Who Said the Sea Was the Ultimate Getaway? Think Again [ 2 ]

"I think your brain still hasn't recovered... want another dose?" Asclepius smiled, holding out another cup of hellish-tasting medicine.

I declined immediately. "N-no thanks, doctor! I feel great now!" I bolted out of the room before his gentle persuasion could make me drink that awful concoction again.

When I stepped out of Asclepius's cabin, I found it was night—but something felt... off. The heroes aboard the Argo weren't asleep. In fact, they were all gathered in the center of the ship, forming a lively circle.

In the middle of it, the twin brothers Castor and Pollux were wrestling for fun. Heracles was chugging wine with Hylas, Theseus, and my former commander, Achilles, all while the soothing music of Orpheus filled the air. They drank as if it were water, faces flushed with alcohol, laughing and dancing, tossing food at one another like children.

Was this some kind of celebration? What for?

"Awake at last, you lazy oaf," a sharp female voice rang out from behind me.

I turned to see its owner—Atalanta, the lone rose among thorns.

Atalanta had a lithe, agile build, the slight musculature in her arms no doubt from years of archery. Her short hair made her look more like a handsome teenage boy than a mythic heroine.

Honestly, she was more like another brigand among brigands. Tougher than most, even.

She tossed a mop and bucket at me. "Do your job," she ordered.

"Mopping at night? Isn't this... sleep time?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "It's midday, you dolt. Have you slept so long you've forgotten how to tell time?"

Midday? I looked up.

The sky was still pitch black, thick with storm clouds. No sign of sun or moon. Nothing to indicate it was daytime.

"You must be the crazy one. It's obviously night," I protested.

Atalanta grinned wickedly, then slammed me face-first to the deck. "I said it's midday, so it's midday. Now get to work. Refuse again, and I'll toss you overboard for the sharks."

She was not as charming as she looked.

"Whoa, calm down, Atalanta," said a familiar voice—Asclepius, coming to my rescue.

Thank you, doctor.

"He's such a pain," Atalanta huffed, then switched to a sweet tone as she addressed the healer. "Here you go, doctor."

Why did I get the gruff voice, and he got the sweetness?

"Come on now," Asclepius said gently. "He probably doesn't know what's been happening on board over the past few weeks. Did you tell him, Atalanta?"

She fell silent and shook her head. Her face turned solemn. Clearly, she respected Asclepius greatly. She didn't protest at all.

"See? You haven't told him," he said softly. "Since the storm you summoned back in Iolcus, the sky hasn't shown sun or moon again."

...What?

Asclepius continued his explanation. "What's worse, by now we should have reached land. But we're lost at sea. With this perpetual darkness, we can't navigate. No stars, no sun, no constellations. We have no direction."

He glanced toward the bow of the ship. "And the goddess who guided us... She is no longer here."

The Argo's journey had barely progressed. And all because of me.

When I used the golden needle of Lachesis to summon the storm, I hadn't realized I was cursing myself—and everyone else—with eternal darkness. Wherever I went, the sunless sky followed, like a shadow that wouldn't leave.

The storm itself had finally passed, but celestial navigation was now impossible. No Polaris, no solar orientation—nothing. Just a sky smothered in clouds, day and night.

Worse still, the wooden figurehead of Queen Hera, our ship's guiding oracle, had been destroyed.

I rushed to the bow of the ship where once stood the carved pinewood statue of the goddess. Now, all that remained was a broken stump—a perch for weary seabirds.

That, too, had been my fault.

I'm sorry.