Chapter 20
Atalanta
Perhaps bears were not meant to love; we are solitary creatures, after all.
I washed myself in the sea, scrubbing away the ashes and the memories of Meleager’s death. The cold was bracing, a mercy amid
my grief. Far behind me, the other Argonauts shouted to each other, but I could not make out their words over the roar of
the sea wind.
My mind was made up: I would find Procris, and then we would leave the human world behind forever. I dismissed the goddess’s
prophecy that I would never know love without accompanying loss, but it didn’t matter because I would never love anyone again
other than her. Stepping from the water, I shook myself dry, then began to walk the path that led to the Colchian city. Jason
had ordered us to stay on the beach, but when did I give a fig for anything Jason said?
A flicker of movement on the path ahead. Two figures running full tilt; one of them was Jason, his lanky form unmistakable.
The other was a woman.
For a breathless moment I thought she might be Procris, though a better look disabused me of this notion.
The woman was too short, more generous of chest and hip, with darker hair.
Not to mention that she wore a long purple dress and too much jewelry, utterly impractical attire.
Whoever this woman might be, she was running as fast as she could, skirts hitched up and legs pumping beneath them.
I understood the reason for her haste when I caught sight of what rode behind her: armed Colchian soldiers, mounted on fine
horses and ready for war.
Medea
We had just drawn within sight of Jason’s ship when I heard the sound of hoofbeats, louder than my own racing heart. Risking
a backward glance, I saw the Qulhan cavalry covering our hard-won progress in a matter of moments. At the fore was Absyrtos,
his face contorted in rage.
A whimper of despair escaped my lips. We would never reach the ship in time; the warriors would be upon us in moments. I wondered
whether my brother would kill me outright or keep me alive under torture until I gave him heirs.
Arrows hissed through the air, embedding themselves into the ground around us. “Down, Medea!” Jason cried, throwing the Golden
Fleece over our heads. Another volley of arrows thudded against it.
So this is death, I thought numbly. What a fool I was, thinking I could ever escape this place.
A war cry rang in my ears and suddenly someone was there, leaping over us. Beyond the shelter of the Golden Fleece, I caught
a glimpse of strong legs and the flash of a spear, along with a long spill of tawny hair. I realized with a shock that the
warrior was a woman, the same one I’d spotted on Jason’s ship.
She was magnificent. I watched, awestruck, as she drove her spear into the chest of the horse closest to us, pitching its rider to the ground in a spray of sand.
Then she whirled to the next warrior, slashing him in the face.
A dance of death, executed as neatly as a temple ceremony.
For a moment, my fear was held at bay by awe.
The woman was like the war goddess Sekhmet come to life. But then one of the arrows grazed her arm and a red spring of blood
welled up in its passage. She clapped a hand over the injury, hissing through her teeth at the pain. Though fierce, she was
also mortal and could not hold off a contingent of Qulhan warriors alone.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to. Feet thundered past us as the rest of Jason’s crew arrived, surging forward to confront the
Qulhans. The screams of men and horses filled the air as the two sides collided.
Jason was beside me, a hand extended. “Come on, Medea!” he called over the din.
I forced my exhausted limbs into motion, scrabbling in the sand. The next thing I felt was the cold of seawater, then the
wood of the ship’s hull under my fingers. Strong hands pulled me on board, and I rolled across the deck, giddy with relief.
Briefly I wondered what happened to the fighting woman and hoped that she’d managed to get on board as well.
“Mind the hostage!” one of Jason’s men shouted, and a limp form landed heavily next to me. I was stunned to see that it was
Absyrtos.
A wave of terror swamped me, but Absyrtos was not the fierce warrior any longer. He looked dazed, his mouth opening and closing
like that of a fish.
What ails you? I wanted to ask. But then I saw the point of the arrow protruding from his chest and the pink tinge of the foam at his lips.
Not all the Qulhan archers had missed, it seemed.