Chapter 24 The Way of the Mother #2
She eased herself to her feet and stepped out of the hut, filling her lungs with fresh, salty air. She looked up towards the crest of the hill, but Metis was hidden from view.
When searching for Prometheus, Danae may have had a false idea of what the Titan would be like, but at least she’d heard of him.
Metis was a mystery. Despite her time in the Underworld there was still so much Danae did not know: what it really meant to be a Titan, the truth of how the gods became the Olympian Twelve, the identity of the Mother.
You must learn Metis’ secrets, said the voice.
‘Yes,’ Danae murmured.
A current of unease rippled through her as she thought of what Metis had said about the voice. ‘You were wrong. Metis was not pleased.’
She guards her knowledge. She does not want to teach you.
Danae had worried as much herself. The way Metis had looked at her by the crop of flowers, it was almost as though the woman was afraid of her.
‘Are you good?’
For a breath, the voice did not respond.
I want you to be strong.
Danae’s pulse quickened. ‘What if, to be strong, I must do terrible things?’
The voice did not answer.
Weariness crept into her bones. Turning back to the hut, she caught sight of Pegasus soaring across the island, then out over the ocean.
It was rare for her to see him in flight.
Usually, when he was airborne, she was on his back.
She marvelled at his grace and the great span of his gleaming white wings as they beat against the wind.
She did not worry as he chased the sun across the sky, growing smaller and smaller in the midst of all that blue. He always came back.
Metis did not return to the hut until long after the sun had fled the sky.
The woman barely spoke to Danae when she finally crept back inside, pausing briefly to inspect the pulverized leaves, before smearing the paste on Heracles’ lips.
The hero had remained unconscious since he’d spoken his dead wife’s name.
They ate their rations of cicadas in silence, Danae resolved to wait for Metis to reveal her secrets rather than trying to prise them from her.
As she lay in the dark, eyes wide against the gloom, Danae thought of Atalanta and Telamon and prayed to the fates that they would find their way swiftly to Delos.
The next morning, when dawn banished the shadows from the hut, Metis shook Danae awake and led her down the hillside towards the lake.
They paused by a nondescript stretch of rocky earth, and Metis crouched, pointing to one of the little flowers protruding from the dried grass.
It was a tiny lilac bloom, each petal barely the size of a baby’s fingernail.
‘See this?’ Metis pointed. ‘I want you to grow it a new leaf.’
Danae frowned, wrapping her arms around herself to stave off the chill from the wind. ‘How?’
‘Just give it a go.’
Danae crouched, tongue between her teeth, staring at the little plant. She could feel Metis’ gaze on her, drawing her attention like a gnat buzzing about her ear.
She looked up at the woman. ‘I don’t know how.’
Metis cocked her head, loose strands of dark hair whipping about her face. ‘Try. I want to see what happens.’
Danae scowled and turned back to the flower.
She stretched out a hand. As her fingertip touched the wiry stem of the plant, she reached inside herself and seized a twirl of life-threads. She imagined the new petal she sought to create as she wrapped the glowing strands around the plant. Then she pushed.
The stem snapped, and a shower of lilac petals exploded into the air, immediately borne away by the wind.
Danae sighed sharply and slumped back on her heels.
‘Hm.’ Metis tilted her head and stared at the decapitated flower. ‘Either you think the word “grow” means “destroy” or, as I feared, you have no control over your power.’
Danae scrambled to her feet.
‘I have control. I vanquished the Stymphalian birds with seawater. I fought off Hera, the Queen of the Gods herself, with nothing but snow and ice!’
‘Mm-hm.’
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘Brute strength and luck are not control.’
The heat of Danae’s pulse radiated through her skin. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
A similar expression settled on Metis’ face to the one she had worn when Danae killed the lizard.
‘With Prometheus dead, I am the only one left who will help you understand your power. You’d do well to remember that, girl.
’ She cast about, then picked up a stick that had been wedged between two rocks.
‘We’ll start with something dead, seeing as you can’t be trusted with anything that has an ichor. ’
Danae’s glare simmered.
‘Now,’ Metis handed her the stick, ‘float this into the air. With control.’
Danae took the wood and held it across her palms. Channelling her life-threads into her hands, she sent several glowing strands into the stick and whipped them upwards. The twig shot into the air and was immediately hurled across the rocks by the wind.
She swore under her breath and ran to retrieve it.
Metis watched her, arms crossed, brow heavy.
‘Try asking,’ she said as Danae returned.
‘Ask?’
‘That stick might be dead, but when you fill it with your life-threads you are temporarily granting it an ichor. Even inanimate objects like to be asked.’
Danae flitted through memories of using her life-threads to conjure wind or rumble the earth.
‘I’ve never had to ask before.’
‘And how did you feel after?’
She considered for a moment. ‘Tired. Exhausted if I’ve used a lot of threads.’
Metis nodded sagely. ‘It takes much energy to impose your will on the world. If you learn to ask, you’ll use far fewer threads.’
‘But what if the stick doesn’t do as I ask?’
Metis gave a slight smile. ‘You must have faith. If your will is aligned with that of the Mother, it will do as you say.’
Faith.
The word tugged at an old wound. She’d had faith in the gods once. Faith that everything would be all right, and her family could weather any storm. That faith had died the day she dragged Alea’s corpse from the sea.
It would have been a simpler task if Metis had asked her to learn another tongue than entreat her to put her trust in something she did not understand and could not see. But, ever constant, the prophecy weighed heavy on her soul. She had to try.
Danae rubbed the sweat from her brow. ‘If asking means I will use fewer life-threads, I won’t have to replenish them as often …’
Metis nodded.
‘In battle I could fight for longer.’ She looked up at the woman. ‘This is useful, thank you.’
Metis fixed her with one of her tilted stares. ‘If you live for too long in anger, it becomes the colour of the world.’
‘Some deeds should never be forgiven.’
Metis scratched the back of her neck. ‘I should check on Heracles. Keep practising and let me know when you’ve done as I asked.’
Danae watched Metis trudge back up towards the hill.
Then, steadying her breath, she felt once more for her life-threads and teased a twine of strands into the stick.
But, unlike before, she did not hurl her will down the cord now connecting her to the wood.
She stood still and closed her eyes, living in the sensation of the stick resting against her skin while her life force flowed into its length.
‘Will you float?’ she whispered, glad no one was there to witness her conversing with a stick.
She opened her eyes. The stick remained immobile in her hands.
‘Will you float?’ she asked again, a note of irritation straining her voice.
Before you could command the elements, now you cannot move a twig, said the voice.
‘Be quiet,’ she hissed.
She let out a sharp sigh, then drew in two steadying breaths. ‘Please.’
The stick shivered. Then it lifted from her palms, slowly rising into the air.
Danae did not dare breathe as she watched it ascend.
Then a gust of wind knocked it from the sky.
She swore as her life-threads snapped back into her body and the stick rolled away across the ground.
She retrieved it from beneath a bush of spruce, swearing as the spines raked her hands.
The wind blustered, the sun blazed, and many hours later Danae still had not succeeded in levitating the stick from her palms and bringing it back with control.
She glared at it, strands of hair stuck to her gleaming face.
As time passed, it seemed to take on a life of its own, and now the swirl of its bark looked positively smug.
Her mouth was parched and her stomach twisted with hunger. She’d not yet eaten and the sun had already passed its peak in the cloudless sky. Clutching the stick like a knife, she set her sights on the hill and climbed towards the hut.
When she arrived, she was greeted by Pegasus chomping on a patch of grass outside the dwelling. But even the sight of her companion could not lift her gloomy spirits. She entered the stone hut in a cloud of defeat and sank to the floor, throwing the stick in front of her.
Metis was kneeling beside Heracles, dabbing his brow with a cloth woven from shredded palm fronds. She’d lit a fire, the flames filling the stone room with smoky warmth.
‘Control is not something one learns in a day. It will take time.’
‘I don’t have time. I’ve wasted so much of it already.
’ Danae’s chest tightened as she thought of the Underworld and her search for Alea.
The chasm of despair began to open in her mind and, as though recoiling from a flame, she pushed the memories away.
‘It would help if I understood where my powers came from. I’ve never known anyone else like me.
Prometheus and I barely had a chance to exchange a few words.
I’ve lived for so long trying to figure this all out on my own and I don’t know if I can go on without knowing more.
Why was I made a Titan? Who even are the Titans? And the Mother?’
Metis rose to her feet and handed Danae the flame-roasted carcass of a lizard on a skewer. ‘Cooked ’em up earlier when you were practising. Saved this one for you.’
Despite her aching stomach, Danae did not eat.
‘Please, tell me.’
Metis pressed her lips together, then sighed. ‘It all happened so long ago, I … well, I suppose I was going to have to tell you sooner or later. I’d better start at the beginning.’ She frowned. ‘No, before that. I’ll start with Chaos.’