Waves crashed against the hull, threatening to spill overboard. Roman soldiers rushed around, securing cargo and lowering the tattered sails. And Octavian? He was standing in the middle of the ship, giving orders to everyone and generally doing nothing.
"Hard to port!" Reyna yelled, assisting the legionnaires in tying down the sails. Teenagers and young adults held on as the ship listed towards the eye of the tempest, the only spot in sight without swirling whirlpools, overpowering waves, or enormous hurricanes threatening to smash the triremes into driftwood. Three of the ships had already reached the safespot. One carrying ten Roman soldiers had been smashed to pieces, killing nine of the ten. One had managed to swim to another ship.
One of the soldiers securing cargo took a moment to glare at Octavian before continuing with the crate of Kool-aid (that was a huge deal. If they lost that crate, Dakota would become murderous). He didn't blame the soldier. The only person to blame was himself.
If he had chosen a different approach, maybe he would have been where he wanted to be. Or rather, where his father wanted him to be. Over the years, they'd become much of the same thing.
Visits home for Octavian were now dreaded, and had become less often to the point where he visited only twice a year. He couldn't stand to see his father's disappointing look every time he was informed that his son had not reached the rank of praetor.
"Show them you have what it takes," his father suggested. "Act superior, like you already are praetor. Give them orders. Always have armed guards following you."
Octavian had taken up his advice, and look where it had landed him. The most hated person in New Rome, never to be more than the augur.
"Friendship makes you soft," his father would also say. "Trust makes you dead."
Yeah, well acting superior makes you hated, Octavian thought.
He was done. Finished with the unnecessary criticism, the attempts to take over as praetor, the independence. He was sick of being Octavian, the creepy kid who slaughters children's stuffed animals and laughs as they cry. He wanted to be Octavian, the nice, helpful augur. He just wasn't sure when to start.
The ship lurched suddenly, and one boy flew over. He managed to grab on to the bottom rail with one hand. With all the water crashing against the boat and spraying up, he wouldn't last long. No one else saw him go over, and his cries went unheard over the storm. He slipped so he was only holding on by his fingers. The boy locked eyes with Octavian, pleading in a final act of desperation. Octavian surged forward and held out his hand, surprising the boy. His fingers slipped off the rail. Octavian grabbed his wrists and pulled him up and over the railing. Both fell to the ground, the boy gasping in air, Octavian just sitting there in a daze.
Not wanting to lose the moment, he stood up, leaving the panting boy on the ground. He scanned the ship, looking for the area that needed the most help. His eyes settled on the cargo. Gwen seemed to be struggling under the weight of a box of weapons. He rushed up and grabbed the other end. Gwen sighed in relief and let go, leaning heavily aginst the wall. "Thanks," she panted.
"No problem." Octavian swung the box around to meet her face.
Gwen quietly gasped. "Oh, it's you, Octavian!" she exclaimed with genuine surprise.
"Yes, it's me," Octavian said, revealing no emotion. "Now, can I have some help? This box is kind of heavy."
Gwen stammered something inaudible, but grabbed the other side of the crate. Together they carried it down to storage and placed it on the pyramid of crates.
When they walked back up, they were met with a pleasant surprise. The walls of a hurricane surrounded them, but the waters in the center were calm and relaxing. Around them, other ships began making their way to a certain spot.
It was a trireme, the exact same as the rest of them. Greek, Octavian could tell from the orange flag flying. But that wasn't the reason the other ships felt compelled to check it out. No, the entire trireme was bathed in a green light that seemed to be generating from the center of the boat. As their ship drew up next to the glowing trireme, the words of the crew members reached Octavian's ears.
"Another prophecy!"
"I bet it's going to be about the war."
"Shh, it's starting!"
The crowd shifted, allowing Octavian to see what everyone's eyes were fixated on: the redheaded oracle girl surrounded by green mist that seemed to be originating from her mouth. She began to speak a prophecy:
"The pharoah, son of the sky, and of sea,
Shall team up as a destruction force of three,
Two shall defeat the giant king,
One of the two will feel death's sting,
Demigods and magicians will mourn for two lives,
As the Blood of Olympus is sacrificed,
The last of the three will feel painless pain,
And bring an end to the Earth Mother's reign."
The mist disappeared and the girl collapsed, leaving Octavian with one prominent thought: This is very, very bad.
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Apologies for my terrible prophecy writing, and for the promise of many deaths. Believe it or not, the deaths promised from this prophecy are only a small fraction of all of them. Trust me, I feel terrible planning all of this.
Anyway, updates will be coming faster, because summer's on the way! Just two more weeks of extremely slow updates, then they'll be coming fast! Just wait two weeks! TWO WEEKS, PEOPLE!
