Chapter 49
Medea
After the Argo departed Phaeacia, I went to find Atalanta.
She was neither at the oars nor in the private nook belowdecks where she’d taken refuge before. Instead, I discovered her
in the place we used to curl up together to sleep, near the folded sails. She sat hunched like an angry cat and glared balefully
when I appeared.
Fighting the urge to flee her obvious bad temper, I knelt. “We will be in Iolcus soon,” I remarked. “Tiphys says we will make
landfall in a few hours. Our journey is almost over.”
Atalanta gave no sign of hearing me, looking off into the distance as if I did not exist.
I forced myself to continue. It was the only way to show Atalanta that she wasn’t lost to me, to smooth over the obvious awkwardness
between us. “I hope you’ll still write letters like we promised. And you can come visit me in Iolcus anytime you like. Jason
won’t mind, I’m sure.”
At the mention of Jason, Atalanta’s expression curdled. “I will never set foot in Jason’s house,” she growled, her gray eyes
the color of a knife’s edge. “You’ve tied yourself to a millstone, and I will not be dragged down with you.”
She stood up and stormed away. I sat on the deck, disconsolate. Fine then, I wanted to shout after her. Do I mean so little to you that you would cast me away like this? I might be Jason’s wife, but I am still your friend.
Dark storm clouds loomed on the horizon, a sharp contrast with the bright sunlight that bathed the ship. I was finally safe,
with a husband and a bright future ahead of me.
But what did any of that matter, when I’d lost the person I cared for most?
We were within sight of Iolcus when the storm rolled in.
Not one of the little squalls that sometimes misted the deck of the Argo. No, this was a true storm, with rolling waves that pitched the ship this way and that and an angry sea that sheeted over
the deck, bearing away anything not carefully secured. Bolts of lightning arced far too close to the mast.
As the deck rocked back and forth, I was knocked from my feet and went skidding on my side across the slick wood. The rain
mingled with the sea until the whole world was water, and I could not tell which way was up and which was down. There was
nothing to do but dig my fingernails into the wood to avoid being pitched overboard.
“Medea!” Jason shouted over the gale. “Do something!”
“I can’t!” I cried, helpless before the wind and rain. My witchcraft took time to prepare, mixing the herbs and developing
the chants. I could not perform miracles on command, and I’d never had the chance to master weather magic.
All around I could hear calls to pull in the oars or draw the sails, interspersed with the slam of a wave on the deck and
the resulting spray of cold seawater. The deck jerked upward as the Argo followed a sea swell, making my stomach drop. I spat out a mouthful of salt and clung like a barnacle to a beam.
Eventually the nauseating lurch of the ship calmed, and I relaxed my white-knuckled grip. I must have drifted into unconsciousness,
because when I opened my eyes, it was to the blinding brightness of sunlight.
The Argo lay on its side. Beyond it, some of the crew stood milling about, peering at something. I slid off the angled deck and ran
to see what they were looking at.
Nothingness.
All around us were tidal flats stretching away into the distance. Here and there were puddles of brackish pools, reflecting
the cloudless blue sky like rotted holes in fabric.
Nothing but sky and sand and patches of undrinkable water as far as the eye could see. No animal moved in this wasteland,
and no bird flew.
There was no sign of the sea.
Atalanta
“What is this place?” I whispered, staring out at the wasteland as my terror grew. “How did we get here?”
“A freak wave from the storm must have stranded us far inland,” Tiphys said. “As for where we are, I cannot say. There are
no stars, so I can’t tell our location. I don’t know which way to reach the sea. We may be on the outskirts of the Underworld
for all I know, or fallen into a labyrinth of illusion woven by some angry god.”
For the first time on our long journey, I saw fear on Tiphys’s weather-beaten face.
“In a short while, the tide will come in and carry us back out to sea,” Jason said, always too quick to hope for the best.
“We only have to wait.”
But the tide did not come. The sun only grew hotter, so we took shelter under the bulk of the Argo. Our supplies were almost nonexistent: the amphorae of water brought from Phaeacia had been mostly lost in the storm, and
the bread was waterlogged and inedible.
We had no water, no food. No way out.
The sun climbed higher in the sky. Sweat dried on my skin, leaving behind the scaly residue of salt. Already I was parched
with thirst. Stunned by our circumstances, the Argonauts scattered to nap through the heat of the day, shambling off to curl
up in the shade of the ship like wounded animals. I followed suit.
My eyes opened when I heard the sound of footsteps.
Medea crouched nearby, her expression solemn. The sight of her filled me with a complex swirl of emotions: joy, anger, sorrow.
Unable to contend with any of it, I turned away from her and curled up on my side.
“When you taught me how to throw the spear,” she said, “you showed me more than the use of a weapon. You showed me that I
could learn something new, that I could try and struggle and eventually succeed, and claim power for myself. I’d never felt
anything like that before, not even with my magic.
“I know you’re angry with me,” she continued. “But try to understand why I did what I did back on Phaeacia, please.”
There was no way to tell Medea that understanding played no part in it, that my heart had been broken all over again like
a smashed gourd. That I wasn’t angry with her, only myself for loving her.
“You asked me to go with you into the forests,” Medea said.
“But it would never have worked out between us. I want a family, Atalanta. A husband and children, the happiness I never knew growing up. However much I like walks in the woods, I can’t live there forever, surviving off leaves and berries.
If I went with you, neither of us could have the lives we want.
“But we don’t have to be strangers. That’s what I was trying to get at before in my own clumsy way, and it’s even more important
now.” Medea lowered her voice to a hiss. “Atalanta, don’t you see we’re never going to leave this place? We are going to die
here, and the Golden Fleece will glitter among our bones.
“We are going to die here, and I will never see you again, because after my eyes close forever my mother Hekate will be waiting
for me. I’ll become a goddess and won’t be able to follow you into the Underworld where the mortal dead go. Don’t you see?
We will never see each other again.”
Her voice cracked with feeling, as if this were the worst thing she could think of, worse even than death. I longed to comfort
her but held myself firmly still.
“So sit with me, talk with me, even if for only a little while before death separates us forever,” Medea finished. “If not . . .
I suppose this is goodbye.” She stood in a rustle of skirts, and the sound of her footsteps led away.
Above, the sun bathed the world in a white blaze. A tremor ran through my facade of righteous anger, then a crack. Perhaps
I had been too harsh to Medea, letting bitterness and pride obscure our connection. She still cared about me, even if not
in the exact way I’d hoped.
A shadow crossed the sun, and Jason stood in front of me. Before I had the chance to ask what the hell he thought he was doing,
he handed me a waterskin that sloshed heavily.
“All the crew gets their share,” Jason said, “though we’re on strict rations. You didn’t look well, so I thought I’d bring
it to you directly.”
The water was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted, clear and crystal on my tongue. I eyed Jason. Perhaps he was not so useless if he insisted on fair rations even for someone he disliked. I drank half the water, then handed it back to Jason.
“Save the rest for Medea,” I told him. “Take care of her, look after her. Hold her close, even if there is only a little more
time to do it.”
To his credit, perplexed as he was, Jason simply nodded.