Daughter of Sea Nymph Calypso and God of the Westernwind Zephyrus, pirate captain Skylipso sails the Mediterranean waters ánd skies with confidence and gusto.
An anthology, created for the fantasmical contest 2023
Each chapter is its own story, each...
Skylipso's hammock swayed with the rolling of the ship. The first light of dawn peeked through the porthole and she was nowhere near ready for it. All night long, the Goddess Aphrodite had been calling Skylipso to her rock ... again.
The same restless dream had been disturbing her for the last seven moons, Aphrodite's sultry voice luring her to that inhospitable but wildly beautiful rock off the coast of Cyprus, twirling her hand seductively and showing Skylipso the hiding place of her infamous, magical belt. The pretty band of worn leather with sparkling beads in the colour of the ocean was tucked neatly in a crack at the centre of the rock.
"Its power is yours to wield, Skylipso, daughter of the Gods. Claim it and no-one will be able to resist you." Goosebumps pebbled across her arms at the memory ... the suggestion. If she summoned the balls to grasp this belt, she could be desired by all, or by someone in particular. It would be her choice. She could make him mad with want for her.
Him. Flynt Undercurrent, most annoying merman alive, and most pretty. His fish tail muscular and strong, his perfect washboard stomach, his silky long eyelashes that fanned against his high cheekbones when he lifted his fair face toward the sun.
Flynt was one of Poseidon's many grandsons. He was her friend, but never her lover. Oh, they had kissed once. Over a hundred years ago. And it had been the best damn kiss of Skylipso's very long life.
But then Flynt had married sea nymph Pavlova, which was probably best. It was as their ancestors had wished, it was as it should be, but Pavlova had died young, and Flynt's grief had been so heart-wrenchingly real that Skylipso couldn't have been anything else to him than a compassionate shoulder to cry on, a friend.
Moving through his stages of grief, at some point, Flynt had started smooching with every willing woman and man crossing his azure blue gaze. Sadly, he seemed stuck in that phase ever since, and though Skylipso had her fair share of admirers and lovers too, she never kissed Flynt again, but at the same time never stopped yearning.
"Morning captain!" Marjorie's freckled face peered into the captain's cabin. "Wondering what your orders for the day are? Are we to remain at anchor?"
Worn out and with a whole lot of frustration squeezing her chest and clouding her judgment, Skylipso swung her feet out of her hammock and reached for her scarlet waistcoat, the one that screamed ... I am the captain. "Hoist the anchor, ready the sails! We're flying to Cyprus."
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The rock was exactly as it had always been, a stack of rough, yellow stone in a twisted shape that reminded Skylipso of a torch, and the ocean that surrounded it, the color of Flynt's eyes.
"You came." Aphrodite's voice purred with pleasure. The Goddess herself sat waiting on top of her rock ... in the nude—what else? basking in the gilded sunlight.
"I came for the treasure in the rock."
"Of course you are. Help yourself!" The Goddess gestured to the crack in the centre. A snakehead slithered out and Skylipso shivered but drew her cutlass from her belt and proceeded. At the sight of the shimmering blade, the serpent crawled up the rock to circle a laughing Aphrodite. "Come now, no need to fret, we're all friends here," she said as she petted the snake.
With one eye on the goddess and her pet, Skylipso reached inside the crack and pulled out the belt. A pleasant jolt of its vibrating magic coursed through her body the moment she touched it, reminding her of all the ways she wanted Flynt. "Thank you," she said to the Goddess, and then she was off ... with the belt. It had all been surprisingly easy.
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She found him stretching his lean torso on the pink sands of Siren's Shoal, two sirens swimming around his tail and one draped over his lap, their giggles floating on the lukewarm breeze. Vexation brewed low in her belly. She wasn't surprised.
Flynt was and always would be a player.
She shouldn't even want him.
"Sky!" His loud voice stopped her from turning away. "Sky, is that you? Where have you been? I've been worried about you."
"I can see that."
"Are you coming for a swim?"
"I don't think so. I've got things to do." What was wrong with her? Playing coy, denying herself like a petty mortal, instead of pulling that belt from her pocket, clasp it around her waist and get what she wanted like the Goddess she was born to be.
As she stood chastising herself, Flynt made the sirens giggle one last time, said his goodbyes, and swam over to the brigantine. "I have been worried," he repeated.
"I'm a Demigod, Flynt. You don't have to worry about me."
He cast his gaze toward the lower bow of the ship, but she had seen the glint of emotion in his eyes and the twitch of his mouth. "We all have our weaknesses, Sky. None of us are truly immortal."
He was of course thinking of Pavlova. Sea nymphs weren't supposed to die, but Pavlova did in a blink when accidentally angering Scylla, the sea monster, her life snuffed out as easily as a candle.
Skylipso could feel Flynt's pain, and was, in a way, grateful for his concern. The true nature and depth of his feelings always moved her and in that moment she knew she would never want anything less true from him. She knew then she would never use the belt. Not even if it meant she would never get that kiss.
She dropped her coat and breeches to climb the ship's rail in her billowing cotton shift. "Race you to the reef?"
"Not even a competition," he quipped, as Skylipso somersaulted into the cool water, eager for a night swim with her friend.
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