Metis tilted her head as though surprised Danae did not know the word. ‘Life force. The threads of the tapestry that live within each of us.’ Her lips quirked at the perplexed expression still lingering on Danae’s face.
Danae gestured to the dead patch of bush. ‘Surely it would be more effective to drain the entire plant? Or better still a tree.’
‘Better for who? The spurge I’ve left living will grow again in time, and balance will be restored. If I drained the entire bush, the lives of all the creatures that rely on it would be threatened. Balance destroyed. See?’
Danae nodded slowly.
A lone gull soared overhead. Metis tilted her face to the sky, mimicking the bird’s cry. The gull swooped low to land on her arm. Metis’ caws softened to coos as she stroked its feathers and continued to walk.
‘Why do you live alone on this island?’ asked Danae, hurrying to keep up.
Metis looked at the gull. ‘I am not alone.’
‘Without other people.’
The woman launched the bird back into the sky, watching its flight against the wind.
‘Punishment.’
Danae waited for the woman to elaborate. She did not.
Metis led them to the cliffs looking out towards Myconos. Lining the divide between earth and rock was a crop of flowers unlike the hardy little blooms scattered throughout the dry grass. Despite the baking land beneath, their leaves were a vibrant green, thick and strong like pointed fingers, their blooms the size of Danae’s palm with pale feather-like petals the colour of a sun-bleached sky.
A line formed between Danae’s brows. ‘If Demeter does not command the seasons, then why does the earth cool and warm? Why do trees wither only to grow new leaves?’
Metis stared at her for a moment, then blinked. ‘It is the cyclical nature of the tapestry of life. The old must die to make way for the new. It is the way of the Mother.’
‘When are you going to tell me who the Mother is?’
‘All in good time.’ Metis squatted down beside the flowers.
‘How am I meant to learn her ways if I don’t even know who she is?’
Metis pressed one of the thick leaves between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Collect a couple of handfuls of these. They’ll aid Heracles’ recovery.’ She threw the bag she’d carried from the hut to Danae. It was woven from strands of dried seaweed.
‘Where are you going?’ Danae called as Metis walked away.
‘To check the lizard traps,’ the woman said without turning back.
Chewing the inside of her lip in frustration, Danae crouched beside the crop of flowers. Their leaves provedtough to harvest, and she was forced to use the knife Telamon had given her.
She’d collected ten of the leaves when she caught a dash of movement out of the corner of her eye. A little way off, in the crevice between two rocks, a speckled yellow lizard had become caught in one of Metis’ traps. Danae opened her mouth to call for the woman, then paused. She watched the creature struggle, her fingertips tingling.
Take its life-threads, urged the voice.Metis will be pleased at your skill.
Like an avalanche, longing cascaded through her. She had not yet used her powers since being freed from the collar.
She recalled a time, back on Naxos, when her mother had shown her how to end a creature’s life swiftly with minimal pain. Then she remembered the reptiles pinned to the wall of Metis’ dwelling: the woman was evidently used to killing the creatures. She thought of the burst of ecstasy she knew waited for her.
She crept forward and reached into the trap.
It was over so quickly. One tiny wave of pleasure. She could barely feel the threads spreading through her body. Such a little life. It was not enough.
‘What are you doing?’
She turned to see Metis standing behind her. The woman’s dark eyes were wide with fury.
‘Killing a lizard that was caught in your trap.’
