Chapter 20 The Path of Fate
They came like a howling wind.
The furies hurtled around the group in a hurricane of blade-sharp talons, slicing at their flesh.
Accompanying the creatures’ unearthly rattles were the screams of the Missing, cries of pure terror pealing through the rocky passage.
Through them, Danae could hear Hylas whinnying and Atalanta grunting in pain as she shot arrows into the maelstrom, but skilled as she was, the warrior could not find her target.
Danae, too, thrust at the nightmarish shapes with her knife as they shot past, but it was futile.
Then she felt a sudden gust of air beside her.
She glanced to her right to find the woman who’d stood next to her gone.
There was a splash, and something that looked like a body bobbed away on the waters of the Acheron.
Danae clenched her teeth and tightened the grip on her blade. She would not allow them to be picked off one by one like hares snatched by falcons. Not when escape was almost in their grasp.
She lunged again and again at the swirling blackness until her knife connected to something solid. There was a shriek, like the grating of metal on bone, then she was whisked into the air.
Up close, the fury smelt like death. Though the world around Danae tore past at a sickening pace, she could finally see the creature that held her.
It was shrouded in a midnight cloak, so thin and ragged it looked like smoke billowing through the air.
Its wings were like those of a huge dragonfly, vibrating at such a pace they could barely be seen.
And its face … was eyeless; nothing but a gash of a mouth containing three sharpened rows of teeth, and two small slits above it that flared as it sniffed Danae.
She cried out, her arms pinned to her sides as its impossibly sharp claws dug through the skin of her chest as if it were soft cheese.
Then an arrow whistled past her ear and tore through one of the fury’s wings.
It shrieked and let go of her. The air was punched from Danae’s lungs as she hit the ground.
Mercifully, the body of a slain Missing broke her fall onto the hard rock, but pain still ripped through her torn chest as she gasped, desperately fighting to breathe.
She struggled to sit up and saw Telamon, his sword bloody, standing in front of a group of around ten Missing and Hylas, Atalanta and Heracles still atop his back, the warrior continuing to shoot arrows at furies.
Suddenly, like hounds with the scent of a stag, the furies turned and streaked down the riverbank as the hulking form of a giant came into view.
The creatures surrounded the giant, and a roar like the great horn of a warship echoed through the cavern.
The giant lifted its arms, battering the furies with its fists.
Even in the poor light Danae could see the blood pouring down its mottled skin. She felt a twinge of pity.
Then Telamon yanked her to her feet.
They ran, pelting along the riverbank of the ever-narrowing passage, Hylas cantering with them.
Danae’s legs felt like they were disintegrating, and she was not sure she would make it to the entrance before her body gave out.
With each step the collar weighed heavier around her neck, threatening to drag her to the ground.
Only the sight of Atalanta atop Hylas, her arms wrapped tight around Heracles, kept her tethered to her strength.
The warrior was in more pain than she. If Atalanta could hold on, she could too.
She blinked. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her. Then she looked up, and a sob lodged in her throat. There were no more glowing crystals embedded in the cavern roof. The light bleeding through the gloom ahead must be coming from outside.
And there was wind. She breathed in a deep lungful of salty breeze, revelling in the fresh, cold air.
Then she heard the crash of waves. She pressed on and caught up with Hylas.
The horse paused, hoofing the sea-slicked rock.
It had become too narrow on either side of the river for him to continue along the bank, and the passage was too small for him to fully flex his wings and fly.
She crouched down, slipped her legs into the salty flow and lowered herself in.
‘What are you doing?’ shouted Telamon as the Missing clustered behind him.
Danae clung to the rocks as the cold water lapped over her wounded chest, stinging as though the fury was clawing at her afresh. Then her feet hit the bottom.
‘We can wade through,’ she gasped. ‘Hylas, come into the river!’
The horse backed away, flexing his wings. With a grunt, Atalanta pulled Heracles up into a seated position, the hero swaying violently.
‘Look, it’s safe,’ Danae let go of the rock and lifted her arms into the air, bracing herself against the pull of the current. She stayed rooted to the spot.
Hylas rippled his lips, hoofed the bank, then tentatively lowered himself down into the river.
Atalanta cried out as the salt water washed over her legs, but she kept herself and Heracles astride his back.
Telamon helped the rest of the Missing into the river, and with Danae at the helm they strode with the current.
As they waded further, the swells grew, crashing against Danae’s chest, sometimes up to her chin. Each agonizing wave threatened to sweep her away, but there was nothing in the world that could stop her now.
Then they turned a bend in the river and she stopped moving, tears streaking her sea-dampened cheeks.
Ahead of them, through the mouth of a cave that was just large enough for a small fishing tub to pass though, was the sky.
It was day: glorious, bright day.
The sky seemed to reach towards her with azure arms and wrap her in soft swathes of cloud. Despite the collar, despite all the horrors she had endured, for a heartbeat she was weightless, nothing but a pearly drop of water warmed by the sun.
Then Hylas nosed her between the shoulder blades. She smiled and wiped her face, wading forwards to ease herself out of the water onto a stony outcrop at the base of the cave’s entrance. Gazing up, she saw they had come out at the base of a shallow cliff.
She looked to the Missing as they emerged from the cave and began to pull themselves up onto the rocks behind her.
‘We need to get to higher ground before the tide comes in.’
‘Can the horse take us up?’ asked Telamon.
Danae looked at Hylas. The steed’s muzzle was flecked with spittle, his coat gleaming with sweat.
‘He’s exhausted. He’ll have to fly Atalanta and Heracles up, but the rest of us can climb.
’ She weaved her way between the Missing to where the horse waited at the mouth of the sea-cave and smoothed his neck. ‘One last push, Hylas.’
Atalanta did not have time to protest as Hylas surged through the water, finally able to spread his magnificent wings after the confines of the passage.
The warrior’s eyes bulged and she clung to Heracles as the horse soared into the air.
The Missing stared after them, clinging to the rocks like barnacles.
Telamon pulled himself out of the sea beside her, his sword sheathed in the back of his belt. ‘We climb?’
Danae looked up at the plethora of crevices and grooves in the cliff’s surface. ‘We climb.’
Telamon went first, the Missing following. Danae was relieved to linger for a moment, rest her aching body and watch the sunlight dance across the waves.
She was free. She was alive.
She turned back to the rocks and, as the last Missing scaled the cliff face, forced her weary limbs to move.
Once her hands found the first few rivets, instinct took over, and the pain in her chest became just another note amongst the whistle of the wind and the crash of the waves.
She had been good at this once, and she would be again.
At last, her fingers curled around a grassy ledge and with one final burst of effort she heaved herself over the edge of the cliff. Pulling herself forward on her elbows, she slumped onto her stomach, breathing in the verdant scent of the grass and dry earth.
‘Is she the last one?’ A voice she did not recognize, harsh and clipped.
Danae’s head snapped up. A group of about a dozen men stood around the cliff edge.
All carried weapons, most in battered mismatched armour that had seen better days.
Several tents were erected behind them. The Missing were huddled together, eyeing the strangers with fresh fear.
Telamon stood with Atalanta, supporting the warrior.
Both of their wrists were bound. Danae’s pulse quickened at the sight of two of the men holding onto Hylas’ wings, Heracles still slumped across his back.
‘Answer your king,’ barked one of the soldiers to Telamon.
‘She’s the last,’ he replied, eyes downcast.
‘Get with the others.’ The soldier gestured to the Missing.
As Danae stumbled to her feet, an older man detached himself from the pack and stalked towards Hylas.
His light-brown skin was spotted with age, and a gold band nestled on his greying hair.
Yet despite this regalia, his navy robe and cloak were worn and trimmed with dirt.
He lifted one of Heracles’ emaciated arms, then let it drop against Hylas’ snowy-white side, sounding a disparaging noise in the back of his throat.
‘He looks dreadful. And no Kerberos.’ The man glowered at Telamon and Atalanta as though this was their fault.
‘How in Tartarus am I meant to reclaim my kingdom from that bastard Agamemnon now?’
This must be Eurystheus.
Danae stiffened as Hylas jerked away from him, two more soldiers grabbing hold of the horse’s mane to restrain him. The deposed king backed away, but his eyes gleamed. ‘Still, this creature may prove useful.’
Telamon glowered at Eurystheus. ‘This is not what we agreed. We were to bring back Heracles, that is all. Let the others go.’
‘I entrusted you with returning my hero, not this sack of bones and a rabble of the dead made flesh.’
‘He said, let them go,’ Danae repeated with force.
Eurystheus turned to look at Danae, his face tightening in disdain.
‘You will kneel before your king.’ Two men marched forward and forced her to her knees.
‘I am the rightful ruler of Mycenae. You may have been released from Hades’ kingdom, but you are in my service now.
’ He turned to address the Missing. ‘You are all mine.’
‘If you have lost your kingdom, then you are no longer a king.’
Eurystheus turned and struck Danae across the face, his rings biting into her jaw. She tasted blood.
He lifted her chin with a gnarled finger. ‘A spirited one, eh?’ He flicked the metal collar around her neck. ‘Was this part of your punishment? Which realm did you come from?’ Uncertainty bled through his imperious tone.
He is afraid, she realized. Afraid of what he does not know.
Danae looked up at Eurystheus and smiled. ‘It is worse than you could ever imagine.’
The king faltered, and she seized the moment. Her legs screamed as she leapt up, slipping past Eurystheus and the soldiers beside her, who evidently had not expected her to run.
As though taking his cue from her, Hylas ripped his mane free of his sentries’ hands, leaving strands of white hair wound around their fingers, and flicked out his wings, knocking down the soldiers either side of him.
Danae sprinted to the horse and swung herself onto his back.
Eurystheus’ men surged forward, but Hylas launched into the air, out of their grasp.
Danae clung to Heracles and, as Hylas ascended, shouted at Telamon and Atalanta, ‘An island that sounds like the healer!’ Hoping they would understand her riddle.
A slew of arrows followed them as Hylas continued into the air.
Danae’s vision crackled from the effort of their escape, but she forced herself to hold on to the horse’s mane with one hand, Heracles with the other.
She could just about feel the hero’s chest moving beneath her arms as he clung to life.
She tried not to look at the Missing staring up at her, delivered from the realm of one tyrannical master into the clasp of another.
As Atalanta had said, she could not save everyone. That didn’t make it any easier.
Danae, Heracles and Hylas soared across the cerulean ocean. As the cries behind them faded, Prometheus’ parting words echoed in her mind.
Seek out Metis on Delos, she will help you.
Without the aid of the omphalos shard, she had nowhere else to go.
‘Hylas,’ she gasped, ‘take us to Delos.’
She did not know who this Metis was, but they were her only hope of regaining her powers and saving Heracles.
As the sea and sky stretched out around them, the tightness in her chest finally began to ease. She had wasted enough time doubting the truths Prometheus had revealed, the reality that she had always known deep down yet could not accept.
Hades was dead, along with his wife, Persephone. The Twelve were now eleven. Danae’s actions had led to the release of Typhon, the dragon, from its watery cage. She had set free the giants, Heracles and the Missing. She had destroyed Tartarus. All without her powers.
The world was a dark and terrible place, and she must fill it with light. She was the last daughter and finally she was ready to meet her destiny.