Chapter 29
Jason
The stars shine brightly as the Argo drifts away from Lemnos. Jason stretches out beneath them, his skin prickling with the nighttime chill. How distant the stars
seem, and how comforting. His eyes trace the arc of the galaxias, the Milky Way. Unbidden, Jason recalls the legend that the
Milky Way formed from the spray of Hera’s breast milk across the sky, a thought that makes him feel both heretical and vaguely
nauseated. His patroness has blessed this voyage—he shouldn’t think about her that way.
Jason’s thoughts turn to his mother. He wonders what Alcimede would think of Lemnos, of these women who have cast out all
their men. Alcimede always did have strong opinions about proper behavior, especially for women. Certainly her hands were
never calloused by sword or spear. Though it would probably do Alcimede good, Jason thinks, not to rely on her son to fight
all her battles for her.
This thought feels even more heretical than his musings about the Milky Way. But he is saved from further consideration by
the appearance of a shadowy figure.
Medea.
Jason flinches at first, thinking of the way she stood with bloody axe in hand after the death of Absyrtos.
Then he remembers his manners and greets her, shaking off the Golden Fleece to drape it over her against the chill of the night.
Most of the crew is bedding down on the deck, muttering mutinously at being forced to abandon the festivities on Lemnos, but Medea does not seem tired at all.
“There is something I must ask you,” Medea begins, taking a seat next to him. She looks so small and vulnerable that Jason’s
heart immediately softens. She is only a girl far from home.
“You have saved my life more than once,” Jason replies. “Ask anything that you like.”
“There is somewhere I need to go,” Medea says, her shoulders drawing together. She takes a deep breath, then lets out the
rest of her words in a rush. “To the island of Circe.”
Jason blinks. Of all the requests he expected, this wasn’t one of them. He has heard stories about the island of Aeaea and
its mistress Circe from Tiphys and the more seasoned sailors. An image rises in his mind: a goddess surrounded by lions in
the light of the setting sun.
“Circe is my aunt,” Medea explains, and Jason’s mouth falls open. He recalls the rumored connection between the royal house
of Colchis and the sun god; it seems that this is more than just a story.
“Of course I’ll take you there. But we should go to Iolcus first, it’s only about a few days’ sailing from here,” Jason declares.
“We’ll bring back the Golden Fleece, I’ll claim my throne and marry you, and after that we’ll go to visit your aunt.”
This seems to Jason like a reasonable solution, but Medea’s face crumples and tears appear in her eyes. “No, we must go to
Circe as soon as we can,” she cries. “I cannot go on like this. I cannot become your wife like this.”
“What do you mean?” Jason searches Medea anxiously for some sort of injury, but he sees nothing amiss.
Medea squeezes her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around herself.
“I . . . I have lost my magic,” she says.
“I discovered it before we arrived on Lemnos. I tried to do a simple divination, the easiest thing there is, and found myself unable.” She lowers her head.
“I understand if you no longer wish to take me as your wife.”
But Jason is so relieved that he actually laughs. “That’s all? I’ll admit, having a witch aboard will be helpful if we encounter
any more fiery bulls, but the Argo was able to make the first leg of its voyage without the benefit of your magic. It doesn’t change my promise to marry you.”
“You’re not angry?” Medea asks, looking up at him.
“Why would I be angry?” Jason’s question is genuine. “Look at the Fleece. It has no magic at all, and yet I prize it. Why
do you think that you, who saved my life twice over, would be any less?”
A smile crosses Medea’s face, and she tucks her chin shyly.
“We will go to the island of Circe before we return to Iolcus,” Jason says. “Pelias can wait.”
“Thank you,” Medea whispers, her whole body relaxing.
In truth, Jason isn’t sorry to postpone his meeting with the cunning King Pelias, and the decision has the added benefit of
making Medea happy. Jason finds, almost to his surprise, that he very much wants to see Medea happy. She has had so little
happiness in her life.
He isn’t entirely sure how he will convince the crew of the necessity of this detour, especially after routing them from very
comfortable circumstances on Lemnos, but he will find a way. Jason is conscious of how much Medea has given up for him. This
is the one thing she has asked of him in return—how could he deny her?
The two of them sit together in companionable silence, gazing out at the sea. Jason is suddenly aware of Medea’s long-fingered hands gripping the Fleece. He remembers holding one of those hands in his as he fled from Colchis and feels the sudden urge to entwine his fingers with hers again.
“I never asked,” Medea says, “why you were seeking the Golden Fleece, though I’ve wondered.”
“I was given a quest to obtain the Golden Fleece and deliver it to King Pelias.”
“That’s an odd quest.”
“I don’t disagree. But it’s the only way for me to retake my rightful throne. Pelias killed my father and usurped the kingship,
so I must prove myself a hero to get it back.”
“That seems like rather a lot of work. It might be easier just to kill Pelias.”
“Perhaps,” Jason replies, a shiver running down his spine. He doesn’t like hearing Medea talk like this and quickly changes
the topic. “What was it that made your father prize the Fleece so highly? It has no special powers, as I mentioned before.
It is . . . a very ordinary thing.”
“I’ve never known for sure,” Medea says. “Aeetes didn’t share his private thoughts with me. But there’s something I once heard
him say to himself when he didn’t know I was listening. It was a cold day, and he pulled the Fleece around his shoulders and
muttered, ‘At last I have something of his.’ I think he was talking about his father, Helios, the sun god.”
Jason feels an odd burst of sympathy for the brutal king. After all, he knows what it is like to reach vainly for the love
of a vanished father.
“The Fleece came from one of Helios’s sheep, after all,” Medea adds.
“But never once did I see Helios pay any mind to Aeetes, and never did he visit or give gifts. Perhaps Helios was too busy making the day dawn or the sun move, or other godly tasks. Or maybe Aeetes grasped vainly for his father’s favor and went rotten with the striving.
But I don’t doubt my father is descended from the sun.
As for my mother, she is the goddess of magic and witchcraft, Hekate,” Medea finishes rather awkwardly.
Jason isn’t quite sure what to do with the knowledge that his future wife is of divine descent on both sides.
Sometimes Medea frightens Jason. Sometimes she seems closer to the gods than humanity, possessed of their power and strength,
like when she took the axe to her brother. But at other times she seems so small and sweet, a precious creature he wants to
protect. Jason thinks again of the feel of her hand in his as they ran through the Colchian palace, his only anchor in the
chaos. He is suddenly aware of how close he is to her, closer than he has been to anyone in a long time.
For a moment, Jason wonders if he will kiss her.
No, that would be indecent; they are not married yet. It would cast aspersions on Medea’s virtue, kissing one man on a boat
full of them. Abruptly, something else occurs to Jason.
“You’ve been sleeping out on the deck,” he says, slapping a hand to his forehead. Jason hadn’t thought of this before, caught
up in his own misgivings and unused to considering the needs of a girl. “Out on the deck, in the elements, in the cold. How
horrible of me! Take the quarters belowdecks that I sleep in, please.”
Medea shrugs. “The cold does not bother me. And Atalanta’s given me all the blankets I need. I’d take a bed if you had one,
but as things are, I am well.”
At least the hunter girl has been doing what she was told. Jason is looking forward to returning to his quarters—though he
would have given them up if Medea asked. But he finds himself wanting to stay with her.
“Did you know,” he says, leaning in conspiratorially, “Hypsipyle made me an offer of marriage and proposed to make me king
of Lemnos. I cannot think I would have survived long if I’d accepted.”
Medea looks at him in astonishment. “Well, that explains why Hypsipyle acted so strangely when I said I was betrothed to you. I wouldn’t have lived much longer than you if we’d stayed.”
A bleak thought, but for some reason it makes both of them laugh.
They continue talking through the night. They discuss many things, such as what they saw on Lemnos and their observations
of life aboard the ship. Gradually, the pressure under Jason’s skin dissipates, and his exhaustion lightens just a bit. How
wonderful it is, to speak and have someone listen. He can charm a crowd, but Jason is not used to this, to the simple warm
presence of another person by his side. He finds he enjoys it very much.
Medea
As Jason nodded off to sleep, I took the Golden Fleece from my shoulders and wrapped it around him. The cold of the night
could not touch me, because I felt warmed by a fire within.
Long ago in a moonlit garden, I’d bent the primordial powers to my will and demanded they bring me someone who loved me unconditionally.
That hope had died years ago, but now it rose again with the appearance of Jason.
Jason was so kind, promising to take me to Circe’s island and offering me every comfort. He hadn’t even been angry that I
lost my magic, which astonished me. I’d become accustomed to being discarded or pushed aside when I was not useful, and sometimes
even when I was. Certainly Aeetes and Absyrtos had prized me only for what I could give to them.
How different Jason was from the men I’d known. He was solicitous and sweet, and he would become my husband. The thought made
my belly flutter oddly.
Jason had been my escape and I had been his salvation, but perhaps we could become even more to each other in time.
I remembered the affection in Chalciope’s voice when she spoke of Phrixus, and as I brushed the hair back from Jason’s sleeping face, I wondered if we might find that too.
Already there was something about him that felt like home.
A shadow moved at the corner of my vision. I recognized it as the tall form of Atalanta, stalking away into the darkness.