They hadn’t gone far when cries echoed from further down the tunnel, accompanied by the clang of metal.
‘Aim for the eyes!’
‘I’m trying! Where the fuck did the light go?’
Danae’s frown deepened. One voice was full of flint and honey, the other resonated with timber and bronze.
Breath hissed between her lips. Perhaps it was her torture-addled mind deceiving her, but she could have sworn she recognized those voices.
17. A Step into the Mist
Danae pushed past Charon and ran towards the voices. Behind her, the ferryman sounded what might have been a warning, his staff-light chasing her heels.
She skidded to a halt as she turned round a bend in the passage, Charon’s light throwing the scene ahead into sharp relief.
Encircled by shades stood a knife-wielding woman dressed in battered silver armour, a bow and quiver of arrows slung across her chest, back-to-back with a flame-haired man, his sword raised before him.
Atalanta and Telamon, Heracles’ faithful companions who’d travelled with Danae aboard theArgo.
They froze when they caught sight of her.
‘You,’ hissed Atalanta, her expression torn between surprise and fury.
Like a river bursting its banks, a surge of feeling flooded Danae’s chest. She had never been more relieved to see two people who looked like they wanted to kill her.
‘Call the shades off!’ Danae urged Charon. ‘These two are friends.’
The ferryman swiftly raised his staff, driving its end into the ground, beating a frantic tapping against the rock. The shades cringed back. Charon then signed an instruction and the shades’ shimmering bodies vanished as they melted into the shadows.
For an agonizing moment no one spoke. All four of them stood so still, they might have been figures in a painted fresco,the air thick with the weight of all that had passed since they last saw one another.
‘So,’ Telamon’s lip curled, ‘you abandoned us for Hades.’
Danae’s mouth dried. She had left them both, along with Heracles, asleep in the Argonauts’ camp while she scaled the Caucasus Mountains in search of Prometheus.
‘No, I’m a captive, look,’ the words tripped over her tongue as her hands flew to the collar. She took a step towards them. Telamon did not lower his sword, eyes sliding over her to settle on Charon.
‘The ferryman’s on our side,’ Danae added quickly. ‘He helped me escape.’
‘We arenoton the same side,’ growled Atalanta.
Like feeling prickling back into a numb limb, the urgency of their situation returned to the forefront of Danae’s mind.
‘Hades has Heracles imprisoned in the depths of Tartarus. We have to save him.’
Charon laid a hand on Danae’s arm, his crimson eyes pleading as he shook his head. She shoved him off.
‘Why do you think we’re here?’ said Telamon.
Atalanta’s dark eyes burned beneath her scowl. ‘Why areyouhere? To do Hades’ bidding?’
‘I told you, I’m a prisoner. I came to the Underworld to find my sister, but Hades, he …’ her chest tightened, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
‘Forgive us if we don’t believe a word that passes your lips,’ said Telamon, his voice full of a cold disdain that sounded alien from his tongue. He turned to Atalanta, ‘Come on, we’ll find our own way.’
But Atalanta did not move. She stared at Danae as though if she glared hard enough, she might be able to burn straight through her.
‘Why did you leave?’
