Danae and Telamon approached. It was Leon, the man who had been snatched. His limbs were broken, his heart torn out through the bones of his chest.
Dread seeped through her as she thought of Manto’s death; their torso ripped open, their heart stolen. But this brutality could not have been executed by a harpy. They did not have the speed or stealth to pluck a man from the ground without being seen. But if it wasn’t a hound of Zeus, then what other creature would rip out a person’s heart?
‘Everyone, keep together,’ shouted Telamon. ‘Those of us with weapons – Atalanta, bring Hylas round and flank the head of the group, Danae stay to my right – we’ll form a triangle.’
As they moved into position, Danae’s blade trembled in her fist. The knife seemed like a twig in the face of what might be attacking them.
A rattling wail ripped through the air.
‘Oh gods,’ murmured Telamon. ‘I think …’ he swallowed, ‘I think it’s a fury.’
Danae was about to press him to explain, when a memory surfaced. A story told around a crackling hearth in the depths of winter. Her mother had spoken of three creatures that lived in the Underworld. Ethereal beings born of night and vengeance, brought forth from the oozing pits of Tartarus. A trio of spectres cloaked in darkness whose sole purpose was to avenge the wrongs done to their master, Hades. They were said to torment the dead and tear reparations from the flesh of the living. There was no one alive who had seen them and lived to tell the tale.
She had hoped, like so many things she once believed, that this tale was a fantasy dreamed up by the gods to terrorize mortals. But if this nightmare was real, Danae had just set free the dragon that killed their master.
An act worthy of deadly revenge.
20. The Path of Fate
They came like a howling wind.
The furies hurtled around the group in a hurricane of blade-sharp talons, slicing at their flesh. Accompanying the creatures’ unearthly rattles were the screams of the Missing, cries of pure terror pealing through the rocky passage. Through them, Danae could hear Hylas whinnying and Atalanta grunting in pain as she shot arrows into the maelstrom, but skilled as she was, the warrior could not find her target. Danae, too, thrust at the nightmarish shapes with her knife as they shot past, but it was futile. Then she felt a sudden gust of air beside her. She glanced to her right to find the woman who’d stood next to her gone. There was a splash, and something that looked like a body bobbed away on the waters of the Acheron.
Danae clenched her teeth and tightened the grip on her blade. She would not allow them to be picked off one by one like hares snatched by falcons. Not when escape was almost in their grasp.
She lunged again and again at the swirling blackness until her knife connected to something solid. There was a shriek, like the grating of metal on bone, then she was whisked into the air.
Up close, the fury smelt like death. Though the world around Danae tore past at a sickening pace, she could finally see the creature that held her. It was shrouded in a midnight cloak, so thin and ragged it looked like smoke billowing through the air. Its wings were like those of a huge dragonfly,vibrating at such a pace they could barely be seen. And its face … was eyeless; nothing but a gash of a mouth containing three sharpened rows of teeth, and two small slits above it that flared as it sniffed Danae. She cried out, her arms pinned to her sides as its impossibly sharp claws dug through the skin of her chest as if it were soft cheese.
Then an arrow whistled past her ear and tore through one of the fury’s wings. It shrieked and let go of her. The air was punched from Danae’s lungs as she hit the ground. Mercifully, the body of a slain Missing broke her fall onto the hard rock, but pain still ripped through her torn chest as she gasped, desperately fighting to breathe. She struggled to sit up and saw Telamon, his sword bloody, standing in front of a group of around ten Missing and Hylas, Atalanta and Heracles still atop his back, the warrior continuing to shoot arrows at furies.
Suddenly, like hounds with the scent of a stag, the furies turned and streaked down the riverbank as the hulking form of a giant came into view. The creatures surrounded the giant, and a roar like the great horn of a warship echoed through the cavern. The giant lifted its arms, battering the furies with its fists. Even in the poor light Danae could see the blood pouring down its mottled skin. She felt a twinge of pity.
Then Telamon yanked her to her feet.
They ran, pelting along the riverbank of the ever-narrowing passage, Hylas cantering with them. Danae’s legs felt like they were disintegrating, and she was not sure she would make it to the entrance before her body gave out. With each step the collar weighed heavier around her neck, threatening to drag her to the ground. Only the sight of Atalanta atop Hylas, her arms wrapped tight around Heracles, kept her tethered to her strength. The warrior was in more pain than she. If Atalanta could hold on, she could too.
She blinked. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her. Then she looked up, and a sob lodged in her throat. There were no more glowing crystals embedded in the cavern roof. The light bleeding through the gloom ahead must be coming from outside.
And there was wind. She breathed in a deep lungful of salty breeze, revelling in the fresh, cold air. Then she heard the crash of waves. She pressed on and caught up with Hylas. The horse paused, hoofing the sea-slicked rock. It had become too narrow on either side of the river for him to continue along the bank, and the passage was too small for him to fully flex his wings and fly.
She crouched down, slipped her legs into the salty flow and lowered herself in.
‘What are you doing?’ shouted Telamon as the Missing clustered behind him.
Danae clung to the rocks as the cold water lapped over her wounded chest, stinging as though the fury was clawing at her afresh. Then her feet hit the bottom.
‘We can wade through,’ she gasped. ‘Hylas, come into the river!’
The horse backed away, flexing his wings. With a grunt, Atalanta pulled Heracles up into a seated position, the hero swaying violently.
‘Look, it’s safe,’ Danae let go of the rock and lifted her arms into the air, bracing herself against the pull of the current. She stayed rooted to the spot.
Hylas rippled his lips, hoofed the bank, then tentatively lowered himself down into the river. Atalanta cried out as the salt water washed over her legs, but she kept herself and Heracles astride his back. Telamon helped the rest of the Missing into the river, and with Danae at the helm they strode with the current.
As they waded further, the swells grew, crashing against Danae’s chest, sometimes up to her chin. Each agonizing wave threatened to sweep her away, but there was nothing in the world that could stop her now.
Then they turned a bend in the river and she stopped moving, tears streaking her sea-dampened cheeks.
