Chapter 34
Jason
Aeaea, the sorceress’s domain, does not come into view slowly like other islands. Instead, it appears suddenly on the horizon
like an ambushing lion. A hawk circles lazily above it, feathers fanned out against the flawless blue sky.
“When was the last time you saw your aunt?” Jason asks, trying to lighten the suddenly tense mood that has fallen over the
ship.
“I have never met her,” Medea replies, looking at the island. “I wouldn’t even have known she existed if not for something
my sister Chalciope once said.”
“Ah,” Jason says uncertainly, considering the wisdom of turning up unannounced on the doorstep of a sorceress.
The Argo drifts toward shores covered in abundant foliage. A shale beach rises up to a sandy plateau, terminating in dense undergrowth.
Tiphys sets the ship at anchor, unwilling to risk bringing them to shore. The crew is edgy, like horses catching the scent
of wolves.
Jason steels himself for the ordeal ahead, donning his armor and taking his spear in hand. When he returns, he finds Atalanta
standing next to Medea, fixing him with an insouciant glare.
“You weren’t planning on coming ashore, were you, Jason?” Medea asks, taking in his attire. “Circe’s island is far too dangerous
for men.”
Jason, glorious in his armor, wilts a little.
“But I will take that, please.” Medea points at the Golden Fleece. “Circe will know what happened when she sees it and what I need from her. It is the best way. I will bring it back soon, don’t worry.”
Reluctantly, Jason hands over the Golden Fleece to Medea, watching as she descends with Atalanta into the water. This is a
reversal of the natural order of things—the man observing from safety as the woman dives headlong into danger. Jason burns
with a double shame: for being the sort of man whose wife must strike out alone on such a hazardous undertaking . . . and
for the relief he feels at being spared the risk himself.
Awkward in his armor, Jason watches as Medea cuts her way through waist-deep water to the shore, the Golden Fleece glowing
around her shoulders. And he wonders if he will ever see either of his treasures again.
Atalanta
When we find Circe,” Medea said as we splashed along the shore of Aeaea, “don’t speak, don’t say a thing to her. Let me handle
the negotiations. It’s best if she invites us in herself—and she will, I’m sure, when she sees the Fleece. She must hate Aeetes
for exiling her.”
A dubious plan, but I would follow wherever Medea led. I squinted at the scrub that lined the island, certain that the shapes
of animals moved in the underbrush. In deference to Medea’s instructions I had not brought any weapons, but now my hands itched
for a spear.
We rounded a corner, coming upon an inlet surrounded by trees whose long branches reached forward to brush the water. There,
in the center, was Circe.
She was naked, her spine sweetly curved like the stem of a flower, splashing water over her arms and torso.
As we watched, she cupped more in her hands and poured it over her face.
Her tawny hair, marked with a strange, striated pattern, lay slick against her bare shoulders. She turned to look at us.
Her eyes were startling yellow gold, a color I had only seen before in the eyes of Medea. I felt a flare of embarrassment
at intruding on such a private moment, but Circe seemed utterly unbothered.
“Hello, Aunt Circe,” Medea said softly. “I’m Medea, Aeetes’s daughter.”
Circe studied us serenely. If there was a flicker of surprise on her lovely face, it was quickly consumed by curiosity. She
began to walk toward us, water parting around her thighs. She was all voluptuous curves and manifold softness, her generous
breasts jumping slightly as she walked. My skin suddenly felt too warm, and I averted my gaze.
Medea laid a hand on the Fleece, which hung around her shoulders. When Circe noticed it, the sly smile faded from her face.
She looked at Medea questioningly, one eyebrow raised. Medea nodded.
“Come with me,” Circe said, her voice oddly hoarse. “And I will give you what you need.”
She headed to shore, to the tree where her chiton hung. I watched Circe’s hips sway as she walked, round buttocks lifting
out of the water like the rising sun.
Animals waited for us nearby. Some of them I recognized—wolves, lions, and wild cats—but others were strange composites with
the mingled traits of different animals. A few were sluglike and ill-defined in form, leaving trails of slime as they crawled
along the ground.
“My pets,” Circe explained. “Transformation is a difficult process, and not every batch of tincture is a success. Sometimes I have done better and other times I have done worse.” She paused to admire a creature with a swan’s neck but the mouth of a shark.
Circe led us to a house with floors of smooth marble and a central fire that illuminated a fine wooden table. Most of the
animals stayed outside, but one of them—a rabbitlike creature bearing antlers and a small pair of wings—came in with us and
flopped down on the floor nearby, stretching out on its belly as serene as a Sphinx.
All my instincts screamed at me to leave this place where unspeakable shapes darkened the door, but Medea sat down stiffly
at the table, and I joined her. Whatever dangers awaited us here, I would not let Medea face them alone.
Nymphs appeared, minor goddesses of the natural world. They came bearing wine, fresh water, and cups. I accepted one, but
Medea elbowed me sharply in the ribs, so I did not drink.
I could not take my eyes from the sorceress. Though perhaps only an illusion, a faint luminosity seemed to emanate from Circe’s
skin, filling the house and bending the shadows to her will.
She met my gaze, a faint smile on her lips. One of the nymphs drew close to Circe, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Never
taking her eyes from mine, Circe’s lips quirked. When the nymph moved away, Circe grabbed her wrist. The nymph giggled, allowing
Circe to pull her closer.
Circe kissed the nymph, long and slow like a lover; the kind of kiss that leaves lips tender and bruised.
A lightning bolt went through me, recalling Procris and our nights of passion. The laughing nymph slipped out of Circe’s grasp
and ran off to join the others.
“Aunt,” Medea hissed, pressing one long-fingered hand to her chest.
“Don’t be prudish,” Circe chided, wearing the self-satisfied look of a well-fed cat. “It’s your fault, really, for guiding that ship full of strong, handsome men to my island and not deigning to bring a single one of them ashore. I love my nymphs, but I simply adore a bit of variety.”
“They say you turn men into pigs,” Medea muttered darkly.
“Men are already pigs,” Circe replied lightly. “I simply make the outer part match the inner. Though it’s not only men I like.”
Circe’s eyes flashed toward me. “What is your name, beautiful one?”
My lips fumbled over an answer. “A-Atalanta.”
“She is my friend and fellow traveler,” Medea explained. “Don’t harass her. Now, if we may—”
“Atalanta,” Circe echoed, ignoring Medea. The sound of my name in her mouth was like a caress. “I have a proposal for you.
Stay here with me. Share my bed, and I will give you anything you desire.”
I was suddenly too warm, strangling with heat. Share my bed. I felt drunk, though I had not consumed a drop of wine.
Medea was sputtering with indignation, saying something about hospitality and the harassment of guests, but Circe continued
to ignore her.
“I could give you what you long for,” Circe said to me, her golden eyes hypnotic. “I am mistress of the art of transformation.
Once we have taken our pleasure from each other, I can give you the shape you were meant to have.”
The shadow of a bear rose along the wall, towering over us and slowly fading.
“How . . .” I whispered, remembering my heart’s first desire. How did you know?
“You have the look of a hunter and you smell like the forest,” Circe replied. “Of course you would not wish to be human.”
Once, long ago, I’d prayed for Artemis to make me into a bear, craving the easy sense of belonging I thought would come from choosing the animal world. But now I understood that things were not so simple.
“My apologies, lady,” I said, lifting my hands palms up like an animal showing its soft underbelly. “But I must decline your
offer. The bear shape would never really be my own, would it, but a gift that could be rescinded at any time. I would become
only another one of your creatures, the scope of my life measured out by the bounds of this island. However benevolent your
rule, you are the ultimate queen and mistress of this place, and I am not anyone’s subject.”
Circe’s gaze held mine. “I see.”
“Besides,” I continued, “whatever form I take, I am a bear in my innermost soul. Those who know me will see me as I am, and
to hell with all the rest.”
“Are you saying I should go to hell?” Circe asked, eyebrow raising.
I shook my head. “No, my lady. As a goddess, I do not think that is even possible for you.”
Circe stared for a moment, then threw back her head with raucous laughter. “Oh, you’re a witty one. I like that. You really
will not stay with me?”
“No. I am here to fulfill a vow made to your niece, nothing more.”
“A vow? How gallant. And how very, very interesting.” Circe’s eyes slid to Medea.
“Stop it!” Medea brought down her hand on the table, causing Circe’s antlered rabbit to flee from the room like a shooting
star. “I’ve come here with a purpose. By the kinship of the Heliades, I call on you to offer purification and expel the miasma
that has settled upon me.”
Circe sighed and stretched lazily. “Very well,” she said, beckoning to the attendant nymphs waiting in the wings. One by one, they brought in the instruments of purification, including a live piglet. I found myself wondering if the little thing had begun life as the child of a sow or a human woman.
A shiver ran down my spine, and I felt as though I’d escaped some sort of trap. But as Circe’s eyes lingered greedily on the
Fleece, I knew that we were not yet safe. Glancing sidelong at Medea, I prayed to Artemis Far-Shooter that a witch would know
how to outsmart another witch.