"That kind of talk is what got us into this mess!"

Agon paced the deck with a spear in one hand and an uncovered torch in the other, taking a grim satisfaction in the anxious eyes of his fellow crewmen. They had bullied him, long ago. So long ago that most of them probably didn't remember it. But they were right about one thing: he was crazy. He would burn the whole ship to punish the world for blowing the Titanic off course.

Or at least he'd let them think so.

"Did the founders of Athens raise our city on their knees?" the bronzed warrior continued, "Was the Serpent of Paideia slain with pleading and pity? The gods demand a sacrifice!"

Where he stalked, men and women stepped back to give him a wide berth. All but one: Mars' daughter Argo. Her chestplate gleamed blood-red in the evening sun as Agon stepped closer, their breaths mingling. Agon smiled, Apollo's fire through the windows of his eyes. "Are you volunteering?"

"Stop this, Agon. We all swore an oath of brotherhood."

"We swore an oath to destroy anything that stood in our way! Look where your pathetic attempts at peace swept us. You call yourself a daughter of war? And to think I once loved you."

"I loved a man who spoke music and poetry, not these vile threats."

"A man who tastes poison must spit his words."

Argo's height nearly matched his, despite the man's imposing size. Paarthurnax watched them bicker from his perch atop the mast. He was further from the action than his few friends on the deck, but he could see the inevitable as well as anyone: Agon would get his wish. There would be blood before the sun set.

"We need you, Agon," Argo tried one last time. "Whatever horrors wait between us and home will be twice as deadly without our second best warrior. But I will put you down myself before I let you kill one of our brothers."

"Second best?"

Both demigods' eyes gleamed. Unbidden, a sailor passed Argo a spear and shield. "Get my shield," Agon spit. They stepped apart, the crowd parting around them. Sunlight flashed on the bronze shield, blinding Paarthurnax for a moment. Perhaps it was Apollo's blessing - perhaps it was a warning. The gods were fickle.

All except one.

"Wait!"

Paarthurnax dropped to the deck. Both pairs of eyes - all pairs of eyes - turned to him.

"I can find the way home."

Both challengers raised an eyebrow. Argo laughed, a short, humorless sound. "You? You can barely find your way off the ship when it's time to fight."

"I can save us," he insisted. "What we need right now is not battle, it's to get home. Don't let your pride blind you to that. Give me seven days, and I swear I will get us home."

The demigods turned to look at each other. Finally, Agon lowered his spear. When he spoke, he didn't deign to address Paarthurnax. "Seven days. And if he fails, I'll be glad to not have to sacrifice you," he told Argo. She merely nodded.

As he took the wheel, Paarthurnax's eyes stayed on the horizon. I trust you, mother. You do not strengthen my arm or quicken my spear, but you never, ever fail me.