“Harpies.”
The three hounds of Zeus. His personal weapons of vengeance.
Icy terror sluiced through her, and for a heartbeat she saw her own fear reflected back in her friend’s eyes. Then it faded, to be replaced by a calm deeper than the ocean that held them. They took hold of Danae’s shoulders and pressed their forehead against hers.
“I know you’re scared, but you must believe me, you are the last daughter. You are the hope of mankind. Find Prometheus and take down the whole lot of those Olympian bastards.” They drew back and squeezed her arms. “If you see my father, tell him the watcher kept their promise.”
Before Danae could reply, Manto pushed her over the side of the ship.
Unprepared for the fall, she hit the water chest first. She floated for a moment, dazed and breathless, blinded by the salt. Then she twisted onto her back, gasping, unable to fill her stinging lungs.
Somewhere above, she heard Lithos barking and Manto shouting, “Tell your master, the end has begun. I am the reckoning!”
Danae blinked frantically, trying to clear her vision. The creatures loomed over the boat like engorged bats, their wings shrouding what was happening from sight. All she could see were glimpses of flailing limbs and slashing claws.
She knew then what Manto had done for her. They were both of a similar age and appearance, especially now Danae’s hair was cut short and they wore matching seer’s robes. The harpies would think they got what they came for. Her instinct was to swim back to her friend, but even if she tried to climb back up to the deck, she would never reach them in time. And Manto’s sacrifice would be for nothing. Fighting every urge to cry out and return to the ship, she lay still, floating like a dead thing in the water.
The sounds from above chilled her to the core, screams mingling with unearthly shrieks and the ripping of flesh. Then, just as swiftly as they’d appeared, the harpies rose into the air and flew off toward Cirrha.
Spluttering, her mouth full of seawater, she struck out toward the ship. Her nails scraped the underside of the boat as she attempted to climb back on, but her fingers kept sliding down the greased hull. She looked up as red blossomed into the water around her. Streams of blood were dribbling down the side of the ship.
Frantically scouring the hull, she caught sight of a ladder of pegs bolted into the bow. She swam toward them, her limbs shaking as she clambered up and dragged herself over the side.
The deck was carnage. The blood seemed endless, still pumping from freshly dismembered bodies. Captain Erastus lay next to her feet, his steaming guts spilled between the benches. Then she heard Lithos whimpering and forced her legs to move over the collection of broken limbs. It didn’t take her long to find Manto. They were crumpled where they’d been standing, their chest a gory mess of flesh and bone, the little dog beside them, his fur flecked with blood. She fell to her knees, the water from her sodden tunic muddling into the wine-dark deck.
The harpies had ripped out their heart.
“Manto...” Tears burned rivets down her salt-crusted cheeks. “I’ll tell your father. I promise.” She pulled Manto’s body into hers, rocking them as sobs shuddered through her.
She felt as though she was looking down on the ship from above. Everything was smaller, as if the boat was just a toy bobbing on the surface of a pool. She could see herself, a little figurine on the deck. She knew she had to go on, but there was pain down there, so much pain. Up here, there was only endless sky. She could just float away and never look back.
You do not run, you fight, said the voice.
She returned to her body with a jolt. A surge of nausea clenched her stomach as she looked down at Manto. The weight of their sacrifice was crushing. She didn’t know how she would be able to bear it.
She didn’t have a choice.
“They will pay. I will make them pay,” she whispered to Manto’s corpse.
Danae carefully wrapped Manto’s body in the fabric of their robe. The contents of Manto’s bag had remained secure and after removing it from them, she fished two obols from its depths and tucked them into the blood-soaked folds. The coins should have been placed on Manto’s eyes, but she wanted to make sure they weren’t lost, or Manto’s soul would have nothing to pay the ferryman and be left stranded on the banks of the Underworld.
While she worked, those who’d survived the attack by jumping in the water clambered back on board. There weren’t many of them. Only two of the crew remained. Dion, the helmsman, and an oarsman whose left arm had been clawed through to the bone.
The color drained from the helmsman’s face as he took in the disemboweled captain and realized that, by default, he was now in charge.
“Right...” He looked at the blood-slicked deck and scattered body parts. “I need everyone who’s able to wrap the dead.”
A young mother, her child’s face buried in her skirts, cried out, “What if they come back?”
They won’t come back, Danae thought.They think they got what they came for.
“I hear you,” said Dion. “But we can’t row with—”
“We’re an open target out here!” shouted a merchant who’d been the first to throw himself overboard.
The child began to wail.
“Poseidon, why have you forsaken us?” His mother sank to her knees, clutching her sobbing son to her chest.
