath roared around me, tugging curls of water on my ankles—but it was all inside my head. It distracted me only a moment.
It was the surprised murmuring of the seaborn that broke through my anger. I let my focus move away from Phaidra in quick shifts, flicking to the faces of the Rexenors.
“Why are they shocked?” I whispered to Praxinos and Andromache, keeping my sword up. “I just wished my armor on.”
Praxinos didn’t understand. Wished?
You have frightened them. Andromache knew exactly what I had done—and she seemed proud of the fact that I had the power to do it. It is not something a Wreath-wearer does often. Willed on your armor and battle gear is the appropriate way to put it.
Ah, wishing. Praxinos made some agreeing noises. I did not sufficiently appreciate your use of the word. I think I prefer wishing to willing.
At a nod from Kallixene, Menophon stepped forward, giving me a stern look.
Oh no.
I kicked away from Phaidra before lowering my sword.
“I will testify to the Lady Kassandra’s fearlessness,” Menophon called to the gathering. “She threatened to part my head from my shoulders when I ordered her to hand over her sword, for none shall enter the Lady’s presence armed.”
I froze, not at first understanding which way the commander of Kallixene’s guard was going. Then I slid the sword into the scabbard around my back. He was obedient to Lady Kallixene, and showed no sign of our
earlier disagreement.
“My lady?” Menophon gave Phaidra a curt nod, and the daughter of Kallixene lowered her fists, straightening into her normal ready kill-you-later stance.
Lady Kallixene drifted over and rested her hand on Menophon’s shoulder. “Years have flowed past us into history. Fourteen years since we fled our home in the Atlantic. Countless swells have rolled by, and twice times the number of tides as days have past. Older, we are wiser. But the king has not let his soul go to rot. I think he is working to force my granddaughter to protect her father. And he has awakened the Olethren to kill them both.”
Kallixene gave Phaidra such a forceful look, she skidded back two feet over the tiles with a terrified expression on her face.
“This is not an arguable decision. This is not about enmity of the noble houses. This is not a matter for the assembly, but one for which you have already taken oaths to join against. Lady Kassandra is an Alkimides by her mother, but by her father, my son, Lord Gregor, she is a Rexenor. You are bound by your word to defend her as you would defend me, as you would defend any one of us.”
Kallixene indicated the door through which Ephoros had passed ten minutes before.
“Many of you saw the deathless one, Ephoros, who came to us as a companion of Lady Kassandra. You also saw him depart. He is headed for the Nine-cities at this moment, to recover the means to destroy the Olethren.
I noticed a few frowns, some directed right at me. Kallixene read them too, returning a nod, the corners of her lips tilted up into a forbidding smile.
“You are thinking that this sounds very like the preparations that failed fourteen years ago.” Kallixene paused. She knew how to make the silence work. “For the most part, you are right. There are similarities, but there are noticeable differences. Lady Kassandra’s mother, Lady Ampharete stood with us then on the fixed battlements built by your ancestors. And on the eve of battle we decided to send Ephoros away to the old ones who still dwell around Rhodes in the Mediterranean Sea. He did not return in time to help defend us from the dead army of Tharsaleos.”
I tightened my jaw, watching the reaction of the gathered seaborn. Most nodded or made sounds of agreement in response. I’m sure it sounded pretty much like the same failed plan.
“The differences I will point out to you. We no longer live behind fortress walls, but in hiding, and on the move. We are not going to defend our homes, nor must we defeat the Olethren tomorrow or the next day. She laughed sourly at the notion of defeating an undefeatable army. All we must do is find Lord Gregor and escape.”
“But they will not stop until we have joined them in death,” a young man burst out, adding cautiously, “My lady.”
“And if you were imprisoned in the same manner, Chenandros, we would spend our lives to free you. My son may not be at the surface school, but we must find out. It is very likely he is. If he is there, we must free him and escape through the rivers.”
I swam forward, and Kallixene tilted her head toward me with a questioning scowl.
“I—I would like to add that another difference is that the Olethren have never fought above the waves, and the king has made a mistake in sending them to Nebraska.”
“Nor have we!” Shouted a few old soldierly looking men. Phaidra nodded, joining their group glare.
Kallixene gave them a sweeping wave of one hand. “Time is not something we can treat like the boiling waters from the vents.”
I blinked a few times. What?
The soldier who had come with news of the Olethren, glanced over, saw the puzzled look on my face, and made a twirling motion with one finger. I nodded back, understanding. The hot water from deep-sea vents was almost never ending.
Fancy way of saying we don’t have a lot of time.
“The Olethren have nearly reached the headwaters of the Mississippi River. And we must secure some of the details of our strategy. Here is what I have decided so far: Tharsaleos has spies at the school. So, we must send Kassandra there with one or two of us as protectors. She can begin the search for Lord Gregor in a careful manner, avoiding the king’s agents, while we ready for battle. Every man and woman without familial duties, and one from every family with a child under nine.”
There were some shouts about exceptions to intricate laws that dealt with wartime family duties, many about fighting above the waves, questions about fighting with their wet clothing and armor and the resulting chafing, some concerns about the weight of armor and weapons up in “the Thin”, all of which Lady Kallixene or Menophon answered in turn. The crowd in her courtyard doubled after several of the children were sent around the village as callers, passing the word of battle.
An argument broke out over what to do with Mr. Henderson, with some thinking that he ought to be suited up and given a spear. After brief introductions and some background on the Olethren, he agreed.
Always knew he was crazy...but in a good way. That’s what makes him a good teacher.
In fact, Mr. Henderson seemed more excited than he already was when they explained about the rotting corpses brought back to something like life in order to serve the King of the Seaborn.
“Will wonders never end?” He seemed genuinely intrigued, and he bowed to Lady Kallixene. “I don’t know...what do you say on the day someone saves you from murder, brings you to the bottom of the sea, and gives the gift of breathing underwater to a marine biologist? I guess... I owe you my life. I don’t know the first thing about combat with swords or spears and armies of these dead warriors, or much else I’ve heard so far, but what I can return in terms of service, I give to you.”
Menophon swam forward and put his scarred hand on Mr. Henderson’s shoulder. “Do you swear loyalty to House Rexenor?”
And my favorite teacher, my science teacher, with all the excitement of a man gone back to some favorite era in a time machine, nodded and said, “I do.”
“Accepted,” said Lady Kallixene with a curt bow in return. She turned to Menophon. “See that Michael Henderson is given arms and armor.”
All curiosity and little fear, Mr. Henderson kept swinging around to overhear different arguments and demands, trying to keep up with the battle prep.
He made a few attempts at nodding and smiling at me. I got him into this mess—the girl who’d asked about sound traveling through water. That can only lead to trouble, right?
He ended up with a grin, an exaggerated shrug and his eyebrows raised in an expression of “What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”
I waved back weakly, tried for a smile that I’m sure came out thin. Guilt kept poking holes in my thoughts. I wished I could feed it all to the whirlpool force, the Wreath, which was now a constant presence in my head.
Can’t I banish it—flush it—down the whirlpool? Apparently, it didn’t work that way. Mr. Henderson is here because he wrote something about my sound-through-water question in his grade book. It’s my fault Matrothy, Fenhals, and a murdering king became his enemies.
My grandmother’s voice cut through my thoughts.
“There is an old saying, that you can only lose to the Olethren once. Its meaning is clear, that no one survives to fight them another day. We lost once to them and we have survived. I will remind you now. You can only lose once to the Olethren.”
With that, the crowd broke to organize for battle. Not that it would take much effort. They’d prepared a few days before for the final defense of their homes. Menophon beckoned some of the older men and women over to talk strategy.
I hung out for another hour, chatting uncomfortably with some of the Rexenor girls, all of them younger than I was. They spoke in frightened voices, and wanted to touch my armor, but I couldn’t look them in the eyes. There were few from the village younger than twenty but older than me, a glaring void of life. No children from the generation annihilated by the Olethren.
I shifted my feet anxiously, and sprang into the water every few minutes, wanting to stay but ready to leave.
Lady Kallixene approached with
Phaidra.
“Kassandra, you will return to your school with Phaidra to help you. We will follow as soon as we are able. Do not be afraid. Knowing what we know of the king’s plan, we can defend ourselves. We can walk into a trap knowing it’s there. But you must avoid Fenhals at all cost. Do not let him speak to you. Run away from him.”
“Why can’t I wait and go with you and the rest of the House?” Okay, that sounded whiny, and I shut my mouth.
“Our plan is to make the king’s agents think their plan is succeeding. For that, you must be seen at the school. Also, you can travel much faster than we can. We will follow as soon as we can complete the muster, with the Olethren probably on our heels.”
She turned to Phaidra. “Search the school for defensive positions, doorways that we can fortify and those that must be barred. Secure as many paths through the water as you can.” Phaidra kept nodding and glancing between her mother and me.
Lady Kallixene continued giving orders to both of us, but I didn’t catch a lot of it. I sank into an entrenched scowling contest with my aunt Phaidra.
Why has my grandmother paired me up with the one who hates me?
“Because she is family and you are the Wreath-wearer. Other than Phaidra, there are few here I trust more with your life,” said Kallixene at once, and I stared back, my mouth falling open, the sea going still behind my teeth.
What powers do you have?
“None of your business. But if you push me—either of you—you will find out how big and sharp my claws and teeth are. Understand me?”
Phaidra, who had obviously been pinned under her mother’s eyes a thousand times, understood and bowed to her. “Yes, my lady.”
When both Phaidra and Kallixene turned to me, I didn’t really have a choice other than to mimic my aunt.
“Yes, my lady.”
Kallixene nodded abruptly to Phaidra. “Hurry. Prepare, daughter. I want the two of you at the school as soon as possible.”
Phaidra swam off at an incredible pace. Wish I could swim like that.
