Chapter 21 The Island #2
Hylas stood and flexed his wings as Danae fell to her knees and checked Heracles’ pulse. Weak, but still there. Despite the heat of Hylas’ body against him, he was as cold as stone. She rubbed his arms, his chest, vainly trying to encourage some warmth into his skin.
She glanced back to find the woman had stopped in her tracks, staring at the winged horse.
‘Pegasus?’ she breathed.
The horse trotted over and nuzzled the woman’s hands with easy familiarity.
A prickle of jealousy furrowed Danae’s brow. ‘You know my horse? His name is Hylas.’
The woman’s eyes flicked to her, mistrust sharpening the angles of her face.
‘Did Poseidon think I would not recognize his steed? Did he put you up to this?’
‘I don’t know what –’
Heracles groaned.
The woman’s gaze snapped from Danae to the hero. She stared at him for a moment, before pacing forward and squatting down beside him.
‘By the Mother, he looks so like his father,’ she murmured and gently brushed his sea-slicked curls away from his forehead.
‘Can you help him?’
The woman loosed a deep, weary sigh. ‘When did he last take his strength elixir?’
Danae opened her mouth to answer, then hesitated. ‘How do you know about that?’
The woman waved an impatient hand at her. ‘Answer the question.’
Danae recalled what Atalanta had told her in the Underworld. ‘I think about six months ago.’
‘Hm.’
‘Can you help him?’ Danae repeated.
‘Don’t know yet …’ For a moment, the woman’s eyes misted with that faraway look again. ‘But I will try. We’ll need to get him back to my hut. Help me lift him onto Pegasus.’
The unfamiliar name jarring through her, Danae moved around to Heracles’ legs and helped the woman lift him. But her body had finally reached its limit. She dropped the hero’s limbs with a groan and sank to her knees, ribbons of agony pulsing across her chest.
The woman laid Heracles’ arms down and paced to her side. Without warning she tore the neckline of Danae’s dress, ripping it open down to her sternum to reveal the marks gouged by the fury. The wet, dark fabric of her robe had concealed the blood.
The woman sucked the air through her teeth. ‘Foolish girl, you should have said.’
The woman placed her hands either side of Danae’s wounds, who gasped as warmth spread through her body.
It felt as though liquid sunlight was pouring into her from the woman’s fingertips.
Then her pain began to melt away. She could feel her skin tightening, the muscles beneath knitting together.
Tears pricked her eyes as she realized what was happening.
It was over so swiftly.
The woman sat back, rubbed her bloody hands on her tunic and pushed herself up.
‘Come on, help me with him.’
Danae staggered to her feet.
‘You … you have powers.’
The woman glared at Danae as she took hold of Heracles’ arms. ‘Course I have.’
‘You are Metis, aren’t you?’
The woman’s eyes narrowed further. ‘Last time I checked.’
A little burst of relief bloomed through Danae’s freshly healed body. She had finally fulfilled Prometheus’ last instruction.
‘Grab his legs,’ prompted Metis.
Danae hurried to do as she was bid, and between them they heaved the hero onto Hylas’ back. Danae clambered up beside him, her arms wrapped tight around his torso.
Metis pointed to the hill. ‘See that boulder? Land the horse behind it. I’ll meet you there.’
‘One last push,’ Danae whispered into Hylas’ ear.
No, not Hylas. Pegasus, Metis had called him, Poseidon’s horse.
As he spread his snowy wings and launched into the air, Danae felt a jolt of unease.
It grated over her skin like the wind. He did not have a voice with which he could have spoken his true name, yet he had accepted the moniker of Hylas without protest. Now, it felt as though the animal had been playing a part.
Just as she had done aboard the Argo. Since the Caucasus Mountains it had been her and the horse against the world, his time as an Olympian steed erased by his choosing to be with her.
But perhaps his past could not be so easily forgotten.
As they flew towards the hill, questions began to ripple like delayed shockwaves through Danae’s mind. Why did Metis speak of Heracles’ father as though he were an old friend? Why did she recognize Pegasus? Who was this woman?
Below them, the stony hillside began to reveal its secrets.
Behind the rust-coloured boulder Metis had pointed to was a ledge of flat ground, and beyond that, the entrance to a tiny stone dwelling.
It looked to be little more than a doorway in the rock-strewn hill, but the placement of the stones around it betrayed a human design.
Rocks of a similar size had been stacked like bricks to form the outer walls, and those atop the dwelling slanted up to a peak like the roof of a hut.
The smoke Danae had spied seeped from the shadowed entrance.
As the horse landed, Danae breathed in a lungful of relief at the sudden lull of the wind. She could see why Metis had chosen this sheltered spot, hidden from the beach with clear vantage over the entire western reach of the island.
As she eased Heracles down from Hylas’ back, Metis appeared, and together they carried the hero’s bony body into the stone dwelling.
‘Wait here,’ Danae said to Pegasus. The horse huffed and hoofed the ground but stayed where he was.
Inside, the hut was cool and strangely quiet given the wind whipping around the island.
The internal walls were rough, as though the dwelling had been hollowed out of the mountainside by hand.
Great cracks ran through the rock, and in the centre, nestled in a ring of stones, was a small fire.
As they lay Heracles down beside this rudimentary hearth, Danae noticed a smell she recognized.
She looked around and located the stench wafting from a woven basket and fishing spear leaning against the doorway.
An eclectic collection of clay pots and bowls were piled around the edges of the walls, and the floor was strewn with dry leaves.
Dried bunches of herbs hung from twigs prised between the cracks in the walls.
There were lizards too, some as small as her thumb, some as long as her forearm, pinned to the stone with sharpened sticks.
She was reminded of the trophies mounted on the wall of the Hunters Hall on Lemnos.
Danae’s attention was drawn back to Heracles as Metis swaddled him in a navy woollen cloak trimmed with fur. It was strange to see such a piece of finery in a place like this.
Metis leant over Heracles, her ear to his chest. Then she sat back, closed her eyes and placed her hands upon his torso. Questions clustered in Danae’s throat, fighting to be the first to pass her lips. But she did not dare disturb the healing. She sank to her knees and watched Metis work.
Finally, the woman let out a long breath, withdrew her hands and opened her eyes.
‘I do not know if I have the skill to save him.’
Danae felt as though she were made of glass.
‘If he survives the night, his chances will be better.’ Metis pushed herself up with a sigh and walked towards a collection of chipped pottery piled against the wall.
She moved slowly, as though each step cost her.
Danae knew that feeling, the fatigue of expending life-threads. A primal longing ached through her.
Metis found what she was seeking, picked up a waterskin and gulped. She wiped her mouth, eyes never leaving Danae.
‘Now, tell me what you’re doing here.’
Danae’s fingers curled around a loose rock by her thigh, ever aware of the collar around her neck. She knew her stone would be nothing against Metis’ abilities, but it helped her to feel a little less powerless.
‘I was sent to Delos to find you.’
‘Given Pegasus and ordered by the Twelve to bring him here to be healed, were you?’ She glanced at Heracles.
‘I was not sent from Olympus.’ Danae’s pulse quickened.
Metis barked out a laugh. ‘Don’t test me girl. I’m in no mood for Zeus’ games.’
‘I promise you,’ Danae said slowly, her mouth dry. ‘I was not sent from Olympus.’
The sun had sunk beneath the waves on the far side of the island, and now the only light flickered from the last remnants of the fire. Shadows creased along Metis’ scowl.
Sometimes, Danae’s brother, Santos, had said when teaching her to play petteia, you must sacrifice a stone or two in order to make the other player reveal their tactics. That’s how you win the game.
‘Prometheus told me to seek you out.’
Surprise briefly smoothed Metis’ face, before her brows thundered once more. ‘Hm.’ Another pause. ‘That does not explain how you came by Pegasus.’
‘I stole him after a fight with Hera atop the Caucasus Mountains.’
A flicker of something like amusement cracked Metis’ scowl. ‘I am to believe you not only spoke with Prometheus, but also bested Hera?’
‘Yes.’ Danae held her gaze. ‘Prometheus told me you would help me.’
‘I’m doing what I can for the boy,’ Metis hissed.
‘No, not that.’ Danae slowly rose to her feet.
‘He was never meant to be involved in this.’ Her shallow breath raked over her cracked lips.
The problem with the truth was, once you tugged at a single thread the whole tapestry unravelled.
‘I am the one Prometheus prophesied would come. I am the last daughter.’
Metis stared at her, eyes shining in the firelight. She shook her head. ‘I have lived in exile for almost a thousand years. I have never once left this island, yet still I am tested.’ Danae flinched as Metis took a step towards her. ‘Go back to Olympus and tell Zeus I did not fall for his trick.’
Danae stood her ground. ‘I do not answer to the false gods.’
Metis’ breath hitched in her throat.
‘I know the truth.’ Danae clenched her fists and repeated Prometheus’ words, ‘There are no gods. There were only ever mortals and those mortals chosen to become Titans. I am the one that destroyed the oracle at Delphi. It was there that I heard the prophecy from a member of the Children of Prometheus.’
Metis barked out a laugh. ‘So, the Children sent you? It has been centuries since they came here. I thought they had given up.’
‘No, Prometheus himself told me to find you. Like him, I am a Titan.’ She spoke with a confidence she did not feel. She still did not fully understand what it meant to be a Titan.
Metis stared at her, rage, confusion and disbelief all swirling like storm clouds across her face.
‘Prove it.’
‘I cannot.’ Danae raised her hands to the collar. ‘This cuts me off from my life-threads. If you free me, I will show you what I can do.’
Metis did not move. ‘If you are really a Titan, Zeus must have given you an apple.’
‘That monster gave me nothing.’
Metis’ lips parted. ‘You’re brave, girl. I’ll give you that.’
‘It is not bravery when you don’t have a choice.’
‘We always have a choice.’
‘Do we?’ A beat fell between them. ‘I think the fates would disagree.’
Metis continued to stare at her, then Heracles murmured, and they both looked at him. Metis sank down and once more laid her hands upon him.
‘You can rest here until he is out of danger, or he dies. We’ll know by sunrise. Either way, you will leave in the morning.’
The familiar crush of disappointment wrapped around Danae’s heart. She felt as though she were once more standing before Prometheus, having travelled to the end of the world and risked everything, only to discover that she was on her own.
‘That’s it?’ When Metis did not reply, she continued, ‘Prometheus told me with his dying breath that you would help me. What a waste.’
Metis stiffened. She looked up at Danae. ‘Prometheus is …?’
‘Slain by Hera. She tried to kill me too, but I escaped. I told you, that’s how I came by Pegasus.’
Metis withdrew her hands, sat back on her heels and closed her eyes.
When she opened them, they shone like the sea.
‘The horse will need seeing to.’ She wiped her cheeks, then pointed to a clay vase by the door.
‘There’s water in that hydria. You can use one of the bowls. ’ Then she turned back to Heracles.
Danae pressed her tongue against her teeth, a barrage of questions bubbling inside her. But she voiced none of them. She snatched up a large bowl with a faded owl painted on its belly, tilted the hydria with trembling hands and drowned the bird in its own little ocean.