Odyssey Journey (4)

On the fifth day drifting at sea, Alexios held the rope controlling the sail, ready at any moment to follow the orders of that short man Gorgias.

Once they entered the open sea, their command relationship immediately reversed, with Gorgias now giving the orders and the two professional warriors obeying.

As soon as they boarded the raft, Gorgias made them discard their helmets and breastplates, saying these things would only take up space on the raft and wouldn't help them at sea. If they fell overboard wearing helmets and breastplates, even strong swimmers would be useless.

But Alexios kept his shield. He didn't want to abandon it, because his mother had personally handed it to him before he left, saying, "Either come back with it, or come back lying on it."

Gorgias didn't object too much, since the shield was wood wrapped in iron.

At that moment, Gorgias was fiddling with his old brass sextant. When he pulled that thing out of his pack, Alexios nearly pissed himself. He was terrified it would disqualify them, but Gorgias calmly explained that ships had used such devices long before the angels descended—it wasn't high-tech at all.

Though Alexios didn't understand what a sextant was or how to use it, the thing's worn-out appearance at least eased his doubts. Gorgias added that he'd picked it up at a secondhand market, spending almost all his savings.

Lycurgus, meanwhile, kept staring fixedly at the fishing rod, hoping to catch something—anything. Even fish, fresh fish was better than smoked dried fish.

Actually, there was one advantage to being on a raft: plenty of time. So they started chatting to pass the hours.

Gorgias went first with his story. He really was born a fisherman, or more accurately now, a sailor. As the second son of a fishing family, tradition said he had no right to inherit the household—not that there was much to inherit besides a nearly collapsing house, an old small boat, and a few torn nets. If every generation split things up, even that wouldn't last.

So his father introduced him to the captain of a merchant ship as an apprentice sailor. As an apprentice, besides the hard, teeth-cracking bread and watered-down wine, he earned only a few silver coins a month. It would take five or six years to finally become a full sailor and start bullying the new apprentices.

So when he heard the angels were recruiting Neophytes, he left the captain without a word, spending all his savings to prepare for this path to advancement. He was ready: either become one of the angels, or die unknown along the way.

Alexios and Lycurgus had much more ordinary lives. After all, they were sons of a king—at least they didn't have to worry about making a living. But from childhood, they'd endured the harshest beatings and training, constantly forging themselves into excellent warriors and commanders. Their parents always told them that while the king's position was hereditary, it was only within the two noble families. If a more capable peer emerged, they could be replaced at any time.

When the angels announced they were recruiting Neophytes, the elders in the family immediately sensed the opportunity. Whether in the Mortal Auxiliary or the angelic forces, if a member joined, the family's future would be boundless. So a flood of Lasidream boys poured into this trial. He, his brother, and their cousin set out carrying the honor of the royal family.

But soon they ran out of things to say. Then came jokes and stories—whether funny or not, speaking was better than silence. Unfortunately, the jokes ran out too, and then it was just the three of them staring at each other. Occasionally, following Gorgias's instructions, they'd shift the sail this way or that, open it halfway or fully.

Just as Alexios lay down to rest with his eyes closed, leaving his younger brother Lycurgus to handle things, he heard his brother and Gorgias talking.

"Hey, fisherman, what's that dark patch over there?"

His brother's questioning voice reached his ears.

"What dark patch? Hold on!"

Suddenly, Gorgias let out a startled cry.

"Damn it, we're screwed! That's a storm."

Hearing this, Alexios shot up and looked in the direction they were pointing. A massive black cloud mass, laced with lightning, was bearing down on their tiny raft adrift in the vast sea.

Lycurgus started to panic:

"We need to steer around it!"

"No use. Storms like that stretch for dozens or even hundreds of kilometers. We can't go around."

"Then charge through it."

"With this crappy little raft of ours, one big wave and we'll capsize."

"Why didn't you build us a better boat?"

"Give me half a year!"

Lycurgus was completely frantic now:

"Sailor, use your unbeatable sea knowledge and think of something!"

Alexios barked out a reprimand:

"Enough, Lycurgus, stop bickering. Gorgias, tell us what to do now?"

Gorgias stared at the approaching storm, drawing on everything he'd learned:

"Other than tying ourselves to the raft, there's nothing else we can do."

Quickly, they used whatever they could—vines, leather belts, even tearing their cloaks into strips. They bound themselves to the raft as best they could, praying to survive this ordeal.

But when their tiny raft entered the storm, they still felt the world spin. Wave after giant wave lifted them up and slammed them down. At one point, Alexios even saw his brother open his mouth, sending his breakfast flying through the air.

Then came a tearing sound at his waist—the strips of his red cloak snapping apart. Gorgias was right; against the corrosive seawater, wool wasn't a good choice.

Next, Alexios felt the world spin again as seawater poured into his mouth. He knew he'd fallen off the raft. Submerged, he was overwhelmed and didn't know what to do.

He could only desperately recall what his swimming coach had said. It required practice and feel—using your hands to paddle, your feet to kick, controlling your breathing, don't panic...

The coach's lessons couldn't save him. All he'd learned was how to keep from drowning in a calm lake. Now, this mountain-born Lasidream man finally witnessed the majesty of Poseidon.

Just then, a figure on the raft leaped into the raging waves. He moved as nimbly as a fish, swimming toward Alexios.

Suddenly, Alexios felt someone pulling him. He knew not to grab back, so he just kicked wildly, trying to help as best he could.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the raft. His brother reached out and hauled them both back aboard. Alexios collapsed, gripping the wood desperately.

Reborn, he discovered a hard truth: seawater doesn't taste good, especially when you can't stop swallowing it.

But his shield was still swept away by the storm, along with their food and drinking water.