Cursed by the Sea God (2 page)

A dark, swirling funnel was descending from the clouds like the finger of Zeus.
“I don’t understand,” I shouted over the rising wind. “What will it do?”

“Don’t you see?” she shouted back. “I’m to be
polished
.” She looked
around. “There.” She nodded toward a white bone lying against the palace wall.
“The wind does that. It picks up the sand, and . . .
polishes
. When it’s
done, there’s nothing left.
Just bones.” She squeezed her eyes
tight. “Sweet Demeter,” she called. “Please don’t let it hurt, not too much.
I’ve always saved my best offerings for you.”

The chain rattled in the rising wind as I reached up to examine the manacles.
The mechanism holding them closed was a simple clasp, but it took two hands to
undo.

“What are you doing?” Ameera shouted over the wind as she saw me reach
up.

“Getting you out of here! You didn’t do anything! This is insane!” I shouted
back.

“It’s too late! Look!” she shouted, pointing up. I quailed as I saw the
approaching finger of cloud, now nearly level with the tower atop the castle.
The first manacle popped open as I twisted it and I moved to the second. The
wind was shrieking now, tearing at my clothes. Sand whipped into my eyes,
stinging my cheeks painfully. I closed my eyes and groped for the manacle by
touch. The clasp was stuck, and as I worried at it with my fingers the roar from
the wind took on an angry note, as if it realized it was being cheated. The
clasp popped open and I pulled Ameera’s slender wrist from it to haul her,
stumbling against the wind’s lash, across the courtyard and into the
palace.

Somehow the wind knew it couldn’t enter. We could hear it roaring in
disappointed fury behind us. “It’s no good,” Ameera panted. “He’ll just send me
out there again. And this time you’ll get it too.”

“We have to tell him he’s wrong,” I said, tugging her along
the
hallway toward the throne room. Astonished faces peeked out at us from doorless
entranceways to either side as we rushed past.

The throne room had no doors, and I burst in with Ameera in tow. The king was
sitting on his gold-inlaid chair against the opposite wall. Two lumbering
servants moved to intercept us but we dodged around them.

“Most regrettable, I know, but order must be maintained,” he was saying to
Lopex, seated on a divan nearby. “Otherwise the people would do what they liked,
and then where would we be?” He reached for a gold goblet on a side table, but
stopped as he saw us standing there, surprise in his filmy blue eyes.

“What? What is it?” His face took on a slow frown. “You’re the girl with the
pears, aren’t you? Why aren’t you outside?”

He tilted his head for a moment, eyes closed, mumbling to himself. Opening his
eyes again, he turned his head to look at me, his expression clouding over. “You
did that? You freed her?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes, Your Inclemency,” I answered carefully. “But for a good
reason. She—”

He held up a hand. “Tut, young man,” he said. “Slaves answer only what was
asked.”

“But she didn’t do it! It wasn’t her fault!” I blurted.

The king tilted his head and closed his eyes again as though listening to a
voice only he could hear. “Young girl of dark eye moved backward into market
table,” he murmured. “Pears spilled over ground, confusion, many stepped on.
She stands
before you now.” He opened his eyes again. “I’m
afraid, young man, you’ve made a mistake, and now I fear you must take a
polishing with her.” He leaned down from his throne and patted my shoulder. “It
lasts only a short while,” he said gently. “And then you may rejoin your
friends. We bear no grudges here.” He sat back with the air of someone who had
cleared up a misunderstanding. The courtiers clapped.

I looked at him as he turned toward Lopex again. Rejoin my friends? What was he
talking about? “NO!” I blurted.

The king turned back to me. “Young man,” he said coldly, “I don’t know where
you come from, but in my kingdom, slaves speak
only
when spoken to. Now,
you really must do as I say or it will be the worse for you.” He turned back to
Lopex. “Your slaves, are they all this troublesome?”

Lopex spoke from the divan. “I have found that when this boy speaks, his advice
is often worth listening to, Your Inclemency. What did you want to say,
Alexi?”

I hesitated, trying to understand. “Sire?” I asked. “Have you ever seen someone
get—polished?”

“I? Of course not, boy. Not for many years.” He tugged his cloak around his
shoulders. “The winds were milder, and I was stronger. Now I am content to stay
in the castle. My four winds, they tell me all I need to know.”

An idea came to me. “Sire? May I have permission to leave for a moment? There
is something I must show you.” The king nodded absently. I grabbed Ameera’s hand
and we ran off for the exit.

Behind me, the king was remarking to Lopex, “Excitable,
isn’t
he, this slave of yours. What do you think he wants to show me?”

Ameera had the same question as we ran through the castle hallways. “Where are
we going?” she panted.

“To the pillars!” I stopped at the front entranceway to peer up at the sky, but
the dark clouds had disappeared, the swirling finger gone as if it had never
been. “Bones!” I shouted as I ran out into the courtyard. “Grab whatever you can
find!”

We darted around the square, snatching up the few polished bones that hadn’t
been carried off by dogs, and returned to the throne room. The king peered
curiously at us from under his bushy eyebrows. “Young man, I must tell you that
I am losing patience. Why are you bringing those into my throne room?”

“Please, Sire,” I said. “Do you remember who you last sent to be
polished?”

His eyebrows went up. “Of course. A king’s duty is to remember. It was three
half-months ago. A boy, younger than you. He kept talking back to his mother. We
couldn’t have that, could we?” The king shook his head as if in reply. “But his
mother was soft. When I sent him for polishing, she began to scream. I should
have had her polished along with him. Perhaps I am also too soft.”

I dropped my armload of shining bones on the floor, and Ameera dropped hers
beside mine. “I don’t think so, Sire,” I said quietly. “This is what was left
of him, afterwards.”

The king peered down at the pile of bones, blinking. “Bones?
Now
why would that be?” He looked up at me. “Once again, young man, you are
mistaken. Those are animal bones.” He waved me away. “Mark him for extra
polishing. He has wasted my time.”

Two round-shouldered eunuchs appeared from somewhere and began to drag me
toward the door, but Ameera darted in to pluck something from the pile. “Sire,
look at this!” She held the bone out to him. “A jawbone. Not an animal’s—a
child’s!” The king took it wordlessly, turning it over in his hands for some
time before looking up, his expression puzzled.

“This bone,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

“Outside. Near the pillars. They’re always there, after . . . someone is
polished.” At his uncomprehending look, she went on. “The winds do it. With
sand.” She faltered. “This is all they leave.”

He looked at her, then back to the small jawbone in his hand. Most of its tiny
teeth were intact. The blood drained slowly from his face. He turned toward the
courtiers, now huddled in an anxious knot.

“Did you know?” he whispered. They said nothing. He frowned. “You
knew
?
Why did you not tell me?”

Someone gave an uncertain clap but stopped. A young man was pushed forward by
the others. His hair was carefully sculpted and tinted to look like a bird of
paradise. “Your Magnificent Inclemency,” he murmured hesitantly, bowing low.
“We . . . had no idea.” As the king’s brow creased, he added
quickly, “That is, we had no idea that this was not your wish.”

“My wish?
This
?” He looked up at Ameera. “How . . . how many of my
people have had this?” He held up the jawbone.

Ameera shook her head. “Sire, I don’t know. Ever since I can remember.”

The king stared at her. “That long?” he breathed, his rheumy eyes clouding. “My
people. They believe I could do
this
?”

The young courtier stepped forward, his ornate sandals clicking on the hard
floor. “Sire?” he began, his voice sympathetic. “How terribly upsetting this
must all be for you.” He pressed his fist to his mouth, thinking. “I have it,
Sire—a long, refreshing bath! That’s what you need. The very thing for days like
this.” The courtiers behind him murmured approval.

The king had begun to get to his feet at the young man’s words but stopped. His
expression slowly shifted, grief giving way to a growing anger that creased his
brow like a gathering storm.

“A bath, Thalpius? You think to wash this away with a
bath
?” The young
man stepped back uncertainly.

“All of you,” the king growled, sitting up on the throne, swelling and filling
out his robes as though taking strength from his fury. “This!” he shouted
suddenly, shaking the jawbone at them. “This is
your
doing! Too fearful
to tell your king the truth. Afraid for your
status
.”

He threw the jawbone to the floor where it shattered, sending teeth and bits of
bone skittering across the tiles. “Get out,”
he hissed, his
voice shaking with rage. “Leave my palace, or by the power granted me by Zeus,
you shall feel the bite of the winds yourselves!” The huddled courtiers paused
uncertainly, then darted for the doorway in a clatter of sandals.

He turned back to me, his eyes blazing. “And you, young man,” he began, his
fury out of control now. “How
DARE
you contradict the king? Do
you know the punishment for that?”

He frowned at his words, staring at the shards of jawbone on the floor.
“Contradict me. Indeed,” he added, his voice softer. “There is not a soul among
my people who would have dared.” His blue eyes stared at me for several moments.
“And yet you did. For that, it seems I must thank you.” He gestured to the two
eunuchs gripping my shoulders. “He may go.”

As Ameera and I headed for the door, I heard Lopex speaking. “Your Inclemency,
I truly regret that your winds have run wild. But if it is within your power, I
believe I know a way to punish them and help me on my journey at the same time .
. .”

WHEN I WENT OUT to the market with the kitchen slaves the next
morning, the stares and whispers made it clear that the story had gone around.
The candy master, a short, plump man who made a sweet treat from boiled beets,
insisted on handing me a lump of his sticky product whenever he saw me. Even the
Greeks looked at me with a new respect. Life as a kind of underground hero on
Aeolia was a pleasant change, and I began to feel a contentment I hadn’t felt
since before my father died.

It lasted for over a month, and then one day Lopex sent for me. I followed the
messenger slave into a saffron-scented
chamber in the palace.
Lopex was seated on the edge of a richly padded divan, the king lying on a
similar bench nearby. There were no courtiers in the room, but in a corner
someone was strumming a harp. I looked again, startled. The harp was playing
itself, a soft, smooth sound as though all the strings were being rubbed at
once.

The king was speaking. “. . . like unruly children. Zephyros is a demon, of
course, and never, never to be let loose. Notus of the south is my favourite;
she is gentle, she is warm, her touch a caress against the cold slap of Boreas,
or the angry scratch of Eurus from the East.” He sat up as he caught sight of
me. “You there! Boy! What are you doing here?”

Lopex answered. “I summoned him. He is my healer and message bearer. And his
advice is sound, as you have seen.”

The king nodded. “Very good. Carry on.”

Lopex beckoned me over. “Alexi, I want you to go to the barracks east of the
castle and tell the commanders of each ship that we are leaving. The king is
providing water and provisions; they will be on the pier tomorrow. I want the
provisions loaded and balanced, and the men ready to go by two hands past dawn,
two mornings from today. Make sure the cisterns are completely topped—” he broke
off as the king interrupted.

“And for you, Odysseus, I have thought hard about your suggestion. Come with me
to the tower.” Waving away the nearby slaves with their
basternion
, he
walked out with Lopex, and I headed for the soldiers’ quarters, my head
spinning.
Healer
.
Message bearer
. I caught my
breath as a new title came to me.
Advisor
. He’d said so himself, hadn’t
he? My chest swelled at the thought as I strode into the barracks.

From the looks of the dining hall, the Greeks had done nothing but drink and
fight for the last month. Along one wall were several round wooden containers,
their lids pried off and dropped nearby. As I watched, a Greek soldier staggered
up and dipped his goblet into a container near me. They were full of wine! No
wonder I’d seen so little of the Greeks since we’d arrived. I was scanning the
room for the ships’ commanders when someone clutched at a fold of my
tunic.

“Alexi?” I turned to see Pen, the young Greek soldier I’d saved after Ismaros,
looking up at me with his dark calf’s eyes. He was a little taller than I was
but somehow always managed to look shorter.

“It’s so good to see you,” he added. “Were you looking for me?” He said
something else but I didn’t take it in, scanning the busy room for the Greek
commanders. Eventually I realized he was waiting for an answer.

“Sorry, Pen. What was that?”

“I said, would you like to sit down and have some wine with me?”

“I wish I could,” I answered, still searching the room. “Lopex has asked me to
carry messages for him.”

“I understand,” he said, sounding downcast. “You’re not just a healer anymore.
I hear you’re a hero now, too. You don’t need to spend time with me.”

“No!” I said, turning to look him in the eye. “That’s not it
at
all, Pen. It’s just that Lopex has me doing all these tasks. I’ll try to come by
later, okay? I promise.” I caught sight of a knot of commanders sitting at a
corner table. “I’ve got to go.” Pen let his hand fall from my tunic as I turned
to walk away.

“You!” I called out as I approached the table where the commanders were
sitting. “Lopex wants the ships and men ready to sail by two hands past dawn in
two mornings. Aeolus will send provisions and water to the docks tomorrow. You
must load and balance them.” My message delivered, I turned to go, but a hand
yanked me back.

“So who are you to be telling us, slave?” It was Karphos, one of the fleet
commanders, a tall man with an unkempt beard and bulging eyes.

I met his gaze confidently. “I am Lopex’s message bearer and advisor.” He
glared at me and I felt emboldened to add, “But if you prefer, I can let Lopex
know that you questioned his orders.”

Karphos raised a hand to cuff me, but one of the other commanders caught his
arm and muttered something to him. I caught the words
hagios
, the
protected status that Lopex had granted me after the battle with the Cicones.
Karphos let go of me reluctantly. “Don’t get too big for your tunic, boy,” he
grunted. I turned to look around for Pen as I left, but he had
disappeared.

The next day Lopex kept me busy carrying messages to supervise the loading.
Ameera had cleaned my tunic and pressed it flat with heated stones, something
I’d never seen before, and
someone in the marketplace had offered
to wash and style my hair. Nobody watching would have any idea that I was still
a slave.

The Greeks were loading woven baskets of dried fish, beef and pork, along with
amphoras of dates and wheels of cheese from the wharves. There were a few
resentful glances in my direction, but nobody was about to risk Lopex’s wrath by
trying to make me help. I was watching the soldiers struggle to lower the heavy
wooden water barrels into the hold of the
Pelagios
when I realized that
they weren’t filling the shipboard cisterns, but leaving the water in the wooden
barrels.

“Hey!” I called. The men handling the water barrel looked up. “You need to
store that water in the cisterns.”

“Do we now?” one of them called. “So what makes you the expert?”

“Lopex’s orders,” I called back. The men didn’t move, so I added, “Or do you
want him to hear about it?”

The men shuffled their feet resentfully. “Somebody go fetch a bucket, then,”
one of them muttered. Ignoring their angry glares, I watched for a little longer
before going off to tell the remaining ships the same thing, smiling to myself.
I could get used to this.

At the bow of the
Pelagios
the following morning, watching the last of
the ragged column of Greeks tramp down the street toward the harbour, I caught
sight of Lopex, coming down the hill from the palace. Over his shoulder he
carried a sailor’s duffle bag made of thick sail cloth, cinched shut with
a narrow silver cord. The sack looked fully laden, but as he
came closer I could see it buffeting as if it held a flock of wild birds. Lopex
had his big hands gripped tightly around the neck as though he didn’t trust the
cord.

The king had come with him down to the docks. In spite of his simple yellow
robe, he seemed more regal now than he ever had with his clapping courtiers and
basternion
. As he gave Lopex a final hug, I overheard his warning.
“Remember this: as long as the leash is tied, control will be yours. Let it
slip, and may the gods show you mercy.”

“Men! Ship oars! Raise the sail!” On board at last, Lopex was shouting orders
from the stern, where, unusually, he had seated himself. The men stared at him,
wondering. Even with my limited sailcraft, I could see that there wasn’t a
breath of wind to stretch the sail.

Lopex fingered the silver cord on the sack, a humourless smile flickering
across his lips. “You want wind? I assure you, there will be. Now move!
Procoros, signal the other ships to raise their sails and follow. Let the
Pelagios
take position behind the fleet.” As Procoros turned to relay
the orders, I stared at Lopex, wondering. The
Pelagios
always took the
lead at sea.

After some manoeuvring, the ships were positioned with their sails up. The men
looked around, puzzled, while Lopex bent to examine the sash on his sailcloth
bag. He frowned as he noticed us watching him. “Turn around! Face forward!” he
shouted. “You too, Alexi! Get below!”

As I clambered down the ladder into the bow hold, the
ship was
buffeted by a powerful gust of wind, throwing me to the floor. Up top, I could
hear the men cursing as they were thrown from their benches. “Eyes front! Stay
at your benches!” Lopex roared. A moment later there was a second shudder,
gentler. Suddenly the hull began to hum, as it did when we were running before
what the sailors called a bride’s wind. From the hold I could just see the sail,
suddenly full-bellied. Where had the wind come from? I climbed partway up the
ladder and risked a peek forward. Through gaps in the bow railing, I could see
the other ships of the fleet ahead of us. Their sails were as full as
ours.

Lopex’s voice came to me clearly. “Eyes forward, men! In a few days, we’ll be
back home with our wives and sweethearts—and our wealth!”

Months ago, back when we were still speaking, Kassander had told me how
Agamemnon, the Greek king who had started the war, had coaxed a magical wind to
bring his fleet to Troy ten years ago. “He sacrificed his own daughter,”
Kassander had said, wiping his fingers on a tuft of beach grass by the slaves’
dinner fire. “Cut her throat, then smeared her blood on the sail with his hands.
It worked, though. After two months of a solid east wind, it shifted west the
same day.”

I glanced up at the sail with a shudder. Had Aeolus commanded his treacherous
winds to follow us? And if he had, how was Lopex controlling them? If what I’d
seen on the island was any sign, I wanted no part of it. But at least this sail
had no blood on it.

We ran for three days before that eerie, constant gale. No
gusts, no slackening, even at dusk when the day’s breezes normally died. Filled
by a perfect wind, the sail was so still that it could have been carved from a
slice of marble, and the ship hissed across the smooth water like a knife. The
men were ordered to sleep at their benches, facing forward and slumped against
one another. Even when they relieved themselves over the side, they kept their
eyes to the front. Only Lopex stayed awake through it all, glaring forward as
though daring the wind to slacken.

He ordered me to keep my head down as well, but delivering food and water to
the men at their benches gave me the chance to snatch glimpses of him at the
stern. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t doing anything special—just sitting at
the steersman’s seat, one hand protectively holding the string around his
sailcloth bag, the other clutching at the steering oar. He never slept, and his
stare grew more bloodshot as each day passed.

The men’s spirits rose as the fleet crept nearer to home, the island of Ithaca.
Even Lopex, now so sleepy that he could hardly keep his seat, seemed to
brighten, while my own concern grew. I had earned a place here, but back in
Lopex’s household, would I be anything more than just another slave?

It turns out I was worrying about the wrong thing entirely.

The third morning after leaving Aeolia, one of the Greeks, a greying man whose
skin had been tanned almost to leather, recognized the coastline of an island we
were slipping past.
He spoke to the men seated near him, and soon
an excited buzz of conversation filled the deck. One by one, other men began to
recognize landmarks on nearby islands. We were almost there.

A noise from the sail made me look up. It was starting to flap, losing its taut
shape. Ahead of us, the other ships of the fleet were slowing, their sails
losing their curve as well. I risked a quick glance back at Lopex. He was
slumped forward in his seat, his head across the neck of the bag, one arm still
wrapped protectively around it. After three days and nights awake, he had fallen
asleep.

I bench-hopped to the stern to wake him before the other men noticed, but his
long stretch without sleep had left him exhausted. Even shaken, he didn’t
wake.

“Look!” came a shout from Ury, on his bench amidships. “The sail!” The men
stared up at it. “Lopex!” he called. “The wind has stopped!”

Dead asleep, Lopex didn’t reply. Ury loomed behind me. Grabbing my shoulder, he
yanked me away and threw me to the deck.

“Well, well,” he exclaimed. “Now we know why he didn’t want us to look back.”
His voice was nearly a purr. “He’s been holding out on us!” He wrenched the sack
from Lopex’s unconscious grip and began to fumble at the silver cord with his
stubby fingers. “What’s in here, anyway?” he muttered to himself. “Not weaponry
or plate—too light. If you’re wasting our time with spices, Lopex, I swear I’ll
stuff them up your
gloutos
and roast you on a spit!” The
bag twitched beneath his arm as he tried to unpick the knot. Random gusts
whipped at his face and tugged at the sail.

Suddenly I knew for sure what had to be in that sack. “Stop!” I shouted,
scrambling up from the deck and launching myself at him. “That’s not
treasure!”

Ury glanced up and gave me a backhanded slap that knocked me against the stern
railing. “Want some, do you?” His eyes narrowed. “Well, boy, why don’t you come
here and get it?” His free hand pulled a short knife from his belt. I circled,
trying to approach, but the knife tracked me as I moved.

“Lopex!” I shouted. “Wake up!” The other Greeks had twisted on their benches to
watch, but Lopex remained asleep. I feinted toward Ury, hoping to grab the bag,
but his warrior’s reflexes were too quick. Nearby, the port steering oar stood
beside its empty seat and I ran to unlace it, hoping to use it as a
weapon.