Chapter 32 Mercy
Danae could not breathe.
The final vision from Metis’ story swirled before her, the smoke from the burning herbs acrid on her tongue.
Metis’ words still echoed around the hut, pulling at the ghostly shapes like a puppet master.
Danae shuffled away from the hearth until her back hit stone.
She flailed through the hazed air and when her fingers finally connected with the cloak hanging over the entrance, she tugged.
Fresh salt wind billowed across her face as she crawled out onto the hillside, coughing. Startled, Pegasus brayed and launched into the air. Danae retched.
Inside she could hear the others speaking as the smoke cleared.
‘The Titanomachy …’ rasped Telamon. ‘The war between the gods and Titans for dominion over the earth was no epic battle but an ambush.’
‘Yes.’ Metis’ voice was hard and clear as a bell.
‘A lie just like the one we chosen twelve were told of armies stalking the land. The only real threat was the viper in our nest. I learned after my fellow Titans were slain that Zeus was not the man called by Gaia, but his son, and he killed his father to take his place. Once he tasted the sacred fruit, Zeus found a way to send for his brother, Poseidon. Together, they stole apples to give to their other siblings, so they too would gain powers and be able to seize the Hesperides tree for themselves. The rest you have seen …’
‘How long ago?’ rasped Atalanta.
‘A thousand years.’
‘And Prometheus escaped …’
‘He did. Prometheus went into hiding, where he divined his prophecy from the shard of omphalos stone he’d rescued and spread his vision throughout the tribes of men.
When the news reached Zeus, he hunted Prometheus down, but never recovered the missing shard of stone.
The rest of the eye was reformed and placed in Delphi. ’
Danae’s mouth dried as she listened, still crouched on all fours.
Prometheus must have entrusted the shard to the first member of the Children of Prometheus, and it had been guarded by the order ever since, handed down through the years until Manto finally entrusted it to Danae.
A wave of guilt swept through her at the thought of it lost in the Underworld.
She gazed down at Pegasus’ empty water bowl by her hand.
The owl painted on its inside seemed to shift, as though it was about to beat its dark wings and fly away into the night.
She recalled Metis saying it was a gift from her daughter.
Then Danae thought of another likeness of the bird, cast in bronze with little green gems for eyes, pinned to her sister’s breast. The sacred animal of the Goddess of Wisdom and Warfare.
‘Athena …’ She pushed herself to standing and paced back into the hut. ‘Your daughter is Athena.’
Metis rose slowly, lingering smoke tendrils clinging to her like dawn mist.
‘Yes.’
The other three looked between them, eyes bloodshot.
‘I remained on Mount Olympus for a year after her birth, while Zeus began his campaign to convince mankind that he was a god. But as soon as she could fend without her mother I was exiled here, to Delos.’ Feeling swelled through the cracks of Metis’ shell, like damp soil beneath sun-split earth.
‘Zeus never forgave me for helping Prometheus escape.’
‘When I first arrived, you said your daughter used to come here … she brought you gifts …’ Danae’s limbs twitched, a familiar thrumming vibrating through her body.
‘Zeus allowed her to visit me while she was still mortal, but once she tasted the fruit of the Hesperides tree, became ageless and gained her powers, she came no more. That was centuries ago.’
‘You lay with him,’ Danae spat. ‘You loved him.’
‘When I saw what he truly was I stood against him. I attacked him, so Prometheus could escape.’ Metis stepped towards her around the smoking remains of the fire. ‘I know now what has guided him along this path. The same voice that whispers in your ear.’
Danae’s nails bit through the flesh of her palms, but before she could hurl back a retort, Heracles spoke.
‘Why did he do this to me?’ They turned to look at him. The hero had heaved himself up to standing, leaning against the stone wall. ‘Why didn’t he give me an apple?’
Danae’s heart ached at the rawness in his voice.
Metis gazed at him with eyes swollen with sadness. ‘I cannot say. Zeus has not created any more Titans since Hermes’ transformation centuries ago. I wonder if this is not of his choosing.’
‘Gold that grows bears no fruit,’ murmured Atalanta.
‘Exactly,’ said Metis. ‘Perhaps the Mother has cut him off from the power of the Hesperides fruit.’
A bolt of realization seared across Danae’s mind. ‘You knew about Heracles’ strength elixir. If Athena has not visited for centuries, then who told you? Who else has come to Delos in the last thirty years?’
Telamon and Atalanta rose to their feet.
Metis raised a hand. ‘It’s not what you think –’
‘Zeus.’ The name was venom on Danae’s lips.
There was a pause before Metis whispered, ‘Yes.’
Blood thumped in Danae’s ears. ‘When did he last set foot on this island?’
Metis looked as though she were crumbling. ‘A decade, at least a decade.’
Danae thought of her sister, her mind racing with images, each more terrible than the last. Alea lying limp in their brothers’ arms, her sea-bloated corpse, Zeus standing over her, his hands creeping over her flesh.
Metis had loved this man. This raping, murdering monster.
‘You never wanted me to succeed.’
‘That is not true.’
Telamon and Atalanta began to move towards their weapons.
‘This is a trap.’ The ache in Danae’s chest burned into a furnace. ‘You’re keeping me here until he comes, aren’t you?’
Metis’ eyes shone with tears as she shook her head. ‘I am on your side … all I ask is that you spare my daughter. She can change, I know she can. If I can only teach her like I have taught you, show her the way of the Mother …’
You know what you must do, said the voice. To fulfil your destiny.
A high-pitched keening rang in Danae’s ears, her insides hardening to iron.
‘They are all complicit! They all hoard life-threads and murder mortals.’ Her own life-threads thrummed through her body, like a stampede.
‘Your daughter has an ocean of blood on her hands. Every person her priestesses condemned, every family starving to pay her temple tithe, every mortal she drained to sustain her power.’
‘I can bring her to the light,’ Metis whispered. ‘Please … have mercy.’
Her love obscures the truth, said the voice. A mother would never let you harm her child.
Persephone blazed into Danae’s mind, twitching as the last of her life drained away.
She could almost feel the goddess’s blood lapping over her feet, washing over her limbs until it smothered her.
Then the imprint of bony fingers raked across her scalp and the ghost of a memory whispered, Hello, little Titan.
The stone floor cracked. Dust and shards of rock fell from the ceiling, the hut shaking as life-threads pulsed from Danae into the ground.
‘You preach the way of the Mother but all you care about is your own miserable life. How dare you hide on this barren rock rather than use your power to right the world you helped wrong. While you make little rock piles from the safety of your island, people are dying at the hands of the false gods.’ Her hands shook as she stretched a finger towards Metis. ‘You are a coward.’
‘Control yourself!’ shouted Metis.
But all Danae could see was burning gold.
‘Out!’ yelled Atalanta. ‘Everyone out!’
Metis threw out a whorl of life-threads from each hand to twist like vines around Danae. She was thrown backwards through the entrance. Then Atalanta and Telamon burst from the hut, hauling Heracles between them.
Danae lay on the ground, Metis’ power binding her own. There was no space for breath, for patience, for asking, as rage burned through her soul.
As she struggled, the violence in her body trickled away, leaving weariness in its wake. Then the pressure holding her evaporated.
There was a colossal crash, and Metis’ hut imploded in a cloud of dust and grit.
Metis released her, and Danae pushed herself to her feet, facing the wreckage of the stone hut, now nothing but a pile of boulders. Telamon, Atalanta and Heracles stood together on the edge of the hillside, their faces smeared with dust.
‘Look what you’ve done,’ Metis spat, her forehead bloodied by a falling rock. ‘I should have known, the day I caught you draining the ichor from that lizard –’
Danae barked out a bitter laugh. ‘Not the damned lizard again.’
‘It matters!’ Metis’ chest heaved. ‘If you still don’t understand that, then perhaps Gaia made a mistake.’
‘Come now,’ Telamon edged forward, his hands raised, ‘let’s not say things we’ll regret …’
The hillside groaned, and they all staggered back as the remnants of the hut collapsed, belching ash and smoke into the air.
Night had come. A sliver of moon hung in the sky, a twin to the crescent bruises marking Danae’s palms. The others were silent, the aftermath of the fight splattered across their faces like tar thrown at a fresco.
Metis regarded Danae with ice-cold fury. ‘When dawn comes, you will all leave.’
Danae lifted her chin. ‘Gladly.’