Gods and Warriors (35 page)

Long after the ship had carried off Telamon and Pirra, Hylas remained watching on the shore.

A brisk wind had sped them on their way, but now it had sunk to nothing, and the island was hushed. Not even a gull glided over the water. There was no sign of Spirit. He was probably off hunting with his pod.

Hylas told himself that this was good, it meant that Spirit was happy; but he couldn’t feel it. He knew now that he and Spirit couldn’t be together. The dive had proved it. Spirit had tried to show him his beloved Sea, and it had nearly killed him.

Did Spirit know it too? It was impossible to tell. Apart
from that brief appearance by the ship, the dolphin hadn’t come near him.

Hylas found Telamon’s supplies exactly where he’d said, under a sycamore tree with a broken branch. There was a full waterskin, a tunic, a belt, and even a plain bronze knife; also a goathide sack crammed with pressed olives, hard cheese, and salted mackerel. Telamon had kept his word after all. Hylas didn’t want to think about that.

Trudging north, he came to the crack the Earthshaker had opened in the shore. There was no trace of the wreck. Where it had been, the Sea broke tirelessly.

In his mind, Hylas heard Kratos’ terrible gurgling laugh. What had he shouted in that strange, harsh tongue? Why had he cried
You’ll never do it now
?

After bridging the crack with driftwood, Hylas made his way over the headland, then past the wreck that he’d salvaged with Pirra. He didn’t want to think about her; or about what lay ahead: setting off alone on the raft, and saying good-bye to Spirit.

It turned out that he wouldn’t be getting anywhere near the raft, as it was heading briskly out to Sea. The man who’d stolen it had fitted it with a mast and a scrap of salvaged sail, although this now hung limp in the windless calm. He stood with his legs braced and one hand on the steering-paddle, letting the current carry him past the rocks. He’d chopped off his hair to disguise himself from the Angry Ones, but Hylas knew him at once.

“Akastos!” he shouted as he splashed into the shallows.

Akastos turned, and for a moment his face went still; then he gave a shout that might have been laughter. “Flea! You survived!”

Hylas was furious. “No thanks to you! That’s my raft! Bring it back!”

Akastos gave another almost-laugh and shook his head.

“But it’s
mine
!” yelled Hylas. “I built it!”

“True,” called Akastos, “but you used my ship. And you didn’t do a bad job, for a boy from the mountains, even if you did forget a sail.”

Desperate to keep him talking, Hylas asked how he’d managed to stay hidden from the Crows.

Akastos stiffened. “The Crows? They were here? On the island?”

“Down the coast! There was a battle on the shore. Then Pirra—she woke the Earthshaker. But now they’re gone.”

“And I never knew,” said Akastos to himself. “Looks like the gods have tricked me again.” Then to Hylas, “But you’re wrong about the Earthshaker, Flea, He didn’t wake. That was the merest twitch of His tail in His sleep. When the Earthshaker wakes, mountains crack apart and spew rivers of fire, and the Sea attacks the land… When the Earthshaker wakes, you’ll know it.” He turned back to the steering-paddle.

“Take me with you!” shouted Hylas. Akastos was ruthless, but he wasn’t a Crow; and even a man pursued by the Angry Ones was better than being left on his own.
“Please!”
he begged.

“I can’t, Flea. You’re bad luck, and I’ve got enough of that already.”

From nowhere a wind sprang up and filled the little sail. “Well now, that’s a surprise,” said Akastos, his voice carrying across the water. “That wind pouch actually works. And I thought it was a fake.” He raised his hand to Hylas. “Good luck, Flea. Don’t let the Crows get you!”

Hylas dived in and started to swim, but already the wind was speeding the raft on its way. “My name’s not Flea!” he cried. “It’s Hylas!” But Akastos was too far off, and Hylas didn’t think he heard.

As the raft was carried away, Hylas thought he saw a dark shadow moving after it, like a stain in the Sea. He wondered if Akastos knew he was being followed, and for how much longer he would manage to escape.

Dusk fell, and Hylas ate a lonely meal of olives and cheese.

The graze on his calf from the sea-snake no longer hurt, and the wound in his arm was finally healing. It was half a Moon since the Crows had attacked. Issi felt very far away.

He couldn’t sleep, so he wandered down to the water’s edge and sat watching the new Moon rise. The Sea was polished obsidian, the Moon’s path a trembling thread of silver.

Far out in the bay, a dark arrow sped across it.

“Spirit!” cried Hylas.

But instead of swimming closer, the dolphin kept a
wary distance, and no amount of whistling and patting the waves could persuade him to approach.

It occurred to Hylas that maybe Spirit still felt bad because of that dive. “It doesn’t
matter
!” he called, even though he knew Spirit wouldn’t understand. “I know you were only trying to show me your world! I do know!”

But he was talking to the waves. Already Spirit was far away, disappearing down the silver pathway of the Moon.

The dolphin was unhappy. He’d done something wrong—again—and he didn’t know how to make it right.

He’d only wanted to show the boy his beautiful Sea, but instead he’d nearly killed him. The boy had gone limp, and the dolphin had been horrified. What had he done? It had been such a relief to get him back to the shallows; but when the dolphin had tried to say sorry, the boy had kicked him.

A few times after that, the dolphin had tried to make it up, but he’d always lost courage and swam away.

His pod sensed his unhappiness and did their best to cheer him up with much nosing and rubbing of flanks; and his little sister brought him presents of seaweed and a crab. But he responded listlessly. He couldn’t bring himself to play, or even to hunt.

The boy had been his friend. Even though they couldn’t swim together except on the very Edge, or speak to each other in the way that dolphins can speak, they’d felt each other’s feelings, and that had been enough.

The dolphin missed the boy terribly. He feared that soon the boy would go far across the Sea, as the girl had gone. And then things would never be right between them, not ever again.

Two days later, Hylas stood in the stern of the foreigners’ ship and watched the Island of the Fin People receding slowly behind him.

He’d been scanning the Sea for dolphins till his eyes ached, but so far, nothing. He felt cold and hollow inside. What if Spirit didn’t come?

The ship’s captain came and offered him a handful of dried anchovies. Hylas took them with a nod, but couldn’t bring himself to eat.

Beside him the captain studied the waves with a sailor’s restless eye. He wore a belted kilt like a Keftian, but his skin was darker, and from the holes in his ears hung two tiny flying fish carved from polished bone. Hylas didn’t know where he came from or where his ship was going, except that it was heading north, toward Lykonia; that was good enough for him.

The captain said something in his incomprehensible tongue, and put his bunched fingers to his lips.
Eat.
Again Hylas simply nodded, so the man shrugged and went away.

A ripple of excitement ran through the crew—and suddenly there they were, their sleek backs arching out of the waves in mysterious unison, their silver bodies
arrowing through the green water. Hylas’ eyes stung. The whole pod had come to see him off. Wherever he turned he saw dolphins riding the bow wave, racing the ship and effortlessly winning. Then his heart leaped. There was Spirit.

Ignoring the curious glances of the oarsmen, Hylas bent low over the side, and Spirit swerved toward him, easily keeping pace with the ship. His dark eye met Hylas’, then glanced away. As if, thought Hylas, he was asking,
Do you forgive?

Hylas tried to answer in his mind, in the dolphin way.
Nothing to forgive.
Then out loud he said, “There’s nothing to forgive! I was never angry. It’s just—I can’t live in your world. And you would die in mine. That’s just how it is.” A lump rose in his throat. “That’s just how it
is.
”

Spirit swam closer, and Hylas heard the soft
pfft!
of dolphin breath. He reached down as far as he could, and for a heartbeat his fingers skimmed the dolphin’s back and he felt the cool, smooth hide.
Will I ever see you again?

Spirit swerved away from him and disappeared into the deep. Then he was leaping high out of the water and twisting in midair, smacking down hard on his side with a
thwack
that drenched Hylas from top to toe. Shaking the water from his hair, he broke into a grin. He wasn’t certain, but he thought that meant yes.

To show that he understood, he tossed an anchovy over the side, and Spirit caught it and gulped it down.

You’ll always be my friend,
Hylas told him in his head.

Again the dark eye met his, and he felt that Spirit understood, and was happy.

But already the pod was turning away.

For a little while Spirit swam alongside the ship, then he too was turning and heading back to his pod. For the last time his glance met Hylas’. Then he arched his back, flicked up his tail—and was gone, vanishing into his deep blue world, where Hylas could never follow.

The green sail bellied, and the creaking ship rode the waves. The tears stiffened on Hylas’ cheeks.

The captain came and handed him an earthenware jar. Hylas nodded his thanks, and drank. It was wine and water, mixed with honey and roast barley meal: thick and heady and strengthening. As Hylas handed back the jar, the captain pointed at the waves, then made an arching motion with his hand, put his fist to his heart, and pointed at Hylas.

“Yes,” Hylas said with a nod. “The dolphin is my friend.”

The captain returned to the steering-paddle, and Hylas thought about what he’d said. Then he ate the rest of the anchovies, threw the last one over the side as an offering, and felt a bit better.

It came to him that maybe Pirra was right, and everything did come back to the Goddess. Many days ago on Mount Lykas, Her words—the Oracle’s—had been the spark that lit the tinder and caused the Crows to attack his camp, and started him on the journey that led him to the island. There he’d found Spirit; and now Spirit was
back with his pod, and he and Pirra had helped make that happen. And maybe this meant that someday, he would find Issi.

The island had dwindled to a dark blur on the horizon. Against it, Hylas caught a flash of silver. He knew in his heart that it was Spirit, making one of his great twisting leaps.

Raising his hand, Hylas shouted farewell. Then he laughed—because the Sun on the water was dazzling, and he was alive and free, and anything was possible.

Then the green sails bellied and the ship reared and plunged through the sparkling foam, and he watched the Island of the Fin People sinking slowly beneath the Sea.

T
he story of Hylas and Pirra takes place three and a half thousand years ago, in what we now call the Bronze Age. As you may have gathered, it happens in the land we call ancient Greece. However, the Greece of the Bronze Age was very different from the ancient Greece of marble temples and classical sculpture with which you may be familiar. The Bronze Age was long before that. It was even before the Greeks ranged their gods and goddesses into an orderly pantheon of Zeus, Hera, Hades, and all the others.