Chapter 36
Atalanta
Once we were safely aboard the Argo, I bundled Medea away to a spot on the deck near the folded sails, where there was some measure of privacy. I held her as
she wept, tears staining the front of my tunic. There was nothing I could offer her but my presence. Fortunately, it seemed
to be enough.
Her weeping eased eventually, though I continued to hold her. My arm went numb; I ignored it. Distantly I heard Jason shout
an order to the rowers and felt the Argo jolt into motion. The slap of oars on water took us farther and farther from that island of half-formed creatures and their
beautiful, dangerous mistress. I remembered Circe’s proposal—share my bed—and a finger of fire ran down my spine. Pushing this from my mind, I considered the twining intrigues of the Heliades and
thanked Artemis Far-Shooter that I had no human family.
Eventually Medea’s breathing smoothed into sleep. Her chest rose and fell against mine. Exhausted after Circe’s island, I
found myself drifting off as well, lulled by the familiar rocking of the ship.
When I woke, it was nighttime. My arms were still around Medea, as if my body did not want to let her go. The stars glowed
in the sky, and the creak of the ship’s wooden hull was the only sound.
In my arms, Medea shifted. She’d turned over in her sleep so that her back was to my belly and she was spooned against me, which worked quite well because I was so much taller than her. My chin rested on the top of her black curls, and we looked up at the stars together.
“Why do you always want to sleep outside?” she asked, turning to look at me. “Why don’t we find a space belowdecks, where
the dew won’t settle on our skin?”
“I like the stars,” I said, thinking of nights in the bears’ den. When I was little, I would disentangle myself from the mass
of cubs to crawl toward that sliver of sparkling darkness until the mother bear called me back with a grunt.
Medea scoffed. “Spoken like a true bear.”
It is difficult to convey how these words affected me, cracking open my heart and mending it all at once. I felt seen into
the innermost recesses of my soul, no part left out and none found wanting.
“I suppose there’s something to be said for the view,” Medea added, snuggling closer.
“You could go below, if you wanted,” I hazarded.
“And fall asleep surrounded by all those snoring, farting men? No thank you. Being with you is far better.”
Warmth spread through my belly like wine. It took me a moment to recognize its source: Being with you is far better.
In the morning, she and I watched together as light came back into the world.
“When I first saw you on that beach in Colchis,” Medea said, “I did not expect to share sunrises with you.”
“I did. It’s unavoidable on the open sea.” I glanced at Medea, tracing the details of her face. “What I didn’t expect was
that I would enjoy them so much.”
She lay back down, but I continued to stare into the gradually increasing light of morning. Further sleep eluded me. A terrible thought had taken up residence in my mind: that Procris, seeing me here, would not be pleased with how very much I’d come to enjoy Medea’s company.
The spear clattered against the mast, its sharp tip catching the wood before falling limply to the deck. A few of the crew
hung around, watching idly but making no comment.
“Whoa, Medea!” Jason called, raising his hands in an exaggerated gesture as he approached. “Be careful, I wouldn’t want to
see you hurt.”
Medea brightened at Jason’s appearance—much to my dismay. “I am being careful,” she told him, eyes demurely lowered. When Jason was with Medea, I found myself wishing to be anywhere else.
Ordinarily I would have stalked away, either to take a shift on the rowing deck or to find a quiet corner until they were
done speaking. But Medea still held my spear and I did not want to leave without it.
“I trust that your trip to Circe’s island went well?” Jason said, as if it had been an ordinary family visit and not Medea’s
only chance to expiate the pollution she had taken upon herself in order to save him.
“It went very well indeed,” Medea replied, as if she had not bathed my tunic in tears the night before. “I am restored to
myself.”
“That’s good, very good.” An awkward pause, as Jason tried to figure out what to say next. “So if we need any weather magic,
we will go to you?”
“I don’t know much about weather magic,” Medea replied. “A disadvantage of growing up in a city. But healing small injuries,
divinations, spells to find lost things—all these I can do. Oh, and, of course, if you need anyone changed into a dragon.”
They both laughed at this. Even I, sitting forgotten nearby, cracked a smile.
As though it had only just occurred to him, Jason said, “Oh! And might I take back the Golden Fleece, now that it has served
its purpose?”
Once she gave him the Fleece, Jason disappeared, leaving Medea to stare after him with an obvious longing that set my teeth
on edge. Seeing Jason walk off with the Fleece reminded me unpleasantly of the men who had torn down the pelt of the Calydonian
boar.
“Perhaps Circe wasn’t wrong to turn men into pigs,” I muttered under my breath.
Medea looked up at me, snapping out of her daze. “Atalanta, I want to thank you for showing me how to use this,” she said,
indicating the spear, “and for going with me to Circe’s island. I apologize for her untoward comments and harassment.”
Share my bed. The memory invoked a prickle of heat across my skin. “Her offer was not entirely unwelcome,” I replied.
Then I rose to my feet, knowing I’d said too much. Medea was staring at me acutely, trying to figure out what was behind my
words. Procris would be furious if she knew I’d entertained Circe’s offer—but Procris, I recalled, had a husband of her own
when she’d met and made love to me.
Not wishing to answer any of the questions that hovered on the tip of Medea’s tongue, I went belowdecks for my shift at the
oars. It was only later that I realized, in my haste, that I’d left my spear with Medea after all.
Medea
What did Atalanta mean, saying that Circe’s offer was not unwelcome?
I pondered this as I stared out at the sea.
Certainly she didn’t mean that prurient comment about sharing a bed.
Well, more than just sharing a bed—Atalanta and I did that, after all, or at least a bedroll on the ground, and there was nothing at all scandalous about that.
Circe had been referring to a very specific thing that happened when some people shared beds—namely, sex.
I fanned myself, suddenly unbearably warm.
Perhaps it was the offer of transformation that intrigued her, and some part of Atalanta still longed to be a bear. Yes, that
must be it. Maybe I could make something for her, now that I had my magic back, some sort of short-acting potion—a tincture,
perhaps, like Circe had mentioned . . .
My thoughts were interrupted by a discreet cough. “Erm, miss.”
Castor and Polydeuces stood there, peering at me nervously. “Excuse us, miss,” Polydeuces said, his hands clasped in front
of him and his expression beseeching. “We were hoping you could help us with something.”
The last time I’d seen Polydeuces, he’d cracked open the skull of the Bebrycian king during their ill-fated boxing match,
but I was not one to hold a grudge. Mostly I was relieved that the crew harbored no anger toward me about the detour to Circe’s
island. “What is it you need?” I asked.
“We heard that you can see into the future,” Castor said, more animated than his brother. “Can you find out which one of us
will become king of Sparta?”
I smiled and told them to bring me a gull. Once they did, I opened it to inspect the entrails.
“Neither of you will rule,” I said. “That distinction will go to another man.”
Their faces fell. “Told you,” Polydeuces said to his brother. “Tyndareus would never choose either of us to succeed him. He says we’re bastards, even if we’re the sons of Zeus. He’ll probably give the throne to baby Helen’s future husband.”
A surge of sympathy filled me. For all that Castor and Polydeuces were bloodied warriors, they were also simply . . . boys,
enduring the opprobrium of a cruel father. And I knew very well what that was like.
“Glory will attend you all your days, and you will be remembered as great heroes,” I added. This statement was not entirely
supported by the divination, but seemed a logical conclusion. Besides, it ensured the brothers went away in good spirits.
Not long after Polydeuces and Castor left, another shadow darkened my patch of deck. Heracles stood there, with Hylas by his
side.
“He does not sleep,” Hylas explained, pointing to Heracles, who hunched his shoulders and looked off into the middle distance.
“Nightmares dog him. He is too proud to ask you himself”—this was accompanied by a sharp glare at Heracles—“but if you know
any charms for good rest, please favor my lord with them.”
I sent Heracles away with a dash of wine blessed with a traced sigil of the moon, which governs sleep. Not a very potent spell,
but enough to tide him over until I could gather more appropriate herbs when we came to shore.
As I handed the brew to Heracles, I got a good look at him for the first time. Sorrowful eyes peered out from the gray-streaked
mass of his untamed hair and beard, and a presence had settled over him. I recognized it from Lemnos and from my own experience:
miasma, so old and strong it was nearly baked into his skin, impossible even for someone like Circe to eradicate entirely.
It took all my willpower not to flinch away.
Nightmares dog him, Hylas said. It was clear why they did.
Other members of the crew came to me with hearts in hands, asking favors of the resident witch.
It reminded me of being at the temple of Hekate again, ministering to the people who came there.
I dispensed small charms and divinations, and transformed a few ropes into arrows for better defense.
Sometimes I declined the requests, as when I told Zetes that I would not transform him into a dragon, since it would disrupt his ability to pull the oars, and besides, he could already fly. At other
times I gave advice rather than magic, as when I told Peleus he should leave Thetis alone when he asked me to locate his former
wife.
In this way I became one of them, after a fashion. An Argonaut like all the rest.
Atalanta
I came up from the rowing deck to find Medea surrounded by the crew like a court lady. Jason hovered nearby, watching over
her.
The sight made me feel strange. This was Medea in her element, the focus of a throng. She was the leader’s future wife, and
a princess, and a true lady. She had a place in this world far more than I did. A reminder that, however much I enjoyed her
company, it would soon come to an abrupt end with the termination of the journey. Medea would go into the city to live with
her husband, and I would return to my forests. The thought made me feel oddly melancholy.
Medea caught sight of me. “Atalanta!” she called, waving. “Shall I do yours next?”
A divination to find Procris. This was the very reason I’d sworn to help Medea, at least at first. I’d wandered long in the
hopes of finding Procris, but now that I had come to the threshold, I felt myself pulling back. Even if I found Procris, this
would not address the fundamental issue of why she’d left in the first place.
“Not now, I think,” I told Medea, and fled back down to the rowing deck.