Of Waves and War

16: the mighty waves were crashing

Eulises

It takes the better part of four days to construct a rather sea worthy raft which I give the very generous odds of .5% chance of surviving over an hour in the fierce waves. Calypso does not speak to me which is all the better, nor does she call me to return indoors with her. Instead I sleep outside, blessedly under the stars, when I can work no more. Soon I wake and return to my toils though, so eager am I to be gone.

The nymphs wail and sob. At first I thought that they had finally grown attached to me and mourned the loss of my company. As it happens, their lamentations are in fact expressions of sheer joy. It seems their general opinion of me is that I do nothing but talk of or to my distant wife and if I am not doing that then I am playing cruel tricks on them for my own entertainment or in a futile attempt to escape. All this is apparently 'grating' and 'vexing' and they truly hope the sea swallows me if only for my wife's sake.

At one point, Calypso does bring out a set of clothes to me and demand the return of her dress which by then is ruined not only because I tore it as needed to make a skirt for myself. Either way, I get serviceable clothes which I am quite sure will be destroyed post haste. She also brings food and wine which I elect not to drink. I don't tell her that, as if it is poisoned it may be useful later.

When I'm finished it's well into the night. The nymphs have mostly gone to sleep either watching me or in the castle, so I trip over as many of them as I can manage to ensure they'll not miss me, which is doing them a service if I'm being honest.

Calypso does see me off.

"I'll enjoy watching you drown."

"I'll avoid drowning in your sight to deprive you of the pleasure."

Is how our interaction goes. I'm not overly confident I will not drown, but I have every intention of avoiding it if at all possible.

"Bet this raft doesn't see shore again," I say, quietly, stroking the wood with affection as I drag it into the waves, which are already choppy. This makes getting off shore a challenge but I have a large enough stick that I can use to push me out past the current that tugs me inland. I look back only once and see Calypso standing on the shore watching, and for a moment I almost ....don't pity her at all because she kidnapped me and has not been very civil about said kidnapping.

Almost as soon as I'm out to sea the waves intensify.

This is neither the first, second, or third time I've clung to a scrap of wood nearly drowning, and I find I like it less each time.

I can hear my men's shouts in my ears. Screams of terror. I let go of my own wood, diving down beneath the waves. I found one of the women we'd taken from the city. Not rescued so much, except that we treated her and the others better than the others would have, and we'd promised them occupation and a safe enough home in Ithaca if they wanted it. A few did wish to come rather than be at the mercy of the occupying soldiers.

But they all drowned.

I dove, time and again, through the wine-colored, angry waters. Only to pull up limp, dead bodies. Me, twisting and turning in the dark, only to find a severed limb, to realize the cries of anguish were echoing in my head and not through the fierce winds. As one by one, my crew men vanished beneath the waves.

I shouted for them, called instructions to kick, to try to hold onto any piece of wood to stay afloat, to not save the drowning as they would only drag one another under. Either they did not heed (likely) or they were already dead. For eventually I too would be swept beneath the surface. Of course this last time I woke Calypso was the one dragging me from the waves. Perhaps that was a fate worse than drowning.

My limbs scream in pain and my mouth is dry from inadvertently swallowing salt water. My raft is already in half, and I cling to that if only to give myself some small rest from keeping afloat, but my arms are wooden as the boards I cling to and the pain shoots through my bones from fighting so long.

Another wave slashes my raft in two, but I manage to cling to half of it.

"Is that the best you can do?" I shout at the turbulent ocean. "I am not this easy to kill."

I get no response, but am doused again by another oncoming wave and I am forced to cling to the shattered wood until my hands bleed.

Finally, a wave crashes over my head, and I am washed under once more. This time though I cannot spy the surface. I reach out, desperately, for the raft, for some semblance of noise that would tell me where the surface is. But all I can hear are the cries of my drowning men. Their screaming, echoing endlessly in my ears as I'm pulled farther and farther below the water.

Ice cold hands meet mine, and I see a shape in the water before me. I try to struggle away. I'd sooner drown than return to Calypso. But her stone hands are stiff on my arms.

"I mean you no harm, brave hero," she says, pulling me to the surface. She is not Calypso, that I can tell with my mortal eyes, and she has a different voice at least.

"My lady," I'm chocking up water as we are doused with another wave.

"Take this, and swim to shore," she unwinds a white scarf from around her neck, "When you get to shore cast it back into the water and I'll find it. With it you will not sink again."

"Thank you," it's probably cursed. I take hold of the fabric, winding it around my chest. Sure enough it tugs me back to the surface even as the waves threaten to shove me back under.

She is gone. I have no sense of direction but I swim anyway. For each stroke I swear I'm carried back two. But I swim on. It doesn't matter so long as it isn't towards Calypso's island which I cannot be sure of. At this point I would return to Circe. For a few days company, she'd help me on my way. It doesn't matter though, because it's not as though I know where I'm going.

When my feet do finally strike sand I recoil, thinking it some horrible monster risen from the sea.

But it's not.

It's dry land.

I know not where, the night is black. And my limbs are raw with pain, my body bruised a million places. I barely have the strength to drop the scarf back into the ocean before crawling to the shore. I try to stand but my legs give out. I want to know where I am but my body gives up before my mind does. All I can do is collapse, exhausted, face in the sand. I force myself to roll over and breath. Just breath.

There are no stars overhead. Pity, I could chart my course home while I lie here.