Suddenly, Atalanta released her and staggered back.
‘I should find Telamon,’ she mumbled. She hastily retrieved her bow and arrow, then ran across the rust-coloured earth, leaving Danae with an ache in her chest and a fire in her belly.
Danae waited for her blood to cool before following Atalanta up the hillside. She slipped, cursing as a rock jarred against her ankle. A shadow passed overhead. Pegasus soared above her, his white wings bright against the cloud-bruised sky.
As she neared the hut, she heard Telamon’s voice ring out against the wind.
‘… she looks prepared to me. We can’t keep going on like this.’
Picking up the pace, Danae scrambled up behind the boulder that guarded the stone hut. Pegasus was drinking from his bowl, while Heracles smoothed his flank. During their time on Delos, the hero had put on a little weight but was still painfully thin. Their eyes met briefly, before Danae ran into the hut.
Metis, Atalanta and Telamon stood around the blazing hearth, the skewered fish charring over the flames like drawn knives between them.
The flame-haired man rounded on Danae. ‘When are we leaving?’
‘When Metis tells me I’m ready.’
Telamon huffed a breath through his nose and slapped a hand on the cracked stone wall. ‘When will that be? You asked us to go to war, not play at being farmers and fishermen on this hostile spit of land. We pledged to fight with you, but we still don’t know how the false gods came to power.’ Hepointed at Metis. ‘If she is really on our side why not tell us the reason she’s living on this barren rock?’
Atalanta nodded, her arms folded over her battered silver breastplate. ‘How are we meant to face an enemy we do not fully understand?’
Danae gazed at Metis. ‘They have a point.’
The woman’s eyes darted between them, the line of her lips hardening.
Then a voice from behind Danae said, ‘I want to know about my father.’
She turned. Heracles stood in the doorway, his cerulean eyes like shards of ice within his wan face.
Metis met his gaze. ‘You are not ready.’
‘Fuck this.’ Telamon picked up his sword from where it leant beside the fishing spear. ‘I will not sit here waiting any longer. Heracles, Atalanta, Danae, are you coming?’ Atalanta moved to his side.
‘Wait.’ Danae remembered the ease with which these people had existed together, the easy ebb and flow of conversation, how they had laughed and fought in the same breath, like a flock of birds in flight, of one mind, singing one song. Until she had come amongst them and shattered their harmony. She turned to face Metis. ‘The Mother chose me. You say you are on our side, but if you do not tell us all you know then you are as good as aiding Zeus.’ She drew herself up. ‘I have reached Gaiasight. I know now what I must do to fight the false gods. I may not be ready, but if you do not tell us everything tonight, I will leave with them.’
Metis stared at her, a storm raging behind her eyes. Then to Danae’s disbelief she said, ‘The telling will be hard. As will the listening.’
‘Try us,’ said Telamon.
Metis looked at them each in turn. Her brow darkened,then she moved to the rear of the hut, emerging from the shadows with a small clay pot.
‘Sit.’
They did as she bade them and waited in silence as the woman handed round the roasted skewers of fish. ‘You will need to eat first.’
Danae could barely swallow the sweet, smoky flesh as Metis set down the pot and reached out a hand to Heracles. ‘Give me the cloak.’
Heracles’ fists tightened around the navy garment as though he would deny her. Then, slowly, he relinquished it, wrapping his arms around his bare torso and edging nearer to the fire.
Metis set about covering the entrance of the hut with the cloak, pinning it with the sharp sticks used for spearing lizards, and weighing down the hem with rocks. Then she returned to the hearth and took up the clay pot.
‘What I am about to tell you cannot be merely spoken. I will show you what I remember.’
She dipped her fist into the pot and threw a scatter of herbs onto the fire. Danae coughed as the smoke turned acrid and bitter. Her vision began to blur as hazy tendrils swirled about the hut. She felt as though she were underwater, her heartbeat pulsing in her ears.
Metis’ voice echoed as though the woman stood far away. ‘It began with a man who called himself Kronos …’
31. The Titans
