The East Wind whirls to face me. The storm is relentless, hammering our backs with sharp rain and hail. A flash of white tears through the bloated clouds, followed by a ferociouscrack. My ears ring dully.
“Why do you continue to let fear dictate your life?” he demands. “You have the opportunity to free yourself, yet you sit in your cage while the door stands open. This is your chance to get what you want. Will you let it pass you by?”
“This isn’t what I w-w-want,” I cry. “This has never been about wh-what I want! This is about whatyouwant, and what I n-need to do to make that happen.”
He stares at me. The tide sweeps the sandy incline, swallowing our shoes, ankles, calves. Meanwhile, a handful of competitors dive into the water farther down the beach.
“Maybe I was wrong about you,” Eurus says. “Maybe you are nothing more than a coward.”
I press my fingertip against the insult, testing its ache.Coward. The old bruise runs deep.
“I never asked to be h-here,” I shout, fighting tears, “but you forced m-m-my hand. You said you needed m-me. You said I w-was the onlyone you could trust!” The hurt is doubly edged, for Iwantedto believe him, deep down. Wanted to believe that some deteriorating part of me might be revived if the sentiment were true. “What did you expect from m-me? Did you think I would m-m-miraculously overcome my fears simply because youdemandedit of me?” I’m a fool. A fool to think he might win, a fool to think he might change, a fool to think there is something softer beneath that cloak, shoved far, far back from any illumination. Mostly, I am a fool for letting myself believe the East Wind might have grown to care for me, in his own way.
“Think of me wh-what you will,” I state with a strength I did not believe myself capable of, “but I’m staying here. It’s your decision wh-whether you come back for me.”
The East Wind remains unmoving, but the blackness inside his hood deepens, if I’m not mistaken. “It seems I don’t have a choice,” he growls, “do I.”
“You always h-have a choice,” I counter. “But my life is not y-y-yours. It’s time you realized that.”
To our left, another contestant completes his descent from the cliffs and flings himself—and his teammate—into the sea. This immortal doesn’t appear to have been hit by a poisoned arrow. His arms and legs propel him forward with a complete lack of effort.
Eurus emits a low oath. Without waiting for my response, he dives into the sea.
I watch him cut through tumultuous waters, every rising peak and plunging valley attempting to shift his course. Far beyond, the Fates and their companions have reached that elusive door, slipping from sight.
I glance toward the island in worry. Only four boats remain. The first is claimed by a god with eel-slick skin. The second, a goddess with azure locks. She cuts the rope, grabs the oars, and leaps into the vessel. It spins, the stern crashing into its neighbor. As the goddess and her teammate row away from the dock, the damaged vessel slowly takes on water, eventually sinking beneath the waves.
And then there was one.
Back and forth and back and forth, I pace the shore. If I do not acknowledge the growing numbness climbing my legs, then it cannot be real. My throat swells, drenched in brine. One deep breath, followed by another. Gradually, the blackness surrounding my vision retreats.
At last, Eurus reaches the island. But he is not the first to do so. Another deity has reached the final vessel and struggles to loosen the rope mooring it to the dock. Step by step, the East Wind stumbles across the rocks. At one point, he trips, catches himself on the shriveled branches of a warped tree.
The competitor successfully unties the rope. Eurus, recognizing his narrowing window of opportunity, puts on a burst of speed, but fails to notice the deity’s companion leaping from behind a tree, sword lifted.
“Behind you!” I scream.
The East Wind spins, the curved head of his ax cutting across his foe’s throat. The man falls. His divine companion scrambles into the boat, but does not get far before he meets the same fate.
I press my fists to my mouth, having returned to pacing. Waves rush the shore, soaking my loafers further. At this point, the remaining competitors are either in the water, rowing toward the door, or dead. I alone stand on the strip of beach.
Grasping the oars, the East Wind shoves them into the waves that toss him high, threatening to capsize the tiny vessel he now commands. Unfortunately, Larkshin has begun to weaken his limbs. The rowing motion of his arms stops and starts as he attempts to navigate around those fighting the waves. He’s halfway back to shore when two flaxen-haired immortals latch onto the side of his vessel.
Their weight drags one side of the boat toward the water. Eurus snarls, kicks one of the immortals into the sea. The woman flounders, and I watch, sickened, as she claws at her companion in an attempt to keep her head above water. They sink beneath and do not resurface.
As soon as his vessel hits the sand, I leap inside. Eurus casts out, rowing as hard as he can through the floundering competitors. One immortal manages to grab hold of the hull. I pry his fingers loose, and the waves do the rest.
Thrice more, desperate contestants attempt to board our vessel. I kick them away, watch them drown. Only when we are safely out of range does Eurus slow, panting.
“You need to row us to the door…” A low groan squeezes past his throat, and he hunches forward. “Take the oars, bird.”
The boat tips, and I scream, clutching at his shoulder. Eurus must be truly under the poison’s spell if he fails to react to my touch. When a second, larger wave barrels toward us, my stomach bottoms out. It grows and it grows, like a grasping hand reaching over us. I close my eyes. If I am to die, I would prefer not to witness it.
Chilled fingers seize my face. Their icy touch burrows beneath skin, and my eyes fly open.
“Take the oars,” Eurus urges again.
Shaking my head, I flinch away. “I can’t do this m-m-myself.”
