Chapter 29
Ash and Salt
Dawn wandered listlessly over the island.
Danae sat on the beach, looking out at the Argo.
The mast had been restored, a new steering oar fashioned, and the ship’s hull was a battered patchwork of freshly stripped wood.
Heracles stood beneath the prow, hammering the last few planks into place.
The crew had worked through the night to repair the vessel, with the hero bearing the brunt of the labor.
After the fire ravaged the village, victory had come swiftly.
Once revived, Jason regained command of the Argonauts, and at his order, they rounded up the rest of the hunters, executed them and piled the bodies on what remained of Artemis’s burning effigy.
But it was a sullen and subdued crew that now carried the weapons, food and animal pelts they’d pillaged across the beach to the ship.
No one seemed to be able to look the others in the eye.
The fiercest fighters in Greece weren’t used to the shame that accompanied powerlessness.
By some miracle, in all the chaos, it seemed no one but Polyxo had seen Danae start the fire.
The old mantis had vanished into the jungle and not been spotted since.
After confronting her, Danae had been engulfed by a weariness that seeped into her marrow.
She felt empty, like she was just a sack of mindless flesh and bone.
Part of her hoped it was temporary. Part of her didn’t.
Perhaps it was a blessing, given what had happened.
Polyxo’s words echoed around her skull, taunting her.
You reek of power. Just like her.
For the first time, she wondered if she was more monster than savior. How could she ever hope to become the light that frees mankind if all she did was destroy?
“It is time,” called Jason.
Danae slowly pushed herself to her feet and wiped the sand from her dress. She’d changed back into her black seer’s robe. It felt fitting for what she had to do.
The crew set down their loads and flocked to their captain.
She turned to face the seven bodies laid out on the beach, wrapped in furs from the Lemnian stores.
She took the obols from Jason’s outstretched hand and placed a pair on each of the fallen Argonauts’ eyes.
When she was done, Jason nodded, and she lifted her arms to the sky.
Even that small movement taxed her, but she didn’t let the strain show.
“May the Twelve see you and know you. May the Keres spread their wings over you as you walk the path of judgment. May your souls find peace across the final river.”
“Go with the blessing of the Twelve,” murmured the crew as they bowed their heads.
Danae lowered her arms, and in silence, Heracles, Telamon and Atalanta set about digging graves in the sand. The warrior had removed the bone talismans from her hair and was once more in her silver armor. She had not spoken a word to anyone since they burned the hunters.
Danae felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned, and a breath of feeling returned to her chest.
Hylas smiled at her. “Obol for your thoughts?”
She shook her head. “None worth buying.”
From the ruins of Polyxo’s hut, Dolos had salvaged a bunch of moly. Armed with the herb and the contents of his healer’s bag, he’d been able to concoct an antidote for those hit by the poison darts. Those felled by sword and axe were not so fortunate.
Hylas’s gaze traveled past Danae to Hypsipyle. The queen was bound to the trunk of a coconut tree, like the Argonauts had been the day they arrived. Jason had an ironic sense of justice.
“Do you think they would have killed us?” Hylas asked.
“Probably. They killed all those other men. They left Heracles in that cave to be sacrificed to Artemis.”
Once the battle was won, she’d told the crew what she’d learned from Sofia and Polyxo, save what the old mantis had said about her.
She had to believe she’d saved the Argonauts, that she’d had no choice but to unleash her powers.
Even so, she couldn’t prevent her mind wandering to the charred bodies of the islanders who hadn’t escaped the blaze. She’d done that.
“I know I shouldn’t question the gods but...” Hylas paused. “Why would Artemis kill all those men?”
“Because the gods are cruel.” Danae only realized she’d said the words out loud when Hylas turned sharply to look at her. “But just,” she added quickly. “Like you said, it’s not for us to question their ways.”
When the last man was buried, Jason marched across the sand to the woman who would have been his wife. He stopped in front of Hypsipyle and squatted to her eye level. The crew paused what they were doing to watch.
He lifted her bruised chin. “Now you get to watch me sail away and live out the rest of your gods-forsaken life knowing I got what I wanted from this pathetic little island.” He spat the last words into her face.
Jason navigated the world with the confidence of a man who knew he was right. He believed he was chosen by the gods. He believed he was special. And to a man like that, there was nothing more humiliating than being bested by a woman.
Hypsipyle parted her cracked lips. “What a big, brave man you are.”
Jason’s face twitched. He stood up and for a moment, Danae thought he was going to walk away. Then he unsheathed his dagger and in one smooth motion, slit Hypsipyle’s throat. Her eyes bulged as blood washed down her front, sluicing onto the sand.
The crew were silent as Jason thundered back down the beach.
“What are you looking at? Get back to the ship!”
“He’s unraveling,” whispered Hylas.
He’s not the only one, thought Danae, as she watched Heracles climb aboard the Argo.
Hylas shook his head. “It doesn’t bode well for us.”
“No,” she muttered, “it does not.”
“I see Imbros!”
Tiphys crouched on the stern platform, shielding his eyes from the sun.
A patchwork of maps fanned out around him.
Danae knelt opposite, fingers splayed across the parchments, tethering them to the deck.
The old navigator was squinting at a verdant island piercing the horizon to the port side of the ship.
Jason jumped down from the prow deck and clambered toward them over the rowing benches. “How far off course are we?” His eyes were bruised from lack of sleep. They had been sailing for two days straight.
Tiphys stared down at his maps. “I cannot say for sure, Captain. There’s no record of Lemnos anywhere. But if that is Imbros, I’d say about a week. Not counting the time we lost on the island.”
From their collective hair growth, it was estimated the Argonauts had spent at least four months on Lemnos.
“Fine,” Jason grunted as he climbed up to the stern deck, “clear this up and get us back on track.”
“Impossible,” muttered Tiphys, pouring over the swirls of ink.
“How can an island the size of Lemnos not be recorded on a single map?” He lowered his face closer to the parchments.
“There’s only one thing for it—I’ll have to draw it on myself.
” He glanced up at Danae. “Fetch me ink and quill, will you?”
“Enough!” Jason seized a fistful of maps and thrust them in Tiphys’s face.
“If you mention that damned place again, I will throw these overboard.” He tossed the scrolls at the navigator, then swung around to face the crew.
“No one is to speak of that island—that’s an order.
And why in Tartarus have you stopped rowing? ”
As Jason stormed back to the prow deck, Danae and Tiphys scurried to rescue the maps from flying overboard.
“Thank you,” said Tiphys quietly.
As the navigator eased the parchments from her arms, she looked down at the last map trapped below her knee. She was about to roll it up when something caught her eye.
There it was, barely larger than a thumb print. Her home.
Naxos was so small, so far away. She stared at it for a moment, then her eyes traveled east. Past the jaws of the Black Sea, the map grew sparse.
There was hardly any writing, just the outline of the land and, at the very edge of the page, a row of peaks.
The Caucasus Mountains where Prometheus was imprisoned.
The mountain where her destiny waited.
Danae woke to a sky pricked with stars. She lay on the deck, staring at the night, until the sound that had roused her caught her ears once more.
Someone was crying.
Silently, she rolled onto her side. Beside her, Atalanta’s silver breastplate was trembling. As she watched her weep, the warrior’s vulnerability held her still. She eased closer and, after a breath of hesitation, placed a hand on Atalanta’s arm.
The warrior stiffened. Immediately, Danae realized she had made a terrible mistake, and waited for the inevitable squeeze of hands around her throat. But to her surprise, instead of pushing her away, Atalanta’s body melted.
Danae edged forward, until the warrior’s armor pressed against her chest. Atalanta still did not pull away. Her hair smelled of oak wood, salt and something sweet like honeysuckle, and despite the cool night air her skin was warm as sun-baked stone.
Danae had slept this way with her sister more times than she could count, but this was different. She was very aware of all the places their skin touched. A thrill of pride whispered through her that Atalanta allowed her to be this close.
They stayed this way, the curve of their bodies pressed together, until Atalanta’s breathing calmed.
Then the warrior peeled back and wiped her face. “Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”
“I know,” Danae whispered.
Atalanta rolled away and Danae’s gaze lingered on her back, watching the moonlight pool in the creases of her armor.
For three days the sun reigned unchallenged in the sky, and a strong northeasterly wind bloated their sail.
Danae sat with Hylas on his rowing bench, the pair eating their lunch rations. She paused, a piece of bread halfway to her mouth, as Hylas began to dissect a fig. He grasped the base in his fingers and carefully peeled it apart from the stem until the fleshy insides splayed out like a bloom.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
“You ask the strangest questions.” He laughed at the intensity in her gaze. “It’s how I’ve always eaten them. It makes it last longer.” He popped a piece on his tongue. “Unlike some, I like to savor my food.”
Danae looked down at her hands. Her sister was the only other person she’d known to eat a fig that way.
“Will you do something for me?”
Hylas swallowed his mouthful. “Depends what it is.”
“Will you cut my hair?”
Despite hating it when Manto first hacked off her curls, she’d become used to her crop. She felt freer without her tangled mane, and no seer worth their coin would let their hair grow past their shoulders.
“I’m only asking because I don’t trust any of the others not to make me look ridiculous. And you grew up on a farm, so you’ll know what to do.”
Hylas chuckled. “Are you comparing yourself to a sheep?”
She glared at him. “Will you do it or not?”
“Of course I will.”
He followed her to the stern deck. Tiphys raised an eyebrow as they settled down behind him but said nothing.
She sat with her back against the side of the ship so her hair would fall into the sea, with Hylas working around her.
She’d been right to ask him. He was gentle and careful with his knife.
But she couldn’t help laughing at the concentration on his face when he knelt in front of her, tongue poking between his teeth, to make sure he was doing an even job.
“You won’t be laughing when I make you look like the twins.”
“Don’t you dare!” She could see Castor’s and Pollux’s bald heads glistening in the sunlight on the mid-deck.
Behind them, Telamon, Atalanta and Heracles were playing a game of petteia. The hero’s face cracked into a jovial smile as he slapped Telamon on the back for winning a round.
“Did you hear what Heracles said on the island during the fight...” She twisted to look at Hylas. “When he was about to kill Hypsipyle?”
Hylas looked blank.
“About the gods? His father?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“Have you heard him blaspheme like that before?”
Hylas turned her head back so he could continue cutting. “We shouldn’t talk about it.”
“Does he not fear the gods?”
“Of course, he does.”
“It didn’t sound like it.”
“You don’t know him.” There was an edge to Hylas’s voice she hadn’t heard before.
“Everyone thinks they do because they’ve heard the stories, but he’s so much more than just his father’s son.
He’s been through a lot, more than most could survive without going mad, and still he sees the best in people.
He gives them a chance when no one else will.
” Hylas stood and handed her the knife. “It’s done. ”
Before she could thank him, he turned and walked away across the deck. Her eyes lingered on his back for a moment before returning to Heracles.
A kernel of thought that had been planted in the battle on Lemnos sprouted roots. If Heracles really did dislike his divine father, perhaps he would be glad to see an end to Zeus’s reign. Perhaps he might even help her bring about the King of Heaven’s downfall.
She barely dared to hope, but perhaps they were destined to find Prometheus together.