The Indigo King - James A. Owen [43]
“This is impossible,” Jack whispered, leaning in close to John. “I can’t tell them apart. If they traded chairs, I might not even lose the thread of the conversation.”
“I know what you mean,” John whispered back. “Verne never mentioned this particular problem.”
“You do realize,” Myrddyn said, addressing the companions, “that our teacher is very protective of us and rarely speaks of our secret with anyone.”
“You mean your names?” asked Jack.
A flash of something indescribable crossed the young man’s eyes. “I meant the secret that we were born not here, in this world, but in the Archipelago.”
“Almost no one in the Greek empire knows of its existence,” said Madoc. “There are legends and stories, of course, but few who know the reality of it, as you seem to.”
“We’ve been there often,” Jack said before John could stop him, “and have many friends among its peoples.”
“Really?” Myrddyn said, leaning forward. “Such as who?”
John groaned inwardly, as did Jack, albeit a moment too late. He’d forgotten—they were centuries removed from the time that they knew, and their own journeys in the Archipelago of Dreams. Nemo was not yet born, or Tummeler, or Charys the centaur, or …
“Ordo Maas,” John said suddenly. “We are friends of Ordo Maas.”
The only reaction from the young men was a polite stare. The name meant nothing to them.
“Deucalion,” put in Jack. “He is also known as Deucalion.”
This brought about an entirely different reaction: Surprise and delight—and was that an expression of triumph John saw?—registered on Myrddyn and Madoc’s faces, and even Anaximander’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“The Master of Ships?” he said, his voice cracking. “Surely you jest with us.”
“Not at all,” John replied. “Do you know him?”
“Indirectly,” said Myrddyn. “He is our—mine and Madoc’s—direct ancestor.”
John and Jack looked at each other, bewildered. This was an unexpected complication. If one of these young men was indeed destined to become Mordred, that meant their greatest enemy was actually a blood relative of one of their strongest allies. But surely Deucalion would have known of this connection, wouldn’t he?
“How direct?” Jack asked slowly. “What is your exact lineage, if I may ask?”
Myrddyn nodded genially. “Of course. That is, in fact, what we have come here to discuss. Our ancestry is tied to both this world and the Archipelago.
“Deucalion, the son of Prometheus, was our ancestor six generations removed from our father, who went on a great voyage through the Archipelago in a ship given to him by his father. Near the end of his voyage, when all his companions had perished, his ship ran aground on an island where he spent seven years, before finally leaving in a small craft he built in secret.
“He left behind the ship of his father, Laertes; our mother, Calypso; and myself and Madoc, his sons.”
John was speechless, as was Jack. Only Chaz, who was barely following the conversation, remained unaffected. “What is it?” he asked John. “What did he just say?”
“Calypso, Laertes …,” John said to Jack. “Is it possible … ?”
Myrddyn smiled. “We were born in the Archipelago, but we have always known our destiny would lie here, in the land of our father—Odysseus.”
CHAPTER TEN
The Shipwreck
Nearly a year ago I was sailing with a small crew on a diplomatic mission to establish a colony at Apollonia,” Anaximander began, “when we lost our way and fell far off course. We were caught up in a terrible wind and found ourselves run aground on an island that seemed divided in half by a great line of storms.”
“Like Avalon,” Jack murmured. “Interesting.”
“While we repaired our own vessel,” the philosopher continued, “we saw another ship being tossed about by the waves, nearly to its destruction.
“The ship ran aground on