The Sea Beyond Thule

Short Story

Haunted by a guilt he can’t admit even to himself and driven by jealousy, Pythaes drives his expedition every northward. But his obsession may lose him everything he ever wanted and doom everyone.

The Sea Beyond Thule

Dicaearchus has always claimed that the Kasiterides Islands lie to the west of Gaul. Dicaearchus is a fool. Let him sail to the west if he wishes, if he ever moves his fat arse from the library in Athens. No, the Kasiterides Islands are due north of Gaul. We left them behind two days ago, with a fair warm wind behind us.


I have calculated that the coastline of the main body of the islands is 40,000 stades long. You would not think it a quarter of that from Dicaearchus’s map. He was ever careless in his work. I burned his map and let the ashes flip free in the wind.


The natives call the Kasiterides Islands Pretannia. We stopped on the southern-most shore to lay on the cargo of tin my sponsor hopes will make him rich, but then we turned north once again. Sometimes, as we passed up Pretannia’s western shore, a ghost wind blew from the land. The ship’s master swung her wide then. He would not make landfall, even though we ran short of bread. He feared Pretannia’s savages. I told him that the Phoenicians trade up and down these coasts. If the Phoenicians do not fear the savages, why should we? But the fool refused to listen to me.


When we return, I vow to walk in the interior of these mysterious islands. Let Dicaearchus grovel at Aristotle’s feet. I will show them who should have been Aristotle’s student when I return with my discoveries.


The sun stays long in the sky as we sail further north. Sometimes, in the ever-shorter night, I wonder if the sun accuses me with its presence. But no, I tell myself. It was ever the fault of Dicaearchus, not I. I bear no guilt.


Three days north of Pretannia, the fog and cold close around us, swallowing the sun in a wet veil.
“We must turn back,” the captain says, his beard jutting like a finger at me.


“No,” I say. I turn my back on him and stare out over the rail to the ghostly shapes the fog forms.


“The sailors fear,” the captain says.


I do not look back. “Sailors always fear.”

Continue reading The Sea Beyond Thule in the At the Gates and Other Stories collection.