Chapter 30 A Dance of Stone and Air
Another week passed, and Danae’s world narrowed to the effort of honing her power.
She rose with the dawn, practising all day until dusk stole the light.
Her endeavours were not in vain. Soon, she was able to levitate the stick at whim, remaining in control while the wind snatched at the wood.
Metis seemed content to let her neglect her tasks, instead recruiting Telamon and Atalanta to fetch water and forage for food.
Danae drew a deep, salty breath. She stood on the crest of the hill, the island of Delos sprawled beneath her.
A dash of red caught her eye. Telamon and Heracles were walking slowly along the sand of the crescent bay.
The fishing basket was slung over Telamon’s shoulder.
Heracles clutched the spear, leaning on it like a staff.
From this distance he looked like an old man.
Despite remaining sceptical about their cause, he had not yet spoken of leaving.
Danae supposed he had nowhere else to go.
Atalanta and Telamon were the closest thing he had to family.
Her chest ached at the thought that whether or not he came to believe they could defeat the false gods, soon they would be forced to part ways.
With a sigh she turned away and looked at a pile of Metis’ remembrance stones.
Her breath slow and calm, she reached out a hand, sending a single life-thread from each finger into each of the rocks.
She closed her eyes and imagined herself melting into her river, the wind buffeting her transforming into the current carrying her downstream.
As she breathed, she let go, releasing the shame gnawing at her chest, the fear scraping a hole in her gut, her longing, her joy, all of it she gave to the water.
When she could no longer feel her body, she opened her eyes.
All around her, the island gleamed. A lattice of glowing threads lay over the land, ever moving, ever weaving as the tapestry of life thrummed around her.
And she was a part of it, her own ichor singing in harmony with the island.
There was no heady rush, no euphoria, like when she consumed the life of another being.
Only calm. And a warm breeze whispering a familiar song.
In this state of peace, she sent her silent request down the strands of her life-threads connected to the rocks, asking the stones to join the world of the living and celebrate by dancing in the sky.
And dance they did.
Each stone rose into the air, the smallest pebble first, down to the largest at the base. Danae watched them soar like a flock of gulls above her head before returning them gently to their home on the ground.
She suddenly became aware that she was not alone. The tapestry of life vanished from sight as she spun around.
Metis stood before her, arms behind her back.
‘I’m sorry,’ Danae said quickly. ‘I meant no disrespect.’
Metis smiled and stretched out her hands. Nestled in the cup of her palms was one of the little violet blooms. It sat in its own clod of earth, its roots dangling between her fingers.
‘Go on, show me what you’ve learned.’
Danae approached tentatively, stretching out a finger to touch the stem.
‘Remember,’ said Metis, her voice a chant on the wind. ‘You are melding your life-threads with the ichor of the plant, not simply filling an empty object with your desire. The flower may need some convincing to grow if it is not ready.’
Tentatively, Danae sent one lone life-thread burrowing into the stem.
She could feel the plant’s ichor. Navigating the living kingdom within the little flower, she wound her life-thread up its stem towards the purple petals above.
Chewing her lip, she sent a question down the thread, an invitation to create another bud.
She waited.
Then she felt the plant push back, as though it was trying to expel her will. She sent another thread as reinforcement.
‘Charm, not force,’ murmured Metis.
Sweat trickled down Danae’s temple as she bit down harder on her lip and conjured images of Delos covered in an ocean of purple blooms. She poured the warmth of the sun into her vision, and the promise of prosperity.
A little green bump appeared on the stem where her finger made contact. Then it extended, unfurling into a tiny green branch and there at the end, a bud.
Excitement pounding in her chest, she poured more longing down the life-thread channel, and the flower began to bloom, blade-thin petals stretching out into the light.
You have forgotten your purpose. You are the reckoning, said the voice.
Danae clenched her jaw, and, as though struck by frost, the petals withered and fell to the earth. With a grunt of frustration, she paced away, roughly wiping her forehead.
‘Have you been listening to the Mother?’
A beat fell between them.
‘I’ve tried …’ Danae squatted down and pressed her knuckles into the rocky ground.
She drew a breath. Despite achieving brief moments of Gaiasight, she still could not hear the Mother.
It was the final hurdle, sitting alone with her thoughts, waiting for divine inspiration. A hurdle she could not yet surmount.
‘You must keep trying. It is imperative you grow your connection –’
Danae looked over her shoulder. ‘It is imperative I learn how to defeat Zeus.’
Metis regarded her with heavy eyes. ‘I ask you to listen to the Mother, because I know what else whispers in your ear. It will do you no good to heed that voice.’
Danae stiffened. ‘It’s kept me alive.’
‘Of course it has,’ Metis said sharply. ‘You are a vessel for it to fill with its desire to consume.’
Danae stood. ‘And what of the fate of Gaia’s chosen Titans? When will you tell me the truth of what happened? How did the false gods take power from them?’
Metis cut across her. ‘If you only listen to that voice, you will become …’ she stopped herself.
A chill crept down Danae’s spine. ‘Say it.’
Metis’ delicate face changed like the rippling sea, tugged by a snarl of emotions.
‘You will become just like them.’
Danae squeezed her fist until a sweet burst of pain radiated through her palms where her nails dug into their old wounds. She turned away and paced down the rock-strewn hillside. Metis made no attempt to follow her.
Danae fell to her knees by the lake, splashing water onto her face.
She flinched as an arrow buried itself in the earth beside her. Atalanta stood in the shade of the trees, bow raised.
‘You missed.’
‘I never miss.’ Atalanta stalked towards her, wrenched the arrow from the ground, loaded her bow and raised it to her cheek.
The shaft sang through the air, perfectly weighted against the wind, and lodged itself in the trunk of the lone palm tree.
The outline of a stag had been notched into the bark by the warrior’s previous shots.
Atalanta lowered her bow. ‘When do we leave?’
Danae sat back on her heels and sighed. ‘When I’m ready.’
The warrior scowled. ‘When will that be?’
‘I don’t know … soon.’
Atalanta huffed out a breath, fiddling with the knot at the end of her oxhide bowstring. ‘Will Metis come with us?’
‘I … don’t know,’ Danae repeated, suddenly feeling foolish.
She had all but begged her former companions to follow her into battle against the false gods, yet she had not asked the woman training her if she too would take up arms. Danae did not want to admit the truth, even to herself: that she feared what the answer may be.
‘What’s the plan, then?’ Atalanta slung her bow across her chest and crouched down beside Danae, cupping water into her hands and raising them to her lips.
‘The plan?’
‘To take Olympus. The gods are damn powerful and they have the advantage with the higher ground. But there must be a weakness – every fortress has one. What we need is a good old stakeout …’ As the warrior spoke, Danae could not help but think of her without the shell of her armour, the lake water glistening on her bare skin.
She swallowed. ‘Apart from the ability to heal themselves by consuming the life force of another living being, they are just as vulnerable as mortals.’
Atalanta’s eyes raked over her. Then she said softly, ‘It is strange to think they were all mortals once.’
‘Zeus must still have access to the Hesperides tree, that’s how he made the rest of his family Titans.’
Atalanta lowered herself to sit on the ground, and for a fleeting moment her face flushed with a deep sadness. Danae joined her.
‘I’m sorry about your sister.’
The current of rage that lived like magma beneath Danae’s skin rose up to choke her. She could not speak.
‘The child you mentioned,’ continued Atalanta. ‘Arius, is he …?’
‘Gone,’ the word splintered in Danae’s mouth.
Atalanta nodded. Then she reached out a hand and clasped Danae’s in hers. ‘Zeus will pay for what he has done. It is prophesied.’
As Danae looked at her, she recalled what the warrior had told her aboard the Argo, of the bond Atalanta and her fellow Arcadian hunters had had with Artemis. And how the goddess had betrayed them, abandoning them when they needed her most.
They held each other’s gaze for a moment, Danae’s hand softening beneath Atalanta’s fingers.
Then the warrior asked, ‘Do you know why he didn’t give Heracles an apple, like his other children?’
Danae shook her head. She bit down on the insides of her cheeks. ‘Atalanta … he can’t come with us.’
The warrior sat back, withdrawing her hand from Danae’s.
‘He needs months more rest and care to be well.’
The truth tasted bitter on her tongue, but if no one else would voice it, she must. ‘He would be a liability and most likely get himself killed.’
‘We’re not leaving him.’
‘He hasn’t even said he wants to take revenge on his father –’
‘Of course he does.’ Atalanta stood. ‘We all want revenge for what those bastards did to us.’
Danae could feel the warrior withdrawing beneath her scowl. She was losing her. ‘Will you show me?’ She rose and gestured to Atalanta’s bow.