Poseidon's Scar Read online

  “And you’ve… done this before?” Artem said.

  “Transformed myself? Of course. It’s wickedly useful. Got me out of quite a few jams.”

  “Specifically, a woman,” Artem said. “Specifically.”

  Barnabas smiled mischievously.

  “This makes you really uncomfortable, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m just very happy in my own skin,” Artem said. He inhaled sharply. “Was there a good reason for it? Turning into a woman?”

  “Yes,” Barnabas said. “Because I could. Wouldn’t you? I wanted to see how the world treated me. Which, by the way—Echo’s people? They’re awful to women. Just for your information. I don’t know how she didn’t regularly knock someone’s head from their shoulders.”

  Artem inhaled sharply again, squinted, sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and exhaled.

  “You get more interesting every time I talk to you,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Barnabas said.

  “That wasn’t really a compliment.”

  “It is if I take it as one.”

  “Look, it might work,” Artem said. “But I’m no magician. I don’t know if they’ve got what do you call them, the things that...”

  “Wards,” Barnabas offered.

  “Right, the things that protect against magic,” Artem said. “Or if they’ll just see right through it. But if you want to try…”

  “It’s less that I want to try and more that I want to see that bloody library,” Barnabas said.

  “Well if you try, I ask only one favor,” Artem said.

  “Sure,” Barnabas said.

  “Promise me you won’t warn Yuri ahead of time,” Artem said.

  Barnabas’ smile broadened.

  “You, Artem, consistently surprise me,” he said.

  Chapter 20: New Scythia

  On the morning of the third day, they spotted a series of rocky islands, more like stone spires, jutting up from the ocean ahead. Not large enough for habitation, they could see a few sparse birds nesting on the higher places.

  The ship began to alter course to avoid them, but Artem called out.

  “Go through,” he said. “See that gap right there, between those spires? Straight through there.”

  Echo squinted out across the water.

  “You sure?” she said.

  “They’re not real,” Muireann said. “Look at the birds. They repeat.”

  Artem nodded. The others spotted it as well. The birds were on a sort of loop, landing, flying out, skimming the water, returning. It was a long and varied enough loop that you needed to look for, but once you spotted it, it was clearly unnatural.

  “In the old days, they used fog clouds to hide the island,” Artem said as they passed between the rocks. Behind them, the rocks disappeared. “Now the trick is to make the area simply look impassible. Modern technology will let you navigate fog, but a bunch of rocky islands? Not worth it, just go around.”

  “Is this all done with illusion magic?” Echo asked.

  “Some magic, some technology,” Artem said. “I don’t know the specifics. They sent me away before I learned the inner workings.”

  The horizon flickered for a few seconds, like heat off pavement, and then changed. Before them, a staggering sight appeared: a massive island, lush and green at sea level, dotted with stone cliffs. Buildings decorated the island above the tree line, beautiful architecture drawing on a dozen or more cultures, a great castle-like structure in the center, tall and bold in gold-red stone. Tapestries, intricate and brightly colored but too far away to clearly read, billowed in the sea breeze from every window. Central to the island was a bay, where small, fast ships bobbed gently in the green-blue water.

  A small craft approached. It looked, much like the Endless, like an older vessel, but moved against the wind, propelled by some unseen, quiet power.

  “So I’m gonna just assume that’s not a welcoming committee,” Yuri said.

  “Security,” Artem said. He pointed off the starboard bow, then port. Two other outriders were headed their way as well. “Just behave and we’ll be fine.”

  The first craft pulled up alongside them. Warriors waited at the ready, aiming bows and arrows Artem knew they could wield with more deadly accuracy than any firearm trained on all of them. They wore an interesting mix of armor, a mix of modern materials crafted to harken back to classic armor styles.

  One, clearly in command, spoke, shouting over.

  “I hope you have a very good reason for coming here,” she said.

  Artem almost laughed as Echo adjusted the crown on her head, its design obviously meant for someone with a full head of hair as it slipped and went slightly crooked against the bare skin of her temples. Princess with a mohawk, Artem thought.

  “I am, um, Princess Echo of Atlantis. I’ve been sent by my father Rhegis and aunt Reina to seek your guidance on an, ah, on a matter of… okay there’s a big dangerous thing happening and we were hoping we could look something up in your library,” Echo said. “I’m really from Atlantis. I have a tiara and everything.”

  The commander, deeply tanned with a wild main of red hair and a spray of freckles, seemed dubious. Then she saw Artem.

  “Where did you get that?” the commander said. Artem placed a hand on his breastplate, then made the traditional greeting of the Amazons, touching the tips of his index and middle fingers to his forehead.

  “Hello, Areto,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll remember me, but I am Artem. Son of Orithyia. I’d like to seek an audience with my mother, on behalf of the Atlanteans, if she’ll see me.”

  The Amazons are nothing if not disciplined in situations like this, Artem thought. He watched as none of the archers moved or displayed visible signs of surprise, though he could tell—because he’d lived among them, and only for that reason—that they were caught off-guard by his presence. Areto, whom he’d known as a child, only a few years older than him but unmistakable with her mad corona of red hair, was surprisingly less composed. She stared him down for a few seconds that felt like an eternity.

  “Artem was a little boy when he was sent away,” Areto said. “How do I know you’re him and not an imposter?”

  “I think my mother will recognize me, even behind this beard,” he said. “She might have given me away, but I’d like to think a mother will recognize her own child.”

  Areto frowned, then signaled to her soldiers. Several of the Amazon archers broke rank and stepped away, out of sight.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Areto said. “Where did you get that breastplate?”

  “A friend found it on a man long dead,” Artem said. “And thought it only fitting he give it to me.”

  Areto said nothing, eyeing the armor with more interest than she wanted to let on.

  “How many aboard?”

  “Five,” Artem said. “Myself, the princess, her bodyguard, her mage, and an ondine we rescued at sea, from what we believe is related to the threat we seek answers regarding.”

  Areto nodded.

  “Follow us. We’ll allow you to dock,” she said. “You’ll be vetted before you are allowed to go ashore. And I’ll have my archers watching you the whole time. Don’t try anything unexpected. If you are who you say you are, you know how we treat intruders.”

  “Understood,” Artem said.

  The Amazonian ship moved forward, taking the lead, while the two outriders moved to flank on either side. Artem exhaled deeply, not realizing he’d been holding his breath the whole time.

  “You okay?” Echo said.

  “That crown looks ridiculous on you,” Artem said, laughing anxiously. “I’m fine. Honestly. They’re reasonable people in the end. We’ll either get what we came for or be sent away. It’s fine.”

  “I’m a bodyguard now?” Yuri said, looking down at his flowing clothes. “I look like I’m her butler in this outfit.”

  “I had to think fast,” Artem said. “It wasn’t likely they would let you accompany her if they kn
ew you were what you are.”

  “Which is?”

  “A newly minted lycanthrope and accidental adventurer,” Artem said.

  Yuri pursed his lips, nodding in resigned agreement.

  “Not untrue,” he said. “What about how our magician looks like a knockoff Jack Sparrow—who the hell are you?”

  Yuri had turned to point a thumb at Barnabas only to find a slightly smaller, somewhat slimmer, and much more female version of the smuggler standing beside him.

  “Hi,” Barnabas said. His voice had been altered as well, keeping his accent but more befitting of the body and face he now wore.

  “This is freaking me out,” Yuri said. “Did you do this on purpose? Have you been a woman the whole time?”

  “It’s a spell, Yuri,” Barnabas said, biting back a smile. “It’s fine. It’s temporary.”

  “No, it’s not fine!” Yuri said. “First, you need to warn me before you do stuff like that, and second, why do you look like Natalie Portman in that movie where she shaved her head?”

  “I have no idea who that is, and the spell just converts me into a feminine version of myself,” Barnabas said. “I didn’t think about the hair thing, that it would stay like this.”

  “Is this what you look like under that nasty beard?” Yuri said.

  Barnabas shrugged.

  “I just look like me, Yuri,” Barnabas said. Even Artem found himself slightly put off by hearing the strange new voice speaking in Barnabas’ accent.

  “You actually look like your mother a bit,” Echo said.

  “I think you should keep it,” Muireann said. “It suits you.”

  “You’re doing this so they let you on the island, aren’t you?” Yuri said.

  Barnabas pointed at him.

  “Got it in one,” he said.

  “I swear if I end up being the only one stuck on the boat because of this spell, I’m going to rat you out,” Yuri said.

  Artem turned to watch as New Scythia grew closer, its elegant, intimidating structure causing his heart to race.

  “At this rate, I hope they let any of us off the boat,” he said.

  Echo put a hand gently on Artem’s shoulder.

  “Not the homecoming you were expecting?”

  “It’s hard to say what kind of homecoming I was expecting,” he said. “When I never expected to return home at all.”

  Chapter 21: Mother

  Echo could feel the tension radiating off Artem as they docked. Somehow his stoic demeanor betrayed even more tension than if he’d actually been panicking, as if it were obvious he was holding in his emotions.

  She tried to lighten the mood by pointing out to him the looks on the faces on several Amazons as the ship, its ghost crew invisible to them, seemed to dock itself, ropes tying themselves into knots as the humans onboard casually watched. Artem almost cracked a nervous smile, but it came across pained.

  Areto stomped down the docks to meet them, flanked by a half-dozen guards. Artem nodded to Echo, and together, they put on their best confidence-faking masks and approached the commander.

  “Permission to come ashore?” Echo said.

  Areto eyed the whole crew.

  “Just the five of you?” she said.

  “The ghosts will stay with the ship,” Echo said.

  Areto tilted her head as if to question her, but said nothing.

  “Men are rarely allowed on the island,” Areto said. “But if you truly are an emissary from Atlantis, that is one of the occasions we make an exception. Your bodyguard is unnecessary, but it’s bad form to ask you to leave him behind. Please remind your leaders that we consider it a great sign of respect if they send all-female contingents on missions like this.”

  “I’ll convey that,” Echo said. “I should apologize. I travel in a very specialized troupe here and we didn’t think ahead to consider that.”

  Areto shook her head.

  “It’s a small thing. We’re big on tradition, but as I said—for Atlantis, we make exceptions when we can. Your magician should drop his spell though.”

  “What?” Barnabas said, his voice still disturbingly alien.

  “We hide our entire island behind a massive illusion,” Areto said. “Did you think none of us would notice you’ve cast a transformation spell on yourself?”

  “I was trying to be respectful,” Barnabas said.

  “Well, masking your identity is a poor start to that,” Areto said. “But please, feel free to remain on the ship if you’d rather not drop the illusion.”

  Begrudgingly, Barnabas let the spell drop, returning to his usual bald and bearded self. Several of the Amazon guards muttered.

  “Barnabas Coy,” Areto said.

  “Uh-oh,” Yuri said, sidling closer to Echo. “This isn’t good.”

  “I have no idea who that is,” Barnabas said. “Okay, no, that’s a lie. I’m Barnabas Coy. Yes.”

  “Interesting company you keep, Princess Echo,” Areto said.

  “What did you do?” Echo asked Barnabas.

  “What haven’t I done?” Barnabas said. “As for how they know me, I have no idea.”

  “Your magician is a notorious smuggler and transporter of dubiously acquired enchanted items,” Areto said. “Suffice it to say, Captain Coy, you will be watched very closely while you are here. I recommend you keep both hands in your pockets at all times.”

  “Sure, yeah,” Barnabas said. “I can do that.”

  Areto gestured for the crew to disembark. The docks were cool with ocean air, slightly hidden in the shadow of the towering castle at this time of day. In fact, Echo thought, the whole island was cooler than she expected, less tropical and more like home.

  As they stepped off, Areto stared Barnabas down until he literally put his hands in his coat pockets. Yuri and Muireann followed, the former looking distinctly uncomfortable, the latter full of wonder.

  “Yeah, y’know, I’m less of a bodyguard and more of a confidante, I think,” Yuri said. “This is so nerve-wracking. Maybe I should just stay with the ship.”

  “Think about it,” Muireann. “How many men alive have seen this island? A dozen? Fewer? You’re experiencing something almost no one ever does. Live a little, shark-man.”

  “Did you just call me out?” Yuri said.

  Muireann smirked at him.

  “You’re braver than you want to admit,” she said. “You should own that.”

  “You definitely just called me out.”

  Areto moved to stand beside Artem. He froze, adopting a stiff, formal pose.

  “Your mother will see you now,” she said. “Follow me.”

  ***

  They were escorted—not roughly, but not exactly welcomingly—away from the docks and up toward the grand castle central to the island. Areto guided them toward a large, square structure just outside the castle itself, barred by massive doors simultaneously reinforced and decorated with wrought iron woven into the shape of leaves and trees. The doors opened without a command, revealing a large courtyard, lined on either side by more Amazons, all wearing the same blended modern and classic armor.

  The courtyard was open-aired, with small tree-laced gardens in each corner, high walls of golden stonework rising around them with the smooth simplicity of master craftsmanship. It feels like a receiving hall, Echo thought. No, different from that. This is a safe place to hold court without allowing them into the castle proper, a space where a guest who might turn out to not have the best of intentions could be trapped, barricaded in, and swiftly dispensed with by two dozen highly trained Amazon fighters.

  They put us in a kill box and call it a receiving room, Echo thought. This is how a culture stays unharmed for centuries. The right blend of practicality, ruthlessness and paranoia.

  A woman in far more ornate armor waited for them on the other side of the courtyard. Her armor, similar in cut as that of the standard warriors, gleamed in the sun, burnished gold with silver highlights, the Amazonian eagle, less prominent on the standard armor, c
arefully sculpted in bright metal. She wore an old style Grecian helmet, gold with a bright red crest, which she removed as they approached, revealing hair so dark it seemed to absorb the light as it fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were a pale sea green, the left marred slightly by a perfectly straight scar running through her eyebrow and down her cheek. She had a sword at her hip, also adorned with the Amazonian eagle, upon which she casually rested her hand. Beside her, two honor guards, their armor less ornate but still more impressive than the others, stood stoically, not removing their helmets.

  The woman exhaled sharply, gritted her teeth, and, Echo was shocked to see, looked to be on the verge of tears.

  “Hello, mother,” Artem said coldly.

  “My son,” the woman said. She lost all decorum and walked to them too quickly, grabbing Artem’s hands in her own.

  Echo scanned the gathered troops. They seemed simultaneously confused and ill at ease, but no one spoke, and certainly none moved to stop her.

  Artem looked at the woman he called mother with an almost blank expression, his eyes studying her the way Echo had seen him study his enemies, looking for weaknesses and flaws. Echo saw none of that analytical behavior in Artem’s mother in return. No, what Echo saw there, instead, broke her heart in a way only possibly for someone who had lost her own mother not long ago—a fight against tears, a jaw gritted to hold back a sob.

  She loves him so much, Echo knew instantly. How could she send him away if this is how she felt?

  But Echo could feel the eyes on them now. Somehow, all of this broke a powerful protocol. But this was her son, Echo thought. This is an advanced society, she’d been told. How do they judge someone for loving her child?

  Artem, though, said nothing. He simply watched. Echo felt a sharp twist in her stomach, fear and pity and empathy. She spoke.

  “You must be Orithyia,” she said, struggling for words.

  Artem’s mother turned to her as if seeing her for the first time. Echo smiled as warmly and as casually as she could muster.