Chapter 61
Atalanta
Rain fell down in silver curtains, rendering the outside world a distant blur. Water pooled into small lakes just below the
roof and turned the dusty roads into cold, oozing mud.
Inside the abandoned farmhouse where Melanion and I had taken shelter, a fire crackled merrily. The half-collapsed roof let
in a steady drip of rain but also provided an escape for the smoke that rose from the fire. Both Melanion and I stripped off
our damp clothes and hung them over the flames, where they gave rise to clouds of steam.
I was in a sour mood. Not because of the rain, but the delay it represented. We’d come here at the request of the king of
Thebes to hunt a hydra, and the success of this endeavor was evidenced by a sack in the corner containing the beast’s head.
I was impatient to present this trophy to the Theban king, receive my reward, and get on with the next step of the journey:
visiting Medea in Corinth.
The very thought made me feel like I had swallowed lightning. For the first time since the end of the Argo’s journey five years before, I would see Medea face-to-face. We’d exchanged letters in the interim, and she’d been full of
useful wisdom about raising a son. Indeed, she was the one who recommended leaving Parthenopaios with Melanion’s mother so
that we could get some time alone. But it would be different to see her, to sit and talk together as we once had.
Itching with impatience, I poked at the fire so that it would burn hotter and dry our clothing more quickly.
Melanion sat next to me, reaching out to rub the chill from my bare limbs.
Surprised into a smile, I reciprocated the gesture.
How enthusiastic Melanion had been when I suggested visiting a friend in Corinth, though I did not reveal all that Medea and I once were to each other.
It was cold in the ramshackle farmhouse, and Melanion and I had to rub each other quite vigorously to keep warm. We pressed
our bodies close, shivering and laughing at the same time. The firelight bathed our bodies in a golden glow.
A statue loomed in the darkness at the edges of the room, its shadow flickering slightly.
Heat rose in me, spreading through my belly like the intoxication of wine. Eros, desire, pure and simple. I looked at Melanion
and saw an answering heat in their face, lips parted and cheeks lightly flushed. We moved toward each other, entwining our
limbs, finding the best of all possible ways to keep warm in the cold.
Then I looked up and saw the woman watching us.
She had ink-black hair and honey-brown skin, and was so beautiful that my breath left my lungs. But with the appreciation
of her beauty came fear, because she was too perfect to be mortal. Furthermore, she was angry.
I screamed, prompting Melanion to startle as well. Melanion rolled off me, and we clung to each other in the face of this
sudden apparition.
“How dare you desecrate one of my temples?” the apparition demanded. “It’s been subject to neglect, true, but there’s no need
to rub salt into the wound.”
The interior of the building came into focus more sharply.
I noticed for the first time the faded fresco of doves dancing around the intact portions of the ceiling and the cult statue that presided over a corner, its features too worn to make out but its shape recognizably feminine.
With growing horror, I realized that what I had taken to be an abandoned farmhouse was in fact a decommissioned temple.
The goddess peered at Melanion. “Oh,” she said with obvious distaste. “It’s you.”
Melanion tensed in my arms. “Aphrodite,” they began, “I am so very sorry . . .”
Oh, my dear one, I thought, what have you done?
“Really, Melanion,” Aphrodite began with a huff. “It was bad enough that you never paid up after I gave you those apples,
and now I find you like this?! In one of my temples, no less! Unbelievable. Well, if you are going to act like animals, then animals you shall be.”
She raised a long-fingered hand, and fear flashed through me. I thought of little Parthenopaios, my precious son, left to
grow up without a mother. I thought of Medea, who would spend the rest of her life waiting in vain for a response that would
never come. I knew with grim finality that I would never make it to Corinth.
But I did not die. Instead, I watched my hands change, fingers shrinking and contracting into paws. Fur sprouted all over
my body. I tried to scream, but my vocal cords had changed and a snarl was all that emerged.
Something was happening to my companion too. I found myself looking into a furred face, topped by a triangular nose. Whiskers
twitched, and the velvety cups of ears swiveled toward me. The lion’s golden eyes were wide with shock.
I could see myself reflected in those eyes, my own face turned leonine through the wrath of the goddess.
My mind was changing to suit my body, my thoughts becoming simpler and more direct, but the divine curse was so close to my
childish wish that I nearly laughed at the irony.
So close! was my last human thought. So close, but still not a bear.