Lacuna 4: Passing Through
"Land ho!"
Fire-winged Axiallus, eyes straining against Artemis' deep darkness, sent up the cry just in time for the half-drunk sailor manning the wheel to steer the ship comfortably away from the rocks. Axiallus knew he should have heard the surf against the rocks earlier, but the night's prodigious wind -- sent, no doubt, by Poseidon himself! -- drowned out all else.
The lack of sleep didn't help his hearing either. Oh, it was quiet and peaceful enough below decks... but it was the quiet of the listening mob, the peace of the hurricane's eye, a hurricane mirroring the gale propelling the Eriphyle onward. Few shouted or caroused -- but all night there were whispers. Somehow, the whispers were far louder than shouts would have been.
And so Axiallus stared, bleary-eyed, at the silhouette of the uncharted island rising before the Eriphyle. He hoped his captain would give the order to take shore leave there. He needed the break; he needed sleep.
Far beyond the reach of the Eriphyle's serpentine wake, two other ships -- the Odyssey and Palladium -- plodded ever onward towards Ithaca. They moved under the power of the wind alone, however; apart from a few unlucky chaps tending the ropes, all those aboard were sleeping soundly. They dreamt dreams of home, the Odyssey's men knowing their ship to be swift and sure, and the Palladium's knowing their ship's rapport with their god to be closest of all.
And somewhere on the wine-dark sea, within the derelict hull of the long-forgotten Calypso, something began to awaken.
Fire-winged Axiallus, eyes straining against Artemis' deep darkness, sent up the cry just in time for the half-drunk sailor manning the wheel to steer the ship comfortably away from the rocks. Axiallus knew he should have heard the surf against the rocks earlier, but the night's prodigious wind -- sent, no doubt, by Poseidon himself! -- drowned out all else.
The lack of sleep didn't help his hearing either. Oh, it was quiet and peaceful enough below decks... but it was the quiet of the listening mob, the peace of the hurricane's eye, a hurricane mirroring the gale propelling the Eriphyle onward. Few shouted or caroused -- but all night there were whispers. Somehow, the whispers were far louder than shouts would have been.
And so Axiallus stared, bleary-eyed, at the silhouette of the uncharted island rising before the Eriphyle. He hoped his captain would give the order to take shore leave there. He needed the break; he needed sleep.
Far beyond the reach of the Eriphyle's serpentine wake, two other ships -- the Odyssey and Palladium -- plodded ever onward towards Ithaca. They moved under the power of the wind alone, however; apart from a few unlucky chaps tending the ropes, all those aboard were sleeping soundly. They dreamt dreams of home, the Odyssey's men knowing their ship to be swift and sure, and the Palladium's knowing their ship's rapport with their god to be closest of all.
And somewhere on the wine-dark sea, within the derelict hull of the long-forgotten Calypso, something began to awaken.
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