Gods and Warriors (31 page)

She woke stiff and cramped, with ants crawling over her legs. The sky was just beginning to turn gray.

Peering down through the trees, she made out the heaving Sea and a pebbly strip of shore. A boy was walking along it. She recognized Telamon, the Chieftain’s son. He’d come alone, as he’d promised.

So what? Pirra thought sourly. Hylas was clever, but he hadn’t grown up among the plots and counterplots of the powerful, as she had. Did he really think Telamon was going to tell him where to find his sister, with or without the dagger?

A breeze shivered the Sea, smoothing out the waves in great dark patches like the tracks of some vast, unseen being. Pirra’s spine tingled. Those were the footprints of the Goddess as She walked over the water to wake the Sun. Pirra had the uneasy feeling that the Shining One was leaving the island: Let these mortals fight it out among themselves.

Pirra thought of Hylas waiting at the wreck. Did the Goddess even know he existed? Did She care?

Below her on the slope, something moved.

She froze.

The warrior was twenty paces away. He walked slowly, with his helmeted head down. He was following tracks.

In one appalling heartbeat, Pirra took in his bronze armor and the sword at his hip; the heavy spear clenched in his hand. The hand was smeared with ash, the fingernails stained black.

Kratos.

Keeping his head down, he moved off along the trail.

Pirra’s thoughts raced. If he reached the wreck, Hylas was finished. But if she followed him she’d have to leave the dagger behind, or he might get it—and without the dagger, what good was she to Hylas?

Kratos glanced back over his shoulder—and went still. Pirra couldn’t see his face, but she sensed that he’d spotted something.

Not daring to breathe, she watched him turn and walk back the way he’d come. Toward her.

Now he was directly below her.

He stooped and plucked something from the trail. He straightened up. Pirra saw the change in him: the tension of the hunter sensing prey.

Raising his head, he scanned the slope.

He can’t see me, she told herself. He can’t know I’m here.

Then she saw what glinted in his palm, and her belly turned over.

It was a tiny, gold double axe.

The Sun was red as a warning, and as it appeared above the edge of the world, it set fire to the sky.

Hylas stood in the surf, craning his neck at the ruined ship.

It looked wrong. Until now, he’d been too far away, but as he drew nearer, he realized his mistake. The wreck he and Pirra had salvaged didn’t perch on a tall hill of black rocks, and it didn’t lie beneath a headland that loomed over it like a wave about to break.

It wasn’t their wreck.

Wondering what this meant, he scanned the rocks for a way up. Whether or not Telamon came alone, he wanted a good position with plenty of scope for escape.

Jumping at full stretch, he grabbed a juniper halfway up, and after a tricky scramble, made it to the top. Only when he was there did he realize that if he’d kept to the slopes, he could have walked down from the headland and straight on to the wreck.

The Sea had flung the ship sideways onto the rocks. It leaned drunkenly, hammered by the waves. Hylas picked his way over the slimy timbers. One nearly tipped him into the hold, where a pool of black water lay in the shadow of the mast. The mast had snapped nearly in two. It tilted crazily overhead, creaking and groaning as the Sea crashed against the hull.

Hylas could see nothing that would do for a weapon, except a length of rope. Clutching it in one hand and the bundle in the other, he found a hiding place behind a pile of shattered jars, and settled down to wait.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Telamon had kept his word and come alone. At the foot of the rocks he halted. “Hylas—are you there?” he called above the noise of the waves.

Hylas did not reply.

“I’m alone. Unarmed. I—I’ve hidden some supplies outside our camp, by a big sycamore with a broken branch.”

“Why’d you do that?” said Hylas, stepping into the open.

Telamon squinted up at him. He saw the rope in Hylas’ fist, but made no remark. “Soon as I’ve got the dagger, we’ll leave the island. You can pick up the supplies when we’ve gone.” He scanned the rocks for a way up.

“Stay where you are,” warned Hylas.

Telamon frowned. “If you want. Have you got the dagger?”

Hylas held up the bundle.

Telamon gave a curt nod.

The Keftian purple had been a good touch, thought Hylas. But he felt horrible about tricking his friend.

“Show me,” called Telamon.

“Issi first. Tell me where she is.”

“Not till I have the dagger.”

Hylas shook his head. “Not till I know where she is.”

The Sun rose: a silent explosion lighting a red fire under
the dark clouds building in the sky. The Sea clawed tirelessly at the wreck.

Telamon had always been a bad liar.

“You don’t know where she is,” said Hylas.

Telamon hesitated. “I found her tracks at the meeting rock. She’d left a pebble with a frog scratched on it. Her trail led down toward Messenia. I hadn’t followed it for long before Father’s men caught up with me.”

“So when you said you knew where she was, you lied.”

Telamon’s chin jutted defiantly. “You know more now than you did before I told you.”

“You lied. Here. Take it.” He flung down the bundle.

Telamon caught it one-handed and tore off the linen. The stick fell at his feet. “You lied too,” he said.

They exchanged stares—and in that moment, Hylas knew that their friendship was over. “Did you think I’d let you have the dagger?” he said.

“I thought you’d keep your word.”

“Like you?”

Telamon opened his mouth to reply. Then suddenly his eyes widened in horror.
“Hylas, look out!”

Hylas spun around and saw a spear hurtling toward him. He leaped sideways. The spear hissed past his temple and clattered onto the shore.

Telamon ran to retrieve it. “I didn’t know this would happen!” he shouted.

Hylas didn’t answer. A warrior was walking down the headland toward him. His armor glinted dark red
in the rising Sun, and his face was hidden behind a high bronze neck-guard and a boar’s-tusk helmet stained lightless black.

It was Kratos. In his fist he held the dagger of the House of Koronos.

K
ratos moved easily, despite his armor. He didn’t need to hurry. Hylas wasn’t going anywhere. He was trapped. Behind him the wreck and the crashing Sea; below him Telamon with the spear in his hands.

Hylas took a step back. “Where’s Pirra?” he shouted above the noise of the waves.

Kratos opened his free hand and let something fall. It bounced over the stones. A tiny, golden double axe.

The blood roared in Hylas’ ears. “What have you done to her?”

Kratos reached the foot of the headland. He took off his helmet and placed it on the ground. He did the same with his neck-guard. The curl of his lip said it all: no need for full armor against a mere boy. “Telamon,” he called to his nephew, “throw me my spear.”

Down on the shore, Telamon hesitated. “But you don’t
need
it!” he cried. “You’ve got the dagger! He can’t do us any harm!”

“He’s an Outsider. While he lives he’s a threat.”

“What threat can I possibly be to you?” shouted Hylas.
“What threat was my dog? What threat was my sister?”

“Telamon,” called Kratos. “The spear.”

“I
can’t
!” yelled Telamon, but there was a pleading note in his voice. “I won’t let you do this!”

Kratos ignored him. He didn’t need the spear. He had the sword at his hip and the dagger of Koronos in his fist.

He stepped onto the wreck and it creaked beneath him. His carapace of bronze flashed in the Sun. He was invincible.

Hylas grabbed the sharpest potsherd he could find. It would be useless. He chucked it away. He was a boy with a rope against a seasoned warrior three times his size. If it came to hand-to-hand combat, he’d be dead in a heartbeat.

As he cast about for somewhere to hide, he thought, All that running and hiding, all that struggling to survive—and it’s going to end like this?

And still Kratos came on. Hylas heard the clink of his armor. He caught the bitter stink of ash. In the rising Sun, the warrior’s face seemed etched in bronze. His dark eyes gleamed. He was enjoying this. He’d enjoyed killing Scram and making Issi run for her life. He’d enjoyed whatever he’d done to Pirra.

“Where is she!” Hylas burst out, not knowing if he meant Pirra or Issi, but needing to shout, to do something instead of just standing there and submitting to his fate. “Where is she? What have you done to her?”

Pirra struggled to her feet, then sank back with a moan. Her head was swimming. She was going to be sick.

She couldn’t believe that someone so big could have moved so fast. Like a nightmare he’d come crashing up the slope, and like a nightmare her sandals had slipped and branches had snagged her tunic, holding her back. Then she’d felt an agonizing grip on her shoulder. She’d screamed and bitten his hand. With a roar he’d struck her a blow that sent her flying. After that—nothing. He must have thought she was dead, because when she came to, he was gone, and so was the dagger.

She finished retching and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Her cheek was on fire and her shoulder hurt. The ashy stench of his sweat was still in her nostrils, the taste of his blood in her mouth, beneath the taste of sick.

Grabbing a sapling, she hauled herself to her feet and started after him.

Tracking was even harder among trees, and she swiftly lost his trail. It didn’t matter. If she kept the Sea on her left, surely she’d have to find the wreck?

Hurry
up,
she berated herself as she scrambled across the slope. It occurred to her that if she made her way down to the shore, the going would be easier; but then Kratos might see her, and she shied away from what that would mean.

Suddenly there were no more trees and she was out on a windswept ridge, with a falcon’s-eye view of what was happening far below.

She saw that the Sea had smashed not one ship, but two. The ship that she and Hylas had salvaged lay to the north, while another lay to the south, directly below. Between them she saw the turquoise slash of an inlet, but its mouth had been blocked where part of the cliffs had fallen into the Sea. Within the inlet she caught a flicker of big silver bodies.