Chapter 13
Jason
He hadn’t meant to kill Cyzicus, that is the simple truth. The night was so dark, and the storm had thrown off his bearings.
It was all a terrible mistake, an accident.
He didn’t mean to. And it doesn’t matter.
A bloodless hero, Chiron called him once. But now Jason’s hands are drenched in blood. Worse still, it is the blood of an honored host, a violation
of xenia and the laws of guest-friendship. Jason could not bring himself to kill Pelias, the king who murdered his father,
having neither the strength nor the stomach for it. But he has killed a friend, all unknowing, and shamed his father’s memory
and disgraced his mother’s name.
He will always be Jason the Helpless, it seems, standing one-sandaled before the king.
Jason can still see the way Cyzicus’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. To know that he is responsible for the man’s death is
a burden beyond bearing.
And yet Jason must bear it. He must make nice with the Doliones and preside over the funeral sacrifices, or else bring down
the wrath of the gods upon them all.
Only after all the proper rites have been observed does the Argo finally depart.
The next day, Jason shields his eyes from the brightness of the afternoon sun. The shell-like dome of the firmament is punctuated only by the tiny, dark forms of drifting seabirds, but high cliffs loom on the horizon.
The Argo has arrived at the Hellespont, a narrow neck of water between two outcrops of rock, separating the Greek islands from the
barbarous nations clustered around the Euxine Sea.
The infinity of the ocean narrows to a single point between soaring walls of stone. The Hellespont takes its name from Helle,
a young girl who died there. Jason knows the story: Helle fell off a flying ram sent by her mother, Nephele, to save her children
from their cruel stepmother. This same ram was the source of the Golden Fleece, the object of Jason’s quest.
As the ship slides into the shadow of the high rocks, the deck goes silent. Normally there is constant noise on the Argo—laughing, singing, cursing. But now the crew is silenced by the immensity of these walls of stone, knowing that they are
passing beyond a boundary that cannot be crossed again.
Jason can see layers of different sediment in the great walls that rise up around him, like the growth rings of a tree. Embedded
in the stone are the bones of ancient sea creatures, appearing in spirals and fragments. He is suddenly afraid that the rocks
might clash together like two clapping hands, leaving the Argo a smashed insect between them.
Instead, the Argo drifts out of the Hellespont, sunlight bathing the deck once more. They float into the Sea of Marmara and from there will
pass through the Bosporus into the Euxine Sea. They have come to the edge of the known world, where anything might be possible.
Only a few days’ journey to Colchis now.
Jason’s reverie is cut short by an abrupt cry of pain. He turns to see Meleager, the Calydonian prince, bent nearly in half and clutching his middle. This is not so unusual; seasickness of varying intensity often affects members of the crew. The odd thing is the fact that Meleager is smoking.
Atalanta
I was fletching arrows when I heard Meleager’s cry. My head snapped up, and in a flash I ran across the length of the ship,
my feet drumming on the deck.
Would it have made a difference if I’d been there in the moment the fire took him? Would I have been able to stop it? The
possibility always haunted me afterward. I careened around the mast and froze in horror at what I saw: a scattering of Argonauts
watching helplessly, and Meleager wreathed in flames.
He burned more quickly than wood, as though his body offered something delicious to the fire. Flames danced along Meleager’s
arms and torso, quickly enveloping him. In a moment, Meleager was a man-shaped conflagration. Through the veils of shimmering
heat, my friend reached out a hand.
By the time I reached him, Meleager was nothing more than a light fall of ash blown across the deck.
No no no. I tried to scoop up the ash, heedless of the scalding heat, but it fell through my fingers like sand.
I buried my fingers in my hair and began to scream.