She sighed and wandered for a while beside the lake, then through the bushes surrounding it, trailing her fingers through their rich, verdant leaves. She held on to the warmth she’d felt when Atalanta and Telamon agreed to help her. She was not alone.
Take their threads, whispered the voice.You will need to be strong for what is to come.
It sounded distant somehow, as though the voice was but an echo cast from far away. She paid it no heed.
Eventually, eyes heavy with the heat of the sun, she found the enclave of bushes and saplings where Metis had hidden Telamon and Atalanta’s rowing boat. She sank down into its belly, stretching against its sun-warmed planks. Then she closed her lids and concentrated on the web of glowing threads circulating through her, but try as she might, without touching the omphalos shard she could not extend her consciousness to any part of the tapestry of life outside of her own body.
Her mind wandered as the heat-hazed air drifted over her skin, speckles of sunlight dappling her face through the leaves above.
Then she heard movement and opened her eyes.
Still soporific, she raised her head and peered over the lip of the boat through the foliage beyond. A pile of weapons lay on the bank of the lake, and beside them, a silver breastplate.
Danae’s breath snagged in her throat as Atalanta’s scarred legs stalked across her vision. Shifting ever so slowly, Danae moved her eye towards the gap in the foliage and stared through her leaf-framed window at the lake.
Atalanta stood on the bank, her naked body gleaming in the sunlight. Danae’s eyes ached but she did not blink, did not dare draw breath as she watched the sweat trickle down the groove of the warrior’s spine to the toned muscles beneath.
Something stirred in the base of her stomach as Atalanta waded into the lake, the water rippling across her rich brown skin. Then she submerged, and it felt like an age before she broke the surface, whipping back her braids to spray the air with glistening beads. The simmering within Danae became a drumbeat thumping through her chest, her gut, her thighs. She was transfixed by each pearly droplet trailing down the soft curves of Atalanta’s breasts, and the rest of her taut, battle-hardened body.
Danae’s pulse raced faster and faster, her lungs shrinking until she struggled to breathe. Longing transformed into nausea as a chill crept up her spine and her scalp prickled. Then the ghostly imprint of bony fingers scraped through her hair.
Gasping, she hurled herself out of the boat, crawling so fast she grazed her knees. Once clear of the trees, she broke into a run.
30. A Dance of Stone and Air
Another week passed, and Danae’s world narrowed to the effort of honing her power. She rose with the dawn, practising all day until dusk stole the light. Her endeavours were not in vain. Soon, she was able to levitate the stick at whim, remaining in control while the wind snatched at the wood. Metis seemed content to let her neglect her tasks, instead recruiting Telamon and Atalanta to fetch water and forage for food.
Danae drew a deep, salty breath. She stood on the crest of the hill, the island of Delos sprawled beneath her.
A dash of red caught her eye. Telamon and Heracles were walking slowly along the sand of the crescent bay. The fishing basket was slung over Telamon’s shoulder. Heracles clutched the spear, leaning on it like a staff. From this distance he looked like an old man. Despite remaining sceptical about their cause, he had not yet spoken of leaving. Danae supposed he had nowhere else to go. Atalanta and Telamon were the closest thing he had to family. Her chest ached at the thought that whether or not he came to believe they could defeat the false gods, soon they would be forced to part ways.
With a sigh she turned away and looked at a pile of Metis’ remembrance stones. Her breath slow and calm, she reached out a hand, sending a single life-thread from each finger into each of the rocks. She closed her eyes and imagined herself melting into her river, the wind buffeting her transforming into the current carrying her downstream. As she breathed,she let go, releasing the shame gnawing at her chest, the fear scraping a hole in her gut, her longing, her joy, all of it she gave to the water. When she could no longer feel her body, she opened her eyes.
All around her, the island gleamed. A lattice of glowing threads lay over the land, ever moving, ever weaving as the tapestry of life thrummed around her. And she was a part of it, her own ichor singing in harmony with the island. There was no heady rush, no euphoria, like when she consumed the life of another being. Only calm. And a warm breeze whispering a familiar song. In this state of peace, she sent her silent request down the strands of her life-threads connected to the rocks, asking the stones to join the world of the living and celebrate by dancing in the sky.
And dance they did.
Each stone rose into the air, the smallest pebble first, down to the largest at the base. Danae watched them soar like a flock of gulls above her head before returning them gently to their home on the ground.
She suddenly became aware that she was not alone. The tapestry of life vanished from sight as she spun around.
Metis stood before her, arms behind her back.
‘I’m sorry,’ Danae said quickly. ‘I meant no disrespect.’
Metis smiled and stretched out her hands. Nestled in the cup of her palms was one of the little violet blooms. It sat in its own clod of earth, its roots dangling between her fingers.
‘Go on, show me what you’ve learned.’
Danae approached tentatively, stretching out a finger to touch the stem.
‘Remember,’ said Metis, her voice a chant on the wind. ‘You are melding your life-threads with the ichor of the plant, not simply filling an empty object with your desire. The flower may need some convincing to grow if it is not ready.’
Tentatively, Danae sent one lone life-thread burrowing into the stem. She could feel the plant’s ichor. Navigating the living kingdom within the little flower, she wound her life-thread up its stem towards the purple petals above. Chewing her lip, she sent a question down the thread, an invitation to create another bud.
She waited.
Then she felt the plant push back, as though it was trying to expel her will. She sent another thread as reinforcement.
