Chapter 30 A Dance of Stone and Air #2
The warrior’s lip curled. ‘What need has a Titan for the humble skill of archery?’
‘When Hades put that collar on me …’ Danae shivered. ‘I never want to feel that helpless again.’
Atalanta’s eyes lingered on her face for a moment, then she paced to the palm tree, retrieved the arrow and returned to Danae’s side. She reached for Danae’s hand and closed her fingers around the centre of the bow. The worn leather grip was warm beneath her touch.
‘Hold it here.’ Atalanta stepped behind Danae and placed her free hand around the string, hooking it with her thumb.
‘Keep your weight balanced.’ She gave Danae’s back leg a kick.
‘I said balanced. Now hold your front arm steady.’ Together, they raised the bow, the weapon taut between Danae’s arms. It was an effort to pool her concentration into her limbs with the warrior’s lithe body pressed against hers.
‘There’s a strong westerly wind so aim to the left of the target.
You won’t hit it, but the shot will tell you how far you need to correct next time.
’ She stepped back and left Danae alone with the elements.
Danae drew a deep breath, then let the arrow fly. It shot far into the air to the right of the tree, to be whisked away by the wind and burrow into the crisp grass beyond the verdant plant life surrounding the lake.
Atalanta clasped her shoulder. ‘You haven’t fired a bow before, have you?’
Danae shrugged off the other woman’s grip and paced towards the arrow.
When she returned, she reloaded the shaft and lifted the bow to her cheek. ‘Again.’
Shot after shot was caught by the wind and hurled far from the target. After the ninth attempt, Danae emerged dripping from the lake, the sodden arrow clasped in her fist.
‘Perhaps we should try a sword,’ suggested Atalanta. ‘A novice would never start learning in these conditions.’
‘I can do it,’ Danae grunted, fumbling the arrow back into position.
Let me help, murmured the voice.
Danae stared at the target, jaw clenched.
Don’t you want to impress her?
She drew a breath. On the exhale, glowing threads wound from her palm to twist around the shaft. She let fly. It landed in the centre of the palm’s trunk, between the stag’s eyes.
She grinned. ‘Not bad for a novice.’
Atalanta snatched back her bow. ‘If you’re not going to take this seriously, you can fuck off.’
Danae’s chest constricted. ‘How did you … could you see the threads?’
‘You’ve clearly never held a bow in your life, yet you hit the target despite the wind. I’m no fool.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.’
Atalanta scowled, then she looked down at the bow in her hands. ‘When Artemis hunted with us in the forests of Arcadia, she would always use her power. It took me a decade to learn my skill, yet she was the better archer, though she never practised a day.’
‘I understand,’ Danae said swiftly.
The silence stretched between them, strained by the keening wind.
‘I’m going to kill her,’ said Atalanta, so softly Danae almost didn’t hear. The warrior’s brow darkened at Danae’s expression. ‘You don’t think I could defeat her?’
Danae fought to hide the fear that suddenly chilled her insides as she imagined Atalanta facing down the Goddess of the Hunt.
‘You are the finest archer I have ever seen, but even you cannot match an Olympian.’
‘I could take you.’
They stared at each other, then Danae’s lips twitched into a smile. Atalanta’s nostrils flared. She dropped her bow and punched her. Danae cried out as she staggered back.
Wiping her lip, she stared at the warrior in disbelief. ‘You hit me!’
Atalanta’s weight was perfectly balanced between her powerful legs. ‘I’m not afraid of the gods. And I’m not afraid of you.’
‘You should be.’ Danae summoned a clutch of life-threads and, ignoring her training, whipped her will into a gust of wind strong enough to send Atalanta sprawling into the bushes surrounding the lake.
Danae advanced. ‘Admit you cannot beat me.’
Atalanta ran her tongue over her teeth and leapt to her feet.
She launched herself at Danae, and they slammed into the ground, rolling across the gritty earth.
The warrior had the advantage of physical strength and pinned her.
Danae engorged her arms with life-threads and was about to hurl Atalanta into the sky, when the warrior’s scent stilled her.
Oak, salt and honeysuckle. A stolen moment on the Argo beneath the stars. Her skin prickled with heat.
‘Giving up already?’ Atalanta panted triumphantly.
Danae’s retort died on her lips. She was acutely aware of the warrior’s fingers curled around her arms, the weight of Atalanta’s thighs pressing into her hips. She could toss her aside as easily as drawing breath, but she did not.
The air became thick as honey in the world between their faces. Perhaps it was the struggle, but Danae was sure Atalanta’s breathing had quickened. Neither of them moved. Danae’s eyes were drawn to Atalanta’s lips, the shape of which she had come to know better than her own hands.
Suddenly, Atalanta released her and staggered back.
‘I should find Telamon,’ she mumbled. She hastily retrieved her bow and arrow, then ran across the rust-coloured earth, leaving Danae with an ache in her chest and a fire in her belly.
Danae waited for her blood to cool before following Atalanta up the hillside. She slipped, cursing as a rock jarred against her ankle. A shadow passed overhead. Pegasus soared above her, his white wings bright against the cloud-bruised sky.
As she neared the hut, she heard Telamon’s voice ring out against the wind.
‘… she looks prepared to me. We can’t keep going on like this.’
Picking up the pace, Danae scrambled up behind the boulder that guarded the stone hut.
Pegasus was drinking from his bowl, while Heracles smoothed his flank.
During their time on Delos, the hero had put on a little weight but was still painfully thin.
Their eyes met briefly, before Danae ran into the hut.
Metis, Atalanta and Telamon stood around the blazing hearth, the skewered fish charring over the flames like drawn knives between them.
The flame-haired man rounded on Danae. ‘When are we leaving?’
‘When Metis tells me I’m ready.’
Telamon huffed a breath through his nose and slapped a hand on the cracked stone wall.
‘When will that be? You asked us to go to war, not play at being farmers and fishermen on this hostile spit of land. We pledged to fight with you, but we still don’t know how the false gods came to power.
’ He pointed at Metis. ‘If she is really on our side why not tell us the reason she’s living on this barren rock? ’
Atalanta nodded, her arms folded over her battered silver breastplate. ‘How are we meant to face an enemy we do not fully understand?’
Danae gazed at Metis. ‘They have a point.’
The woman’s eyes darted between them, the line of her lips hardening.
Then a voice from behind Danae said, ‘I want to know about my father.’
She turned. Heracles stood in the doorway, his cerulean eyes like shards of ice within his wan face.
Metis met his gaze. ‘You are not ready.’
‘Fuck this.’ Telamon picked up his sword from where it leant beside the fishing spear. ‘I will not sit here waiting any longer. Heracles, Atalanta, Danae, are you coming?’ Atalanta moved to his side.
‘Wait.’ Danae remembered the ease with which these people had existed together, the easy ebb and flow of conversation, how they had laughed and fought in the same breath, like a flock of birds in flight, of one mind, singing one song.
Until she had come amongst them and shattered their harmony.
She turned to face Metis. ‘The Mother chose me. You say you are on our side, but if you do not tell us all you know then you are as good as aiding Zeus.’ She drew herself up.
‘I have reached Gaiasight. I know now what I must do to fight the false gods. I may not be ready, but if you do not tell us everything tonight, I will leave with them.’
Metis stared at her, a storm raging behind her eyes. Then to Danae’s disbelief she said, ‘The telling will be hard. As will the listening.’
‘Try us,’ said Telamon.
Metis looked at them each in turn. Her brow darkened, then she moved to the rear of the hut, emerging from the shadows with a small clay pot.
‘Sit.’
They did as she bade them and waited in silence as the woman handed round the roasted skewers of fish. ‘You will need to eat first.’
Danae could barely swallow the sweet, smoky flesh as Metis set down the pot and reached out a hand to Heracles. ‘Give me the cloak.’
Heracles’ fists tightened around the navy garment as though he would deny her. Then, slowly, he relinquished it, wrapping his arms around his bare torso and edging nearer to the fire.
Metis set about covering the entrance of the hut with the cloak, pinning it with the sharp sticks used for spearing lizards, and weighing down the hem with rocks. Then she returned to the hearth and took up the clay pot.
‘What I am about to tell you cannot be merely spoken. I will show you what I remember.’
She dipped her fist into the pot and threw a scatter of herbs onto the fire. Danae coughed as the smoke turned acrid and bitter. Her vision began to blur as hazy tendrils swirled about the hut. She felt as though she were underwater, her heartbeat pulsing in her ears.
Metis’ voice echoed as though the woman stood far away. ‘It began with a man who called himself Kronos …’