29
Jason
The stars shine brightly as theArgodrifts away from Lemnos. Jason stretches out beneath them, his skin prickling with the nighttime chill. How distant the stars seem, and how comforting. His eyes trace the arc of the galaxias, the Milky Way. Unbidden, Jason recalls the legend that the Milky Way formed from the spray of Hera’s breast milk across the sky, a thought that makes him feel both heretical and vaguely nauseated. His patroness has blessed this voyage—he shouldn’t think about her that way.
Jason’s thoughts turn to his mother. He wonders what Alcimede would think of Lemnos, of these women who have cast out all their men. Alcimede always did have strong opinions about proper behavior, especially for women. Certainly her hands were never calloused by sword or spear. Though it would probably do Alcimede good, Jason thinks, not to rely on her son to fight all her battles for her.
This thought feels even more heretical than his musings about the Milky Way. But he is saved from further consideration by the appearance of a shadowy figure.
Medea.
Jason flinches at first, thinking of the way she stood with bloody axe in hand after the death of Absyrtos. Then he remembers his manners and greets her, shaking off the Golden Fleece todrape it over her against the chill of the night. Most of the crew is bedding down on the deck, muttering mutinously at being forced to abandon the festivities on Lemnos, but Medea does not seem tired at all.
“There is something I must ask you,” Medea begins, taking a seat next to him. She looks so small and vulnerable that Jason’s heart immediately softens. She is only a girl far from home.
“You have saved my life more than once,” Jason replies. “Ask anything that you like.”
“There is somewhere I need to go,” Medea says, her shoulders drawing together. She takes a deep breath, then lets out the rest of her words in a rush. “To the island of Circe.”
Jason blinks. Of all the requests he expected, this wasn’t one of them. He has heard stories about the island of Aeaea and its mistress Circe from Tiphys and the more seasoned sailors. An image rises in his mind: a goddess surrounded by lions in the light of the setting sun.
“Circe is my aunt,” Medea explains, and Jason’s mouth falls open. He recalls the rumored connection between the royal house of Colchis and the sun god; it seems that this is more than just a story.
“Of course I’ll take you there. But we should go to Iolcus first, it’s only about a few days’ sailing from here,” Jason declares. “We’ll bring back the Golden Fleece, I’ll claim my throne and marry you, and after that we’ll go to visit your aunt.”
This seems to Jason like a reasonable solution, but Medea’s face crumples and tears appear in her eyes. “No, we must go to Circe as soon as we can,” she cries. “I cannot go on like this. I cannot become your wife like this.”
“What do you mean?” Jason searches Medea anxiously for some sort of injury, but he sees nothing amiss.
Medea squeezes her eyes shut, wrapping her arms aroundherself. “I... I have lost my magic,” she says. “I discovered it before we arrived on Lemnos. I tried to do a simple divination, the easiest thing there is, and found myself unable.” She lowers her head. “I understand if you no longer wish to take me as your wife.”
But Jason is so relieved that he actually laughs. “That’s all? I’ll admit, having a witch aboard will be helpful if we encounter any more fiery bulls, but theArgowas able to make the first leg of its voyage without the benefit of your magic. It doesn’t change my promise to marry you.”
“You’re not angry?” Medea asks, looking up at him.
“Why would I be angry?” Jason’s question is genuine. “Look at the Fleece. It has no magic at all, and yet I prize it. Why do you think that you, who saved my life twice over, would be any less?”
A smile crosses Medea’s face, and she tucks her chin shyly.
“We will go to the island of Circe before we return to Iolcus,” Jason says. “Pelias can wait.”
“Thank you,” Medea whispers, her whole body relaxing.
In truth, Jason isn’t sorry to postpone his meeting with the cunning King Pelias, and the decision has the added benefit of making Medea happy. Jason finds, almost to his surprise, that he very much wants to see Medea happy. She has had so little happiness in her life.
He isn’t entirely sure how he will convince the crew of the necessity of this detour, especially after routing them from very comfortable circumstances on Lemnos, but he will find a way. Jason is conscious of how much Medea has given up for him. This is the one thing she has asked of him in return—how could he deny her?
The two of them sit together in companionable silence, gazing out at the sea. Jason is suddenly aware of Medea’s long-fingered hands gripping the Fleece. He remembers holding one of thosehands in his as he fled from Colchis and feels the sudden urge to entwine his fingers with hers again.
“I never asked,” Medea says, “why you were seeking the Golden Fleece, though I’ve wondered.”
“I was given a quest to obtain the Golden Fleece and deliver it to King Pelias.”
“That’s an odd quest.”
“I don’t disagree. But it’s the only way for me to retake my rightful throne. Pelias killed my father and usurped the kingship, so I must prove myself a hero to get it back.”
“That seems like rather a lot of work. It might be easier just to kill Pelias.”
