Page 19 of We Were Eternal Once

It doesn’t matter—we are dead either way.

The ship lurches, no longer favoring quiet. The sails snap, oars cut into the water. No matter what they do the heartbeats of the other ship grow louder.

Their fear permeates the air, sinking into the pores of my wooden box. It lays heavy on my tongue. Normally the fear would excite me, but now it terrifies me.

If our ship is boarded, then what? Sent back to Patras, or on some other route? What if it’s sunk? What if they steal the cargo, and they open your box during the day? I will be asleep, I will not be able to help you.

My fingers wrap around the latch again. They shake, the metal rattling between them. I turn to my peephole, wondering if I should use it. Will it betray my presence? What is to be gained by looking?

The fear turns to shouts, rallying cries. The crew tries to fend off the other ship, but they are outmatched. I count two intruders for every crew member. The clash of swords, screams cut short, knives plunging into flesh. Saliva pools in my mouth at the smell of the blood that coats the deck above. My fingers flex on the latch.

I count the heartbeats again. There are fewer, and some of those that remain stutter in the throes of death. Could you and I incapacitate the remaining members? Could we somehow steer the ship back and try again another day?

The ship jolts and someone curses overhead.

“Unload what you can,” comes a voice in Latin.

Boots kick against boxes, testing their weight and sturdiness. They break a few open, calling out the contents. Wine, coin, artefacts.

Should I surprise them before they claim me?

I don’t dare open the peephole now. Any movement might catch their eye. Perhaps they’ll decide our boxes are not worth moving and leave us be.

Or we could kill them all.

Images dance through my mind—an altar soaked in blood, bodies strewn about the floor, entrails hanging from the rafters. I blink and it is gone, replaced by the darkness of the box.

Whoever found the ship would think it an attack. Pirates, or smugglers who finally got what they deserved. We’d throw their bodies into the sea, let the fish and the gulls eat them. There’d be no proof we were ever here.

I wished for a tie of our mind, for a way to send you these messages. My skills were paltry alone, but with you? With you, anything was possible. With you, we could escape and feast and try again another day.

I know you’re close, I can feel you against my skin. You are my true north, my compass points eternally to you. I need only get out of this box and…

The box tilts, rolls, maneuvered by those outside.

“There’s no opening mechanism,” a man says. He rolls my box again, and I fall against the lid, now trapped underneath.

“Leave it, we’ve not the time,” says another.

“It’s heavy,” the first says. “Probably something valuable.”

“Not anymore, you’ve likely broken it. Leave it.”

I am trapped. I am trapped and there is no way out. Panic, hot and writhing, slides through my veins. I try to get to my knees but there is no space. I shove my body against the floor of the box, trying to open it that way. It doesn’t budge, it’s too heavy, I am too weak.

I turn on my back and try to kick the box off me, but I cannot get good range with my legs. I try to bring them to my chest, to fold myself in a way to kick it open. There isn’t enough space.

I am trapped.

I am trapped.

My fingernails dig into the sides of the box, tearing the wood free. My nails go with it, leaving deep gouges in the wood. I no longer worry if anyone knows I’m in here. If they know, perhaps they will let me out. Perhaps…

Their heartbeats grow quiet overhead. They’re too far to hear me, moving farther still.

That’s fine, now I can really try, I tell myself.

“Aletheia?” I call to you. You don’t answer, though I feel you near. Are you okay? Did they hurt you? I would know if they hurt you, right? Or was I too consumed with my own fear to think of you? How are you fairing, locked in a box? Have they upended you too?