by Eliza Raine
‘Abderos, we’d better be on our way,’ shouted Lyssa.
‘I told you we had to go!’ came the indignant response in her head. ‘We’re about a league high. Do you want to stay here or try to lose her closer to the ground?’
‘Stay in the sky, Abderos. We’re faster than her up here.’
‘Aye aye, Cap.’
She leaned over to inspect the tear in her trousers over her bloody shin.
‘Want me to kiss it better?’
Lyssa groaned and looked up at Len. ‘Not the time, Len. It’s fine. Get upstairs and help Epizon before we take any more damage,’ she said.
‘But, Cap, I shot a Cyclops! I need a reward.’ The satyr leaned towards her, lips pursed for a kiss.
‘Len!’ Epizon roared from the hauler at the same time Lyssa aimed a cuff at him. He hopped out of her reach and trotted towards the back of the deck, laughing.
Satyrs were half goat, half human, but usually goat-sized, and Len was small even for his race. His bottom half was dark brown furry goat hind legs, with a small white tail. The fur reached his waist, and then, quite abruptly, his round human torso made up the rest of his three-foot stature. He had dark hair around small, pointy horns on an otherwise human-looking, mischievous face. He could get in and out of almost any space on the ship. Len had been a compromise when putting together her crew. He was an excellent medic and knew more about Olympus than anyone else she knew. Unfortunately, in every other way, he was a typical satyr. He fancied anything female, said exactly what he was thinking out loud and had no concept of personal space.
Lyssa pushed herself to her feet and started towards the hauler, testing her injured leg.
‘Wait!’ shouted a male voice. She spun, the voice unfamiliar to her. She pulled her slingshot from her belt as she turned, dipping into the pouch full of lead shot at her hip, and found herself aiming at the slave boy. He threw his arms above his head. ‘Don’t shoot! Please.’
‘What are you doing on my cargo deck?’ she demanded.
‘I didn’t mean to be here, but unless you shoot me, it’s better than on her ship.’ He nodded towards the dead Cyclops at his feet. ‘There are lots more of them, and they smell terrible.’ His voice was clear, and he was surprisingly well spoken.
‘How did you end up with the Lady Lamia?’ she asked, her weapon still levelled at him. He kept his hands in the air. She scanned his body, looking for weapons. She could see none. He was definitely closer to her age than she’d first thought.
‘I was kidnapped,’ he said. ‘From Libra. Her thugs took everything I had and then put me to work on the ship. They even took my boots.’ She looked down at his feet, and he wiggled his bare toes at her.
‘Are you from Libra?’ she asked. She didn’t get the feeling he was lying, and there was something almost haughty about his demeanour.
‘No.’
‘Do you still have the box of silver you were carrying?’
He hesitated. Hope lifted in her. Epizon wouldn’t approve of keeping the money, but gods know they needed it.
‘Yes. I hid it.’
‘What?’
‘I hid it. Whilst you were all fighting. You’re much stronger than you look, by the way.’
‘You hid it? On my own cargo deck?’
‘Yes. What kind of ship is this?’ He looked around at the scuffed wooden walls interestedly.
Lyssa’s temper spiked, and she drew the band back tight on the slingshot. She caught herself and took a deep breath.
‘Let’s get a couple of things straight, shall we? You are, essentially, a stowaway on my ship. Meaning I have every right to fling you overboard and watch your flailing body fall through the skies until you hit the ground. You should be kneeling at my feet with that silver and asking me to deliver you back to wherever the hell you came from, not hiding it on my own ship and asking stupid questions!’ Anger danced across her skin, leaving a trail of tingling heat as her voice rose.
‘Hey, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here!’ he protested. ‘Why would I want to be on a battered old smugglers ship when I could be—’
Lyssa didn’t find out where he could be. She’d closed the gap between them in a second and had her hand around his throat before he could react. His face paled and his bright eyes widened in fear as she forced him backwards until he was pinned against the dark wooden hull. He struggled in vain, banging his head against the dull brass rim of a porthole.
‘I don’t think you’re taking me seriously,’ she hissed at him.
He stopped struggling. ‘How are you so strong?’ he choked.
‘Where is the silver?’ she said, squeezing her hand against his neck. He pointed behind her frantically. She loosened her grip.
‘In the crate with the coconuts,’ he gasped. She let go of him, and he slid to the ground, clutching at his throat.
‘I want to get off this ship,’ he croaked as she strode towards the chest-high stack of coconut crates on the other side of the deck.
‘Fine by me. We’re headed to Libra, anyway.’ Her face split into a broad grin, and the tingling anger began to ease as she moved a loose lid off the top crate. The ornate wooden box was there, nestled amongst the dark, hairy fruits. She flipped open the lid and was about to pick up a handful of the gleaming silver coins when there was a thunderous crack, and the ship lurched hard to the left. Crates began crashing off tall stacks onto the floor around her, and she heard the boy yell.
‘She’s got storm ballistas, Cap. We can’t outrun them without a boost!’ came the voice in her head.
‘Shit,’ she cursed, and shoved the lid back on the box of silver. She ran to where she’d left the boy on the ground, and dragged him up to his feet. He scowled but let her shove him towards the door to the hauler.
The ship creaked as it rocked, righting itself, and the fallen crates scraped across the already scuffed floor as they slid around. The boy stopped at the open doorway, peering into the wooden box beyond. It could fit about five people in it and was only lit by a small porthole on the far wall.
‘I’m not getting in that,’ he said, planting his feet.
‘Yes, you are,’ Lyssa said, and pushed him.
He stumbled forward, and she jumped in behind him. The box immediately began moving upwards, and she saw the panic on his face. A small stab of pity pushed through her adrenaline.
‘It’s just a hauler; it moves between decks. We’ll be out in a second,’ she told him. He glared at her, and she liked the defiance on his face better than the fear. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked him.
‘Phyleus,’ he growled.
‘Well, Phyleus, this “battered old smugglers ship” is about to give you quite a show,’ she said, as the hauler arrived at the top deck of the Alastor.
2
Adrenaline hummed through her veins as she yanked open the hauler door and hit the deck running. The main mast of the Alastor stood huge and proud ahead of her, shimmering silver sails billowing as the ship flew through the sky. Brightly coloured clouds raced past the ship on either side as she ran towards the mast, anticipation building in her muscles. She threw her hands out in front of her as she reached the wide wooden pole, skidding to a stop and pressing her palms flat to the cool wood. A smile spread across her face as she felt the pent-up energy buzzing through her leap as she connected with her ship. She tipped her head back and concentrated as hard as she could on the Rage flowing through her. She got angrier and angrier as the pulsing energy built, until a torrent of power was surging and straining to be free of her control.
Just as she thought she couldn’t contain the feeling any longer, she heard the sound of the sails snapping taught and was vaguely aware of the blazing red colour rippling across their surface. The ship lurched forward, and she gripped the mast hard as they sped up, soaring through the clouds faster and faster as the sails drew her magic from her. Power flowed from every part of her body into the ship, and she let out a cry of delight. Channelling her Rage magi
c into the ship made her feel incredible, so much more powerful than when she used it to fight. She was using her power to tear through the skies and outrun her enemies. She was using it to fuel her beloved ship and make her crew safer and stronger. She was invincible.
The clouds got brighter and deeper in colour as they shot past, which meant they were moving higher as well as faster. Her hair whipped around her face, stinging her cheeks. A wild grin split her face as she pictured the Lady Lamia’s ship languishing behind them, the lady’s fury at her prey escaping. Lyssa had won. She would always win.
‘Captain!’ Epizon yelled across her moment, jolting her attention back.
She eased her hands from the mast, the ship immediately starting to slow as she severed the flow of power. Spasms rocked though her muscles as the energy whirled, looking for an outlet. She screwed up her face as she let go completely, flexing her hands into fists as she tried to work the Rage out of her body. She took a few long breaths and turned, ready to reprimand Epizon for cutting her connection to the ship short. He knew she could go much longer than that before it became dangerous for her.
‘We’re a hundred and fifty leagues away already! Any further, and we’ll be dangerously high!’ Epizon’s face was bordering on desperate.
She blinked at him, the spasms in her muscles fading. Had they been moving that fast? Pride crept through the alarm she felt.
‘Lyssa, please, you need to be more careful. We don’t know what will happen if we get much higher than this.’
She looked around and saw the glittering swirls of dust amongst the deep-blue and purple clouds. The higher you got above Olympus, the more the sky glittered. Light danced around the ship and reflected off the sails, now returning to their normal silver shimmer as the red Rage drained from them.
‘You’re crazy,’ said Phyleus. ‘I want to get off this ship. Now.’ He was standing in front of the hauler, looking nervously at the waist-high railings running around the deck.
‘Well, unless you want to take the direct route down, you’re going to have to wait until we get to Libra.’ Lyssa was grateful for the interruption. She didn’t want to argue with Epizon. Or to think about whether what he was saying was true. Careful didn’t come naturally to her. She walked past him. ‘I’m going to sort out the mess on the cargo deck. Go get Len, and check if that storm ballista did any damage,’ she said.
Epizon nodded. ‘Yes, Captain.’
‘Abderos?’ she said, concentrating on an image of her navigator in her head.
‘Yes, Cap?’ his voice rang clearly through her mind. All ships in Olympus allowed their crew to communicate with each other mentally. They steered the ships in the same way. If any crew member concentrated hard on the Alastor they would be able to change her direction and position in the sky. Some were better at it than others though and strangers and visitors did not get the same privilege.
‘Nice flying. I’m on my way to you,’ she said, and headed towards the back of the deck. The planks rose steeply near the back and levelled off again, making the quarterdeck slightly raised.
Phyleus trotted after her. ‘What am I supposed to do? And how did you make the ship go that fast?’ he said.
‘You’re going to sit quietly with my navigator until we can drop you off. And you’re going to stop asking questions.’
‘You can’t stop me asking questions,’ he huffed.
‘Where are you from? You sound like you’re used to getting your own way.’
‘I am, as it happens. I’m noble-born.’
Lyssa rolled her eyes. His well-spoken accent and annoying arrogance made sense. A surprising pang of nostalgia flashed through her as she thought about the big white house she had grown up in. She’d been surrounded by servants making sure she got her own way too. She squashed the memory. She didn’t miss that life. And this pompous fool was only proof of that.
‘Where are you from?’ he asked her.
‘I told you to stop asking questions,’ she snapped.
‘Gods, you’re bad-tempered,’ he muttered.
‘You have no idea,’ she said as she reached the big, spindly navigation wheel. ‘This is Abderos, the Alastor’s navigator.’ She gestured to the man sat in a wooden chair with two large metal wheels on each side. Although all crew members needed to use the navigation wheel to make a connection with the ship initially, Abderos had a strong enough bond to the Alastor now that he didn’t need the boost of control the wheel provided. He always sat by it anyway. Old habits, Lyssa guessed.
‘Nice to meet you. Who the hell are you?’ asked Abderos, his sandy hair flopping back as he lifted his head to peer at Phyleus. His soft blue eyes were narrowed in a frown.
‘He’s a stowaway slave from Lady Lamia’s ship, and we’re dropping him off on Libra. Keep an eye on him,’ Lyssa answered before Phyleus could speak, and headed into the hauler at the back of the quarterdeck.
She got out on the middle deck and strode down the narrow corridor, past the living quarters and through the galley. The Alastor was a Crosswind-class ship, the smallest class of ship in Olympus. The galley was the only room below decks that spanned the full width of the narrow hull, and it was right in the middle, under the main mast. The rest of the rooms were either side of a central corridor running from stern to bow.
She stopped when she got to the cramped infirmary, and bent to start opening cupboards at random. This was Len’s domain, so all the battered old storage cupboards were mounted a foot off the floor. Above the cupboards, there were portholes over a foot wide, ringed in dull brass, showing the swirling purple clouds colliding with sparkling dust outside. Lyssa found some gauze and tape together in a drawer and shoved them in her pocket, then took one of the big cargo haulers straight from the galley down to the cargo deck.
She looked around at the scattered bodies as she slid open the door and sighed heavily. The tank took up most of the available space in the centre of the deck. She reckoned it was at least ten feet square. The creature hovered in the middle, staring at one of the Cyclops bodies.
‘Are you female?’ Lyssa asked as she reached the tank and stared at the creature.
The startling eyes flicked to hers, and it moved through the liquid towards her slowly, barely causing a ripple. Lyssa guessed it was female, because of the small swell on its chest and the perfect violet braid of hair floating behind its head. There was an undeniably feminine quality to the enormous green eyes. It had a tiny mouth with deep-blue lips that had not opened once, and no ears, just long slits Lyssa assumed acted as gills.
She put one hand up to the glass. The creatures eyes flicked to her hand, then back to her face. Lyssa waited a moment more, and when the creature didn’t move, she shrugged, turned around and slid down the glass tank until she was sitting on the floor. She started to roll her black cargo trouser leg up but gave up quickly, working instead through the gaping hole ripped in them. The wound wasn’t deep, or even very painful, but it was seeping blood into her boots.
She found the sight of her own blood reassuring. She liked to see that it was red human blood, with no visible trace of god blood. She’d never actually seen god blood, obviously, but rumour had it that it was liquid silver. They didn’t even call it blood; they called it ichor. Lyssa was only the granddaughter of a god, so hers was probably diluted, she supposed, as she taped the dressing onto her skin. She didn’t know if all the descendants of the gods had powers. There were lots of them; the gods weren’t fussy about sharing mortals’ beds. All of the direct children had powers. Some had incredible strength or speed or wit, and others were gifted in things like music or art or beauty. Most of the best-known people in Olympus were children of the gods, and they were usually happy to use their powers to live like kings. It was the ones who wanted more, like Lady Lamia, who entertained the gods the most though.
‘Where are you from?’ she asked aloud, leaning her head back against the cool glass of the tank and closing her eyes. She didn’t expect a reply. ‘I grew up on Libra,’ s
he told the being, delaying dealing with the mess around her. ‘In case you don’t know, that’s Athena’s realm. But I was born on Leo, Zeus’s realm. In fact, Zeus is my grandfather. I have him to thank for this bloody temper.’
She opened her eyes and pushed herself to her feet. She started as she turned to the tank. The creature was directly behind her, as close as it could get through the glass. Its wide eyes fixed on hers, and she found she couldn’t look away. The flecks in its eyes seemed to glitter and swirl, like the skies outside that she loved so much. Happiness began to seep into her.
‘There’s a fair-sized breach in the forward hull, Captain. We’ll have it patched in the next half hour. Do you need help with the Cyclopes?’ Epizon’s voice sounded in her head, breaking the spell.
She stepped backwards, slightly dazed. The happiness vanished and she shook her head a little. ‘No,’ she said to Epizon, and backed further away from the tank. ‘I can get them overboard.’
She tried not to put her back to the huge green eyes the whole time she was dragging the Cyclops bodies into the hauler.
3
Tipping bodies overboard wasn’t a pleasant job, but it didn’t bother Lyssa as much as it used to. She wondered if that was a good or bad thing as the last booted foot vanished over the railing.
‘You were being serious? You actually throw people overboard?’
‘Why aren’t you where I left you!’ she yelled, spinning to face Phyleus.
He shrugged. ‘Ab said I could have a look at the top deck,’ he said. He sounded casual, but his eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he rolled his shoulders nonchalantly. He was deliberately goading her.
She clenched her teeth. If he wanted to play games, he would lose. ‘Abderos said you could call him Ab? You’re friends now, are you?’
