Shadows on the Aegean (34 page)

“What happens if I go quickly?”

Dion looked away. “You will not be deep enough to truly hurt yourself.”

“How deep is ‘deep enough’?” Nestor asked nervously.

“We will hang a rope, weighted, beside the diving shell, marked with depths. Do not go lower than the level of the rope.”

“Is that deep enough to find this crab?”

“Since the caves are fairly shallow, the crabs should be there.” Dion smiled. “I will be right with you. Besides, you were
the one who wanted to hide where Vena couldn’t find you to mourn your broken liaison.”

“I was hoping that would be in a tavern,” Nestor muttered.

T
HE
M
ARINERS BEGAN LOWERING THE SHELLS
. Nestor sat on the edge of the boat, watching as Dion stripped off his kilt, the feathers in his hair, and the many bands
around his arms. Only his seal was left. Nestor took off his clothing, leaving just the bag around his waist.

“Your air time has begun, my master.” the Mariner said as the men slipped into the cold water.

“By the horns of the bull, I cannot believe I am willingly swimming this early in the season,” Nestor said.

“Already we have welcomed Kela,” Dion said. “You are acting like a child.”

“We will keep an eye on you, my masters,” the Mariner called, pointing to the dyed cork that would indicate where the men
were. The Mariner handed them bronze mirrors “for light?”

Nestor greatly disliked floating naked in the salt water. He felt exposed and disconnected. Touching the dagger tied to his
arm, the other one on his calf, and the third in a hilt around his waist comforted him little. He had a decan to search. After
that he would be too weak to come back up or he would be struck by the infant’s death, as the illness was called. Victims
died in a fetal position, wailing, as helpless as an infant. Vena would definitely not be impressed by that.

Dion shouted to him and dove, his feet breaking the surface of the water a heartbeat later.

Nestor swallowed and beseeched protection from Kela. After breathing deeply several times, he dove. Amazed, he looked around
slowly.

Schools of fish swam beside him, turning as a unit to the command of an unheard voice. He swam down farther. Pressure built
in his ears, and his chest began to hurt. His eyes finally adjusted to the dim light and he swam in the direction of the hulking
shell hanging in the water. The weights caught at the bag around his waist and he spent precious moments untangling himself,
then rose up, up.

Air! Nestor breathed deeply in the darkness, smelling the slightly mildewed odor of the pottery shell, the briny scent of
the sea. Rubbing his face, he readied himself to go back down.

He dove beneath the lip, holding the bag close to his side. Swimming cautiously, avoiding the jutting coral that could shred
him, keeping his eyes open for those creatures of the deep that were dangerous, he moved toward the caves. They would be to
his right, he recalled.

Dion swam in the distance, a paler, larger-limbed figure than the surrounding fish. Had he found these mythical crabs?

The water was darker closer to the caves, and Nestor angled the mirror, reflecting the sunlight streaming through the sea.
Fish scurried away as Nestor forced himself farther. He felt a pull against his legs and moved cautiously.

A cavern! After swimming rapidly back to the shell, he got a good gulp of air and then swam quickly back to the site. Cautiously
he floated toward the cavern’s mouth. The darkness was complete, and he blinked a few times before the glowing brilliance
of the vegetation came clear. In utter darkness he saw orange, pink, green, and yellow so bright, he felt his pupils dilate.
They moved, like specters, in the unseen currents.

Nothing purple.

He swam back to the shell, breathing shallowly to save air. Another deep dive and he was in the sea again. Not that cave,
he thought, and turned his head slowly, searching for the glowing purple decapod crab. Within the crab’s body was a component
that gave the crab the ability to renew itself perpetually. The decapod crab could regrow any part of its body. It was most
rare—a creature that had eternal youth and life.

Okh
, the crab wasn’t here. Another cave, but first he needed air. He backed out of the cave and felt something flick the back
of his neck.

Turning as fast as he could, he saw the huge shape swimming away from him. A flat, gray thing, its tail a whip, lashing the
water side to side. Nestor swam on, wondering how much of a decan had elapsed.

Three caves later he found them. The luminescence of the crabs brightened the entire cave, flickering off the sides of fish,
blinding among the glowing corals, seaweed, and plankton. The creatures must be alive to be most effective. He tucked three
into his bag and moved to the diving shell. He gulped for breath, and again. The air was thin, and Nestor’s head began to
ache.

What was the next step? Weights, remove the weights, he told himself, ducking beneath the level of water and fumbling for
the weight’s wires. He could barely feel their shapes in his tingling hands.

He needed to wait at each step of his ascent, take time for his body to regain itself or suffer. His air depleting rapidly,
Nestor forced himself to breathe slowly. He could see nothing save the fading purple glow that lit up the water before him.

Finally he broke the surface of the water and heard the cheers. Arms trembling, he crawled into the boat. Dion stood in the
first rays of sunrise, holding aloft his woven bag full of crabs.

“You did well,” Dion said, draping him with a sheet. Nestor shook his head. He’d survived. Man should not live in water; it
wasn’t natural. The world beneath the waves was eerie and fantastic, but he preferred air.

The men uncorked a flagon of wine and passed it around. “We give these to Spiralmaster, and then we celebrate tonight,” Dion
shouted. The Mariners lifted the sail and they tacked around the edge of Kallistae and back into the lagoon of Aztlan.

S
HE WAS TOO LATE
, Chloe knew it in her bones. Had the clanspeople of Naxos paid any attention to her messenger bird? She’d been horrified
at how much time it took to extricate herself from Knossos. Apparently no one, not even clan chieftains, bailed when the mood
suited them.

Despite her warnings of major disaster, evil portents, the whole nine yards, the Caphtori had hung on to her like leeches,
her ship, and her men. They didn’t want the oracle to leave, they wanted her blessings on the new crops. We’re too late, Chloe
thought. Please don’t let us be too late! Last night they sailed through the gateway to Aztlan, the ship’s horn-embroidered
sails working as effectively as a diplomatic passport in Saudi. Mist was heavy on the sea this morning, and Chloe wondered,
though she didn’t dare ask, how they could see to get through it.

Ash from the eruption still coated the water in places. Chloe’s skin prickled at the thoughts of what a volcanic eruption
must be like. Very few of her clanspeople were actually up to talking with her, so she didn’t ask. The Mariners were scrupulously
polite, but everyone watched her as though she were a madwoman.

You
share a body with an oracular priestess who doesn’t believe her own words and see how you feel!

It was cold this morning, and her sense of dread multiplied with every hard-won
henti
. Out of the mist, two ships converged on them. Drawing on part of Sibylla’s knowledge that she had swiped, Chloe recognized
the triton on the sails and breathed a sigh of relief.

She also shuddered; Zelos Olimpi was sailing toward Naxos, too. Her fears were justified.
Eee
, those poor people, Chloe thought. What had happened? Her vision had faded rapidly, leaving only a feeling of doom. She gestured
to the ship’s commander to allow Zelos’ ship first. The azure-and-goldenrod sails filled with wind, and Zelos’ ship streaked
out before them.

Chloe chewed her lip, thinking about relief programming. Food, water, shelter, clothing. Her Sibylla-snatched memory told
her whom to contact on each of Naxos’s neighboring islands. “Bring me some messenger birds and a scribe,” she commanded. While
Sibylla herself might not arrive momentarily, help certainly would in the form of other clanspeople.

C
HEFTU WAS ON DECK FOR THE FIRST SIGHTING
of the Breakwater. Islets arching from one side of the empire’s islands to the other formed a natural barrier, the skeleton
of a greater landmass. In some areas they were but a dark stain in the water, but high enough to rip hulls from unsuspecting
ships. Cheftu just stared. He’d seen many of the wonders of the ancient world; surely this was the unknown Eighth? Atop the
islets, rising from the sea to a height twenty cubits above the ship, was the gateway to Aztlan. They approached an entryway,
and Cheftu was staggered.

Two enormous pylons topped with carved griffins guarded the archway that Mariners in green swarmed across. Y’carus ordered
the sails down, and the rowers’ pace slowed. They halted before the entrance, where several other Mariners came on board who
talked to Y’carus, went below decks, and finally granted approval. The ship moved beneath the stone arch, Mariners on either
side saluting. Then they were through and in the bluest, most vibrant water Cheftu had ever seen.

His head was swimming; who were these people? Where was this land?

“This is the beginning of the sea that becomes the lagoon around Aztlan,” Y’carus said beside him. He handed Cheftu a roll
of bread with a vegetable paste inside it. “It is called Theros Sea. In Aztlantu, ‘Theros’ means summertime.” Y’carus made
a production of wiping his brow. “Regardless of the weather elsewhere, sailing is always hot. The sun boils us on the water.”

Islands began to smudge the horizon. With evident pride, Y’carus pointed out the various clans. “East, you see Kallistae.
Mount Apollo is that mountain on the edge of the island, one of the sites for Apis’ temple. To your west”—he pointed with
his chin—“that is Folegandros.” Cheftu nodded, then corrected himself and shook his head in agreement. Y’carus pointed straight
ahead of them. “See that glimmer on the horizon? That is the Pyramid of Days, on Aztlan.”

Cheftu was almost choking. “Pyramid?”

“Aye, where do you think you Egyptians learned to build them?”

“Just so,” Cheftu said slowly. “What is over there?” He pointed to the horizon, where the sky was gray.

“That was Delos, the city of Arachne, the Clan of the Muse,” Y’carus whispered.

“Your family?”

“Aye, and my beloved. She was killed.”

Cheftu bowed his head in sympathy. “My sorrow for you,” he said in Aztlantu.

Y’carus stared at the sea. “There was no warning,” he murmured.

“It is most painful when you cannot say good-bye.”

Y’carus turned and looked at him. “You sound as though you know …?”

“My wife,” Cheftu said shortly.

“Then the Sibylla … ?”

Cheftu clenched his jaw. He couldn’t regret his actions; still, he was ashamed of them. “She bears a striking resemblance.”

“Your wife was very beautiful, then.”