Chapter 34
My Enemy’s Enemy
After another day’s sailing, two cliffs towered before the Argo. Two vast walls of rock, like a pair of enormous gates, guarding the entrance to the Black Sea. They were so close together, the rising sun looked like an orange squeezed between them, leaking its bright juice onto the stone.
“The Symplegadies rocks,” Tiphys called from the stern. “Otherwise known as ‘the clashers.’ They’re said to grind anything unworthy that passes between them. It’s the only way through to the Black Sea.”
A lone bird flew overhead, soaring between the rocks. The cliffs remained still.
“Any truth in it?” shouted Jason from the prow deck.
“An old fisherman’s tale, Captain. Still, best to proceed with caution.”
Jason was quiet for a moment. “We drop anchor here. Replenish water and food if we can find any, then we press on.”
There was no beach to run aground on. Instead, Tiphys was forced to steer the ship in between the boulders that littered the base of the coast. They were rectangular in shape, like vast bricks laid long ago by giants.
Unlike the sheer cliffs at the entrance to the Black Sea, the land slanted upward away from the water. Steep, but climbable.
“Look!” Orpheus pointed up at a seam of silver that ran through the rust and dark green shrubbery of the land above the rocks. “Fresh water.” They only had two full skins left.
A couple of the men secured the mooring rope while Jason gave instructions.
“Don’t stray too far from the ship. We fill our barrels and scavenge what food we can but always keep the Argo in your sights. And if anyone sees anything, beast or man, do not engage but come straight back to the ship. Tiphys, stay here with Peleus, and them.” He glanced at Atalanta and Telamon.
“I need to shit,” said Atalanta.
Jason’s perfectly straight nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Yes, Jason, women shit. I can always go right here on the deck.”
Jason looked pained. He loosed a sharp sigh. “You can go in a bucket in the store cabin. Pollux, untie her.”
As the twin bent down to release Atalanta’s bindings, the warrior’s gaze met Danae’s. She winked.
Danae’s eyed widened, but before she could make a sound, Atalanta smashed her forehead into Pollux’s nose.
He staggered back, blood streaming down his chin, and in the space of a heartbeat the warrior grabbed the knife that had clattered to the deck, slashed through Telamon’s restraints and twisted the blade to press against Pollux’s neck.
Telamon didn’t hesitate. His reflexes honed by years of riding cheek to cheek with danger, he lunged at the other twin, who stood nearby, and swiftly turned Castor’s weapon on himself.
“Turn back the ship,” Atalanta hissed.
The rest of the crew were as taut as a freshly strung lyre, their eyes darting between the mutineers and their captain. Jason drew his dagger.
“Don’t even think about it,” said Atalanta. “I will kill him if you don’t order the men to sail back.” A fresh bead of blood trickled down Pollux’s neck as Atalanta dug the blade into the skin above his jugular.
The bald man growled, but fear flickered through his eyes.
“You would risk all our lives—” Jason shuffled back “—for a child murderer and his lackeys.”
Rage flared in the pit of Danae’s stomach, but she didn’t move. She had already made her choice.
“Stay where you are,” said Telamon as Jason continued to inch toward the stern.
“As you wish.” The captain grew still. Then he lunged across the last stretch of deck to where Peleus lay in his bed of furs and yanked him upright.
Peleus cried out in pain, clutching his wounded side as Jason pressed his dagger into the man’s collarbone. Telamon stiffened, the color draining from his face.
Jason bared his teeth. “By the time my count reaches five, you will have both dropped your weapons. Or I will slit his throat.”
Danae’s heart thundered against her ribs. Jason might be young and inexperienced, but he’d slain Hypsipyle on Lemnos as easily as drawing breath.
“One, two...”
Telamon glanced at Atalanta. The warrior’s jaw was set, her eyes two burning coals beneath her scowl.
“...three.”
Telamon’s blade clattered to the floor. Castor immediately grasped his arms, twisting them behind his back and brought Telamon thudding to the deck.
Danae’s chest twinged at the betrayal etched on Atalanta’s face.
“Coward,” she spat.
“He’s my brother,” Telamon said pleadingly.
Atalanta turned her acid stare on Danae. She who had stood there and done nothing. She was not as brave as Telamon and looked away, not daring to meet the disappointment she knew waited for her in those dark eyes.
“Four,” said Jason.
“Atalanta,” Telamon begged.
“Five.”
The warrior’s blade fell to the deck.
The crew released a collective breath as Atalanta was forced to her knees and a bloody-faced Pollux retied her restraints.
As the twins worked, Jason let go of Peleus and straightened up. The blade in his hand was trembling.
“Pollux, Castor, you stay on board with Tiphys. If the traitors even think about trying to break free, you have my permission to kill them.”
Danae’s stomach lurched as the twins grinned at each other.
It was a subdued crew that fetched empty barrels and skins from the store cabin and clambered over the side of the Argo onto the rocks.
They made their way up the boulders to the ground beyond, carrying the barrels between them.
As they climbed, the stone underfoot gave way to tufted earth, littered with lichen-stained rocks.
When they reached the stream, Danae made sure to walk further ahead than the others.
She squelched down into the mud, cupped the water in her hands and drank.
Whether because of the strict rationing aboard the Argo or because she’d been drinking stale water for weeks, the stream tasted deliciously sweet.
She splashed her face, washing away the salt and grime, then retrieved the skins she’d stowed in her bag and filled them with fresh water.
She glanced behind her, making sure the rest of the crew were occupied, then backed away from the stream and scurried toward the crest of the hill.
She’d been waiting for an opportunity like this, time away from the others to explore her powers. She desperately needed to learn how to harness them properly, especially if another of the Twelve came after her. Whatever Athena’s reason was for fleeing, she doubted it would happen again.
She could feel how raw her energy was when she channeled it.
When she manipulated her life-threads it was as though she was riding an untamed stallion.
The line between control and losing herself was hair thin.
On Lemnos, the power had taken her, not the other way around.
She had summoned it on the Doliones’ beach, but conjuring the wind had left her drained and defenseless.
Rest and food had restored her a little, but her strength was not fully recovered.
It was imperative she learn her limits. That, however, would be a challenge without a full reservoir of life-threads to draw upon.
But she had an idea.
From her encounter with the panther, she’d learned that she couldn’t generate more life-threads herself, but she could take them from animals. It wasn’t a solution she liked, but she saw no other option. She needed to take on more life-threads before she could use her powers again.
As she walked, she scoured the ground for droppings or prints.
“Where’s a lame mountain goat when you need one?” she muttered.
It was unlikely she’d find a creature at the end of its life, like the panther. But if she could catch one, she had her knife to do the deed.
Up on her right, a clutch of boulders had tumbled in on each other, creating a haven of nooks and crannies, perfect for small creatures to nest in. She crept toward it.
Then she slipped on a loose rock and landed heavily on her back, crying out as she fell. So much for a stealthy approach.
“Who goes there?”
She froze. The voice was thin and crackled like sun-baked leaves. It was followed by a clacking sound. Then the end of a spindly piece of driftwood appeared around the edge of the rocks. A moment later, a man came tapping his way toward her.
He was wizened with age, painfully thin and clothed in a filthy black robe. What remained of his gray hair clung in wisps to his skull, and his cheeks were pinched by malnutrition. The skin around his eyes was scarred, and his lids hung loose over empty sockets.
She pushed herself to her feet, saying the sacred greeting. “Sorry to startle you.”
The old man didn’t return the customary gesture.
“You’re not the one who brings me food.” He swung his stick out in front of him. “Longer and longer they’re leaving it these days.”
Where had he come from? She couldn’t see any dwellings nearby.
“I’m a stranger to these parts. I have no food, but I can give you water.”
“Ahh.” The old man stopped, resting his hand on the rock to steady himself. “I would be glad of refreshment.”
Danae drew one of the skins from her bag, took out the stopper and placed it in the man’s hand. He drank deeply, the folds of his neck quivering as he gulped. Up close he smelled like stale urine.
“This is from the stream.” He wiped his mouth. “Sweetest water in the world.”
“Do you live here?”
The old man nodded and tapped the rock like it was a prize heifer.
Danae walked around and saw there was a much larger opening to the side.
As she moved closer, she could see there were carvings etched into the stones.
They looked like they had once formed a doorway.
This was no rockslide, it was a ruin. She traced the grooves with her fingers, then stopped. Her pulse quickened.
There, chiseled on what would have been the keystone, was the apple tree.
She turned to look at the old man as he shuffled round the rocks. “Do you know what this place used to be?”
The stranger moved to the entrance with surprising dexterity, feeling the way with his staff.
“I’ve spent decades alone in this ruin. And I’ve found many things.
” He ran his hands over the doorway, then leaned back against the stone.
“This was a place of worship. But what I have not been able to discover is who the people that built it were worshipping. There are no sigils of any of the Twelve.”
“This stone here, may I?” She touched the old man’s hand. He inclined his head. Gently, she placed his hand on the engraving of the tree. “Do you know what this symbol is?”
“The tree of knowledge.”
She’d only ever heard one other person call it that.
Fighting to keep her voice calm, she asked, “Have you come across it somewhere before?”
The old man tilted his head. “Have you?”
“A few times.” She chose her next words carefully. “I think it might be important. It might indicate a safe place for certain people that find it.”
Despite his lack of eyes, she had the distinct feeling he was staring at her.
“It might...and those that draw it might want to encourage those that recognize it to trust that they share the same belief.”
Something was happening at the back of her mind. A thought trickling like honey, slowly at first, then gaining momentum as it gathered weight.
“There is an ancient one some believe to be misunderstood. One who had a hand in our creation. I believe this to be true. Do you?”
The old man smiled, his remaining teeth stark against his receding gums. “I do. I believe we are all his children.” He lingered on the last word.
Excitement surged through her. This had to be fate. Somehow, in all the vast reaches of land and sea, she had stumbled across a member of the Children of Prometheus.