Chapter 28 Allies
That night, Danae slept beneath Pegasus’ wing in the shelter of the boulder outside the stone hut. Now that Heracles was awake, inside the dwelling felt too small, the air too thick.
As Pegasus snored beside her, she listened to the murmured tones of Metis and Heracles conversing until they fell silent.
Even then, when there was no sound save the pulse of the horse’s heartbeat, the rush of the sea and the ever-keening wind, sleep evaded her and she lay awake long into the night.
The following morning, she woke bleary-eyed to Metis standing in front of her, brandishing a basket and fishing spear. Danae took them gladly, grateful for anything that would keep her from the pain in Heracles’ eyes.
When Danae reached the crescent bay, she sprinted across the seaweed-crisped sand and splashed into the shallows. The cool water lapping at her legs was a balm as she waded deeper, the basket slung over one shoulder, the spear clutched in her hand.
Since arriving on Delos she could not shake the feeling that she was failing.
It didn’t help that she occasionally caught Metis stealing glances at her, a wary ember burning in the woman’s eye.
Danae knew what it was that Metis saw. She stood in the light, yet her heart remained in shadow.
Even now, as the sun bronzed her skin, it could not reach the darkness that had settled deep within her chest. Part of her was still buried in the Underworld, and she did not know if it would ever find its way out.
She breathed in the salty tang of the ocean and rooted her feet to the seabed, just as her father had taught her, then waited for the sand to settle.
If you’re still for long enough, Danie, you’ll become invisible.
When the gleam of a silver fin came weaving through the water, she let her spear fly. A pale cloud of sand rose around the buried shaft, but when it cleared, it revealed no fish impaled upon the wood.
Reclaiming her weapon with a murmur of frustration, she poised again.
Use your power, said the voice.
Danae squeezed her eyes shut, as if banishing her sight would quiet the voice.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘This is a part of me you cannot have.’
I am part of you too.
She grew still again and waited, breathing with the ebb and flow of the tide.
Soon came another dart of silver. Swift as lightning cracking through the sky, her spear sliced the water and this time found its mark.
Smiling, she tugged free the still writhing fish and tossed it into the basket.
She waded in a little deeper and was about to still herself again when she caught sight of a dark shape atop the waves.
A rowing boat was heading towards the bay.
Her pulse quickened as the vessel drew close enough for her to make out Telamon’s flame-red hair.
As she waded out to meet the boat, her heart constricted. She could not see Atalanta.
‘Telamon!’ she shouted, waving her arms. He glanced over his shoulder at her. He looked pale, his face drawn, the skin beneath his eyes puckered with shadows.
As the boat drew nearer she caught a gleam of silver armour by his legs and the edge of a body lying curled in the belly of the vessel.
‘Atalanta! Is she all right?’
Telamon pulled in the oars and leapt out of the boat, grabbing the lip and dragging it towards the shore.
Danae splashed after him.
Once the boat was aground, Telamon drew his sword and spun around to face her. ‘Where is he?’
‘Heracles is alive, he’s with Metis.’ She gestured towards the hill.
‘You should never have taken him from us.’ Telamon’s eyes simmered with a swell of rage that looked as though it had been brewing ever since she left them on the clifftop.
‘If you’d told me Eurystheus was lying in wait, I wouldn’t have had to improvise.’
‘I had it under control.’
‘Really? You were tied up.’
Telamon bared his teeth. ‘You know nothing.’
‘I know that Heracles would have died if I hadn’t brought him here.’
She wanted to remind Telamon that she’d saved his brother, Peleus, back on the Argo, and if it weren’t for her none of the Argonauts would have left the island of Lemnos alive.
But no one knew what she’d done on that cursed shore, that she’d caused the fire that turned the tide of the battle against the murderous hunters of Artemis.
She’d never let any of the Argonauts close enough to really know her.
How could she expect them to trust her, when she had never trusted them?
Atalanta mumbled something inaudible. Telamon lowered his sword, and Danae rushed to the side of the boat.
The warrior was slumped against the planks, her skin tinged with a green hue, her limbs slicked with sweat.
Danae’s eyes travelled down to the makeshift bandages she’d wrapped around Atalanta’s legs back in the Underworld.
Even at this distance the smell told her the burns were infected.
‘How long has she been feverish?’
‘Two days.’ Telamon glanced down at his companion, his voice tinged with worry. ‘That clue you gave us was useless. We ended up sailing around the blasted Cyclades for days until we spotted that flying horse of yours and followed it here.’
‘The island is called Delos – like Dolos. It was all I could think of in the moment.’
‘An island that sounds like the healer.’ Telamon glared at her. ‘Your riddle was the man you killed. You have a twisted mind, you know that?’
‘I told you, it wasn’t like that.’
They glared at each other until Atalanta gave another pitiful groan. Telamon looked back at his companion, his anger fading.
‘I don’t know if she’s going to make it.’ In all the time they’d spent together, Danae had never heard him sound so afraid.
‘She will,’ Danae said firmly. ‘The woman who saved Heracles will cure her.’
‘A healer?’
‘Of sorts … she’s like me.’
Telamon frowned. ‘She has –’
Before he could finish the sentence, he and Danae were hurled apart as a wall of sand erupted between them, the grains rapidly circling Telamon and the little boat in a glittering maelstrom.
The metal of Telamon’s sword flashed from within the tempest, but it was quickly thrown from his grasp as he tried to slice through the sand, the grains spinning so swiftly they ripped the weapon from his fingers.
Danae scrabbled to her feet as Metis approached from the edge of the rocks.
The woman’s arms were outstretched, two streams of life-threads pouring into a swirling prison.
‘Stop! They’re my friends!’ Danae shouted, but Metis either could not hear or would not heed her.
So, she drew her own life-threads into her hands and whipped a stream of wind towards Metis.
It caught her in the chest, and she stumbled.
The sandstorm wavered. Then Metis split her arms, strengthening the cage of gritty grains whirling around Telamon and Atalanta, while hoisting Danae into the air with another torrent of life-threads.
Danae gasped as the ropes of false wind tightened around her chest, arms and legs.
She pressed her own life-threads against the binds but it was like trying to bend metal with bare hands.
Metis looked as though she was barely expending any energy, her face serene while her dark hair whipped about her cheeks.
Danae couldn’t help but marvel at her control.
She had two of them incapacitated without a single bead of sweat gleaming on her brow.
‘You are not welcome here.’ Metis’ voice sliced through the wind.
‘Metis,’ Danae shouted. ‘I can explain!’
‘You foolish girl.’ The woman’s face twisted with rage. ‘How many others have you told about me? The Olympians will come. Zeus has spies everywhere.’
‘Only these two. Only they know!’
From his sandy gaol, Telamon called, ‘We are Heracles’ companions! We mean no harm. We’ve come to take him with us, that is all!’
Metis’ eyes darted between him and Danae. Slowly, she lowered her arms, and Danae tumbled to the ground while the swirling grains slowed, then fell back to earth like fresh snow.
Danae winced as she pushed herself to standing. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Metis, ‘I should have warned you – I told them to come here, but I’d lost hope of them finding us. Telamon and Atalanta helped rescue Heracles and a group of the Missing from the Underworld. They’re allies.’
Metis glowered at her, then flicked her gaze to Telamon, eyes raking over his fallen sword and battle-hardened limbs.
‘You said two. Where’s the other one?’
‘Here,’ Telamon gestured to the boat. His movements were slow and smooth as though Metis were a mountain lion he was trying not to provoke. ‘She’s gravely ill.’
Metis paced towards him and peered into the boat. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose, then lifted the edge of one of the makeshift bindings around Atalanta’s legs. The warrior moaned, and Metis sucked a breath through her teeth.
‘Her legs were burned by Typhon, the dragon,’ Danae said as she hurried to Metis’ side. ‘Can you heal them?’ Before the woman could reply she added, ‘I know she’s not of your island but please, I will do anything, I –’
Metis raised a hand, and Danae fell silent. The woman pressed her lips together.
‘Forgive me,’ Telamon said smoothly – now all courtly grace, though his eyes remained fixed on Metis.
‘Due to the nature of our arrival I quite forgot my manners. May the Twelve see you and know you,’ he bowed, and Metis’ eyebrows crept up her forehead.
‘I swear on the Styx, all we want is to collect Heracles and leave you in peace.’
The woman barked out a laugh. She glanced at Danae. ‘You’ve not told these friends much, have you?’
‘What is she talking about?’ asked Telamon.
Danae bit the inside of her cheeks. They still did not know she was a Titan, or the truth about the false gods. But now was not the time for revelations.
‘Please,’ Danae looked to Metis, her voice low. ‘I wouldn’t be here without them.’