Location: The Southwestern Mediterranean Sea
Time Remaining: 9 Months, 1 Day
Odysseus moved fast enough to catch up to his men two days from the ship. They were disappointed to see him return alone, but didn’t press the somber man for information about what had happened. He simply warned them not to follow any voices into the wilderness, even if they heard their name called.
By the time they returned to the ship, Odysseus was in somewhat better spirits. He was relieved to see Acrysius and his friends waiting there with a sizeable camp on the beach. Odysseus showed off the giant golden apple, the leaves he’d collected, and the smaller golden fruit the men had gathered. He told them what happened with the feral creatures in the wilderness (omitting Adresteia’s role) but offered no trophy – he had only brought Etas’s prayer beads and his own scars to dispel any thought that he’d simply declared them dead without searching. He led a toast to the men with the best libations they had on board, and then they set sail.
They sailed for the better part of two weeks without incident, but late one afternoon they caught sight of black sails in the distance. That was a bad sign. Black sailcloth wasn’t easy to come up with, so a captain who troubled with it would have to be pretty confident and committed to sending their message.
The sight of the ship was more disconcerting as it grew closer – its prow was adorned with a figurehead in the form of an iron-cast black dragon with a wicked beak, webbed-ears, and twisted horns. Green fire flickered from its maw.
“Is it remotely possible they’re merchants?” Acrysius said.
“If so, they’re marketing their wares strangely,” Odysseus answered.
“Depends on what they’re selling.”
“I don’t think we want to find out,” he shuffled through his maps, “Take us forty degrees to port,” he ordered the quartermaster to re-rig the sails.
“How’ll that help us?” Acrysius asked.
“It’ll take us away from land,” Odysseus answered, “If they’re even remotely sane, they won’t want to follow us far without one of these devices,” he patted the navigation tool Athena had given him. “We’ll sail on this heading until dark, then use the stars to find our way back on course.”
The sails fell slack and the ship slowed. The quartermaster immediately ordered the men to adjust the sail’s orientation, expecting that they would need to tack, but Odysseus stopped him. “The wind hasn’t changed,” he said, “Zephyrus hasn’t left us. Why have we slowed?”
The sailors chattered anxious. Alecto clambered up and held his hand before the limp sail-cloth, “The wind is passing clean through the cloth captain!” he said, “Like it’s not even there!”
“We’re becalmed and bewitched,” Acrysius said.
Once, Odysseus would have tried to explain their predicament in natural causes, but now he knew that unnatural causes provided the more rational explanation. Athena’s ship had betrayed them.
“Can we row?” Acrysius suggested.
“Not far enough to escape,” Odysseus scanned their surroundings for inspiration, “But maybe far enough to make it to that island to our southeast.”
“You mean to forfeit the ship?” Acrysius asked, “I think everyone here would rather stand and fight, than waste away on a desert isle far from home. Even if our chances are poor.”
“Their ship is bigger, heavier, riding lower in the water,” Odysseus said, “And see those white caps there? Just west of the island? Shoals, shallow water. there’s a chance we can run them aground.”
“There’s a chance we may run aground too,” Acrysius said.
“Then we need to make our draft as shallow as possible. Grab some men, and get rid of any unnecessary weight.”
“Unnecessary?”
“Empty crates and barrels,” Odysseus said, “If he we have partially filled ones, consolidate them – into sacks if possible – and toss the empty container. And be prepared to empty our drinking water,” Odysseus added, “We can refill on the island.” Acrysius set about the task. Odysseus ordered the men to take down the cursed sail and to raise the spare. No luck; it was hexed just as the first.
Unfortunately, as hard as the men rowed, the black ship overtook them before they even reached the shoals. It intercepted them at an angle, trying to head them off. Odysseus did the math and reckoned that if the men kept up their speed, the galley would – narrowly – pass the prow of the black ship. The pirate’s archers would doubtlessly make them pay in blood, but Odysseus had a mind to just weather their arrows and continue running.
Unfortunately, the pirates had a rather impressive trick up their sleeves. Pumping a massive bellows on their foredeck, they launched a stream of fire from the maw of their figurehead that set the sea aflame before the Aegis.
“All stop!” Odysseus shouted down to the men managing the rowers, “REVERSE!” The prow of the ship cut into the burning waves, and the fire spread up it. With their drinking water gone, the men patted out the flames with great difficulty.
“They wouldn’t dare sink us,” Acrysius said, “They’d lose their prize.”
“These are shallow waters,” Odysseus said, “They might rather pry our goods from the jaws of Poseidon than fight us.” Nevertheless, he ordered the men on deck to take arms and prepare to be boarded. They stoked braziers and prepared to light arrows, as the other ship did the same.
A voice shouted from the other ship as it drew in its oars and sailed up alongside, “Parley!” it cried, “Let us negotiate.”
“Very well then,” Odysseus ordered the men to stand down for the moment, “What have you to say?”
“We’re here for a very particular treasure aboard your ship,” the opposing captain cried, “A large golden apple. Part with it, and your ship and your men will be spared further strife.”
Odysseus didn’t know how the man knew about the apple, but denying it seemed pointless. As convincing as he could be, if this man was so certain that this specific ship was carrying this specific cargo, simply telling him he was mistaken would not dissuade him.
But Odysseus didn’t want to return to Athena without it. He looked to Adresteia, imagining that she might have been able to take on the entire ship full of pirates, but she sat, in her eagle form, observing the events passively, still unwilling to show her true form before the crew.
“I lost four men retrieving that apple,” Odysseus said, “I give it to you, and they’ll have died for nothing.”
“If you don’t give it to us, all your men will die for nothing,” the pirate captain shouted. That was a fair point.
“Nevertheless,” Odysseus said, “It would dishonor them if I gave it up without any resistance.”
“You wish to fight then?”
“We needn’t risk the lives of our crewmen,” Odysseus said, “Let the fight be captain-to-captain, a duel.”
“Agreed; if I win, we take the apple without any further mischief.”
“What do we get if I win?” Odysseus asked. Acrysius shook his head.
“A safe voyage home.”
“We had that before you arrived,” Odysseus said, “It seems bad form to gamble with threat of violence as your only ante. Fortune may not favor you.”
“Lady Luck?” the man laughed as if there was something especially funny about that, “Fine, I’ll put up this ‘fortune.’” He flashed a small gold coin, “Defeat me, and you can take it, along with your lives.”
Odysseus decided that stalling any longer would be fruitless; he had no backup plan, and divine intervention seemed incredibly unlikely. “Very well, I accept; my apple against your coin. Let us meet on the island.”
“No need!” The man laughed. A long wooden plank with two bronze spikes – like the fangs of a viper – dropped from the side of their ship and bit into the Aegis’s deck. The man walked out onto it, “Come on then, let’s go.”
The man was an Achaen far from home, like them, though dressed in colorful exotic sashes that gave the impression of a man well-traveled. Under the sashes he was unarmored, save a leather pauldron and arm length glove on one side. He carried a fishing net in one hand, and a trident in the other.
Odysseus had the apple brought forth, and took up a shield and his collapsible spear, gripped in his hand as a sword. The pirates poured blood and offal into the water from their last meal, and began stamping their feet and shouting, “Thálassas,” as sharks swam up to search for the source.
“I presume your name is Thálassas?” Odysseus said as he walked out onto the plank.
“Captain Orgí tis Thálassas,” the man bowed, “And you are?”
Odysseus remembered Ladon’s warning about names, “Captain Nemo from Pouthená,” he nodded.
“Well, ‘Nemo’, let’s have it,” the man spread his arms wide, exposing his chest, daring Odysseus to strike.
Odysseus had seen this same trick in a fair number of street brawls by the docks and, unusual amongst the Achaeans, had never been one to answer a taunt with action, “When you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” the man waved his arms.
“No, no,” Odysseus said, “Your form’s all wrong. You should be keeping your center of mass low, and your weapons up and in front of you.” He braced behind his bronze shield.
“Don’t critique my form, boy,” the man said, “I’ve been cutting down arrogant sailors since -”
Odysseus launched forward as the man was mid brag, but rather than lunge with his sword, he charged with his shield. The man tried to bring his weapons up, but simply struck the edges of Odysseus’s shield. Odysseus staggered the man with the impact, but – impressively – the man braced himself, halting his backward stumble, and shoved back. Odysseus nearly lost his balance, and in the time it took for him to recover, the man had backed off enough to kick the center of Odysseus’s shield. Odysseus stumbled again, nearly slipping off the edge of the bouncing plank.
Thálassas lunged with his trident, and pierced the center of Odysseus’s shield, the center spike slicing Odysseus’s arm with its barb. Odysseus yelped from the sudden pain, and tried to pull back, but the trident stuck, leaving Odysseus in a tug of war. Thálassas began to twist the shield with the trident, trying to unbalance Odysseus further, so Odysseus used his sword to cut the straps holding the shield to his arm. The bronze shield fell away into the sea, but it nearly dragged Thálassas with it. He released his trident, leaving him with his net, and Odysseus with his sword – odds he seemed to be comfortable with.
The pirate captain swung his net, trying to strike Odysseus with the heavy lead weights on it. Odysseus jumped back to avoid the swing, but realized he was about out of room to retreat. Another step back, and he’d be back on his ship. That would likely trigger the pirates to attack, and bring an end to the whole affair. Odysseus lunged forward with his sword, but Thálassas caught it within his net. The captain pulled the net away to the side, trying to drag Odysseus’s weapon from his grasp, but Odysseus hit the button on his Hephaestan sword, extending it into a full spear. The pirates gasped, and it certainly took Thálassas by surprise. Odysseus had hoped to use that when he had a clear shot at the man’s gut, but with that option off the table, he shoved forward and to the side, leveraging the entangled spear, and causing both of them to fall off the plank.
The spear landed crosswise on the plank, Odysseus hanging onto one end, and Thálassas hanging onto his net that was tangled on the other end. Thálassas’s sandals were scraping the waves, his toes narrowly missing a circling fin. He tried to reach up to climb back on the plank, but found only the long sharp, double edged spearhead to grab onto.
“We can still part amicably,” Odysseus grunted from the strain of holding on to the bending spear.
The man laughed heartily, “Praise Eris!” he shouted and released his net. The counterweight gone, Odysseus plunged into the bloody waters as well, losing his spear to the depths. Something grabbed him, and he thought at first that it was a shark, but found instead that Thálassas had seized him by the belt, and was trying to hold him underwater, betting that he could hold out longer than the younger man. Odysseus was Ithacan, though, and no man grew up on such a small, boring island without becoming an exceptional swimmer. He struggled with the man, the two locked in each other’s grip, while both kicking out with their feet to fend off curious sharks. One got a chunk of Thálassas’s left calf, and though it immediately let go of the man (evidently, the shark decided humans smelled better than they tasted) the pain inflicted by its sharp teeth caused Thálassas to lose control of his lungs. He exhaled sharply, released Odysseus, and swam back to the surface. Odysseus grabbed the drowning man by the ankle, but the man looked back at him with pleading eyes. Odysseus could have held him under long enough to kill him, but he let him go and swam up to his own ship.
They broke the surface to find chaos. Swords and spears rang against metal and hide shields, men screamed in anger and pain. Odysseus climbed up onto the deck to find that several of his men were already dead, stricken down by the pirates’ arrows, and the rest of the men on deck were engaging a boarding force. Adresteia circled above in her eagle form, occasionally diving down to harass or distract the pirates aboard the Aegis, narrowly averting a number of deaths. Odysseus saw one pirate grab the apple and run back across the plank to their ship, but when Odysseus tried to pursue him, his crewmates unfastened the plank from their end. The rocking of the ship popped it loose on Odysseus’s end, and Odysseus had to scramble to avoid falling back in the water. The remaining pirates on the Aegis turned and jumped back to their own ship, grabbing netting laid out on the edge of its hull and pulling themselves aboard. The other pirates drew and lit their arrows, prepared to burn the Aegis with a fiery hail.
Thálassas limped to the edge of his deck and laughed, holding the coin up, “Better luck next time, Nemo!” He cavalierly flipped the coin in the air, but Adresteia swooped in and grabbed it before it could come back down. She landed on Odysseus’s arm and gave Thálassas a piercing look. The reaction on Thálassas’s face suggested he knew exactly who he was dealing with, and he immediately ordered the men to put under way again.
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