Instead, theArgodrifts out of the Hellespont, sunlight bathing the deck once more. They float into the Sea of Marmara and from there will pass through the Bosporus into the Euxine Sea. They have come to the edge of the known world, where anything might be possible.
Only a few days’ journey to Colchis now.
Jason’s reverie is cut short by an abrupt cry of pain. He turns to see Meleager, the Calydonian prince, bent nearly in half andclutching his middle. This is not so unusual; seasickness of varying intensity often affects members of the crew. The odd thing is the fact that Meleager issmoking.
Atalanta
I was fletching arrows when I heard Meleager’s cry. My head snapped up, and in a flash I ran across the length of the ship, my feet drumming on the deck.
Would it have made a difference if I’d been there in the moment the fire took him? Would I have been able to stop it? The possibility always haunted me afterward. I careened around the mast and froze in horror at what I saw: a scattering of Argonauts watching helplessly, and Meleager wreathed in flames.
He burned more quickly than wood, as though his body offered something delicious to the fire. Flames danced along Meleager’s arms and torso, quickly enveloping him. In a moment, Meleager was a man-shaped conflagration. Through the veils of shimmering heat, my friend reached out a hand.
By the time I reached him, Meleager was nothing more than a light fall of ash blown across the deck.
Nonono.I tried to scoop up the ash, heedless of the scalding heat, but it fell through my fingers like sand.
I buried my fingers in my hair and began to scream.
14
Jason
It should have been me,Jason thinks as he conducts the rites to guide the soul of Meleager to the Underworld. The gods should have punished Jason for Cyzicus’s untimely death, and yet they chose Meleager instead. Jason cannot help but feel almost pathetically grateful for being spared.
Hera must have protected him, so Jason offers up a prayer to her as well as the more traditional funerary hymns to Persephone and her husband, Hades, rulers of the Underworld and receivers of souls. Jason tosses a coin into the sea; the tongue it is meant for is ash, but the Ferryman still needs to be paid.
When the ritual is finished, Jason orders the stunned crew to push onward. They must keep moving. Jason has failed in his promise to return every member of his crew safely home to Greece, and he must keep them occupied lest they notice this. The speech Jason gave at the start of the journey about worrying endlessly for the well-being of his crew is only partly true.
He fears for the safety of his men. Of course he does.
He just fears failing to obtain the Golden Fleece more.
That evening, theArgolands on a deserted island, empty save for a black stone temple that Tiphys swears the Amazons visit only during the winter months. The crew ranges out along the beach, their fires lighting the darkness.
Jason peels away from the crowd and moves toward the darkened tree line. In the quiet, he can finallythink. The most difficult part of his quest lies ahead: how to persuade King Aeetes to give up the Golden Fleece without putting any more of the Argonauts in danger. Jason does not want to watch more good men die like Meleager did, screaming in agony, unless there is no other alternative. Perhaps a stealth operation would be the best course of action. Yes, Jason will send in Zetes and Calais to survey the territory, and then—
A sound catches Jason’s attention. He looks up and locks eyes with a grubby boy standing just beyond the tree line.
An adolescent, his clothing ratty and his wary face dirt-smudged. He holds a sharpened stick like a spear. Most peculiar are his eyes, a brown so pale they are almost gold. Fear wars with desperate curiosity on his face.
Jason crouches down on his heels so that he does not tower over the boy and asks his name.
“Argus,” the boy replies, and Jason is startled by the chance similarity to the name of his ship. A sign from the gods, a message from Hera herself.
At Jason’s prompting, Argus relays the tale of how he came to this island. About six months ago, he and his brothers had been sailing with their tutor when a storm blew them to shore. The tutor died a few days later from a fever in his lungs, and the boys continued on as best they could, surviving on fish and berries and whatever birds they could catch, waiting for someone to rescue them.
Argus shows Jason their camp. There, under the hull of the ruined boat propped up to serve as a makeshift shelter, are Argus’s brothers. Cytissorus, Phrontis, and Melas, the boy introduces them each in turn. The children cry with relief at the sight of their rescuers, clinging to one another.
By now, the rest of the Argonauts have gathered around theboys, gruffly offering sympathy and food to the poor children. But Jason holds himself back. He has noticed something on the hull of the boat: the faded sigil of a golden eagle within a sunburst—the emblem of the royal house of Colchis.
“Who did you say your parents were?” Jason asks, his attention suddenly keen.
Argus looks up from his porridge. “Our father is Phrixus, son of Athamas.”
“And our mother is Chalciope, daughter of King Aeetes,” his brother Cytissorus adds brightly.
Aeetes, the holder of the Golden Fleece.
