Atissa

“Shouldn’t I feel different now?” Atissa asked. “Stronger maybe?”

“Well,” Hermistos said, thinking. “Father is all about martial prowess and so are his chosen champions. I never considered myself much of a warrior so your blessings might take a different form. Also”, he held up his bound hands, pointing at his pale face, “I am not in the best shape, right now. You might not want to challenge the Assanaten army on your own for the moment.”

Atissa tried to feel inside herself. The pain and the lingering residue from whatever mistress Bel’Sara had blown at her still numbed her. It was hard to sense anything beyond the storage room they were imprisoned in.

“If you aren’t a warrior god, what are you about then?” Atissa asked. “Maybe if I know, I can…feel for it?”

Hermistos nodded slowly. “Well, I do not like fighting. Myself that is. Watching others is fine. Challenge your enemy head-on, proclaiming your name and your lineage before you charge him? No, thank you. That is more father’s thing.” Seeing her impatience, he hurried to continue. “I guess, I am very intelligent and entertaining. A trick, well played, is better than hours in a sweaty, grimy bloodbath. I guess, I am also quite fast. When father has an order to announce, he likes to send me. Unfortunately.”

“In other words, you like lying and cheating,” Atissa said, flatly. “And you prefer to run from a fight.”

“Considering our new relationship, I think you could show me a little more respect,” Hermistos said.

Atissa almost snapped back at him. It’s not his fault, she thought. So far, she hadn’t accomplished anything either.

Fear and pain were kindling her temper. Normally, she could handle Hermistos' irritating personality. He could be very funny at times. But today was different, their situation was too desperate. Yet, the way he talked or just sat there, watching her, seemed so carefree. As if he was mostly just an uninvolved observer, watching a herd of deer in a clearing.

“I could…try to take a look,” Hermistos said carefully.

When he saw Atissa’s expression he sighed. “How do I explain this?” He tapped at his knee. “We gods are not bound to this world in the same way you mortals are. Usually.”

“You can go somewhere?” Atissa asked. “I thought mistress Bel’Sara bound you with those talismans?”

“She did. I cannot move but you could say, I can still stretch my neck and take a look over the fence,” he said, gesturing with his bound hands. “The problem is, I will probably be noticed. I really should not be anywhere close to this city. We could get into huge trouble.”

Atissa shook her head, not understanding a word Hermistos was saying. “We’re already in trouble.”

“Right. Ok,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I will just take a quick peek. Really quick.” He closed his eyes.

To Atissa it seemed like Hermistos was falling asleep. Several moments passed with him just sitting there, his shoulder sunk in. She was just about to address him when his eyes flew open.

Atissa scooted back as if pushed by an invisible force.

No, a part of her realized, I moved.

Something about her friend had made her. Like a wolf instinctively giving way to a more dominant member of the pack.

Hermistos' eyes seemed to blaze, the colors more vibrant than she had ever seen in a person. The unhealthy paleness of his skin was replaced by a youthful pink. Lean muscle filled out the loose tunic.

Atissa watched the change breathlessly. Handsome fell short of describing Hermistos. He was truly beautiful.

He turned his head and his gaze fell on her. As their eyes met, she felt a change within her. Suddenly her heart was beating faster and her blood was flowing hotter under her skin.

Thunder roared in the distance.

Hermistos’ head snapped around breaking eye contact. He stared toward the bulkhead as if he could see right through it.

Atissa felt immediate regret, wishing for him to turn his attention back to her.

“Ah, shit!” Hermistos said. The glint of light disappeared from his eyes and the skin lost its color and turned back to the unhealthy grey. The transformation reversed so quickly that a moment later Atissa was unsure that it had ever happened.

“I guess”, he said, interrupted by unhealthy coughing, “we have our answer.”

“What do you mean?”

Hermistos wiped his mouth with his forearm. His eyes were teary and the coughing seemed to pain him.

“You,” he said. “You changed the moment I reached over. Don’t you feel it?”

Distracted by Hermistos' metamorphosis Atissa hadn’t paid attention to the changes within herself. Now that she focused on it, she could feel it. The pain was still there but it wasn’t blocking her Gift anymore. When she focused, she could take in the whole ship. Sounds, smells, vibrations. They all seemed to form a picture in her mind.

She gasped.

It was almost as if she was there, standing on deck behind the man tightening the rope. She heard him groaning from the effort and smelled his sweat. Another man walked past. He was silently cursing while scratching his chin. As she focused on him, she could hear the fingernails going over the stubble.

“Don’t lose yourself,” Hermistos said close to her. “You do not have the time.”

In the back of her mind, Atissa realized that he was right, and she tried to gain control. It took an effort of will as countless sensations were flooding her. Was this how wolves felt all the time?

Sifting through all the smells and sounds, she started to search for mistress Bel’Sara. Her scent was there but it was fainter. She wasn’t on board, but she hadn’t been gone for long. Atissa was tempted to follow the sage’s trail, to see how far she could stretch her senses.

Remembering her situation, she managed to hold herself back.

Atissa opened her eyes. “My senses, they reach so much further now. It is so…clear.” Before, her Gift had been more instinctive. She had sensed things. The position of living beings, the presence of danger, or prey. ”I can almost see in my head what I hear and smell.”

Hermistos smiled. “Makes sense. The divine blood you inherited was strengthened by our connection. It is the least I would expect.”

“What else is there?” Atissa asked excitedly.

“Hm,” Hermistos said, running his hand through his hair. “In rare moments, champions can sometimes do what only gods should be capable of – bending fate.” Noticing Atissa’s frown he shrugged. “You know. Doing the impossible and changing the inevitable. That’s why we call them heroes and tell stories about them.” He looked bored. “About those that succeed or fail in a spectacular fashion anyway. It is not as great as it sounds. At least not after you have seen it play out a dozen times.”

“And how do I do that?” Atissa asked.

“No idea,” he said. “That is different every time. Well, sometimes it is very obvious. If your Gift is inhuman strength, it will probably be holding or pushing something heavy.” Hermistos grimaced. “Oh, it was pulling this time! The surprise!” He faked a yawn. “Anyway, that is not going to happen today. This stinking hole just lacks the sense of… epicness.”

Atissa’s eyes wandered along the jars and amphoras stored around them. She could make out much more now. It was as if the darkness of the ship’s belly had receded several steps.

One of the last amphoras at the very end of the row was slightly misaligned, sticking out half a hand.

Following a hunch, she rolled and scooted closer until she could see it clearly. Lines had been strapped over and around the cargo to hold it in place. For the first row of amphoras, the crew had pulled an additional rope through the handles. But the handle of the one second to last was broken and it had already shifted a bit.

Atissa didn’t hesitate and went right to work. At first, she tried to wiggle her tied feet between the clay vessels to pull the amphora free but there wasn’t enough room. Then she robbed closer and tried her hands. It was difficult. Since her arms were bound behind her she had to turn her back and couldn’t see what she was doing.

She focused on her hearing instead. The amphora’s tip scratching on the wooden deck boards. The rubbing of clay against clay as the vessel turned. All the little sounds she heard formed a picture in her mind

It took time.

Every now and then Atissa checked for mistress Bel’Sara, assuming that the return of the sage would mean the ship’s departure.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the amphora came free. It dropped on the deck next to her with a thump. More than half her high, it was heavy. Thankfully, it was round and with some effort, Atissa managed to roll it over to Hermistos using her legs. When the vessel finally hit against her friend’s feet, a sense of accomplishment filled her.

“It is nice that you want to share”, Hermistos said dryly, “but I don’t think that’s wine.”

“Break it!” Atissa said, ignoring his joke.

Hermistos raised an eyebrow. Then it dawned on him. Eagerly, he reached for the amphora.

“Damn, that thing is heavy,” he said. “How do I break it?”

Atissa looked around. “Maybe throw it against the ladder.”

The ladder stood in the middle of the room, leading up to the hatch in the ceiling. It seemed to be fixed in place and looked quite solid.

Hermistos tried to lift the amphora, but his bound hands made the task difficult. After several failed attempts he gripped the broken handle and pulled the vessel upright. Fixing the neck between his knees, he started to work on the seal.

“We have to empty it,” he said. “Damn, I wish this was wine.”

“It’s olive oil,” Atissa said.

Hermistos glanced up. “You can smell that?”

She nodded.

While Hermistos worked, Atissa kept her senses focused on the ship and its crew. The sailors were worried. Something had delayed their departure. One of them said something about a message that had called the magus and the proprietor away.

“Finally!” Hermistos exclaimed next to her.

The smell of olive oil intensified sharply, invading Atissa’s nose.

Hermistos threw the broken seal to the side and let the amphora slowly down on its side. The oil ran out and quickly formed a large puddle, flowing around Atissa and soaking into her tunic.

Mark would be so uncomfortable lying here, she thought. She couldn’t tell, where the thought had come from. Having grown up in the woods and mountains of the Half-Moon Valley, she’d never paid much attention to dirty clothing.

Uncle Tatros had raised her properly. He’d taught her to wash herself thoroughly at least once a week and to never eat dirty things. Mark’s standards in such things were worlds beyond that. Had his strange ways started to rub off on her?

“Done,” Hermistos said, holding the vessel’s bottom tip up to empty out the rest of the oil. “Let’s see.” Enthusiastic about his task, he raised the vessel up again. Hindered by his bonds, he pulled the amphora on his lab first. From there he loaded it on his shoulder. It took two attempts to get the clay vessel into position and it looked quite awkward. But in the end, he succeeded.

“You’re ready?” he asked through his teeth.

“Yes!”

Hermistos pushed himself off as much as the rope around his midsection allowed and hurled the amphora forward.

To Atissa’s surprise it didn’t fly towards the ladder, but over her head, crashing into the other amphoras behind her.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the projectile that sustained the most damage. Having been thrown bottom tip first, it crashed into another amphora like a battering ram. Potsherds and olive oil splattered everywhere.

Hermistos smiled self-satisfied. “Why throw an egg against the wall if you can throw it at another egg?”

Atissa paid no attention to his moment of triumph. She rolled through the spreading oil to reach the nearest potsherd.

“Is it working?” Hermistos asked.

“Hm,” Atissa grumbled while trying to cut her hands free. It was an awkward undertaking. Holding the shard, she was barely able to reach the rope around her wrists. Generating the necessary back-and-forth movement was even more difficult. “I can’t really reach it.”

“Bring it over here then.”

Atissa cursed herself for not having thought of that herself.

Careful not to cut her hands, she rolled back in front of Hermistos’ feet. Taking the potsherd from her, he started to work on her bonds.

“How long?” Atissa asked impatiently.

She could hear the shard rip through the fibers of the rope. But she could hear the people on deck, too. The noise had been heard. It was thanks to the sailor’s laziness that nobody had opened the hatch above them yet. They were currently arguing about who should go and have a look.

“Almost,” Hermistos said.

Atissa could feel the rope on one of her hands loosen. And not too soon.

The hatch above opened, and the light of the afternoon sun streamed into the belly of the ship. They were outside the beam but if anybody stuck his head through, he would surely see them.

“Damn, what’s that?” somebody above said, followed by a couple of curses.

“One of the amphoras must have come loose,” another voice said.

Atissa glanced over to the bottom of the stairs. The puddle of olive oil had spread all the way over there. The valuable liquid was reflecting the sunlight.

“Better hope it was just one,” the first voice said.

“What’s that sound?” a third voice asked. This one sounded more serious.

Atissa started to strain against her bonds. They had to hurry.

“What do you mean?”

“Out of my way!” the third voice said impatiently.

Atissa didn’t have to see the man to know that he wasn’t a sailor.

With a silent snap, her hands came free. Now she had to be quick. Turning, she took the shard from Hermistos' hands and hid it in her tunic.

Heavy steps came down the ladder. Atissa could tell on which rung the warrior stepped without having to turn her head. Once his head passed the ceiling, he would see them. Should she hide?

No, she thought, he would be warned right away.

She’d learned her lesson well. Without an advantage, it was almost impossible for her to overpower a grown man. If the warrior was on guard, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She bit her teeth together and lay down, hiding her hands behind her back as if they were still bound. If somebody came over to them, she saw only one chance. And not a good one.

“Ah damn!” the warrior shouted when his sandals touched the slick floor. He lowered his head and looked around. “They’re still here.”

“What did you expect?” The second sailor’s voice asked from above. “Did you think they gnawed their way through the side of the ship?”

“We need some rags to clean this mess up,” the first sailor said, walking away.

The warrior looked over to the prisoners for a long moment.

Go away, Atissa thought.

He didn’t. Instead, he walked over to them, moving cautiously on the slick planks.

Atissa pretended to still be drowsy, hoping the warrior wouldn’t pay her any attention. She needed an opening. When the sailors came down to clean up the oil puddle, they would surely discover that her bonds had been cut.

The warrior was only two steps away now and she could feel his eyes on her.

“Hey, you!” Hermistos said. “Clean this mess up would you. My sandals are already soaked.”

“Shut up, boy!” The warrior turned his attention to Hermistos. “What happened here?”

“There was no wine inside!” Hermistos sounded offended. “So, I tossed it back and…well…”

“Fool,” the warrior said, shaking his head. He turned half around, to study the mess of broken pottery and oil. He’d widened his stance while turning, standing slightly ducked due to the low ceiling.

Another thunder roared in the distance. It sounded strange in Atissa’s ears, but she had no time to think about it.

And it had made the man look up, giving Atissa her opening.

She rolled on her back and used her legs to push off the beam Hermistos was bound to. Sliding over the slick boards she tucked her knees to her chest. Her arm reached out, grabbed the man’s ankle, and used the hold to turn while gliding between his legs.

“What the…!”

Surprised and confused he was slow to react. Atissa lay between his legs, holding his left ankle tight.

The problem was her legs. Bound together at the ankles her options to sweep the man were limited. She had to improvise. Pushing her hips off the ground, she pressed her knee into the inside of the man’s tight right above the knee. It wasn’t ideal, but it had to be enough. Atissa pulled and pushed simultaneously.

The warrior had no time to curse. Atissa’s grip on his ankle blocked his ability to step backward to catch himself.

Got you, Atissa thought.

She was wrong. Half a heartbeat before falling sideways, the man’s arm shot up, finding hold on a crossbeam of the low ceiling.

Atissa pushed her knees into the tight with all her might. As long as she didn’t let go of the ankle, he had nowhere to go.

“Ha!” the warrior shouted pushing himself off the ceiling with an effort of strength.

Without thinking Atissa changed directions. She dropped her knees, relieving the pressure against the upper leg. Suddenly freed from the pressure the man stumbled forward into a somewhat upright position.

Atissa had no intention of letting him find his balance. While her second hand shot out to grab the other ankle, her bound legs kicked up. Hitting his butt, she added to the warrior’s forward momentum. His legs blocked he fell forward.

“Grap him!” Atissa shouted.

Hermistos reacted immediately. Reaching out, he took a firm grip on the man’s hair and pushed his head down to his feet.

Atissa lost no time. Hindered by his bonds, Hermistos would only be able to hold the warrior down for a moment. Grabbing the man’s tunic, she frantically pulled herself forward. She had to reach his head before he freed it from Hermistos' grip.

“Stay down,” Hermistos said through clenched teeth.

He had a good hold on the hair on the back of the man’s head. Unfortunately, the rope around his midsection limited how far he could lean forward. A heartbeat into the struggle, his opponent had caught himself and started to pull away while reaching for Hermistos’ hands at the same time.

Then Atissa was on him. She snaked her arm around his neck, the shard in hand. She felt the improvised weapon pressing into the skin.

The man’s hand closed around hers just as she thought it was done. Knowing he would easily peel her hand away from his throat, Atissa pushed herself forward as best she could, putting her weight on the man’s shoulders. He was pushed down. His grip on her hand didn’t loosen but the surprising impact had bought her the extra heartbeat she needed to wrap her other arm around, enclosing both neck and hands.

Pressing herself against the man’s back, she mustered all the strength in her arms, slowly tightening her embrace.

The warrior started to flail with his legs. Hermistos lost his hold and they dropped to the side.

Atissa could feel the man’s second hand, desperately searching for purchase on her arms. She gritted her teeth and redoubled her effort. Using both her arms she overpowered the first hand’s resistance and the shard slowly pushed into the side of the throat.

Unwilling to risk loosening her hold to cut sideways, Atissa squeezed her arms tighter and tighter. Another heartbeat later a feeling of warm wetness spread over her hand. Then her arm.

She could hear a gurgling sound close to her ear. Only focusing on her struggle, it took her a moment to notice Hermistos' voice.

“Hey! You can let go now.”

She blinked. The body below her had gone slack. All resistance had ceased.

“Good work,” Hermistos said.

Atissa slowly loosened her embrace of the warrior’s neck. It wasn’t easy. Her were arms cramped and felt drained.

“Hey!” Hermistos leaned to give her a little push.

The touch brought Atissa’s mind back into focus. She could hear the sailor's voice from the deck calling down. She had to hurry.

“Cut your legs free first!” Hermistos said.

Atissa nodded, grateful that he’d kept his presents of mind. She reached out for the warrior’s neck, but her hand stopped halfway. Maybe I take another, she thought, dreading the feeling of fingering the shard out of the man’s throat.

Looking around for a serviceable piece her eyes fell on a short sword on the still body’s hip. She quickly cut her bonds before hurrying over to Hermistos.

He waved her off. “If you cut these”, he pointed at the talisman-specked ropes around his midsection, “the magus will know. You must go without me.”

Atissa hesitated. How could he expect her to leave him behind?

“I am not strong enough to run and you cannot carry me,” he said insistently. “Go! They will not dare to touch me. Mistress Bel’Sara is desperate, not stupid.”

Looking into his eyes, Atissa tried to come to a decision. She still didn’t know who Hermistos was, but she trusted him. He was her friend and she didn’t want to leave him behind.

Then she sensed new movement on deck.

“Ok,” she said reluctantly. “But I will come back for you.”

“Please hurry,” Hermistos said, smiling lopsidedly. “It will be boring down here without you,”

Atissa nodded sharply and turned to the ladder.

“And bring Mark!” Hermistos called after her. “I might need him to hide behind.”