‘Please,’ Danae looked to Metis, her voice low. ‘I wouldn’t be here without them.’
Metis considered her for a long, hard moment. Then she turned to Telamon. ‘I accept your offer. But cross me, and that sword of yours will be of no help.’
Telamon inclined his head. ‘I well believe it.’
Metis gave him a sharp nod, then began to strip away Atalanta’s dressings, peeling off strips of pus-layered skin with them. Danae winced as Atalanta shuddered, a steady moan seeping between her cracked lips. She fought the urge to reach for the warrior’s hand.
‘Carry her to the sea. Those legs need to be washed.’
Telamon swooped down and lifted Atalanta in his arms. Danae followed behind as he walked to the shore and lowered the warrior into the swell, kneeling behind her to keep her head from slipping into the waves. As soon as the saltwater lapped at her legs, her whole body spasmed.
Metis waded into the ocean and crouched before Atalanta. Slowly, like she was bathing a child, she scooped handfuls of seawater and poured them over the warrior’s legs until all the blackened skin was washed away. Atalanta let out guttural groans as the woman worked, slipping in and out of consciousness as pain broke through her fever.
Danae tasted metal and realized she’d bitten through the flesh of her bottom lip.
Then Metis splayed her hands over Atalanta’s shins and closed her eyes. After a few moments, the warrior began to tremble violently, her eyes rolling back into her head.
‘What are you doing?’ hissed Telamon, as he gripped Atalanta’s arms.
‘She’s healing her,’ whispered Danae, watching the glowing threads flow from Metis’ hands. Then Danae’s lips parted as the skin of Atalanta’s legs began to knit together and apatchwork of whirling scars appeared where before there had been raw flesh.
Metis’ shoulders sagged and she sat back as the tension finally fled Atalanta’s body. The warrior slumped against Telamon, her eyes closed.
Telamon stared in wonder at Atalanta’s legs. Then his gaze sharpened as he glanced up at Danae. ‘Can you do this?’
She shook her head. ‘I hope to learn.’
‘Atalanta?’ Telamon gave her a gentle shake, but the warrior did not wake.
‘She’ll need rest,’ said Metis, straightening up. ‘Fighting a festering wound takes it out of a body.’ She looked up at the sky. ‘You’d best bring her up to the hut, while I hide that boat. Quickly, now.’
‘Thank you,’ said Danae, but Metis was already wading onto the shore.
Telamon hoisted Atalanta once more into his arms and carried her out of the water. The warrior’s face was no longer taut with pain, and her skin had already lost some of its greenish tinge, as though her infection had been washed away by the tide.
Danae took up her discarded fishing tools and followed him.
As they began the climb towards the hut, Telamon asked, ‘So she’s a demi-god, like you?’
Danae blinked. Another of her lies returning to catch her unawares. To explain her powers to her crewmates aboard theArgoshe had claimed to be the daughter of Poseidon, God of the Sea.
She glanced at him, then at Metis hauling the little boat across the sandy earth towards the lake. After a breath shereplied, ‘No. Back in the Underworld, remember I told you Heracles’ strength didn’t come from his father? Demi-gods don’t inherit their parent’s powers.’
Telamon cast her a sideways glance. ‘Then what are you? What is Metis?’
‘I will tell you, I promise. When Atalanta wakes, I will explain everything.’
Telamon said nothing, but his shoulders tightened. Danae suddenly felt intensely weary.
‘What happened to the Missing after I left?’
‘Atalanta and I broke free the night after you escaped from Eurystheus’ camp. We led the Missing to the gates of the city of Argos, then found ourselves a boat and came here.’ He shot her a glance. ‘Like I said, we had it under control.’
Danae nodded, her heart a little lighter knowing the Missing who made it out of the Underworld were finally free. She hoped they would find a way to return to their families.
Wind-roughed and sweating from the climb, they found Heracles lingering at the entrance to the hut, leaning against the stone doorway. He had draped Metis’ fine navy cloak around him like a shroud.
His haunted eyes widened at the sight of Atalanta in Telamon’s arms.
