“We can’t leave them like thi—stop!” Dion lunged toward the merchant, who’d grasped an oar and was frantically rowing, sending the boat in a futile curve. As he struggled with the man, the helmsman began to breathe heavily. He backed away from the flailing merchant and sank down onto a rowing bench, clutching his chest and looking thoroughly overwhelmed.
Danae glanced up from Manto’s body. The boat had descended into chaos. Something had to be done.
She rose to her feet and shouted, in what she hoped was an authoritative voice, “Be quiet, all of you!”
Silence fell. Even the child’s crying reduced to a whimper.
“Who are you?” the merchant asked, taking in her black dress and short hair.
“She’s a seer,” breathed Dion as he pushed himself off the bench.
Now she had their attention, what in Tartarus was she going to say? Like the seer in Athens had done, she tilted her face toward the sky and rolled her eyes back. The line of blasphemy was so far behind her it was no longer visible. But if the gods already wanted her dead, what harm would a little false divination do?
A single cloud floated across the sun, sparing the boat from its glare for a brief moment. She raised her hand and pointed.
“It is a sign! The gods’ rage has been sated and we have all been spared by our virtue. But we must honor Poseidon and give the dead to the sea.”
A tense pause stretched across the ship, then the young mother shouted, “Praise the Lord of the Ocean, praise him!”
While Danae was speaking, the child had spotted Lithos. He detached himself from his mother and walked across the deck to tentatively pat the dog’s ears. In return Lithos licked his hand. The child smiled.
Danae’s eyes met Dion’s, and the helmsman inclined his head, then took back command.
“There’s a canopy stowed under the helm platform and spare sail tarp, we can use that.”
Wrapping the bodies was stomach-churning work. Loose guts slipped through their fingers like eels, and the stench grew increasingly pungent in the heat. When their task was finally complete, they stood back, breathing heavily, arms and clothing drenched in blood.
“Will you say the rights?” Dion asked.
As the helmsman, the merchant and the other two women began to heave the wrapped bodies over the side of the ship, Danae cleared her throat. She’d heard the words so many times but she’d never been the one to say them.
She raised her middle finger to her forehead. “May the Twelve see you and know you, may the Keres spread their wings over you as you walk the path of judgment. May your souls find peace across the final river.”
“Go with the blessing of the Twelve,” murmured the others.
Danae felt a lump settle at the back of her throat as she watched Manto’s body bob away on the glinting waves.
Her vision blurred. She never got to see Alea buried. She should have been there, should have helped her mother wash and anoint her sister’s body, should be mourning with her family.
While the others observed a moment of stillness, soundless tears tumbled down her face.
After the silence, Dion climbed up onto the stern platform. The heat was stifling now, with no wind to offer a breath of relief. He considered the unfurled sail and sighed, then pointed to the merchant.
“You take the top right bench. And you the middle right.” He placed the injured oarsman behind the merchant, then sat himself on the top left bench.
“I can’t row,” said the wounded man through gritted teeth.
“You’ve got one good arm, haven’t you? Use that.”
The man glared at Dion’s back, then sank onto his designated bench.
The helmsman turned to Danae and the other two women. “I’m sorry to ask, but we’ll never get to shore, just the three of us.”
“We can row,” Danae said quickly. The other women nodded.
Dion gestured for the mother to share a bench with the injured man, and Danae and the blue-cloaked woman took the bench opposite. The child sat against the stern deck, Lithos curled in his lap.
They grasped the oars, and Dion called, “Follow my count, one, two, one, two...”
