Young Writers Society

Wren stared back. She knew enough about Greek mythology to recognize "Pan." But "translator?" Whatever the man was, he certainly wasn't a translator in the sense she was familiar with.

"What do you mean," she starting, pointing at the other man, who was still seated on the sand. "He fell? We dragged you out of the water; you're lucky you didn't drown!"

Wren passed a hand over her face. She had no clue how to make sense of the situation, but she supposed names would help. "Who are you people, anyway?"

Icarus opened his mouth to give an introduction, but the other man spoke before he could.

"I can't drown," he said. He said it matter-of-factually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and that it was annoying having to explain it to two people who were clearly out of the loop.

Icarus rushed to his feet. Sensing the tension between the two, he decided to play mediator. He had done that a lot, back in the workshop—his dad had never been the best with words, so the responsibility of calming the king's men had fallen on his shoulders a lot these past few years.

"My name's Icarus," he introduced himself. "I did fall, but probably not in the way you're thinking-"

Something clicked.

He looked back over at the man. He had said he had saved Icarus when he fell, but that didn't make any kind of sense. He had fallen over open ocean. He remembered the air rushing past his face, and remembered going unconscious right after hitting the water. Only his dad had been in the skies with him, and he hadn't seen anyone in the sea when he had looked down at it from the sky.

...So how could the man have even saved him?

The man held their gazes.

"I'm Poseidon," he said, arms still crossed.

A wave crashed against the shore behind him.

"I can't drown."

The statement immediately baffled Wren. What did he mean, he couldn't drown? He nearly seemed to do just that minutes ago. She opened her mouth to voice the question aloud but stopped when his companion spoke up to introduce himself.

He called himself Icarus. A lightbulb flashed in Wren's mind, bring back memories of learning about Greek mythology in high school (and during her subsequent mythology phase) The memories allowed her to recall the story of the father and son that built wings of wax, not unlike the ones before her, that were melted by the sun.

It was when the first man, Poseidon, finally introduced himself that she decided to throw her disbelief to the wind. The odds that two strangers were named after the ancient Greek characters were next to none. Wren sighed, forcing herself to admit that some sort of magic had to be at play.

"I'm Wren," she said, trying to suppress the slight shakiness in her voice.

When Wren introduced herself, all that Icarus could do was stare at her and the god that was only a few feet away. He knew it was impolite, but Icarus had never once expected to meet an actual deity. He hadn't even believed in gods before this moment.

But when Icarus thought about it, it just made sense. The man should have drowned when he was facing down in the water. Icarus should have drowned when he fell into the water. It could have just been magic, but Poseidon really did feel like a god.

How was Wren handling this so calmly?

“Wren is a strange name,” Poseidon said, arms crossed and a sour expression on his face. Icarus had felt sheepish when Poseidon had been rude to Wren earlier, but now he just felt a burst of adrenaline and fear. A god having an expression like that couldn't be a good thing, could it?

Wren scoffed at the snide remark. "I could say the same for you," she mumbled, returning the jab. The look on the young man's face was anything but pleasant. Why did Poseidon seem to dislike her so much? They had literally just met! And besides, she did just save his life. One would think he'd show even a little appreciation towards her and Icarus's efforts.

She glanced at Icarus, who wore an apprehensive expression, appearing as baffled as she felt. He was quiet, his gaze passing back and forth between Wren and Poseidon, almost as if he could see the tension between them.

What did she do to end up in this mess?

Poseidon's expression soured even more. Icarus, not wanting to get caught in the middle of an argument between a human and a god, took a large step back from the two. He kept waiting for Poseidon turn Wren into a fish or have the sea swallow her up. He didn't really know what Poseidon's go-to form of punishment was for mortals, but both of those seemed appropriate.

Poseidon looked at Wren for another moment.

Then he made an irritated noise, arms still crossed and expression still sour.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Wren huffed and stared down at her hands. As her frustration grew so did the soft glow at her fingertips. Air catching in her throat, Wren stuffed her hands into her pockets, hoping the others hadn't noticed. She didn't feel like having to explain that she glowed on top of everything else.

"We're about 30 minutes from San Francisco," Wren stated, deciding against pointing out the obvious and telling Posiden they were at a beach. It looked like she wasn't going to be shaking the two boys anytime soon, so it was probably best she at least try to be nice.

Then, she turned to Icarus. He seemed rather nervous, but also much nicer than his companion. "What happened to you?" She asked him. "How did you get here?"

Poseidon stared at the hands that Wren had just shoved into her clothes. Icarus didn't really see why—he doubted she was going to try fighting a god with her fists.

But Poseidon had furrowed his brow even before she spoke, and still seemed fascinated by her hands when Wren turned to Icarus instead.

"I..." Icarus's breath caught. "...fell. Into the water. We were supposed to be leaving, but I went to close to sky and-"

His voice broke, and he fell back into silence. He had heard his dad call out for him as he felt. He probably thought he was dead, or, worse—captured by one of the king's men while drifting unconscious at sea.

"Your hands are strange," Poseidon said. For the briefest of seconds, he looked over at Icarus with what could have almost been concern. But why would a god—especially one like Poseidon—care about a mortal? "And I've never heard of San Fransisco."

Wren's brows furrowed in concern for the boy. She wasn't exactly sure what Icarus meant when he explained he fell from the sky, but the worry in his voice as he trailed off was obvious.

Her concern, however, evaporated as Poseidon cut in. Wren's hands curled into tight fists and her eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean," she asked, hoping she could avoid any further comments on her hands. "You've never heard of San Fransisco? Where are you from?"

"The ocean," Poseidon said, scowling as he saw Wren curl her hands into fists. Icarus, admittedly, had been expecting a reply like Mount Olympus. That was where the gods were supposed to reside. Maybe Poseidon had some deep sea underwater palace? He had never been all that religious. He had gone to the temples with his father. King Minos had learned it wasn't wise to spite the gods.

But he hadn't actually paid that much attention to the gods, and certainly hadn't paid much attention to Poseidon. He had always been more drawn to Hephaestus.

"How far is San Francisco from Crete?" Icarus asked. He hoped it both was far and wasn't. He didn't want to be captured, but he didn't want his dad to think he was dead.

"The ocean," Poseidon grumbled. Wren hoped that she could eventually drag a better answer from him, but she knew she would have to pick and choose her battles with him.

Icarus, on the other hand...

"Crete?" Wren was baffled. "As in Crete, Greece?"

She quickly attempted to rationalize Icarus's statement, because it wasn't like he had swum all the way to California from Greece - that was over 6,000 miles!

"We're pretty far from Greece. Do you have family there?"

"I...I did," Icarus managed to get out, head spinning at the idea of being outside of Greece as well as Crete. The goal had always been to leave Crete, but to leave Greece as well-

"His family is still alive," Poseidon interrupted. Icarus paused and blinked. He suddenly realized just how badly his answer could have been misinterpreted. His dad wasn't dead. He was somewhere else now. Icarus would get back to him.

He had to get back to him.

"We left Crete," Icarus said. He glanced at the mangled wreck of twisted metal and melted wax near the shore. "We were over the ocean when we got separated. When I...I..."

He fell silent.

Wren's eyes flickered back and forth between the two young men as they spoke. As Icarus's voice faded into silence, her gaze drifted to the pile of wrangled metal and melted wax sitting in the sand. The wreckage almost looked like the broken wings of a bird, fallen from the sky...

Wings...

Holy sh-

Suddenly, the pieces of the strange puzzle before her began to click in her mind. Icarus...Poseidon...Crete...Falling from the sky...

"You're Icarus," Wren started, trying to keep the harsh suspicion from creeping into her voice. "As in the Icarus, who fell from the sky on metal wings?"

She turned to his companion, unable to suppress an incredulous scoff. "And I suppose that makes you Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea? Yeah, right."

Icarus took a step back.

The way that Wren was talking about him made it sound like he was someone important. Like he was known for falling from the sky, even though it had only just happened and only his dad had seen it.

(And maybe Poseidon, who had saved him, but that was besides the point.)

Maybe he should have been more worried about the look that Poseidon was giving Wren right now. Maybe he should have questioned why Wren seemed so sure of who he was—even though she also sounded like she didn't believe he was himself.

But it was so weird, and Icarus had honestly had a very long, tiring day up until this point.

"I am Poseidon," Poseidon said, voice an angry growl. He took a step forward. The waves started to hit a little rougher against the shore. "Why are you talking about Icarus like that?"

Wren huffed with frustration, an almost piercing light shining through the fabric of her pants pockets, but she didn't notice.

She took a step forward, coming face to face with Poseidon and mirroring his bitter expression. The waves crashed against the shore, stirring up frothy white bubbles. A seagull called in the distance.

"Look," she said, looking Poseidon in the eye. She took her hands out of her pockets. Her fists clenched at her sides, elbows bent slightly. "I don't know who you are or who he is. But if you're going to insist you're Poseidon, and if he's going to insist that he's Icarus, from Greek mythology, then I'm going to have to see some proof."

Wren held her stance for a moment longer before taking a step back. She was confused, and, honestly, annoyed, but she didn't want to start a fight. It was two-against-one; the odds weren't in her favor. She took a breath and the light encircling her hands dimmed.

She grabbed her phone from the sand, hoping it wasn't damaged during the commotion of pulling Icarus out of the water. Thankfully, besides a chip in the corner of the screen, it seemed to be okay. Wren powered it on and pulled up images of both Poseidon and Icarus, turning the screen so it faced outwards. She raised her eyebrows, inviting them to take a look and confirm their alleged identities.