Chapter 39 Lure of the Sea
Danae emerged from her lodgings, dressed in the obsidian seer’s robe and matching cloak.
The yellow light of dawn spilled through the narrow streets like pressed oil.
Odysseus’ guards were waiting for her outside.
Silently, they escorted her back to the ship, snatching sideways glances at her as they walked.
Once aboard, she tucked her bundle of broken armour, trident and collar behind a barrel in the prow cabin.
A strong northerly wind whipped her crop of hair as she emerged onto the mid-deck.
She ran a hand through her short curls, and a smile tugged at her lips.
Reluctant as she’d been when Odysseus first suggested she slip into her old role, it was strangely comforting to be back in the familiar disguise.
As she climbed up to the prow deck, Telamon’s voice boomed across the ship, regaling Hylas, Odysseus and Atalanta with last night’s antics.
‘… by the time Hylas joined us, the man was four drachmas down and ready to throw his eldest daughter into the bargain.’
Hylas laughed. ‘You lost a round later, as I recall.’
Danae was pricked with jealousy. Hylas had evidently joined Telamon and Atalanta in the kapeleion after leaving her room. They’d all been together, without her.
‘The game was rigged,’ grumbled Telamon.
‘Can’t rig petteia.’ Atalanta leant on the prow rail. ‘You lost because you’re an arrogant arse who doesn’t know when to take his coin and leave.’
‘You can talk,’ Telamon began, then noticed Danae. ‘Ah! You look like Daeira, the Seer, again.’
‘Yes, we must think of a new name for you,’ said Odysseus. ‘It cannot be the one known by the Argonauts.’
‘What of Danae?’ asked Hylas.
‘No,’ she said sharply. She had so little of the Danae from Naxos left, she did not want to pollute her true name with another false identity. Besides, Heracles now knew her by that name. She had no idea where the hero had gone, who he might have spoken to …
A hand brushed her arm. ‘You all right?’ Atalanta had moved to her side, dark eyes searching Danae’s face. The warrior’s lids were heavy, her breath laced with yesterday’s wine.
‘I’m fine,’ Danae replied, with more of a barb than she intended.
Atalanta folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. ‘Doris.’
Danae glared at her. ‘No.’
‘Dione?’ offered Odysseus. ‘A strong seer’s name.’
She considered it. ‘Dione it is.’
As the ship left Myconos harbour, its sail spread wide like the wings of a swan, she glanced behind her at the Ithacan soldiers sitting idle on the rowing benches. They were doing an admirable job of pretending they hadn’t been watching her.
‘You’re sure you trust these men?’ she asked Odysseus.
‘With my life. Like me they’ve been taught the ways of the Children of Prometheus from their parents and their parents’ parents by their forebears before that.’
‘We are all here to help you,’ added Hylas.
Danae wondered how he’d gone from being a wounded Argonaut rescued by Odysseus from the Doliones shore to a trusted member of the King of Ithaca’s inner circle. Hylas was brave and loyal, but Danae sensed these were not the qualities that had convinced Odysseus to keep him close.
She walked to the ship’s rail and looked out over the turquoise ocean, the sea darkening as they entered the open waters of the Aegean. For a while the wind drove them onwards, until the sea’s breath lulled and the men were forced to row.
There were footsteps on the deck behind her, then Odysseus appeared at Danae’s side.
‘Tell me, in Delphi, were you given a shard of the omphalos stone?’
Danae’s insides twisted. ‘Yes … I was given it by Manto, a member of the Children and one of the bravest, fiercest and most brilliant people I’ve ever met.’ She swallowed. ‘But it is lost now.’
Odysseus’ hands tightened on the ship’s rail. ‘Lost? If that shard falls into the hands of the Olympians –’
‘Hades took it from me in the Underworld and he is now dead. He concealed my presence from the other gods and wished to use me as a weapon to overthrow his brother, Zeus. I doubt he would have told Olympus that he had the stone.’
Odysseus considered her. After a pause he asked, ‘Tell me, how did he die?’
Danae drew a lungful of fresh, salty air. ‘The ferryman, Charon, set free the dragon, Typhon, who was imprisoned in the Underworld. It burned Hades’ flesh from his bones.’
‘I’d heard tales,’ breathed Odysseus, ‘but it is true, the dragon exists. One would hope the creature is now bent on revenge …’ For a moment he seemed lost to his thoughts, then the sharpness returned to his gaze, and he turned, calling Hylas, Telamon and Atalanta to him, guiding them close to Danae.
‘I must ask that you tell no one beyond this deck the truth of the Underworld.’
Danae glanced at the men on the rowing benches. ‘Your men do not know?’
Odysseus shook his head. ‘I believe we are the only mortals who know the reality of what lies beneath. It’s a kindness to keep that particular piece of knowledge from the men. Especially given what they must face. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Danae looked into those amber-flecked eyes.
A kindness? Or a calculation that they would not fight if they knew the truth of what waited for them when their bones returned to the earth.
But whatever his reason, Odysseus had a point.
She must emerge victorious against the false gods, and for that, she needed an army.
‘Fine.’ As she spoke, weariness stole over her. She took hold of the side of the ship once more and closed her eyes, focusing on the motion of the boat swaying beneath her feet. Far in the deepest reaches of her mind echoed a melody, a song she could not quite place.
‘When we reach Troy, I will introduce you as my seer,’ said Odysseus.
‘There are several royal generals in command of their own armies, but all answer to Agamemnon, the King of Men. It is the wife of his brother, Menelaus, who was kidnapped, or ran away – depending on who you ask – with Prince Paris of Troy. We will have to report to Agamemnon once we arrive.’
Danae opened her eyes and gazed down into the wine-dark water. What she would give to dive into those waves, be rocked by the sea and serenaded by the sweet voices still singing in her mind.
‘As soon as we reach Troy you must be Dione the Seer. It is imperative no one but the Children of Prometheus knows your true identity,’ continued Odysseus. Then he grew silent, frowning as though listening to something.
Hylas and Telamon had drifted to lean over the starboard rail. The singing had grown louder. Danae thought it was in her mind, but now the melody echoed around the ship as though rising from the sea itself.
There was a splash.
‘Man overboard!’
Danae’s head snapped around. The soldiers had abandoned their benches and clustered to the port side of the ship. She ran to the rail and leant over. The water churned, white froth stained crimson.
‘He just jumped!’ one of the soldiers called from the mid-deck. ‘He …’ the man’s face fell slack and slowly he turned towards the waves. ‘Can you hear that?’
‘Get back from the side!’
Danae spun round as Odysseus slammed his hands over his ears and shouted, ‘Block your ears! Tie yourselves to the ship!’
Her hands began to rise to her head, then she paused.
Part of her was screaming to bind herself to the benches like the men were now doing.
But with each breath her limbs filled with an eerie calm.
She lowered her arms and gazed over the rail, watching the marbled waves crest against the hull.
The tune filling her ears was so beautiful, even more harmonious than one of Orpheus’ songs.
It must be a melody sung by the nymphs of the sea.
Tears blossomed in her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks.
She had thought they too might be fiction after she learnt the truth about the gods, but this singing was proof of their existence.
She gasped as silvery bodies came into focus swimming beneath the waves. Their flowing hair streamed out behind them in ribbons of raven, gold and copper, and shimmering rainbow fins protruded from their backs like wings.
Danae reached down, the wooden rail digging into her chest as she stretched her hand towards the waves.
A sudden clarity burned through her. If she followed the nymphs, all would be well.
There would be no more pain. The ache of all she had seen and all the agony to come would wash away.
There was no space for anything but peace beneath the water, the waves would protect her from the world, and the sea nymphs’ song would fill every part of her with joy.
Desire burned through her, so hot and scalding only the sea could quench it.
A hand reached out of the waves to meet her fingers.
Their tips touched, and she was shocked at how cold they were.
Then a face followed. A face that had looked so beautiful beneath the water, now twisted and bestial.
And out of a mouth full of blood-flecked teeth, that sweet, harmonious sound grated into a shriek.
Suddenly, she was yanked back from the water and slammed into the deck.
Odysseus sat on top of her, pinning her arms and legs.
Two pieces of sail rag were stuffed into his ears.
Even after the horror of what she’d seen in the water, Danae’s mind began to twist. She recalled not a terrible face, but a beautiful one, a woman reaching to her, soft-cheeked and lovely, longing for her embrace.
‘Please,’ she gasped, ‘let me go to her.’
Odysseus would not release her, and Danae delved within, calling her life-threads in order to repel the king. As though sensing what she was about to do, Odysseus shouted, ‘This is for your own good!’ and delivered a blow to Danae’s temple that knocked her unconscious.
Danae came to with a vicious throbbing across the left side of her skull.
She lay propped against the side of the prow deck, the sun prising itself between her heavy lids.
She blinked, and pain shot through her left eye.
It wouldn’t open all the way. Tentatively, she prodded the swollen skin.
If it felt this bad, gods know how it looked.
‘Welcome back.’
She was afforded a brief respite from the sun’s glare as a pair of scarred, muscular legs planted themselves in front of her.
Wincing, she squinted up at Atalanta. ‘What were those …’
‘Sirens. They lure sailors to their deaths.’
Danae’s heart lurched. She’d heard tales of the perilous siren song from merchants and fishermen back on Naxos.
‘Telamon, Hylas?’
‘They’re fine.’ Atalanta lowered herself down beside Danae.
‘Most of the crew managed to tie themselves to a bench or the mast before the song took hold.’ The warrior glanced at her.
‘Not all succumbed as quickly as you. Although, two more of those Ithacan soldiers jumped overboard. Telamon and Hylas have had to take their place on the benches.’
The wind had lulled, and the ship now sliced through the waves on the power of the men’s limbs.
Three lives lost. Danae wondered how many more of these soldiers would die once they reached Troy.
Her eyes flicked to Odysseus and the navigator conversing on the stern deck, then travelled to where Hylas and Telamon now shared a rowing bench.
A surge of warm familiarity swelled through her.
For a moment she allowed herself to imagine they were back on the Argo, one united crew, heading towards Colchis.
Back then the prophecy had felt like a mountain resting on her shoulders.
Now she longed for that simpler time, before she’d learned that gaining Titan powers meant she was doomed to watch those she loved grow old and perish while she remained fixed in time, before her belief in the afterlife had been shattered, before the Underworld had beaten her spirit beyond recognition.
‘Odysseus didn’t have to knock me out.’
‘Yes, he did.’ The warrior flicked her braids over her shoulder. ‘Otherwise you’d have thrown him off with your powers and dived into the arms of that siren.’
The colour in Danae’s cheeks ripened. They sat in silence for a moment, the waves raking against the ship.
‘It suits you,’ said Atalanta.
Danae arched an eyebrow. ‘The black eye?’
‘The hair.’ The warrior paused. ‘I’ve always liked it short.’
Danae was very aware of the sliver of air between their arms, the notes of oak, salt and honeysuckle woven into the other woman’s scent. She stole a glance at Atalanta and found the warrior watching her.
‘Back on Delos, did you like what you saw?’ Atalanta’s words were so softly voiced they were almost lost to the wind.
Danae’s lips parted. She thought of the lake, of the warrior’s discarded silver armour glinting in the sunlight, Atalanta’s lean body being lowered into the water’s embrace and the shining trails the droplets had trickled across her skin.
‘Yes,’ she breathed.
They stared at each other, heat rising in the pit of Danae’s stomach. There was something sharp and raw in the depths of those fierce, dark eyes. Something dampened by years of drinking, fighting and fucking.
‘I never meant to hurt you,’ Danae whispered, curling her fingers around Atalanta’s hand.
The warrior drew back as though a blade had been drawn between them. Her lip curled.
‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
‘Atalanta …’
Her eyes cold as starlight, the warrior leant close and whispered, ‘I’m no fool. If Heracles had his strength back and was here on this ship you would be fawning over him like a lovesick girl.’
The longing ache in Danae’s throat turned bitter. She rose, her head throbbing with the sudden movement.
‘If you really believe that, then you are a fool.’
She stalked away across the prow deck and had almost reached the rowing benches when the navigator shouted, ‘Land ahead!’
She spun on her heel. The green and gold hills of a verdant island stood proud against the sky.
Marching through the benches, she called to Odysseus, ‘That is not Troy!’
‘Indeed.’ He greeted her with an infuriating smile as she climbed up to the stern deck. ‘That is the island of Skyros.’
Rage bubbled inside her, life-threads automatically surging into her hands. ‘If you have tricked me, King of Ithaca, I will strike you down where you stand.’
Odysseus did not so much as blink. ‘We are on our way to Troy, be assured of that. But we have an important person to collect first. I was sailing to this island when Metis’ gull found me.’
Danae’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who is this person?’
‘The best of the Greeks. A young warrior named Achilles.’