Beauty/Tragedy | Percy Jackson

The sea god's curse

This sceptred isle

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by
Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
For Christian service and true chivalry,
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son,
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out,
I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!

Christos lounged on his throne, sipping his wine with few worries in his mind. He gulped the remaining contents of the glass, relishing in the feeling of the sour taste and the burn in his throat.

His hands were freezing cold.

He got up and swayed. Christos fell back to grip the arm of the stone throne to prevent his fall. He blinked drowsily. Through his lashes, he could see two men making their way to the center of the hall.

They bowed, "My prince."

Christos blinked again and again, trying to see clearly. Oh, it was one man, and a messenger by his uniform.

Christos waved his hand, motioning the man to stand up. Then, he realized he could not see that with his head bowed. The prince had to make the effort to speak his thoughts, "Stand up, you." He ordered.

"Speak!" And the young man slumped back on his father's throne.

"There has been news, my lord." The messenger was shaking, as if only speaking about it scared him to Tartarus. "Lipsana's borders are weakening." He spoke, barely audible with a clear tremble in his voice.

The declaration was enough for the prince to suddenly feel sober. His head snapped up, his eyes wide in shock. "What?" He said, though he knew asking again would not change the news.

"The soldiers informed me that the ground had split. They said that near the borders, the earth is eating herself, that the ocean is creating a rift between the two kingdoms. Some even claim it is a part of the sea god's blessing on Aristo!"

Gods, this could be no good.

"I went there to confirm the news first. I could never trust someone else's eyes and risk bringing false words, and what they say is true! There is a huge gap between the lands, and it grows with every moon. There were no tremors, no warnings! It was made possible with magic! There is no other way, they say. The work of gods may be!"

Christos could almost image how his father would react to this disaster. So, he asked the same question he knew the king would. "The people. Are they safe?"

The messenger nodded his head vigorously. "Yes, yes! They are all safe. No damage is happening on the village side, but there is panic. They don't know what to make of the situation. Many are starting to believe it is an omen."

That was what the prince had expected, but better. At least, no lives or homes were destroyed. But "An omen?" When the man nodded his head again, the prince asked with a raised eyebrow, "A good one or a bad one?"

The messenger met his eyes. "A good one, surprisingly."

Now, this was a surprise. A disaster was being considered a good omen?

Christos frowned, his head resting on his hand as he leaned on the throne's armrest. "Why?"

"Lipsana is beautiful as ever, my lord. But Aristo..." He paused, taking his time for the dramatics.

"Speak already!"

"The soil is eroding. The sea seems intent on swallowing Ariston's kingdom." He pursed his lips. "Rumors aside. I do not believe that this is the work of a god's blessing."

Kallias did not leave his bedside.

It had been four days. Berenice had come to see Perseus for some help in fighting with a knife. She could not find a hold that would feel comfortable without making her feel like her wrist will break in a single maneuver.

A goddess's blessing only helped with the knowledge of how to fight. Experience was a whole different thing.

She found him the training room, unconscious. His body was warm, too hot and his skin was sunburnt.

She rushed to find a glass of water.

Berenice could hear her heart hammering in her ears and her hands were trembling lightly, but she forced herself to keep calm. Perseus needed help and she would be able to provide none if she started to panic.

Berenice lifted his head and brought the glass of water to his lips. He did not swallow but she relaxed a little to see that the burn marks around his lips disappeared almost completely.

His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, and she gently pushed them back. She sprinkled some water on his face and then placed the glass on the table near her.

Berenice ran outside the training room.

(She remembered she would be frowned upon if she was at her birthplace right now. They said that things like running and laughing loudly did not suit a princess.)

She called the servants, and they came taking long strides to reach the room fast. If possible, they worked with more efficiency and with some worry too when they found out that something had happened to Perseus.

One of them called Kallikrates who did not waste a second before he came rushing through the open doors.

"Berenice!" It looked like he had aged ten years in a few minutes.

"Oh, thank gods." She muttered in relief when she saw him and wrapped her arms around his waist in a brief embrace.

Automatically, Kallias has one hand between her shoulder blades and other on her head, caressing her hair softly. "How is he?"

They broke from the embrace and turned to the unconscious figure lying on the bed together. "I don't know." She whispered, and almost let tears escape remembering his burning skin, red and sick complexion.

"Something bad had happened."

Kallias took her hand in his in a tight hold and Berenice returned the gesture. She squeezed his hand to ground herself and to assure him. I'm here. It was her message.

They sat on the other side of the bed. He will be okay. They looked at each other in the eyes.

We will be alright. Kallias shuffled forward and changed the way cloth on Perseus' forehead.

The doctor was standing by the table, with different medicinal herbs laid down in front of him. His eyes looked confused, like he had no knowledge about any sickness or any treatments.

Something bad had happened indeed.

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Beginning of the end is here...

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