Kryptic ↟ Deimos

thirteen: the old ways

ATHENS IS LESS than a day's journey from Andros and by nightfall, the Port of Piraeus rises from the water with Athens to the east. Kassandra and the historian depart the ship, but Lesya remains, hands curled uneasily around the railing. She has not seen Athens since the night Leandros gave her up to the Cult of Kosmos —an offering of flesh. Barnabas notices the far-off look in her eyes and frowns. She had her whole life before her, yet the solemn expression told the old sailor she did not expect to see much more.

"Lesya?" She looks over her shoulder at the captain, he'd just finished his routine inspection of the deck. There'd be time to allow for a few repairs before departing —the blockage in Megaris had left its mark on the hull. "You haven't been yourself since Phokis," Barnabas notes, stopping at her side. Since joining the crew, she'd always been quiet and reserved, but there was something different about her now. In truth, she hadn't been herself ever since the Eagle Bearer joined them on the Adrestia.

She's spared Barnabas the horrors of her past and the truth of her identity —she hadn't wanted the old sailor to regret his kindness. Lesya swallows the growing lump in her throat. She knew the truth would come out sooner or later. "The people Kassandra hunt–" she bites down on her lip "–I used to be one of them." Turning her back to Piraeus, Lesya crosses her arms, unable to meet the kind, withered gaze of the captain. "Barnabas, I've done terrible things."

"Come now–" he claps her on the shoulder, smiling "–you're a good person."

Guilt consumes her. She's fooled the old sailor long enough. "But I'm not," she says, voice cracking. Barnabas' smile fades when he sees the tears running down her cheeks, glistening like jewels in the moonlight. He does not understand. "I've killed so many innocent people," Lesya whispers. Good men had died on her blades, and repulsive men had risen because of them. The captain remains steadfast. "I see some of their faces at night. Pleading for their lives." I have children, please! The pleas had not been enough to stay her hand.

"I don't sleep Barnabas and when I do–" she shakes her head. Barnabas knows what happens when she sleeps —her cries wake the crew. Nightmares and memories. Lesya lifts her gaze back to the port, sweet smoke rises from the Temple of Asklepius. "Kassandra will be safer here if she is not seen with me." The Eagle Bearer needed information and powerful allies. She would not be able to acquire either of those with a champion of the Cult at her side in a city with so many corrupt leaders.

The moment of silence is deafening. Barnabas cares not about Leysa's past transgressions —all he knows is a woman who has been hurt by life and strives to be better. "You will always have a place here, Lesya," he tells her, hand still resting on her shoulder. "The Adrestia is your home." Lesya's shoulders begin shaking. The old sailor pulls her into a warm embrace —she goes stiff, this is not something Lesya is accustomed to, but it feels nice.

WITHIN A FORTNIGHT Kassandra returns to the Adrestia with the sculptor, Phidias, in tow. The Cult of Kosmos has long sought to rid Athens of Phidias —now they intend to do so under the guise of a trial. Perikles has asked the Eagle Bearer to escort his dear friend to safety outside of the city. Seriphos is where the sculptor asks to be taken. He has a friend there in the chora that may even be able to help in their quest to dismantle Kosmos.

Under a full moon, the Adrestia departs from Piraeus with Phidias aboard, so long as there are no delays, they will reach Seriphos before midday. "Kybernetes!" Barnabas calls and the oars are extended into the black waters of the Saronic Gulf, pushing the trireme out of the harbor. The oars lift from the water before delving back in with the hum of a low war drum. Merchant and war galleys form an endless come-and-go of ships from Piraeus —it's as if a war is not occurring just outside the gates of Athens.