Chapter 20 #2
As she looked up at him, she noticed a dark curl had escaped from the jaws of the lion hide to twist against his temple.
She hadn’t thought it possible, but he surpassed his likenesses painted on pottery and stone.
He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
Doubt began to weaken her resolve. Perhaps she’d imagined the prophecy stone burning her side when he appeared, perhaps she was nothing more than a delusional girl caught in the thrall of his fame.
“The lion had blue eyes. Your eyes. I have felt the will of the gods and I know destiny’s voice when it speaks. I am to accompany you on your journey across the Black Sea.”
“She’s been spying on us!” The woman’s knife returned to Danae’s throat.
“Atalanta.” Heracles’s voice was the thunder before a storm.
Atalanta glared at Danae, but she lowered the blade.
“Above all things we honor the gods.” Something danced behind his eyes and she wondered if he was being entirely truthful. “What is your name, Seer?”
“Daeira.”
“Daeira.” The way Heracles spoke the name sent a shiver down her spine. “You may travel with us for now, and we will see if your company proves useful.”
“Heracles—” Atalanta began, but the hero raised a hand to silence her.
“I have made my decision.” Heracles gestured to his companions.
“This is Telamon.” He pointed at the flame-haired man, who winked.
“Atalanta.” The woman sheathed her knife in a strap on her thigh, still smoldering with mistrust. “Hylas—” the younger man smiled “—and Dolos, our healer.” The gray-haired man frowned, as though he didn’t quite know what to make of her.
“They’re not bad company and occasionally come in handy in a fight.
” Heracles’s eyes twinkled. “But despite what you’ve heard it’s not all guts and glory. ”
The corners of Danae’s mouth twitched.
“And yet you don’t see our faces on the amphorae,” said Telamon, as he swung himself onto a dappled mare.
“I’m not taking her.” Atalanta spat on the ground and kicked her horse into a trot.
“You can ride with me,” said Hylas.
As he lifted her up, it suddenly occurred to Danae that she’d never ridden a horse before.
Trying to slide on as gracefully as her dress would allow, she clamped her legs either side of the animal’s torso and clutched the saddle so tightly her knuckles turned white.
It couldn’t be that dissimilar to riding a donkey, just faster and with further to fall.
Hylas slung himself up in front of her in one deft motion.
“All right back there?”
“Fine,” Danae said through clenched teeth.
“You’re right to hold on tight.” Hylas grasped the reins. “Heracles likes to ride fast.”
Tall cypress trees blurred past, their ghostly bodies smudging into a continuous streak of gray. Danae clung to Hylas, the wind whipping her face and tearing at her cloak. Once she overcame her initial fear of falling, she found riding exhilarating. Galloping was what she imagined flying felt like.
Heracles led them off the main road away from the town, forging a path across the open scrubland.
After a while she smelled a change in the air.
The cool trace of a sea breeze. She took a deep breath, enjoying the taste of salt on her tongue.
Then a strip of silver glimmered on the horizon, and the Bay of Corinth appeared before them.
She shivered. Manto’s body was out there somewhere in all that water. She hoped they’d found their way to the Asphodel Meadows. Perhaps they’d met Alea there. The thought brought her a whisper of comfort.
In front of them, Heracles slowed. Hylas tugged the reins and brought their horse to a steady trot.
“We’ll camp here for the night,” said the hero. “Get a few hours’ sleep before dawn.”
They stopped on a bank of rough grass near the bay. A collection of stone ruins stood stark against the moonlit sky. All that was left was a circle of jagged slabs, like the crumbling crown of a long-dead giant.
Hylas dismounted and lifted Danae down from the saddle. As her feet hit the ground, pain shot through her legs. She stumbled.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ll get used to it. The first day of riding is always the worst.”
“I know,” she lied.
His mouth quirked. “Of course you do.”
Once the horses were tethered to a nearby crop of trees, they sat on the dusty ground inside the remnants of the ancient structure.
Dolos produced some bread and cured meat from his saddle pack, and they ate for the most part in silence, without a fire.
Danae pulled her cloak tightly around her as a chill breeze whistled through the old stones.
“We should send word to Eurystheus once we reach Iolcos,” said Dolos. “He won’t be happy that we’ve disobeyed his command.”
Danae wondered why Heracles took orders from the King of Mycenae, but she didn’t dare ask. Her place traveling with the hero and his companions was already precarious.
Heracles took a swig from a waterskin. “The old goat will find out where we’ve gone soon enough.”
Dolos’s lips parted as though he were about to disagree, then he pressed them together again.
At the risk of sounding naive, Danae asked, “Who is Jason?”
“Good question.” Telamon looked at Dolos.
“I only know what was sent out in the decree,” said the healer. “King Pelias of Iolcos has commissioned a ship, captained by this Jason, to sail to Colchis and retrieve the golden fleece. I imagine he must be a seasoned sea captain.”
“A lot of effort for some old sheep fur,” said Atalanta.
“Yes, well,” said Dolos. “That old sheep fur is said to grant prosperity and unnaturally long life. Pelias has promised a hefty amount of gold to anyone who helps Jason retrieve it.”
“So, Pelias fancies himself a god,” said Hylas.
“Don’t all kings?” There was a bitter edge to Heracles’s voice.
For a few moments no one spoke.
“How long will it take to get there?” asked Danae.
“Three days, I’d say,” said Telamon through a mouthful of bread. “Two if we push the horses.”
“The sooner the better,” said Atalanta. “Don’t want them leaving without us.”
“They’ll wait for me.” Heracles got to his feet. “We should get some rest. Whose turn is it to keep the first watch?”
“I’ll do it.” Danae was eager to make a good impression.
Heracles gazed at her, his eyes lingering on her face as though she were an intricate mural. Then he nodded and said, “The seer’s proving her worth already.”
Heat prickled her cheeks. She fought the urge to grin.
“Atalanta, relieve Daeira after a couple of hours.”
Danae caught Atalanta smirking at Telamon, and her smile faded. She had the unsettling feeling she was going to wake up to a knife in her face.
“Don’t mind Atalanta,” whispered Hylas. “When I first joined the group she kept threatening to gut me in my sleep.”
“When did she stop?”
“She still does it on occasion.”
“Great,” muttered Danae.
“She’s all right once you get to know her. She could have turned out a lot worse, given she was raised by wolves.” Danae’s eyes widened. Hylas smiled. “Only until she was six, then a group of hunters took her in.” He glanced at the warrior. “Most loyal person I know. Sleep well, Daeira.”
She watched him walk over to their horse, wishing he was the one relieving her watch.
The rest of the group made makeshift beds against the stones with blankets from their saddle packs.
They all kept their weapons close. Atalanta slept with her quiver in one hand, her bow in the other.
Heracles set himself up away from the rest of them, behind the trees where the horses were tethered.
Dolos watched him go, then took his healer’s pack and followed him.
Cocooned in her cloak, Danae sat with her back to one of the stone slabs, looking out across the sea. She waited until Telamon was snoring and the others’ breathing had calmed, then delved into her bag and drew out the prophecy stone.
She felt its pull before she’d finished unwrapping it. Its jagged edges shone so brightly it looked as though it was made of hardened moonlight.
She took a breath, then touched it.