Chapter 8 The Hero’s Quest
The Hero’s Quest
Jason
The air at the edge of Asphodelia’s mists tasted of iron and unearthed graves. A heavy, static hum thickened the atmosphere, making the hair on my arms rise. I stood on the deck of the Argo, pressing both hands flat against the wooden railing. The blighted oak groaned violently in protest.
My ship was a beautiful, terrible masterpiece.
I’d build it entirely from timber harvested from trees grown in the center of the Blighted Lands.
The black wood wept a thick, dark sap smelling of damp earth and rot.
Connected to the deep necromancy flowing through my veins, it was the only vessel capable of sailing the Acheron without dissolving into the lake’s endless hunger.
But even the Argo's unique nature couldn't completely protect it from the guardian of the Blighted Ones. Lake Acheron was a sentient entity, and its dark waters squeezed the hull of my ship with vicious anger. You don’t belong, I could practically hear it screeching, even as it tried to drag us down into its depths.
I ground my teeth, forcing another wave of my own dark necromancy into the decaying wood. The ancient carvings flared a sickly yellow, barely holding the dead waters back.
“The lower timbers are giving way, Captain,” Telamon warned. “We cannot hold on for much longer.”
To most, Telamon looked just like a regular person, a warrior loyal to a well-known hero of the Wilds.
But I’d stitched his soul back into his body after a spear opened his chest during the northern wars.
He was bound to me, even if he did have moments of doubt and willfulness.
A regrettable flaw, but one I didn’t have the time and patience to deal with now.
“Do not question my design, Telamon,” I snapped, the strain of channeling the magic burning the veins in my neck. “We need only wait until Medea fulfills her part of the mission.”
The ship pitched violently. Black water splashed over the deck, hissing as it struck the blighted wood. I glared out at the water. “You won’t beat me. Not now, when I’m so close.”
I’d been waiting for this moment for so long.
Ever since I’d dragged Medea’s infant body out of her dead mother.
Ever since I’d carved the binding into her womb.
Years of executions, of countless men and women turned to ash.
Years of preparing a weapon, specifically targeted at Asphodelia’s bride market.
“But Captain, Medea has been gone for some time. We have no way of knowing—”
“It’s impossible for those monsters to resist as delicious a dish as my Medea is,” I told Telamon.
“The people of Thanatos drool over the magic she emanates. They revere brides like her. But the moment they sink their teeth in, the moment she submits to one of their beasts, her power will burst free. It will tear this city’s weave wide open. ”
It was my only way in, the only method I’d discovered to pass through Lake Acheron’s nearly impenetrable defenses. The mists would have never parted for me. But decades ago, when my spells had first told me of Asphodelia’s bride market, I’d known that even this type of barrier had holes.
Medea had no real control over her nature and no understanding of what she could do. I’d made sure of it. She’d open the door for me, without even knowing it. She had no choice. It was in her blood, in her bones, in every fiber of her being.
The air over the lake suddenly shrieked, as if responding to my thoughts.
A massive wave of silver-blue energy erupted from the heart of the island.
The sheer force of it tore through the protective mists, a jagged arc of pure magic rocking the Argo violently.
Instantly, the crushing pressure of the lake vanished.
The sentient water went entirely slack against the hull.
I stood up straight, grinning. It had finally happened. The sanctuary of Thanatos’s chosen was open to me. The Fleece… The Golden Fleece was nearby. Yes, my prize was so close I could taste it.
“The veil is torn, Captain!” Peleus shouted from the front of the vessel. “The lake isn’t fighting us any longer.”
“Drop the anchors,” I commanded, raising my dark wooden staff high. “Lower the boats. We move now.”
The Argonauts worked with brutal, silent efficiency.
I took five of my best men. We rowed across the dark water, our oars dipping into the lake with rhythmic splashes.
The water thickened like syrup around the blades, passively resisting our passage.
I channeled my power into the oars, forcing the path open by sheer will.
We climbed onto the stone steps of the docks.
The sprawling city of monsters had descended into absolute chaos.
The glowing crystals lining the black marble streets flickered and cracked, raining sharp dust over the avenues.
The bronze torches sputtered, casting erratic shadows over the citizens.
The legendary predators of Asphodelia ran aimlessly through the thoroughfares, their eyes wide.
Countless monsters fell to the ground and dissipated into thin wisps of energy. “The Weave!” one cried as he started to vanish. “I can taste it.”
“Thanatos’s gift!” another croaked out in rapture.
They weren’t afraid of their imminent fate. They sought it, the solace of death, the truth only its ultimate finality could give them. But they didn’t understand that what they had here was infinitely more precious.
“Keep your heads down,” I instructed the Argonauts. “Leave the monsters be. We have a prize to find. First Medea, then the Fleece.”
We moved swiftly through the shadows of the tall, imposing basalt buildings.
I could feel Medea’s exact location, a burning beacon at the edge of the city.
With luck, she wouldn’t be difficult to retrieve.
Whatever creature had chosen her would be long gone by now.
She’d be easy pickings and would serve her final purpose.
From the main canals, we ventured into a sprawling garden of white flowers. Asphodels. The citizens of this dying city revered them as sacred symbols of the end. In the Blighted Lands, their quiet power told stories to whoever knew how to listen.
But I didn’t need to listen to flowers anymore, not when I ran into a scene straight out of my own fantasies.
Medea stood among the flowers, disheveled and half-naked. “Charon… Charon can save him,” she sobbed. “How… How do we get him to come?”
She was probably talking about her groom. Whoever he was, clearly she’d killed him. And she apparently cared about it. Adorable. “The ferryman is a little occupied,” I told her, unable to keep myself from mocking her ridiculous dream.
After all, no one could help Medea now, not when I’d found her. Not when I was finally within reach of my true goal.
Standing in front of Medea was the sphinx of Asphodelia. I hadn’t expected to find her here, keeping my little weapon company, but that just made things easier for me.
When I'd first heard about tales of the Fleece, I hadn't been sure what type of beast it could possibly come from. But then, I'd understood. The reason no one had found it before was because they'd been looking for the wrong creature entirely. Because the Golden Fleece was actually a pelt.
The Sphinx of Asphodelia was the first creature woven from raw death energy—a conduit of immense, ancient power. With Phix's pelt draped over my shoulders, I would command every thread of the dead.
Medea flinched and turned to face me. In the pale light of the asphodels, her skin looked ghastly. “Jason,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
I walked toward her, my men fanning out behind me. “Now, Medea… It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. I think you can call me Father.”
She clenched her jaw and shook her head. “That’s not what you are. I’ll never be your child.”
Except she was, no matter how much she hated it. “Regardless, I’m quite proud of you. You performed flawlessly, Medea. You broke the city’s walls exactly as I designed.”
Medea’s eyes went wide. “You… You did all of this on purpose? All along. You meant for me to come here.”
“Of course I did.” I chuckled. “You didn’t really think you could have escaped without my permission? I created you. You’ll never outsmart me, foolish girl.”
At that, the sphinx finally moved. She stepped gracefully in front of Medea, her obsidian wings unfurling with a sound like sharpening steel. “You are the one who is foolish, human. You have no right to walk these stones. What little power you think you wield won’t protect you from the Moirae.”
For a creature meant to be wise, the sphinx was awfully naive. “I don’t kneel to your Moirae. They can't touch me, nor can they save you. While your home bleeds, I will take your pelt to crown my ascension.”
Phix narrowed her eyes at me. “My pelt. You would go so far, you'd pervert the sacred energies of death, for something so trivial? How pathetic. You will find nothing but your own end here, necromancer.”
It was the only warning I got before Phix lunged. She was a terrifying blur of golden muscle and razor-sharp obsidian, and she closed the distance between us in a fraction of a second.
I stood my ground. Reaching into the very depths of my core, I seized the silver thread connecting me to Medea. “Kill,” I commanded.
The connection flared violently. Medea’s body snapped rigidly upright.
A choked, horrified gasp tore from her throat as her hands flew up entirely out of her control.
She tried to claw the power back, to shut down the conduit I had built inside her flesh.
But the binding was anchored deep within her flesh, and she had no way of fighting it.
A torrent of silver-blue energy erupted from her palms. It struck Phix mid-leap, hitting the sphinx in the chest.