Gordon Doherty - Assassin's Creed Odyssey - The Official Novelization

“Well,” Barnabas growled, “I’ve not spent all this time running from Cultist bastards and bringing you here just to turn away from a damned blockade.” He caught the eyes of Reza and the nearest crewmen.

Kassandra watched as they leapt into position, as the sails were hoisted and the oars met the water, the keleustes taking up the chant she had first heard on her approach to the Megarid.

“O-opop-O-opop-O-opop…” he boomed, striding up and down the boat’s length, passionately punching a fist into his other palm, spittle flying.

The Adrestia picked up into a terrific speed, spray lashing Kassandra, the prow pointing at the nearest Parian galley. “Hold on to something,” she called over to Aspasia and Herodotos.

They did as she said, knuckles white, eyes wide. And then…

Nothing.

The ship they sped toward tacked out of their path, and the one behind it halted, leaving a wide opening in the circle through which they slipped.

Kassandra saw a man by the rail of the stopped galley, draped in a white cape, with a mop of blond hair and a fleshy face. He smiled at her as the ship passed. It was not a welcoming expression.

“He knows better,” Barnabas chuckled proudly as the Adrestia slowed into normal rowing speed and headed toward the shore.

Unconvinced, Kassandra stared at the man for a time. When they drew closer to the shore, she scanned the sandy beaches. Farther along the coast, she spotted a pair of the blockading boats coming in to land. Gripped by the sight, she watched as Parian soldiers leapt out, onto the bay. They swarmed like ants past the marble portico of an unfinished bay temple, on toward an old stone fortlet perched on a rocky cape. Herodotos, Barnabas, Reza and the others joined her to watch this swift taking of what was surely a key Naxian shore holding. Suddenly, the grove of carob trees at the top of the shore shuddered. The Parian invaders hesitated, glancing back at the woods… just as a knot of Naxian horsemen exploded from them. They lay flat in the saddles, encased in baked-brown leather helms and breastplates, holding long pikes, and they exploded into a trilling cry of war. There were only about twenty of them, charging nearly one hundred Parians. The lead Naxian rider was swift and majestic, carrying a spear high as if in example to the rest, wearing a leather helm and a cage of iron covering the face. This rider ducked a thrown Parian lance and hurled a javelin into the thrower’s neck. An instant later, the Naxian cavalry wedge plunged home into the invading Parian mass. Men screamed and fell, and Kassandra and all watching knew the cavalry counterattack would be victorious even as the fray fell from sight when they drew closer to the shore.

The sea turned pale turquoise as they reached the shallows, and they passed over a vivid mosaic of color on the seabed—a crescent of coral in orange, gold, deep blue and pink.

The hull ground over white sand and the ship came to a rest. Kassandra eyed the thickly wooded hills inland.

“Phoenix Villa,” Aspasia said, pinpointing a settlement on one promontory.

“Go, find her,” said Barnabas, clasping a hand to her shoulder, his eyes wet with tears.

“Aye, Misthios, you have struggled long enough to come this far,” agreed Herodotos. “Waste no more time.”

She moved as if she were on one of her old stealth jobs for Markos, slipping uphill into the island interior, through lush woods of mulberry and juniper. At one point, she heard the thunder of hooves and ducked into the undergrowth, watching as the score of riders from the bay battle galloped along the open track from the beach, their brown armor glistening with semidried blood. Victory indeed. When she reached the vicinity of the Phoenix Villa, she found an unwalled town, of which the villa was the centerpiece. In truth, the “town” was almost part of the woods—trees and outcrops rising beside homes, rope bridges linking sections of the settlement that lay across a narrow ravine, and a waterfall splashing down into an opal-blue tarn. In the glorious sunshine, women carried urns of goat milk, men carefully lifted shards of honeycomb from bees’ nests and children and dogs herded sheep, goats and oxen. She threw a stick into the nearby trees, drawing out the two men guarding the villa’s main door, then slipped inside the ancient and grand villa and soon found herself creeping along the wide hallway on the upper floor. That was when she heard the voices.

“ Archon , the Parians have crippled our fleet, stolen our trade, silenced our messengers, captured Navarchos Euneas. We are being strangled out of existence,” said a man. Kassandra edged her head around the doorway to see the high, wide council chamber, with dark, polished-timber floors and aged rugs. One wall was arrayed with open shutters allowing the sultry air and sunlight to bathe the room. A wide table sat in the center of the chamber, upon which was pinned a hide map of the islands and nearby waters. Two officers stood, wearing the bloodstained brown cavalry armor of the twenty from the shore battle. They had both prized off their helms. Both were disconcertingly young—one more an adolescent boy.

“Still, we drove them off today, Archon,” added the older of the two officers, “with you riding at our head. The fortlet on the Ferryman’s Finger remains ours—despite the ring of Parian boats, they have no foothold on our shores. Since the day you first came to these shores and drove off the tyrant king, you have been our shield.” His voice brimmed with pride and veneration and he beat a fist against his chest in salute. His words were directed at one side of the room, the target obscured from Kassandra.

“Do not lose heart,” the archon replied from that spot. “There will be a way to break the noose, to find freedom again.” The sound of the voice was like the note of a golden lyre, stirring up a thousand memories in Kassandra’s heart. She began to tremble. When the archon walked into view, armored like the two officers and holding the cage-visored helm underarm, Kassandra gripped the edge of the doorway, suppressing a gasp, unable to blink or look away.

Mother? she mouthed. There could be no doubting it: her dark hair threaded with silver and held in a braided ring around her crown, eyes edged with age lines, body hugged with well-scarred armor. She watched, numbly, as Myrrine directed the two officers’ attentions to the map, giving them clear and firm instructions on where the island’s soldiers were to be posted, which landing sites were to be watched, and what resources needed to be harvested for new ships, arms and armor.

After a time, Myrrine dismissed the two officers. Kassandra ducked into the shadows as they strode from the room, then edged around the doorway again. Myrrine, alone, had strolled out onto a balcony, shaded from the sun by a striped awning. This was it. This was the moment. Kassandra stepped numbly into the room and over to the balcony door behind her. Then she stepped on one floorboard that groaned treacherously. Myrrine swung to face her like a warrior.

Their eyes met for the first time in over twenty-three years. Myrrine stared for an age, frozen in disbelief, then her gaze fell to Kassandra’s waist… and the Leonidas spear.

“How… how can it be?” Myrrine whispered, dropping her helm.

Kassandra drank in the sight of the woman before her. “Mother,” she whispered in reply.

They came together like gloved hands clapping and remained locked like that for what felt like a glorious eternity. Spikes of emotion rose and fell within Kassandra. It had been the first time she had embraced another since she had cradled poor Phoibe’s body, the first time she had let her heart swell like this ever since it had nearly burst with grief that day.