Chapter 23
A Bargain
Danae looked up into a now clear sky. A gentle breeze fluttered over her face, barely lifting a hair. Not one cloud remained, as though the storm had been but a passing nightmare. Her raw skin and aching bones told her otherwise. It was a miracle the ship had survived intact.
She unfolded herself from under the bench and straightened up.
The Argo was caught on a strip of reef in front of a long expanse of beach.
Creamy sand stretched away from turquoise shallows into a dense tangle of greenery.
Trees with long, layered trunks that rose into a crop of feathery leaves stood tall above the jungle.
Large brown nuts, almost the size of her head, nestled below their fronds.
In the distance a lone mountain, its ridges carpeted in emerald foliage, reared against the sky.
The vegetation was unlike any she’d seen before. How far had the storm carried them?
She flinched as birds and creatures she didn’t recognize chirruped to each other from the depths of the jungle. She tried to place them, but their strange voices were so unlike the gulls, larks and kestrels of home. The air was different here too, heady and sweet like syrup.
“Where in Tartarus are we?”
Atalanta’s salt-crusted head appeared from behind the next bench. Telamon and Hylas emerged beside her, then the rest of the crew began to stir, unfurling themselves from the nooks they’d wedged themselves into during the storm.
“Argonauts!” Jason shouted as he clambered unsteadily onto the prow deck, a deep gash across his forehead. “If I call your name, say ‘aye.’ Ancaeus?”
“Aye.”
“Castor?”
“Aye.”
“Pollux?”
“Aye.”
“Orpheus?”
“Aye.” The musician sounded stricken. Danae looked across the deck and saw him cradling his broken lyre.
As the rest of the crew answered their names, Danae heard a groan behind her and twisted around.
Her heart sank as she watched Tiphys climb onto the stern deck and run his calloused hands over the shattered planks.
The mast had snapped in two and smashed through the wood, the steering oar lost to the sea.
“The figurehead!”
Looking back toward the prow she saw that the carved likeness of Hera was another casualty of the storm. Idmon stared at the splintered wood, his face pale, and declared, “This is a terrible omen.”
“I hope she’s at the bottom of the ocean,” murmured a deep voice.
Danae turned to see Heracles standing behind her.
“How’s the arm?” His gaze swept over her, lingering on her shoulder.
She rotated the joint. It hurt, like the rest of her, but she could move it.
“Fine.”
“Good.” He looked at her so intensely the ship seemed to disappear into his eyes.
The breath swelled in her chest. Then his next words expelled it.
“What you did was incredibly foolish.”
She was stunned. She’d saved the sail from tearing. He should be thanking her.
“I was trying to help. I did help. I stopped the sail—”
“Don’t ever risk yourself like that again.”
Before she could reply, he turned away and clambered across the sloping benches.
Dolos appeared beside her, clutching his healer’s bag. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she snapped. At the healer’s expression she added, “My arm’s fine. Please go and help the others.”
“Daeira?” called Jason.
“Aye!”
Dolos searched her face for a moment, then turned and made his way between the benches calling, “Anyone who’s injured, put your hand up. I’ll come to you.”
Suddenly she remembered her bag. She tugged it out from where she’d wedged it under the bench and was relieved to find the purse, knife, pipe and prophecy stone were all there, and despite being sodden, nothing was broken.
“Anyone seen Iphitos or Augeias?” asked Jason.
The Argonauts looked at one another and shook their heads.
As the loss of their crewmates sank in, there was a shuddering creak, then the ship slid to the right, sending several of the men tumbling to the deck.
“Abandon ship!” Tiphys yelled as the Argo shifted again, groaning like a dying animal.
The crew didn’t need to be told twice and set about hoisting themselves over the side into the shallows.
As Danae waded out of the water onto the beach, she turned to look back at the Argo. Where the ship had scraped the reef, a deep tear, nearly the full length of the starboard side, ruptured the hull. A leaden weight settled in her chest. Wherever they were, they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.
“Tiphys,” Jason called, walking over to the navigator. “What is this island?”
Tiphys shielded his eyes against the sun as he peered up toward the mountain. “No idea, Captain. The storm can’t have blown us more than a hundred leagues. I know most of the islands in the Aegean but this...” He shook his head. “The climate, the trees...strange, very strange.”
He was right. It was as though the god that had blessed this island with life had grown bored with the flora and fauna of Greece and decided to experiment with something completely different.
Even as they spoke, Danae spotted a wiry creature with soft white fur, a long tail and a face like a human child, swing between two tree trunks at the edge of the jungle.
Jason looked strained. He turned to the remaining crew, now congregating on the beach.
“Listen up! As you can see, the Argo has suffered badly in the storm. We will need to make repairs before we can continue our voyage.” He glanced at the jungle behind him.
“Luckily it seems we’ve landed on an island with plenty of wood.
Heracles, Ancaeus, you start felling trees. Castor, Pollux scout the island for—”
Jason stopped speaking mid-sentence, his mouth continuing to move like a fish out of water, as he sank to his knees and keeled over to lie unconscious on the sand.
There was a collective clink as the Argonauts drew their weapons, casting around for their unseen enemy. Then, one by one, they fell. Danae caught a dash of movement between the leaves. She threw her hands into the air and ran toward it.
“Stop, we mean no harm!”
Something stung her. She lowered her arms and saw a dart tailed with a small white feather protruding from her forearm. Before she could rip it out, her muscles went slack and she fell face-first into the sand.
When Danae came to, it felt as though someone had cracked open her skull and scrambled the insides like an egg.
Her vision was hazy, but she could tell she was still on the beach.
The turquoise sea stretched out before her, the broken Argo wallowing in the shallows.
The sun had arced along its course to the west and was much lower than it had been when they came ashore.
She must have been unconscious for hours.
She tried to move her arms and couldn’t.
She was bound to something hard and scratchy.
As she shifted, pain lanced through her shoulder.
Biting the inside of her cheek to distract herself, she twisted her fingers to explore her restraints.
The knots wouldn’t budge. They were nothing like the bindings her father had taught her, but whoever tied them knew what they were doing.
She saw no sign of their attackers. The rest of the crew were dotted along the sand, tied to the trunks of tall trees at the edge of the jungle.
Heracles was slumped around one near her, darts peppering the bare skin on his chest, arms and legs.
Evidently, the hero hadn’t been easy to take down.
She spotted Jason further along, a cluster of darts protruding from his jugular.
Brow creased, she looked down at her own body.
Lodged in her arm was a single feather. That explained why she was the only one awake.
She felt movement behind her. Someone else was tied to the same tree. Craning around, she saw a long dark braid trailing over the back of a silver breastplate.
“Atalanta,” she hissed.
The warrior moaned. Then Danae noticed a sliver of iron glinting by Atalanta’s feet, half buried in the sand.
“Atalanta!”
“What the fuck do you want?”
“By your feet, the sword.”
Atalanta grunted, then stretched forward. Her toes had almost reached the hilt when a sandaled foot, with a dagger sheathed between the straps, stepped down on the blade.
Danae’s eyes traveled up the amber legs of a tall, muscular woman clad in a leather tunic.
An assortment of weapons was tucked into her belt, including a dart pipe, whittled from what looked like bone.
Her head was shaved at the sides and the remaining hair was plaited into a thick rope that fell down her back.
An array of tiny animals, also carved from bone, was woven into the plait.
The woman placed her hands on her hips and a smile, sharp as a whetted blade, cracked her mouth.
Behind her, more similarly dressed women emerged from the bushes, stalking between the unconscious Argonauts. All of them were heavily armed.
Danae redoubled her efforts to break her bindings, but they held fast. As she struggled, she felt a stinging sensation around her wrists as though whatever was tied around them was laced with something unpleasant.
The first woman flipped up the sword with her foot, caught the handle and pressed the blade into Danae’s chest.
“Why have you come to my island?” Her voice was deep and husky, her accent unlike any Danae had heard before.
“We were wrecked.” Danae’s tongue was still clumsy from the effects of the dart. “The storm...smashed our ship.”
The woman pushed the sword to biting point through the fabric of Danae’s dress. “You’ve come to pillage us.”
“If that were true, you’d be dead,” said Atalanta.
Danae could feel the warrior trying to break her bonds. She wasn’t getting anywhere either.
“Come on,” growled a blonde woman with lightly tanned skin and high cheekbones. She was standing over Heracles’s unconscious frame wielding an axe. “Let’s finish them.”