“I bet it’s tiring—” he slipped his arm through hers “—communing with the gods.”
“Yes.” They walked in silence for a few steps, then Danae found herself saying, “To be honest there’s still a lot I don’t understand.”
“I can imagine. I’d be scared shitless if I heard the voice of Poseidon.”
The hint of a smile hooked the corners of her mouth. “It can be a shock, especially if it comes when you’re indisposed.”
Hylas paused for a moment. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not what I expected a seer to be like.”
“Young?”
“Funny.”
Danae’s smile widened. “It helps with the crippling exhaustion.”
A comfortable beat fell between them.
“I used to wish I could do things other mortals couldn’t. But traveling with Heracles...it seems like it can be very lonely.”
He had no idea how right he was.
“I don’t think many people can fight like you can.”
Hylas laughed. “With enough practice anyone can learn. I could never do what you do.”
Ahead of her the twins muttered as they walked. She overheard the words “easy pickings” and “need a good fuck.” She glanced at the pairs of hunters flanking the Argonauts. Thankfully none of them seemed to have heard. She had a feeling their truce would not be easily maintained.
As they delved further into the jungle, dark leaves closed in above their heads. The air was even thicker here, moist and cloying. Beady eyes, like clutches of black pearls stared out at them from the undergrowth. The tree trunks were wound with creepers and covered in green moss, so luminous it almost glowed. Danae flinched as a bird erupted from the foliage, its feathers the color of a blazing sunset, and watched it soar through the vines above.
It felt like they’d been walking for hours when Danae spotted a structure up ahead. As they drew closer, she saw the outline of a hut built around the trunk of a tree, a good twenty feet off the ground. The same green moss that covered the trees coated the roof and walls, blending with the jungle around it. A walkway stretched from the decking to another hut and then a whole network of dwellings came into focus above her.
As they progressed below the patchwork of tree huts, the storm damage became evident. Torn walkways hung between broken branches, and planks of fallen decking were strewn across their path. But despite the debris, the majority of the huts seemed intact. Having seen how capable the hunters were, she wondered why they needed to enlist the Argonauts to carry out the repair work.
Shards of sunlight broke through the canopy above, then the group poured into a clearing. Dominating the center ground was a vast effigy, constructed of hundreds of branches twisting together to form a depiction of Artemis. The Goddess of the Hunt stood at least fifteen feet tall, a wooden bow and arrow drawn at her cheek.
Up ahead Atalanta faltered. The muscles in the warrior’s shoulders clenched as her gaze lingered on the goddess. She flinched when Telamon touched her arm, then shrugged him off, stalking ahead.
Behind the statue was a large circular building made entirely of wood, the domed roof covered with dried fronds. The doorway was hung with fur pelts, and stuffed animal heads were mounted along the front of the building. What looked like a deer with twisted horns was nestled between a large cat with striped fur and protruding fangs and a creature with a face of leathery skin surrounded by thick black fur.
“Come,” Hypsipyle called. “Feast with us in the Hunters Hall.”
Unease gripped Danae’s spine as she followed Jason and the others inside. It was strange, all hostility seemed to have vanished. Hypsipyle was treating them like honored guests, rather than strangers who’d just killed several of her hunters.
The hall itself was dominated by a smoking fire pit underneath a hole in the ceiling. A large boar was already roasting on the embers, as though the hunters had been expecting company. Smaller stuffed animals lined the walls. Birds with electric blue wings were pinned as though captured in flight, and lifeless snakes coiled up the wood, their eyes replaced with yellow beads. They were so well preserved, Danae was almost sure she saw one of them move.
Hypsipyle turned her attention to the doorway, and Danae looked around to see another woman enter the hall. She was tiny and much older than the others, her loose white hair flowing beyond her waist. She looked around the room, and her eyes, green and mysterious as the jungle, lingered on Danae.
“This is Polyxo,” said Hypsipyle. “Our mantis.”
Polyxo held a cup to the sky, her features blurred by the smoke curling from the roasting pit. Danae’s eyes had not left the old woman since she entered the hall. She did not look like a seer, but that didn’t make her any less dangerous. Danae licked the sweat from her lips. She was becoming increasingly lightheaded from the intense heat of the fire.
“The first cup I give to Artemis, may we forever hunt in her light.” The old woman’s voice whistled like wind across an open plain. “We pledge ourselves to you, blessed Parthéna, now and ’til our ghosts cross the final waters of the Styx.” With a flick of her wrist, Polyxo poured the honey-colored liquid from her cup onto the dried fronds that layered the floor.
The Argonauts sat around the fire pit, hunters dotted between them. Danae heard Atalanta mumble something to Telamon about a waste of good drink. She hesitated before lifting her own cup to her lips, wondering if it might be laced with whatever drug had coated the darts. But the wine the hunters drank had been poured from the same jugs, so she took a sip. It coated her mouth with a cloying stickiness, but she found herself draining the cup and wishing for more.
A stream of women appeared through the pelt-covered doorway, carrying woven bowls piled high with a vibrant array of fruit and vegetables. The food was bursting with flavor. After a few mouthfuls, Danae became aware of how hungry she was. She helped herself to a slice of something soft and orange. It was so juicy it almost slipped through her fingers, and when she bit into its flesh, sweetness exploded over her tongue.
“Mmmm!” Dolos moaned from across the fire, tucking into a steaming pile of mushrooms mixed with delicate purple flowers. “These are fantastic, what are they cooked in?”
