Chapter 22
Heroes and Masters
“My boy!”
A woman, her cheeks streaked with tears, rushed over to Evan, who was hanging like a rag doll in Heracles’s arms. Dru also looked stricken.
“He’s alive,” said Dolos. “I’m a healer and I can help him, but we need to get him inside.”
The entire village was awake. Many had fled their homes, fearful of their shaking walls collapsing in on them. Danae felt a twinge of guilt: her earthquake could have brought the whole village crashing to the ground. She was unsettled by the tiny part of her that found that exciting.
At that moment, Telamon, Atalanta and Hylas appeared from behind the kapeleion. Danae turned, hope swelling in her chest at what they might have found, but Telamon shook his head and said breathily, “We couldn’t catch the cart.”
A cry echoed through the square. A young man was running from hut to hut. “My wife! Has anyone seen Bia?”
Heracles reemerged from Dru’s hut. The villagers surged toward him, clamoring for answers.
“Listen!” His voice thundered across the square, but still they would not be quiet.
“The gods have cursed us!” moaned a gray-haired woman.
Danae stepped forward. “The gods have not cursed you. I’m a seer, I know the will of the Twelve. Poseidon will not shake your village again.”
That silenced them.
Heracles shot her an appraising look. “Go back to your homes. You are safe now.”
“But my wife!” The young man sank to his knees in front of the hero. “Please, you have to help me find her.”
Heracles gazed down at the man, his eyes misting as though he’d gone somewhere far away. “She’s gone. I’m sorry. There’s nothing to be done.”
“No, no!” The man grasped the hem of Heracles’s kilt. “Please help me. You’re Heracles! You can find her.”
The hero detached himself and ducked into Dru’s hut.
Danae’s heart ached as she watched the man sobbing into the dirt. She turned and ran into the hut after Heracles.
She placed a hand on the hero’s arm. “Can’t we do something? We could wait for daylight and follow any tracks left by the cart—”
He turned, his blue eyes hard as ice. “If I tried to track every person who’d joined the Missing I would not be the legendary Heracles but a ghost hunter. I can’t save everyone.”
“But isn’t that the point of being a hero?”
For a moment he looked so flushed with rage, she was sure he was going to strike her, but when he spoke his voice was quiet.
“We leave for Iolcos at dawn. If you want to track that cart, you’re on your own.”
He turned away and left her standing there, disappointment heavy in her chest.
They left at first light. Evan was still not awake, but Dolos assured his mother he should recover once the effects of the drug wore off. No one was in the mood for conversation as they saddled up the horses and took the track that led down the other side of the mountain.
Heracles forced them to push the horses even harder than the previous day.
They raced across the border into Thessaly, where they left the mountains behind and were greeted with lush green fields and vineyards.
They stopped once, briefly, to let their mounts drink, then Heracles drove them on again and didn’t slow until the earth gave way to sandy dunes and the sea broke over the horizon.
Danae could hear the roar of a crowd before they reached the crest of the hill.
Heracles held up a fist, and they pulled up the horses to look down over the beach.
A stadium had been erected, the central seats covered by an emerald canopy.
A huge crowd was spread out on either side, cheering a group of men that stood between the stadium and the ocean.
They appeared to be taking part in some sort of athletic trials.
One man ran forward and let a discus fly.
It sailed almost the entire length of the stadium before crashing into the sand just in front of a smoldering altar with the carcass of a large animal still burning on its coals. The crowd went wild.
Beyond the beach, floating in the shallows, was the most magnificent ship Danae had ever seen.
It was a penteconter, smaller than the warships of Athens, with only a single row of oars punctuating its seamless hull, but it was so sleek, she found it hard to believe it had been crafted by a mortal hand.
A white sail was coiled to its mast and a painted figurehead presided over the prow.
Hera, Queen of the Gods. She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth.
Heracles turned to the group. His mouth twitched into a smirk. “Let’s give them something to cheer about.”
With a roar that rolled down the dunes, he urged his steed onward. Danae clung to Hylas as they bolted after him, Atalanta and Telamon adding their voices to the hero’s cry. The crowd turned, and their screams reached an ear-splitting crescendo at the sight of Heracles in his famous lion hide.
As they drew closer to the stadium, the chant of “Heracles, Heracles!” reverberated through Danae’s bones.
On the central platform a sumptuously dressed man rose to his feet and spread his arms wide. From the gold band glinting across his brow, she assumed he must be King Pelias of Iolcos.
At a gesture from their king, the crowd quietened.
“Welcome, Heracles! May the Twelve see you and know you. We are honored by your presence.”
Heracles drew up his horse and dismounted. A servant in a green tunic ran forward to take his reins. The hero bowed deeply and touched his finger to his forehead.
“King Pelias, the honor is mine. I and my companions offer our service on your quest to retrieve the golden fleece of Colchis.”
A young man detached himself from the group of athletes and ran toward Heracles. His skin was deep brown, as were his eyes, set in a delicately handsome face.
“By the gods, you came!”
Heracles looked him up and down. “You are?”
“Jason, captain of the Argo.” The man beamed, exposing a row of dazzlingly symmetrical teeth.
Heracles looked as surprised as Danae felt. She’d expected Jason to be middle-aged and grizzled by years of sea taming. But he looked only a few years older than her, with not a single battle scar on his lithe limbs.
A hulking figure walked up behind Jason. It was hard to tell where the brown fur of his bearskin ended and his own hair began.
“Ancaeus.” Heracles nodded. The bearskin warrior did the same.
“Peleus!” Telamon dropped his pack and ran to embrace a man with sun-blushed skin and rust-colored hair. “You bastard, what are you doing here?”
“Telamon.” Peleus drew back and grasped Telamon’s face in his hands. “No one told me my little brother was coming along for the ride.”
The two men embraced, then Peleus grabbed Telamon in a headlock and rubbed a fist into his hair.
“That explains a lot,” said Atalanta.
“Who do we have here?” Jason smiled at Atalanta with the full force of his charm.
“These are my companions,” said Heracles. “Warriors who’ve fought by my side throughout my labors. This is Atalanta, Telamon, Hylas, Dolos, our healer, and the seer, Daeira.”
“Fantastic, we’re in need of a healer.”
Despite the joviality of Jason’s greeting, Danae noticed a gleam of ice in his eyes as his gaze slid past them to the royal box.
“You’re not suggesting these women come with us?” A bald man with a livid scar that sliced the tanned skin of his skull eyed Danae and Atalanta disparagingly.
“It’s bad luck,” growled his twin brother. If it weren’t for the first man’s scar, Danae would not have been able to tell them apart.
Atalanta sighed, reached into her pack and pulled out an apple.
She threw it to Hylas, who caught it one-handed, drew back his arm and let the apple fly.
The fruit soared into the air, far above the gathered warriors.
Atalanta watched its progression for a moment, then lazily slung her bow from her shoulder and drew an arrow to her cheek.
A breath later two apple halves fell to the sand.
She turned to the scarred twin and held out her bow. “Your turn.”
Jason laughed and stepped between them. “I see you ride with a talented group, Heracles. You’ve missed our competition, but there is no need to test your skill.
” He turned to the crowd. “Heracles and all who travel with him are welcome aboard the Argo.” He looked up at King Pelias.
“With your permission of course, Majesty.”
Danae sensed a tinge of mockery wrapped around that last word. Pelias’s eyes flickered in response, then the king inclined his head.
Jason turned to Danae. “The omens will surely be in our favor with two seers in our ranks.”
Her stomach clenched.
From behind the array of warriors emerged a thin man in a black robe. His hair was cut so short, she could see the outline of his skull.
“Idmon, meet Daeira.”
Danae bowed, squeezing her fists so her hands wouldn’t tremble. “May the Twelve see you and know you.”
Idmon touched his forehead and returned her bow, his beady eyes never leaving her face. She swallowed. Her disguise suddenly seemed a lot less infallible than it had before.
After an excessive amount of ceremonial waving, King Pelias bid them farewell. The last of the crowd dispersed, and the thirty chosen Argonauts were left alone on the beach.
They settled around a large campfire in front of the ghostly structure of the stadium, passing skins of wine between them.