Chapter 50
Atalanta
After Jason walked away, I watched the distant clouds skid across the sky and pondered my next move.
I could spurn Medea’s attempt at reconnection and die without ever speaking to her again. In some ways this would be the easiest
path, not to mention the most familiar, severing myself from her as I had been severed from Procris and Meleager.
But I didn’t want it. When I drifted among the shades in the misty fields of the Underworld, bitter regret would not dog my
heels. Medea was my friend, she’d said so herself. She was not required to love me like a lover or accept my invitation to
run away into the forests. I would not be like Peleus, incensed by the fact that a woman did not want me.
I had run from so much in my life. I did not wish to run from her.
As I pondered how best to approach her, a shout rent the air.
Jason was sitting up, electric with excitement. “I have had a dream!” he called. “A goddess named Libya came to me, bearing
a message from the divine Hera. This was her message: ‘If you and your comrades repay your mother for all the pain she suffered
bearing you so long inside her womb, you may yet return to your home.’ ”
Nonsense words, empty of meaning. Yet when Jason spoke like this, alight with zeal, something about him made the soul prick up its ears. The other Argonauts were listening, stroking their beards thoughtfully.
“She said her name was Libya?” Tiphys inquired. “If we’re in the country of Libya, then all we need to do is head north and
we’ll eventually hit the sea.” He tracked the orb of the sun with one bloodshot eye as it lowered near the western horizon.
“But what’s all this about our mother?” Idas asked.
“I think I know,” Medea said, causing every head to whirl toward her. “The ship is our mother. The Argo carried us across the sea, and now it is our turn to carry her across the wasteland.”
A cry rose from the crew. We were weary and thirsty, but the possibility of cheating death filled us all with newfound energy.
Positioning ourselves around the Argo, we got our hands under it and lifted.
The ship was designed lightweight enough to be dragged to shore, and with the sum of our strength, it shuddered and rose into
the air. Objects fell out: sand, blankets, weapons, bits of armor, glittering treasure. With everything superfluous cast aside,
we began to run north.
It was hard work. The ship shielded us from the merciless sun, but there was no water to slake our thirst and no time to rest.
My arms began to tremble with the effort, and around me, the other Argonauts panted with exertion.
Jason was in front of me, Medea by his side. Suddenly, Jason missed his footing on the uneven terrain and staggered. Unable
to halt the forward motion of the Argo, he might have been trampled to death by his companions, bones crushed by their heavy feet and teeth broken on the stones.
Perhaps he would have perished—if I had not reached out to grab him and drag him back to his feet.
Lightning fast, and he was steady again.
I did it almost without thinking, as a reflex.
Jason looked as startled as I felt and mouthed a brief thanks.
Medea shot me a look of gratitude that made my heart sing.
Well, Jason was hers now, and I couldn’t simply allow him to perish, especially in such a stupid way.
We continued, like a beetle scuttling to safety. As our journey dragged on, I began to wonder if perhaps Jason’s dream was
mistaken, if this was a fool’s errand that would only hasten our inevitable deaths.
At that very moment, we crested a final dune and saw it.
The sea, shimmering before us like a promise.
For a moment, everyone was silent, struck by wonder. Then we began to run with renewed vigor, crying out, “The sea, the sea!” like children again, brought home by our mother.