Chapter 11 A Father’s Gift
A Father’s Gift
Jason
I had lost. Impossibly, against all odds, I’d failed in claiming my prize.
Gritting my teeth, I stumbled down the now strikingly silent Asphodelian streets. The echoes of Medea’s power had faded, and every step I took seemed more accusing than the last.
I’d more than outstayed my welcome. That much was clear. My only hope right now was that my daughter would keep the giant occupied for a while longer.
On shaky legs, I made my way to the Stygian Docks.
Telamon was gone, his skull crushed by the mindless bronze titan.
Hylas, Castor, and Pollux were now nothing more than red smears staining the sphinx’s asphodel garden.
In a single, devastating moment of hollow fury, the colossus had destroyed them all.
But the rest of my crew would still be waiting. The Argo would be prepared to take us home. Or so I thought.
The moment I braved the docks, the mists enveloped me whole. Lake Acheron’s distant power crackled over my skin, almost mocking me. “The hero Jason,” a sibilant echo of voices whispered in my mind. “How far you have fallen. You wanted our treasures. Now you’ll pay the price.”
I refused to let it get to me. Just a little further, and I’d be able to leave this accursed place.
As I’d hoped, the Argo waited at the edge of the docks.
I scrambled up the heavy wooden gangplank, dragging in ragged gasps of freezing air.
And that was when I realized it. Silence blanketed the deck.
Usually, the familiar sound of men’s voices and the clatter of bone dice filled this space.
Now, nothing remained except the heavy, deliberate lapping of black water against the hull.
The ship was entirely devoid of sailors.
No matter. I didn’t need people to make my escape. I had all the power I could ever want in my own veins.
“Wake up.” Pressing my hand flat against the mainmast, I poured a desperate surge of magic directly into the wood. The familiar, cold pulse of the ship’s spirit reacted to my touch. “We are leaving. Now!”
A deep groan echoed from the ship, like heavy bones shifting in a grave. Blighted timber shivered under my palm, desperate to obey. But the dark sails hung entirely limp. The heavy oars stayed firmly locked in their ports.
“I said move!” I slammed my fist against the wood, forcing my fading power deep into the timber.
Envisioning the Argo cutting cleanly through the thick mist, I willed us to leave this cursed island behind.
We needed to return to the Korinos Wilds.
I required time to rebuild my forces and find another way to claim the golden pelt.
The ship held perfectly still.
Lake Acheron began to churn. Heavy, ink-black swells rose around the hull, cradling the Argo with terrifying, deliberate gentleness.
I leaned over the dark railing and stared down into the roiling depths.
Haunting faces formed within the rising bubbles and foam, while thousands of ancient, freezing eyes stared up at me from the deep.
This sentient lake was actively holding the ship hostage against the docks. Not trying to chase me away anymore. Keeping me captive.
“Let go.” I forced the words through gritted teeth, my exhaustion bleeding into the freezing air. “I am the master of the Argo. I command the dead. I have the right to pass.”
The black water only tightened its hold on my vessel. “You have no rights here, mortal." The blighted wood began to splinter and creak in protest under the massive, unnatural pressure.
This time, I didn’t have the power to protect the ship from the lake’s anger. “Gods be damned… There has to be a way to get out.”
I was a master necromancer. I had crossed the boundaries of the world to conquer the secrets of the dead. The gods themselves should have bowed to my ambition. Instead, a sentient puddle and a hollow hunk of scrap metal had trapped me in this misty graveyard.
“Father.”
I spun around, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Heavy mist parted at the end of the gangplank, swirling rapidly away to reveal Medea.
She stood tall at the edge of the stone pier.
Her silver hair flowed loose around her shoulders like a halo of moonlight.
Her robes were torn, but the terrifying clarity in her eyes made the blood freeze in my veins.
The fragile, trembling weapon I had forged was entirely gone.
She watched me with the same cold certainty I’d heard in the Acheron’s voice.
But she was alone. And perhaps I could still twist this to my advantage.
“Medea.” I pasted a smile onto my face and straightened my back. “You came back. I knew you would realize these monsters have nothing to offer you. Come aboard. We can still leave. We will sail to Korinos, and I will find a way to fix what that construct did to you.”
She remained perfectly still, as if she weren’t even breathing. “The ship will not move, Jason. The lake knows exactly what you are. It will not allow your corruption to spread any further.”
I forced a sharp, barking laugh. “The lake is a force of nature, Medea. It does not possess morals. It simply waits for a stronger hand to guide it. Now, stop this nonsense and come here. I am rapidly losing my patience.”
I reached out with my mind, seeking the tether of the binding. It was a deeply familiar sensation, like reaching blindly for a well-worn tool. I felt for the knot of necromancy I had anchored deep in her womb. With her power at my fingertips, I could easily escape this place.
Almost immediately, I knew something was wrong. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t grab hold of her leash.
Frowning, I tried again. I pushed harder, pouring every remaining ounce of my dark magic into the mental command. Submit. Kneel. Obey.
Nothing happened. The connection was completely gone.
I stared at her in disbelief. The space where the binding should have anchored felt like a hollow, cauterized wound. The spell-work was woven directly into her living flesh. The only way to break the tether was to completely destroy the flesh holding it. “What did you do?”
Medea took a slow, deliberate step onto the gangplank, then another. Slowly, carefully, she climbed onto the deck. The Argo groaned beneath her weight, as if the ship were bowing to her.
“I broke your spell,” she said. “You can’t touch me any longer.”
She placed a pale hand casually on the railing. Once, the blighted wood would have turned into ash under her touch. Now, it seemed to almost lean into her hand.
“I took the death magic you cursed me with, Jason, and I turned it inward. I killed the future you planned for me. Now, nothing grows inside me except my own absolute will.”
“You are insane!” I took a step back, unable to believe my ears. “You threw away your entire future! You could have been the mother of a new race of kings. I built you for greatness, and you destroyed your own bloodline for a pile of bronze.”
Medea laughed. The sound echoed harshly over the dark water.
“You built me to be a weapon, not a mother.” Moving across the deck with the slow grace of an apex predator, she kept her dark eyes locked on mine. “I don’t want either role. I only want Aion. He looks at me and sees a person, Jason. He only ever saw Medea.”
“He saw a weapon and a target!” I pressed my back hard against the blighted wood of the mast, realizing I had nowhere left to run. “He is a hollow shell. You traded your existence for a creature who would happily destroy you!”
I had no idea why it hadn't already killed her, but it certainly would, soon. The colossus would track us down if Medea didn’t agree to leave Asphodelia. “Medea, you must see reason. You’re not safe here.”
“I’m safer than I’ve ever been.” The fierce, burning certainty in her eyes did not dim for a single second. “Aion gave his life to protect mine. Now, I am going to give him yours.”
I raised my hand, desperately scraping together the last dregs of my magic to cast a ward between us. Medea moved faster. She crossed the remaining distance in a blur of silver light, her hand shooting out to lock securely around my throat.
I braced myself for the freezing touch of the grave. I waited for my skin to wither to a grey husk, for the blood in my veins to dry into dust. That was the curse I had forged into her flesh.
Instead, a staggering heat seeped into my neck.
It held no reassurance, only a terrifying, bottomless hunger.
She bypassed the physical decay entirely.
Her magic reached straight past my skin and bone, sinking its teeth into the very center of my existence.
She was draining the necromancy directly from my soul.
“Stop.” I tried to claw at her arm, but all of a sudden, I could barely even move. “Medea… I am your father. I created you.”
“You are a parasite.” She leaned in close, her grip tightening like a vise of solid iron. “You lived on the death of others. You fed on my terror from the first moment I drew breath.”
I gasped for air, tasting only the heavy, metallic tang of my own blood. The edges of my vision darkened. The black water of the lake seemed to rise up over the railing, eager to meet the growing shadows in my eyes.
“I will rebuild him.” The sheer force of her declaration vibrated through the deck of the Argo. “I will take every piece of him you tried to break, and I will make him whole. I just need one last thing to do it.”
“What?” I croaked out.
Her free hand moved. She pressed her palm flat against the center of my chest, resting it directly over my heart. “This.”
A searing, white-hot intensity drove into my sternum like a molten spike. Then came the pulling. A massive, suffocating vacuum seized the inside of my chest.
“No.” The word died as a pathetic rattle in the back of my throat.
Paralyzed by a mixture of agony and horrific awe, I watched her fingers sink into my chest. They left the tunic and the skin unbroken.
Slipping past the ribs completely, her hand passed through the physical matter of my body as if I were made of heavy smoke.
I felt her fingers close firmly around my beating organ.
She looked at me while standing firmly between life and death. She commanded the threshold with absolute, terrifying authority. I had succeeded. I had made my masterpiece, and she was going to be the last thing I ever saw.
She pulled.
The pain shattered my entire understanding of agony. It ripped my history, my magic, and my identity straight out of my body. The threads of my long life snapped rapidly, severed one by one with the sound of breaking glass.
For a split second, my vision cleared. I saw my own heart clutched tightly in Medea's hand.
The organ pulsed wetly, looking incredibly small and pathetic against the backdrop of the blighted city.
But there was no rot, no damage she'd inflicted.
It was almost as if my daughter's necromancy had transcended the limitations of matter.
Then, Medea smiled at me. “Thank you for the gift, Jason. Rest assured that I’ll use it well.”
Perhaps I should have been terrified. Perhaps I should have screamed or begged. Instead, as I looked into her beautiful, merciless face, I finally understood.
It had never been my destiny to rule the city of the dead. I’d only ever been a sacrifice. In my arrogance, I’d thought I could trick the Acheron. I’d been a fool.
“We win, Jason,” the lake whispered in my head. Medea’s hand twisted around my heart one last time, and I knew no more.