“He’s alive,” said Dolos. “I’m a healer and I can help him, but we need to get him inside.”
The entire village was awake. Many had fled their homes, fearful of their shaking walls collapsing in on them. Danae felt a twinge of guilt: her earthquake could have brought the whole village crashing to the ground. She was unsettled by the tiny part of her that found that exciting.
At that moment, Telamon, Atalanta and Hylas appeared from behind the kapeleion. Danae turned, hope swelling in her chest at what they might have found, but Telamon shook his head and said breathily, “We couldn’t catch the cart.”
A cry echoed through the square. A young man was running from hut to hut. “My wife! Has anyone seen Bia?”
Heracles reemerged from Dru’s hut. The villagers surged toward him, clamoring for answers.
“Listen!” His voice thundered across the square, but still they would not be quiet.
“The gods have cursed us!” moaned a gray-haired woman.
Danae stepped forward. “The gods have not cursed you. I’m a seer, I know the will of the Twelve. Poseidon will not shake your village again.”
That silenced them.
Heracles shot her an appraising look. “Go back to your homes. You are safe now.”
“But my wife!” The young man sank to his knees in front of the hero. “Please, you have to help me find her.”
Heracles gazed down at the man, his eyes misting as though he’d gone somewhere far away. “She’s gone. I’m sorry. There’s nothing to be done.”
“No, no!” The man grasped the hem of Heracles’s kilt. “Please help me. You’re Heracles! You can find her.”
The hero detached himself and ducked into Dru’s hut.
Danae’s heart ached as she watched the man sobbing into the dirt. She turned and ran into the hut after Heracles.
She placed a hand on the hero’s arm. “Can’t we do something? We could wait for daylight and follow any tracks left by the cart—”
He turned, his blue eyes hard as ice. “If I tried to track every person who’d joined the Missing I would not be the legendary Heracles but a ghost hunter. I can’t save everyone.”
“But isn’t that the point of being a hero?”
For a moment he looked so flushed with rage, she was sure he was going to strike her, but when he spoke his voice was quiet.
“We leave for Iolcos at dawn. If you want to track that cart, you’re on your own.”
He turned away and left her standing there, disappointment heavy in her chest.
They left at first light. Evan was still not awake, but Dolos assured his mother he should recover once the effects of the drug wore off. No one was in the mood for conversation as they saddled up the horses and took the track that led down the other side of the mountain.
Heracles forced them to push the horses even harder than the previous day. They raced across the border into Thessaly, where they left the mountains behind and were greeted with lush green fields and vineyards. They stopped once, briefly, to let their mounts drink, then Heracles drove them on again and didn’t slow until the earth gave way to sandy dunes and the sea broke over the horizon.
Danae could hear the roar of a crowd before they reached the crest of the hill. Heracles held up a fist, and they pulled up the horses to look down over the beach. A stadium had been erected, the central seats covered by an emerald canopy. A huge crowd was spread out on either side, cheering a group of men that stood between the stadium and the ocean. They appeared to be taking part in some sort of athletic trials. One man ran forward and let a discus fly. It sailed almost the entire length of the stadium before crashing into the sand just in front of a smoldering altar with the carcass of a large animal still burning on its coals. The crowd went wild.
Beyond the beach, floating in the shallows, was the most magnificent ship Danae had ever seen. It was a penteconter, smaller than the warships of Athens, with only a single row of oars punctuating its seamless hull, but it was so sleek, she found it hard to believe it had been crafted by a mortal hand. A white sail was coiled to its mast and a painted figurehead presided over the prow. Hera, Queen of the Gods. She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth.
Heracles turned to the group. His mouth twitched into a smirk. “Let’s give them something to cheer about.”
With a roar that rolled down the dunes, he urged his steed onward. Danae clung to Hylas as they bolted after him, Atalanta and Telamon adding their voices to the hero’s cry. The crowd turned, and their screams reached an ear-splitting crescendo at the sight of Heracles in his famous lion hide.
As they drew closer to the stadium, the chant of “Heracles, Heracles!” reverberated through Danae’s bones.
On the central platform a sumptuously dressed man rose to his feet and spread his arms wide. From the gold band glinting across his brow, she assumed he must be King Pelias of Iolcos.
At a gesture from their king, the crowd quietened.
