Gods and Warriors (32 page)

In a heartbeat she realized that she was looking at Spirit’s missing pod. They must have entered the inlet days ago, perhaps to scratch their bellies on the sandy bottom; then an earthshake had trapped them inside, probably the same one she’d felt on her first night on the island. They’d been there ever since: trapped, starving, unable to get out.

All this flashed through her mind in an instant.

Then she saw Hylas.

He stood on the wreck with his back to the Sea. Kratos was advancing on him. Telamon was on the shore at the foot of the rocks, brandishing a spear and cutting off Hylas’ escape. Hylas was turning his head this way and that, but he had nowhere to go. He was defenseless. And Kratos was moving steadily closer.

Gritting her teeth, Pirra scrambled down the slope, fighting her way through a thicket of thorns.

She got lost. Furious with herself, she wasted precious time trying to find a way through. When at last she did, she was horrified to see that instead of staying on the headland, she’d come out below it, on the shore.

Stupid, stupid, she told herself as she stumbled across
the shingle. Her breath sawed in her chest and her sandals kept slipping. She tore them off and ran on.

Telamon hadn’t yet seen her. He was shouting and trying to find a way up the rocks, onto the wreck. If she could sneak up and knock him out with a rock, she could grab that spear and find her way onto the wreck and…

Telamon leaped for a juniper bush halfway up and started to climb.

“Hey, you!” screamed Pirra.

He glanced around and nearly fell off in amazement.

“Haven’t you done enough already,” she yelled, “you slimy little
weasel
?”

His face contorted with rage. “Stay out of this! You don’t know anything!”

With a snarl she hurled herself at the rocks, but they were slippery and she couldn’t reach the juniper, couldn’t find a way up.

From somewhere above, Hylas gave a wild yell. What was happening?

Telamon was still climbing—awkwardly, with the spear in one hand—but he’d nearly reached the top. Grabbing a handful of pebbles, Pirra started pelting him. “Traitor!” she screamed.

“I’m trying to
help
him!” he bellowed.

“Liar!”

Stepping back to take aim, she trod on a rock that rolled beneath her foot, and tripped. She went down hard on the pebbles, and the Sea surged in and splashed her in the face.

On her knees, she froze. She stared at the rock that had made her lose her footing. She no longer heard Telamon shouting, or the noise of wind and Sea. It wasn’t a rock at all.

This isn’t possible, she thought.

And yet there it lay with the foam washing over it: rolling seaward, then back toward her.

What lay before her was a triton shell, carved out of pure white marble.

It was the same triton shell she’d found in the caves.

K
ratos came at Hylas with his sword in one hand and the dagger in the other. Hylas edged sideways around the hold, clutching his useless length of rope.

Shouting from the shore. He made out Telamon’s voice and someone else—could it be
Pirra
?

Kratos attacked from the right. Hylas jumped to the left. It was a feint. Kratos lunged to the right. Again Hylas leaped. The dagger missed him by a whisker. An oar rolled beneath him. He slipped and grabbed the mast. It tilted, and he lurched over the hold, getting an alarming view of black water before he scrambled back. A glance behind him revealed that he’d reached the edge of the wreck: Below him was a sheer drop to the hungry waves.

And still Kratos came on.

Farther out to Sea, a shining form leaped from the waves.

You can’t help me now,
Hylas told Spirit silently.
Swim away as fast as you can, before you get hurt.

Again Spirit arched out of the Sea, this time coming down with a resounding splash. In a heartbeat,
Hylas understood what the dolphin was telling him.
Jump! I’ll carry you to safety!

It was his only chance—but something held him back. “Where’s my sister?” he shouted at the Crow leader. “What did you do to her? You’re going to kill me anyway—tell me first!”

The dark eyes glittered as Kratos came at him again. Hylas lashed out with his rope. Amazingly, it caught the warrior’s swordhand, and with a hiss he loosened his grip. Hylas gave a yell of triumph as the sword fell with a splash into the hold.

Kratos seized an oar and jabbed at him like a fisherman dislodging a crab from under a rock. Hylas grabbed the other end of the oar. Bad mistake. Kratos jabbed again, and the force of the thrust nearly knocked Hylas off the wreck.

Panting, he staggered out of range. He’d lost his rope. There was nothing else within reach.

Kratos flung away the oar. The dagger of Koronos glinted in his fist; that was the only weapon he’d need. Hylas saw that he’d tied it to his wrist with a thong—so no chance of knocking that into the hold.

Despite the heat, Kratos moved with the same muscular ease as before, while Hylas was soaked in sweat and panting for breath. He wouldn’t last much longer.

Suddenly he realized that he’d gotten himself on the wrong side of the hold: Below him, rocks jutted like giant teeth from the Sea. He’d missed his chance. If
he jumped now, Spirit couldn’t save him; he’d be dashed to pieces.

And still Kratos came on.

Clouds were massing and the wind was getting up, whipping Pirra’s hair across her face. She had to act fast or Hylas was finished—but she couldn’t move, couldn’t take her eyes off the white marble shell rolling before her in the foam.

It was dangerous. She feared even to touch it. Who knew what would happen if…

Shouts behind her. In horror, she saw a black tide of Crow warriors sweeping toward her up the shore. Their dark cloaks flew, and they carried a thicket of spears.

Another cry from the wreck. Was that Hylas?

Pirra seized the triton shell and ran, heading blindly for the trees. The marble was cold and smooth, and its power thrummed through her. There was a ringing in her ears. She no longer heard the shouts of the Crows. It
was
the same shell she’d found in the caves, she was sure of it; she recognized that tiny nick on the lip.

The warriors were almost upon her.

She halted. She took a deep breath. Then she put the tip of the shell to her mouth—and blew.

A
t first, Hylas thought it was the blowing of a ram’s horn—but this was deeper, an echoing boom that surged and receded like the Sea.

He halted. Kratos halted. On the shore, the Crows went still.

Abruptly, the booming ended. The echoes died.

As if a spell had broken, the Crows hefted their spears and ran forward. Kratos advanced. Hylas had nowhere to go. That booming call hadn’t saved him; it had only delayed the inevitable.

Suddenly he was sick of being frightened. He had a wild urge to leap out into the open with his arms flung wide and shout,
Go on then, get it over with!

At that moment there was a deafening crack on the headland. Hylas saw a boulder teeter and crash down onto the rocks. The earth began to growl. The wreck juddered. He struggled to stay upright. Even Kratos was bracing his legs.

The growls grew to a roar, and a crack opened at the foot of the headland, as if an unseen axe were hacking
through the rock. The crack widened to a bolt of black lightning that came zigzagging toward the wreck. The wreck shook, tossed this way and that by the rage of the Bull Beneath the Sea. Hylas fought to keep his footing as the wreck buckled and heaved under him, crashing down with such force that it pitched him into the hold.

He came up spluttering, waist-deep in black water. Where was Kratos?

Above him the mast was rocking, oars and rigging falling around him. The walls of the hold were tilting crazily: The wreck was sliding off the rocks into the Sea. Then the waves smashed through and swept him off his feet.

He hit his head against a beam jutting from the hold. Desperately, he clung to it as the Sea sucked him back, then surged in again and smacked him against the side of the hold.

Kratos exploded from the water beneath him. Hylas twisted sideways. Not fast enough. He cried out as the dagger nicked his arm. Kratos grabbed him by the hair. Hylas fought, but his fingers clawed bronze. Kratos yanked back his head and raised the dagger to cut his throat.

With a startled grunt, Kratos fell forward on top of him. Wriggling out from under, Hylas glimpsed a silver form vanishing into the murk. It was Spirit: He must have slammed into Kratos from behind, and now he was swimming off to gather speed for another attack.

As Hylas broke the surface he saw the dolphin’s fin racing toward Kratos—but this time the warrior was ready. Spirit swerved to evade the dagger. Hylas saw the water flush red. Whose blood, Spirit’s or Kratos’? Where was Spirit?

Hylas seized his chance. With Kratos distracted, he scrambled up the side of the hold, grabbed the end of the mast with both hands, and swung with all his weight. For an instant the massive beam didn’t move, but then it tilted. He heard it groan and finally snap. He leaped out of the way just before it went crashing down on Kratos.