Chapter 37
Metal Skies
Thirty-two days had passed since the Argo entered the iron waters of the Black Sea.
Danae knew this because she had been scoring a line on the wall of the store cabin each day before preparing the lunch rations.
Each mark scratched was another day closer to Prometheus and discovering the true nature of her destiny.
Under Tiphys’s advice they kept to the coastline, landing only when they needed to replenish the ship’s store.
Jason drove the Argonauts hard, only letting the rowers rest when the wind picked up and they could unfurl the mainsail.
The closer they came to Colchis, the more he pushed.
The crew pulled the oars from dawn until dusk, not dropping anchor until the starry cloak of night swept over the sky.
They slept under the ship’s tarpaulin and as soon as dawn broke, took up the oars again.
A chill crept into the air. When the wind blew from the east, it cut to the bone, and even at its height, the sun didn’t warm the skin like it did back home. Danae was glad of the extra furs they’d taken from Lemnos. Rowing was tough, but at least the exertion kept the crew warm.
With no time alone to explore her powers, she spent most of her days with Peleus, tending to his wounds.
At first, he seemed to be improving. Then came the day she peeled off the makeshift dressing and found his stitches were inflamed, yellow pus oozing between the twine.
She hid the last two skins of wine from Atalanta and used the liquid to clean the wounds.
But without Dolos’s expertise and bag of medicines, she knew Peleus had little chance of recovery.
“Tell me about your family,” Danae said to distract him as she dabbed a wine-sodden cloth against his infected flesh. Peleus winced.
“My wife, Thetis. You’ll not meet a cleverer woman. Nor a more tricksome one.” He chuckled then gasped in pain.
“You have a son, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Peleus’s pride was evident, even through clenched teeth. “My Achilles.”
“Telamon says he’s a good fighter.”
“He’s not good, he’s extraordinary. He was training with the palace guard at ten years old. I don’t know where he gets it from. I was useless at his age.”
She smiled. “I doubt that’s true. I’ve seen you and your brother in action. I bet you were a pair of troublemakers.”
She finished wiping Peleus’s wounds and began to wind a fresh piece of cloth around his torso. His skin was clammy beneath her fingers.
“I worry about him.”
“Achilles?” She realized Peleus was looking past her at the rowing benches. She glanced behind at Telamon. “Oh, that one can look after himself.”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“What wasn’t?”
“He didn’t mean to do it.” Peleus sounded distressed.
She paused her wrapping and placed a hand on his forehead. He was burning up. Her heart sank. A fever meant the infection had spread.
“I’m sure he didn’t,” she said softly and continued bandaging.
“Father was so angry. But Telamon didn’t deserve to be cast out. He didn’t know Phocus was standing there.”
She had no idea what Peleus was talking about. He might well be delusional from the fever. She knew so little of Telamon’s origins, except that he used to be a prince.
“What happened?”
Peleus made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan. “It was an accident. Telamon threw the discus, then poor Phocus appeared from nowhere. The sound was awful...his little skull cracked like an egg.” Peleus’s face crumpled in pain. At the memory or his wounds, she couldn’t tell.
She glanced back at Telamon. She remembered what Hylas said, about Heracles giving second chances to those others had shunned. The hero and Telamon had more in common than she’d realized.
“He still blames himself—I know he does. If anything happens...will you look after him? You’re a kind girl.”
Danae bit the inside of her lip until she drew blood. She’d been doing it a lot lately, and as a result her mouth was raw with ulcers. The pain helped distract from her guilt. He wouldn’t call her kind if he knew the choices she’d made.
The following day was relentless. The wind lulled to barely a whisper, and by the afternoon they’d run out of water.
Danae offered the last skin around the benches, so the rowers could wet their lips, but it would be impossible to keep going without replenishing the barrels before nightfall.
So, it came as a great relief to all when Tiphys spotted a break in the cliff face.
“Captain!” the navigator called. “There’s a beach ahead. Do we land?”
“Yes!” Jason barely let him finish. “Thank the gods. Steer her in.”
The Argo ground to a halt in the shallows, and the crew hauled in the oars.
“Argonauts,” Jason called from the prow deck. “You know the routine. We go in pairs and—”
“There’s someone on the beach!” shouted Pollux.
Danae turned. A figure was riding down the dunes toward the ship.
Sunlight blazed behind them, the sand kicked up by the horse’s hooves a sparkling cloud of golden dust. The powerful flanks of the chestnut stallion gleamed, and the bronze fur flying behind its rider seemed to capture the sun itself.
She gasped. It couldn’t be.
Heracles.
“I fucking knew it!” Atalanta leaped onto her bench and punched the air.
“You beautiful bastard!” Telamon shouted, then lifted Atalanta off her feet and kissed her.
The warrior shoved him off and wiped her cheek, but she didn’t stop grinning.
Danae couldn’t believe it. A moment later another horse appeared. It was Dolos, charging after Heracles. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even blink as she waited for Hylas to appear.
But he didn’t come.
Jason looked like he might vomit. None of the other Argonauts were celebrating. They floundered, eyes flicking between the approaching hero and their captain.
Danae didn’t move either. She stared resolutely at the horizon, waiting. Perhaps Hylas was lagging behind, his horse might not be as fast as the other two. Heracles wouldn’t have left the Doliones’ shore without him, she knew he wouldn’t.
The moments felt like years as they dragged by, each one chipping away at her hope until the awful truth swallowed the last glimmer.
Hylas was dead.
She felt like it was happening all over again. He was being taken from her afresh, and she was just standing there while the Earthborn dragged him away.
She was brought back to the present by the sound of Heracles shouting. But he was too far away for her to make it out.
“What’s he saying?” asked Telamon.
Heracles was waving now, his words still distorted by the wind. Danae strained to listen, running to the prow as the hero hurtled toward them.
“Get off the ship!” yelled Heracles. “Run!”
Shaken from his stupor, Jason shouted back, “Why?”
There was a choking sound from the stern deck. Danae spun around and saw Tiphys collapse, what appeared to be a bronze knife sticking out of his neck.
“Take cover!” shouted Jason.
The crew dived below the benches, and Telamon threw himself on top of Peleus as a slew of metal thudded into the wood. One sliced through the fabric of Danae’s dress, grazing her thigh. Up close she could see it wasn’t a knife at all, but a feather, cast in bronze and razor sharp.
The weight of dread heavy in her chest, she eased her head out from under the bench and looked up.
A flock of birds was circling the ship. They were large as vultures with feathers of bronze that dazzled in the sunlight. Danae hurriedly squeezed herself back under the bench as the birds flicked their wings and another round of deadly feathers rained down.
“Shit!” Jason was cowering under the adjacent bench. “Why in Tartarus is this happening?”
“It’s the Stymphalian birds,” called Telamon as he dragged Peleus to cover.
“The what?”
“We faced them on one of Heracles’s labors for Eurystheus—argh!” Telamon cried out as a feather sliced his arm.
“How did you defeat them?” Jason shouted.
“We didn’t,” called back Atalanta. “We ran away.”
“They answer to Ares,” said Telamon as he tried to pull his brother further under the bench. “Gods know why they’re here.”
“That brute led them to us!” shouted Pollux. “He’s going to be the death of us all.”
Danae’s mind was racing. As she desperately tried to formulate a plan, her father’s words rang through her thoughts, “All seas are the same beast.” She had always been a child of the ocean. She’d grown up swimming in its tides and diving in its swells. The Black Sea was no different.
Now it will answer to you, said the voice.
She summoned the energy of her life-threads and stepped out from under the bench.
Someone tried to grab her leg. Jason was shouting at her to take cover.
But she ignored him and thrust out her arms. A glowing tangle of life-threads shot out from each palm into the sea on either side of the ship.
She tilted her head back and set her gaze on the swarm of bronze birds circling above.
Then she gathered the threads in her fists like a pair of ropes and whipped them into the sky.
Two torrents of water arced over her head and smashed in a crescendo of foam and feathers above the Argo.
The ship dipped violently, and for a moment there was stillness, the birds suspended in a clear archway of ocean.
Then the water crashed back into the sea and broken metallic bodies clanged down onto the deck.
Danae staggered but did not fall. She licked the salt from her lips and smiled.
“What the fuck was that?” Atalanta stared at Danae, face taut with shock.
Everyone was staring at her.
The Argonauts emerged from their benches and backed away. Some reached for their weapons. Most looked at her with a fusion of fear and anger.
Jason alone did not move. He was gazing at her in amazement. “What are you?”
“She’s a kakodaimon!” said Castor. The crew tensed.
It was happening again. She could see her mother’s terror-stricken eyes in their sea-worn faces. She had saved them, but at what cost? This time, she could not hide behind the gods.