Deep Water

by Nicola Cameron

  And for all his immense control over the oceans and earthquakes, he had no power to heal.

  The sorrow in Nick’s expression and the gentle tone of his next words somehow made things even worse. “The tumor is far too deep in the brain for surgery, and from what I could tell Griffin’s already been through radiation and chemo,” he said. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do—”

  Poseidon watched as if his hands belonged to someone else, closing around Nick’s collar and pulling him onto his tiptoes. “He is not going to die,” he said, his voice utterly calm. “I will not allow it, do you hear me?”

  Nick’s face went red as he clutched at Poseidon’s hands. At their feet Norma let out a high-pitched growl followed by a volley of barks.

  “Lord, please!” Someone grabbed his wrists, trying to pull him loose.

  With an effort, Poseidon made himself let go. Nick dropped with a thump, staggering back against the bedroom wall.

  A tall mer still gripped Poseidon’s wrists. The mer’s eyes widened and he yanked his hands back, but stood his ground. “Forgive me, Lord, but you were hurting him.”

  “It’s okay, Li,” Nick gasped, rubbing his reddened throat. “I’m okay.”

  Norma darted in front of both Nick and Liam, still growling at Poseidon. He sucked in a shuddering breath, fighting for control. It’s not his fault.

  “My apologies, Nicholas,” he said roughly. “And to you as well, Liam. How long…” He couldn’t force out the words.

  The doctor swallowed, still rubbing his throat. “Maybe a month, if he’s lucky.”

  Poseidon nodded once, just as the sounds of water splashing in the bathroom stopped. He couldn’t risk having Griffin see him like this, so out of control. It smacked too much of the past.

  “I have to leave. Please see to it that Griffin gets back to his cottage safely,” he said.

  Nick blinked. “But—”

  “Thank you, Nicholas.” Poseidon summoned a portal and stepped through it before he could hear any more.

  ****

  The night sky over the Aegean was the blackest velvet spread thickly with diamonds. Poseidon sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, feet dangling in the warm, clear air. Beneath him, his home waters spread out in their wine-dark glory, the illumination from the half moon shedding light on the waves and creating a shimmering white road.

  After summoning three bottles of wine from Bythos’s cellar, the sea god had started drinking, hoping to pass out sometime before dawn. Two empty wine bottles now sat at his side, and a third half-filled one was in his hand. He lifted it to his mouth, taking a deep swig. He didn’t notice the taste, although anything from his son’s wine cellar was guaranteed to be good. He was far more interested in the wine’s numbing effects.

  Griffin is dying.

  It wasn’t working.

  He heard a heavy step on the grassy rise behind him. “Nice view,” a dry voice said.

  Poseidon stared out at the sea, taking another swig. “I thought so,” he said after he swallowed.

  There was a soft exhalation, and then a pair of translucently glowing horse’s legs came into view. “Still, there are better places to drink,” the centaur Chiron said. “Places with cute barmaids, for example.”

  “I’m not in the mood for company.”

  “Yeah, I can tell. Unfortunately for you, Hades suggested I come find you. I thought he was blowing things out of proportion, but now I think he underplayed it.” Chiron shifted on the damp grass. “Come on, talk to your little brother.”

  “Half brother.”

  “Whatever. Spill.”

  Poseidon’s throat closed, and he had to swallow hard to open it again. “I’ve found her again. Medusa. She’s been reborn.”

  “Huh.” A soft huff of breath. “Explains why I haven’t seen her in the Vale of Mourning lately.”

  Poseidon turned, staring at his centaurine sibling. He had assumed Medusa would be sent straight to Tartarus for her murderous crimes as the Gorgon. It had never occurred to him that she might be somewhere else in the Underworld. “You knew she was in the Vale of Mourning? And you didn’t tell me?”

  “She asked me not to,” Chiron said flatly. “She told me what you and Amphitrite did to her. I always knew you were an arrogant asshole, but I didn’t think Ammie was that much of a bitch.”

  Poseidon wished his half-brother had a physical body that he could beat senseless. “Amphitrite is blameless,” he snarled. “None of this was her doing, do you hear me? It was all my fault.”

  Chiron raised his hands. “Okay, sorry. Nice to know my judgment isn’t that badly off. But you’re still an asshole.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Poseidon said, hurling the bottle of wine out into the night sky. It disappeared into the darkness quickly, but he could still hear the soft splash when it hit the water. “I have been alone with my guilt and regret for over seven thousand years, brother, with no way to make amends to either of my agapetos, or so I thought. Do you have any idea what it’s like to find out that not only had Medusa been in the Vale all this time, but that she’d been reborn? And no one told me?”

  His half-brother sighed. “What would you have done if they had?”

  “I would have tracked her down and begged her to forgive me, to return to Amphitrite and myself,” Poseidon said, wondering at the idiotic question. “To be our mate as the Fates intended.”

  “And if she said no?”

  The sea god opened his mouth to reply, then deflated. Over the centuries he had entertained so many impossible fantasies of braving the horrors of Tartarus and rescuing a grateful Medusa. It had never occurred to him that Medusa might refuse to be rescued. “Then I would leave her to Amphitrite,” he said slowly. “At least I could make amends to both of them that way. But it doesn’t matter now.”

  Chiron frowned down at him. “Why?”

  “Because Medusa—Griffin—is dying. He has a brain tumor, and it’s fatal.” The wine hadn’t helped. He couldn’t shy away from the situation anymore. “I am one of the most powerful gods on the planet, but I have no healing ability. I can’t stop this, Chiron. And dammit all to Tartarus, I don’t know what to do!”

  He bellowed the last into the air. Startled seabirds and puffs of dust erupted into the air as the ground trembled at his anger. It wasn’t enough. He wanted to rage, thrust his trident into the guts of an enemy, raise a tidal wave, bring down mountains.

  And it wouldn’t change a thing. His agapetos would still die from the hidden, lethal assassin in his head.

  When the temblor eased, Chiron cleared his throat. “Are you finished?”

  Poseidon shrugged one shoulder. He refused to think it was petulant. “I suppose so.”

  “Good. Now, did it ever occur to you to ask for help?”

  For a moment he wasn’t sure he’d heard his half-brother correctly. “I—no?”

  The centaur sighed. “Phenomenal cosmic powers, itty bitty grasp of social skills,” he muttered. “Look, you may be an asshole, but you’re also family, screwed up as it is. And I like Ammie—if she wasn’t involved in your fuckery, she shouldn’t have to pay the price.”

  Poseidon licked suddenly dry lips. “Are you saying you’ll help me?”

  His half-brother rolled his eyes. “And the light dawns. Yes, I’ll help you, you big idiot. Now, as I see it, you have two options—find a god with healing abilities and get him or her to heal Griffin. It wouldn’t fake out the Fates, but it might buy you more time.”

  “I already thought of that,” Poseidon said morosely. “If Nicholas has Asclepius’s Rod that means something happened to Asclepius. And I haven’t seen Apollo in centuries. And you—”

  “Are somewhat corporeally challenged,” Chiron finished sardonically, gesturing at his shimmering form. “I don’t know what to tell you about Asclepius. The last time I spoke with him, he said he had a prophecy from the Oracle. He wouldn’t go into details, just said that he was making arrangements for someone to
take over the Rod and asked me to tutor the Bearer. I don’t think we can expect him to show up anytime soon. As for Apollo,” he spread his hands, “you know what he’s like. He likes going walkabout even more than Zeus. But I can start looking for him.”

  Poseidon found the words difficult to get out, but did it anyway. “Thank you, brother. You have my undying gratitude.” He blinked. “Wait. You said I have two options?”

  “Right, and I think you’re gonna like the second one better.” Chiron smirked. “What happens when a god falls in love with a mortal and doesn’t want that mortal to die?”

  Faces appeared in Poseidon’s mind, the sweet countenance of Psyche, Cupid’s human bride, and the steadfast face of his own son-in-law. “Godhood,” he breathed. “Griffin can be raised to godhood.”

  “Bingo,” Chiron said. “Have him made divine and his mortality won’t be an issue anymore.”

  Poseidon’s high hopes, raised by the thought of finding Apollo, drained away. “But once again, I don’t have that power. And Gaia—” He hesitated, not wanting to mention her vague promise, if it could even be called that. “Well, you know what she’s like.”

  “Which leaves…” Chiron prompted.

  “Zeus. Who also hasn’t spoken to me in centuries.”

  “Like you should complain about that. But I may be able to convince him to do it,” the centaur said.

  “How?”

  Chiron gave his body a brief, bitter look. “Let’s just say that he owes me a few favors, and I’m in the mood to collect.”

  Cautiously, Poseidon considered the suggestion. There was no love lost between him and his youngest brother, the King of the Gods. He could bring himself to beg for Griffin’s life, galling as it would be, but there was no guarantee that Zeus would grant the boon.

  But if Chiron could convince Zeus to grant Griffin godhood… “Your offer is an extremely generous one, and I thank you for it,” he said. “But you’re forgetting one thing.”

  “We have to find our feckless sibling first,” Chiron finished for him. “And from what I’ve heard, he’s on the run from Hera. Again.”

  One of the unfortunate truths about the King of the Gods was his inveterate wanderlust. Combined with the crumbling mortal faith in the gods and a desire to get out from under his wife Hera’s scrutiny, Zeus had developed a habit of disappearing from Olympus for years at a time. He would eventually show up again as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but during his absences he was incommunicado.

  Apart from setting fire to Mount Olympus, Poseidon could think of no way to summon his youngest brother. “According to Nick, Griffin only has a month to live,” he said, “and that may be a generous estimate. Splitting your time between hunting for Apollo and Zeus will waste a good deal of it.”

  “So stall for time,” Chiron said.

  “How?”

  The centaur smirked again. “The same way your sons made it possible for Ian to survive an ilkothella bite. Have sex with Griffin. Full-on, penis inside at least one orifice sex, with ejaculation. Your seed should be more than strong enough to stop a brain tumor in its tracks.”

  Poseidon went still. Chiron’s description was crude, but the thought of making love to Griffin sent an unexpected zing of lust through him.

  “I have no issue with bedding him, but he’s been very ill,” Poseidon said. “He may not want to come to my bed. Plus I don’t know if he lies with men.”

  Chiron made a face. “I suppose getting him drunk and jumping him is out of the question?”

  Poseidon growled in sudden fury. “That’s what caused this situation in the first place, you fool,” he snarled. “I’m not going to make that same mistake again.”

  Chiron held up his hands. “Sorry, sorry. So you woo him. As your agapetos, he’ll respond whether he’s straight or not. All he really has to do is lie there. If worse comes to worst, tell him who you are and that this is the only way he can avoid dying. If he has an ounce of survival instinct left, he’ll spread.”

  There was logic in the centaur’s words, but Poseidon recoiled from the thought of Griffin lying underneath him, stoically accepting his love. It smacked far too much of his first—and only—night with Medusa. “Perhaps I should introduce him to Amphitrite first,” he said. “If he prefers women—”

  “Yeah, no. We don’t know if sex with a goddess will have the same effect, and if he’s sick he may not be able to get it up in the first place. First you make sure that he’s going to live, and then you call Amphitrite.” Chiron gentled his voice. “Look, you can be charming when you want to be, and if he’s your agapetos his orientation isn’t going to matter anyway. Just be gentle, use lots of lube, and try to make it fun for him. If you try, I know you can pull this off.”

  Poseidon had to laugh at that. “That makes one of us.”

  ****

  Griffin woke with the warm prickling of sunshine on his face. Even with his eyes still closed, the constant background hiss of the waves told him where he was. He smiled.

  Time to run the now-routine morning evaluation of his body. Slight ache in his joints—normal for a 50-year-old, and a damn sight better than it could have been. Nothing from Johnson, but after the last round of radiation he’d pretty much given up on getting another erection anyway. Bowels felt okay, no real strain on his stomach now that he was off the horse pills that shredded his gastric lining. Heart was pumping along as usual, lungs inflating and deflating rather nicely in the warm sea air. Head…

  He knew the brain itself didn’t actually have pain sensors, so the tumor growing in his cerebrum wasn’t directly responsible for the ache in his skull. It was pressure from the tumor pushing on other things that caused the pain, pressure that was partially relieved by his lying down.

  He was damned if he was going to spend his last vacation in bed.

  At least, not by myself. He pondered the idea of taking a taxi into the nearby town and seeing if he could find a sympathetic woman with a taste for Brits and getting eaten out. That, at least, he could still do.

  Eyes still closed, he reached out carefully to his bedside table where the bottle of painkillers sat. He opened the bottle by feel and fished out two tablets, then replaced it and grabbed the water bottle he’d left there the night before. The water was warm and flat, but he just needed enough to help him swallow the pills. After they kicked in, he would lever himself up carefully, wait out the inevitable dizzy spell, then stagger out to the kitchen for breakfast and tea.

  While he was waiting, the events of the previous day came back to him, making him grimace. The damn day had been going so well, too. Dunn was a rare sailor and pleasant company, and having him onboard had suited Griffin down to the ground.

  And then his fucking brain had to go and spoil things with a seizure. Pissing himself on the doctor’s living room floor had been the worst bit. He wasn’t surprised when he’d gotten out of the loo and found Dunn had left.

  Nick had seemed oddly shaken up, but played the host well enough with the provision of clean shorts and a t-shirt. Griffin had waved off an offer of assistance back to his cottage until Nick’s large boyfriend loomed over him genially, saying, “It would really make us feel better.”

  He’d given in, allowing Liam and Nick to pace him back to the cottage. The doctor had even left his mobile number on the tiny dry erase board on the fridge, with instructions to call him if he needed any kind of help. Griffin had no intention of doing that, but it was still nice to have a M.D. next door, just in case.

  The throbbing in his head finally dimmed to a manageable level. He sat up with caution, waiting out the dizzy spell, then got to his feet and tottered off to the bathroom. After a piss, a shave with an electric razor, and some tea and toast, he might just be able to face the day.

  It wasn’t until he finished washing his hands that he heard someone knocking on the front door. He grimaced at his reflection. If that’s Nick, we’re going to have to have a chat about boundaries.

  To his surprise i
t turned out to be Dunn, in yet another natty set of tropical-weight slacks and shirt. “Ah, good morning,” the bearded man said, holding up a paper bag. “I come bearing gifts.”

  “Won’t say no to that. Come in.” The rental company had done up the lounge in easy-to-clean tan furniture with bright throw pillows, and Griffin waved Dunn to a seat before taking the sofa. “Look, about yesterday—”

  “I wanted to apologize for leaving before you got out of the shower,” Dunn said quickly. “I had a work emergency and was called away. But Nicholas assured me that he would make sure you got back to your cottage safely.”

  “Oh.” Obscurely, that made him feel a little better. “No problem, I understand.” He eyed the bag. “So what’s in there?”

  Dunn handed it over with a small smile. “I thought this might work better with your sandwiches.”

  Griffin opened the brown paper and spotted a white, slightly crumbly cheese with a familiar label on it. “Fuck me. Where the hell did you find white Cheshire over here?” he said in delight.

  “Aphros is a bit of a gourmet cook. He contacted one of his sources in the cheese aficionado world and came up with that.” Dunn looked chagrined. “No criticism of your sandwiches was meant, by the way. I just thought—”

  “No, thank you. God, this is great.” He weighed the bag in one hand. At least enough for a week’s worth of sandwiches, and if he could eat anything it would be a proper cheese and pickle sandwich. “I was about to make tea. Want some?”

  Dunn made a polite face. “Thank you, but I’m not overly fond of orange pekoe.”

  Griffin snorted. “None of that colonial tripe here, mate. PG Tips, brewed properly, and milk added after.”

  Dunn’s distaste evaporated. “Oh. Well, if you put it that way.”

  Soon enough the two of them were sitting at the breakfast counter in the kitchen, mugs of tea at hand. “I’m sorry to bring this up,” Dunn said, “but am I correct in assuming you’re ill?”

  “You mean me seizing on the pier wasn’t obvious enough?” Griffin said, taking another sip of tea. “Yeah. Brain cancer, stage four. I have maybe six weeks left.”