All this flashed through her mind in an instant.
Then she saw Hylas.
He stood on the wreck with his back to the Sea. Kratos was advancing on him. Telamon was on the shore at the foot of the rocks, brandishing a spear and cutting off Hylas’ escape. Hylas was turning his head this way and that, but he had nowhere to go. He was defenseless. And Kratos was moving steadily closer.
Gritting her teeth, Pirra scrambled down the slope, fighting her way through a thicket of thorns.
She got lost. Furious with herself, she wasted precious time trying to find a way through. When at last she did, she was horrified to see that instead of staying on the headland, she’d come out below it, on the shore.
Stupid, stupid, she told herself as she stumbled across the shingle. Her breath sawed in her chest and her sandals kept slipping. She tore them off and ran on.
Telamon hadn’t yet seen her. He was shouting and trying to find a way up the rocks, onto the wreck. If she could sneak up and knock him out with a rock, she could grab that spear and find her way onto the wreck and…
Telamon leaped for a juniper bush halfway up and started to climb.
“Hey, you!” screamed Pirra.
He glanced around and nearly fell off in amazement.
“Haven’t you done enough already,” she yelled, “you slimy little weasel?”
His face contorted with rage. “Stay out of this! You don’t know anything!”
With a snarl she hurled herself at the rocks, but they were slippery and she couldn’t reach the juniper, couldn’t find a way up.
From somewhere above, Hylas gave a wild yell. What was happening?
Telamon was still climbing—awkwardly, with the spear in one hand—but he’d nearly reached the top. Grabbing a handful of pebbles, Pirra started pelting him. “Traitor!” she screamed.
“I’m trying to help him!” he bellowed.
“Liar!”
Stepping back to take aim, she trod on a rock that rolled beneath her foot, and tripped. She went down hard on the pebbles, and the Sea surged in and splashed her in the face.
On her knees, she froze. She stared at the rock that had made her lose her footing. She no longer heard Telamon shouting, or the noise of wind and Sea. It wasn’t a rock at all.
This isn’t possible, she thought.
And yet there it lay with the foam washing over it: rolling seaward, then back toward her.
What lay before her was a triton shell, carved out of pure white marble.
It was the same triton shell she’d found in the caves.
38
Kratos came at Hylas with his sword in one hand and the dagger in the other. Hylas edged sideways around the hold, clutching his useless length of rope.
Shouting from the shore. He made out Telamon’s voice and someone else—could it be Pirra?
Kratos attacked from the right. Hylas jumped to the left. It was a feint. Kratos lunged to the right. Again Hylas leaped. The dagger missed him by a whisker. An oar rolled beneath him. He slipped and grabbed the mast. It tilted, and he lurched over the hold, getting an alarming view of black water before he scrambled back. A glance behind him revealed that he’d reached the edge of the wreck: Below him was a sheer drop to the hungry waves.
And still Kratos came on.
Farther out to Sea, a shining form leaped from the waves.
You can’t help me now, Hylas told Spirit silently. Swim away as fast as you can, before you get hurt.
Again Spirit arched out of the Sea, this time coming down with a resounding splash. In a heartbeat, Hylas understood what the dolphin was telling him. Jump! I’ll carry you to safety!
It was his only chance—but something held him back. “Where’s my sister?” he shouted at the Crow leader. “What did you do to her? You’re going to kill me anyway—tell me first!”
The dark eyes glittered as Kratos came at him again. Hylas lashed out with his rope. Amazingly, it caught the warrior’s swordhand, and with a hiss he loosened his grip. Hylas gave a yell of triumph as the sword fell with a splash into the hold.
Kratos seized an oar and jabbed at him like a fisherman dislodging a crab from under a rock. Hylas grabbed the other end of the oar. Bad mistake. Kratos jabbed again, and the force of the thrust nearly knocked Hylas off the wreck.
Panting, he staggered out of range. He’d lost his rope. There was nothing else within reach.
Kratos flung away the oar. The dagger of Koronos glinted in his fist; that was the only weapon he’d need. Hylas saw that he’d tied it to his wrist with a thong—so no chance of knocking that into the hold.
Despite the heat, Kratos moved with the same muscular ease as before, while Hylas was soaked in sweat and panting for breath. He wouldn’t last much longer.
Suddenly he realized that he’d gotten himself on the wrong side of the hold: Below him, rocks jutted like giant teeth from the Sea. He’d missed his chance. If he jumped now, Spirit couldn’t save him; he’d be dashed to pieces.
And still Kratos came on.
Clouds were massing and the wind was getting up, whipping Pirra’s hair across her face. She had to act fast or Hylas was finished—but she couldn’t move, couldn’t take her eyes off the white marble shell rolling before her in the foam.
It was dangerous. She feared even to touch it. Who knew what would happen if…
Shouts behind her. In horror, she saw a black tide of Crow warriors sweeping toward her up the shore. Their dark cloaks flew, and they carried a thicket of spears.
Another cry from the wreck. Was that Hylas?
Pirra seized the triton shell and ran, heading blindly for the trees. The marble was cold and smooth, and its power thrummed through her. There was a ringing in her ears. She no longer heard the shouts of the Crows. It was the same shell she’d found in the caves, she was sure of it; she recognized that tiny nick on the lip.
The warriors were almost upon her.
She halted. She took a deep breath. Then she put the tip of the shell to her mouth—and blew.
39
At first, Hylas thought it was the blowing of a ram’s horn—but this was deeper, an echoing boom that surged and receded like the Sea.
He halted. Kratos halted. On the shore, the Crows went still.
Abruptly, the booming ended. The echoes died.
As if a spell had broken, the Crows hefted their spears and ran forward. Kratos advanced. Hylas had nowhere to go. That booming call hadn’t saved him; it had only delayed the inevitable.
Suddenly he was sick of being frightened. He had a wild urge to leap out into the open with his arms flung wide and shout, Go on then, get it over with!
At that moment there was a deafening crack on the headland. Hylas saw a boulder teeter and crash down onto the rocks. The earth began to growl. The wreck juddered. He struggled to stay upright. Even Kratos was bracing his legs.
The growls grew to a roar, and a crack opened at the foot of the headland, as if an unseen axe were hacking through the rock. The crack widened to a bolt of black lightning that came zigzagging toward the wreck. The wreck shook, tossed this way and that by the rage of the Bull Beneath the Sea. Hylas fought to keep his footing as the wreck buckled and heaved under him, crashing down with such force that it pitched him into the hold.
He came up spluttering, waist-deep in black water. Where was Kratos?
Above him the mast was rocking, oars and rigging falling around him. The walls of the hold were tilting crazily: The wreck was sliding off the rocks into the Sea. Then the waves smashed through and swept him off his feet.
He hit his head against a beam jutting from the hold. Desperately, he clung to it as the Sea sucked him back, then surged in again and smacked him against the side of the hold.
Kratos exploded from the water beneath him. Hylas twisted sideways. Not fast enough. He cried out as the dagger nicked his arm. Kratos grabbed him by the hair. Hylas fought, but his fingers clawed bronze. Kratos yanked back his head and raised the dagger to cut his thro
at.
With a startled grunt, Kratos fell forward on top of him. Wriggling out from under, Hylas glimpsed a silver form vanishing into the murk. It was Spirit: He must have slammed into Kratos from behind, and now he was swimming off to gather speed for another attack.
As Hylas broke the surface he saw the dolphin’s fin racing toward Kratos—but this time the warrior was ready. Spirit swerved to evade the dagger. Hylas saw the water flush red. Whose blood, Spirit’s or Kratos’? Where was Spirit?
Hylas seized his chance. With Kratos distracted, he scrambled up the side of the hold, grabbed the end of the mast with both hands, and swung with all his weight. For an instant the massive beam didn’t move, but then it tilted. He heard it groan and finally snap. He leaped out of the way just before it went crashing down on Kratos.
The roars of the Earthshaker diminished to growls—then rumbles—then silence. Hylas heard the slap of the waves and his own heaving breath. He saw a few last pebbles rattling down from the headland. There was no sign of Kratos. The mast must have killed him outright.
No sign of Spirit either. Had he swum out to Sea?
The wreck was still sinking: Now the waves were up to Hylas’ chest. He was exhausted. He didn’t think he’d have the strength to climb out of the hold, or swim around to the shore; and if Spirit didn’t come for him—if Spirit was…
Come on, Hylas, he told himself. You can’t give up now.
The walls of the hold towered above him. Gasping for breath, he snatched at a tangle of rigging and tried to haul himself up.
A granite hand gripped his ankle and dragged him down.
Frantically, he kicked, but Kratos’ grip was relentless, dragging him back. Like an eel, Hylas wriggled and thrashed, dreading the bite of the dagger.
It didn’t come. Kratos dragged him underwater, and in the swirling darkness, Hylas saw why. The warrior was fighting one-handed: The mast had crushed his dagger-hand, pinning down both him and the dagger.
With a judder, the wreck sank deeper. Now the water was up to Hylas’ chest. Kratos’ black hair floated like snakes as he fought to keep his head above the surface and struggled to wrench his trapped hand free.
He couldn’t do it. Hylas met his eyes and saw the warrior realize that he was going to drown. Kratos glared back at him, unafraid. Yes, I’m going to die—but I’m taking you with me.
Hylas stamped down hard with his free foot. The grip on his ankle slackened for an instant—and he yanked free.
As he floundered to the other side of the hold, he heard Kratos chanting in a strange, harsh tongue. There was a deafening clap of thunder. Then the clouds burst and the rain hammered down.
Kratos gave a horrible gurgling laugh. “The gods have heard me!” he gasped. “You’ll never do it now!”
With the last of his strength, Hylas grabbed the rigging and heaved himself out of the hold. Over his shoulder he saw the warrior gulping air. He saw the wild triumph in the black eyes: Kratos was drowning, but he’d retrieved the dagger of Koronos.
Again Hylas heard that horrible gurgling laugh. Then the Sea crashed over Kratos’ head and silenced him forever.
The Bull Beneath the Sea had ceased to stamp, the cloudburst had passed on, and Pirra staggered to her feet. Part of the headland had collapsed, and a great jagged crack had split the shore in two. Telamon sat on the pebbles looking dazed, rubbing his temple. In the earthshake, he’d fallen from the rocks and hit his head.
As if in a dream, Pirra watched warriors race past her and swarm up the rocks, while others splashed into the shallows. They weren’t after her, they were after Hylas. He crouched on the last scrap of wreck that remained above water, with the waves washing over him. Before she could scream a warning, he saw the Crows taking aim, and leaped off into the Sea.
It wasn’t going to save him. They were too close. His fair hair blazed in the Sun, an easy target in the dark water.
Wading into the shallows, Pirra attacked the nearest Crow, but he pushed her off with insulting ease. She saw Telamon jumping up and down, ordering the warriors not to shoot. He might as well have shouted at the wind. The Crows were jabbing at the waves and casting their spears into the Sea. They were going to spear Hylas like fishermen skewering pike.
Suddenly they faltered. With startled cries they drew back. They lowered their spears.
Telamon was staring out to Sea, shading his eyes with his hand.
The dolphins came out of the Sun. Leaping, diving, arching out of the waves as they raced toward Hylas.
So many dolphins, thought Pirra as she watched the glistening bodies arrowing through the water, weaving a ring of shining silver around Hylas. The Earthshaker had freed Spirit’s family from the inlet—and now they were coming to Hylas’ aid.
Yelling in triumph, Pirra watched the warriors edge back from the Sea. No one dared risk the anger of the Goddess by harming Her creatures.
Pirra saw Spirit burst from the waves and leap right over Hylas. The dolphin surfaced and swam alongside him, and Hylas grabbed his fin with both hands.
As the awestruck warriors looked on, Spirit made another great arching leap, with Hylas flying behind him.
Then boy and dolphin splashed down together and vanished into the deep.
40
The dolphin was happy. The One Beneath had stopped slamming His tail, and his pod was free!
At first he’d turned snout over flukes in an ecstasy of greeting, rubbing nose to nose and flank against flipper with his mother and little sister and all the others. Together they’d raced through the Blue Deep and squealed till the Sea sang with dolphin joy, and he’d felt the loneliness peeling off and floating away like an annoying scrap of seaweed.
Then, with the whole pod at his tail, he’d sped back to the Edge to protect the boy from the bad humans; and now they were once again diving into the Blue Deep, after fish.
And best of all, he was taking the boy with him. At last the dolphin could show him his beautiful Sea! Together they would chase the shimmering shoals, and the boy would know what it was to be a dolphin on the hunt: the thrill of trapping anchovies in a web of silver bubbles, the delight of scrunching up wriggling mouthfuls of flesh and fin and bone.
And after that, he and the boy would play together, and dive deeper and deeper into the Black Beneath.
In a heartbeat the threat of the Crows was left behind and Hylas was safe; he was flying with Spirit into a world of soft green light.
Holding tight to the dolphin’s fin, he pressed his cheek to the smooth hard back, and felt Spirit gripping his calves with his flippers so that he wouldn’t fall off. Silver-green dolphins flashed past, and kindly dark eyes met his for an instant, then faded into the blue. The Sea was alive with whistles and clicks, and the dolphins’ joy became his, tingling over his skin and trilling through him.
Moments later, Spirit was hurtling down the flank of an underwater mountain. Hylas glimpsed a rippling forest of seaweed, and the red-and-gold flicker of fish. Then the mountain was gone and the blue was darker—and he was cold.
Enough, he told Spirit in his head. I need to go back.
But Spirit was happily clicking away to himself, and didn’t hear.
Hylas struck the solid flank with his fist, but Spirit seemed to feel nothing but an affectionate tap. Hylas struggled to wrench his legs free, but the dolphin’s flippers were too strong; and Spirit thought he was keeping him safe.
Darkness closed in, and the clicks of the pod quickened to a buzzing whine, trapping him in a web of sound. As they swam deeper, a sharp pain pierced his skull. He swallowed, and with his fingers squeezed his nostrils shut. The pain eased a little, but it soon came back.
Again he punched Spirit’s flank. No response.
He felt a crushing weight on his chest. He was getting dizzy. He fought a desperate urge to breathe.
I need air! he shouted in his head. Spirit! I’ve got to have air!
As if he’d heard him, Spirit suddenly flipped up his nose, and with a mighty beat
of his tail they were surging back the way they’d come.
With astonishing speed, Hylas heard the clicks of the pod fading below him. Far above, he glimpsed a glimmer of light. The glimmer became a glow. His dizziness and pain fell away. But still he fought that terrible urge to breathe.
As they sped higher, he heard a roaring sound, and made out white waves crashing overhead. Then they were bursting into the light and he was taking great heaving gulps of air.
Gasping and shuddering, he slumped on Spirit’s back as the dolphin bore him gently toward the shore. He heard the quiet, steady pfft! of dolphin breath. With a pang he realized that the ordeal that had nearly cost him his life had been, for Spirit, but the briefest of dives.
At last they reached the shallows, and Hylas slid off and lay on his back in the seaweed, feeling the surf rocking him. His eyes burned with salt. His head ached.
As his wits returned, he remembered the Crows, and weakly raised himself on one elbow.
Spirit had brought him to a little inlet overhung with junipers. Hylas didn’t recognize it; but it seemed well hidden, and he could see no sign of Crows. He thought of Kratos and Telamon and the dagger. It seemed as if it had happened to someone else.
He felt Spirit gently nosing his toes, and guessed that this was the dolphin’s way of saying sorry. I didn’t know you can’t be underwater like me. Sorry.
Clumsily, Hylas stretched out his foot and gave him an answering nudge.
He wanted to tell Spirit that he understood, and was sorry too. Sorry I can’t be with you under the Sea.
But he wasn’t quick enough. Spirit was gone.
Be at peace, Telamon told Hylas silently as he threw a branch of black poplar on his uncle’s funeral pyre.