Chapter 24: The Goddess and the Stalled Voyage
It was the second day on the so-called "Isle of Women."
Just as she'd promised, the queen returned to the beach in the late morning. But the scene was nothing like before. There was no seduction, no whispered promises. Instead, she strode up to where Cyd, Atalanta, and Heracles were chewing on a breakfast of foraged fruit and salt fish, her chin held high, her expression one of smug, dramatic triumph.
"I have lain with your captain," she announced, her voice ringing across the sand. She flicked her hair over her shoulder with a practiced toss. "I love him. He understands me. Far more than you ever could. He will be the master of this isle. You may spend the rest of your days wallowing in regret."
With that, she spun on her heel and marched back towards the city, her retinue of women tittering and casting pitying glances over their shoulders.
Cyd, who had been mid-bite into a banana Atalanta had grudgingly retrieved, froze. He chewed slowly, his face a perfect blank of bewilderment. He swallowed.
"Heracles," he said thoughtfully. "You just got cuckolded."
"What? No, she was talking to you," Heracles said, his brow furrowed in honest confusion.
"Exactly. You got cuckolded," Cyd nodded sagely. "I knew it. I knew that pretty boy Jason couldn't keep it in his tunic."
"Wait, that's not—no, the important thing is she said Jason will be king here!" Heracles exclaimed, grabbing Cyd by the shoulders and shaking him gently. "What about the Fleece? The quest?"
Cyd, now a human maraca, managed to take another bite of his banana. "So? I don't need a fleece. And Jason only wanted the fleece to get a throne. A throne here, surrounded by women who think he's the greatest thing since sliced ambrosia… sounds like his dream gig."
"But… the oath… the mission…" Heracles released him, his face a mask of distress. He rubbed his temples. "This is bad."
"Worse than that, we have a more immediate problem," Atalanta cut in, jabbing a finger towards Cyd's face. She'd been simmering all morning. "You. Me. Rematch."
"Wha—why?!" Cyd sputtered, banana forgotten.
"I will wash away the shame you heaped upon me yesterday," she stated, her voice flat and dangerous. She clenched her fist. "With your blood."
"You said you'd 'do whatever I want'! That was the deal for losing!" Cyd protested, shrinking back. "You can't just… restart the challenge!"
"I said I wouldn't resist you. I never said I'd stop being me," she countered, a hunter's logic that was both infuriating and unassailable. She unslung her bow. "Or are you forfeiting?"
Cyd cast a desperate, pleading look at Heracles. Help. Please.
Heracles stroked his chin, his expression one of deep thought. After five full seconds of contemplation, his face cleared. He gave a hearty, approving thumbs-up.
"Good plan! I'll handle the hunting today. You two watch the ship." He clapped them both on the back hard enough to make their teeth rattle. "Try not to break anything important."
And with that, the big man grabbed an empty sack and loped off towards the forest, leaving Cyd alone with a seething huntress.
"I didn't say anything!" Cyd wailed to the empty beach, two cartoonish tears of despair tracing down his cheeks.
"Today, I will kill you!" Atalanta declared, nocking an arrow.
"Fine, fine! What's the contest?" Cyd sighed, resigned. Today was a write-off. Even Atalanta, in her stubbornness, had to know she couldn't beat him in a straight sprint again. The sun was already high, peeking through scattered clouds, filling him with Apollo's borrowed vigor. If she suggested anything else—archery, wrestling, a poetry slam—he was doomed. Unless it was hunting… in which case he could just run away and hide until she got bored.
"Speed!" she bit out, the word tasting like ash.
Lady, are you trying to faceplant into the same ditch three days in a row? Cyd thought, massaging his temples. This was beyond stubborn. This was pathological.
"Why do you look so annoyed?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing.
"Oh, it's just… with Heracles doing the hunting today, there's not really a need for you to… I mean… AUGH, THIS IS SO HARD! I CAN'T BEAT YOU!" Cyd blurted out, then immediately clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide with horror. Stupid! Stupid mouth!
His pathetic attempt at reverse psychology—or just blatant, clumsy lying—backfired spectacularly. In Atalanta's eyes, it wasn't a poorly delivered white lie. It was the most blatant, insulting mockery imaginable.
"I AM GOING TO SKIN YOU AND WEAR YOU AS A HAT!"
---
Five minutes later.
Atalanta knelt in the same patch of sand as the day before, in almost the exact same pose. Her bow lay beside her. She wasn't looking at anything. Her vivid green eyes were vacant, fixed on the distant, silent hull of the Argo as if it held the secrets of the universe.
There. That should do it. She'll give up now.
Cyd wiped sweat from his brow, his own heart still hammering from the effort. This time, he hadn't held back to spare her feelings. He'd pushed himself from the start, using every ounce of the sun's blessing, his Styx-forged legs pumping like pistons. He'd wanted a decisive, undeniable victory. A lesson.
And the lesson had been learned. Too well. She looked… broken.
"Ata…" he began, his voice gentle with a pang of real guilt.
"NEXT TIME!" The words exploded from her. The vacant look vanished, replaced by a ferocious, burning determination that was somehow more frightening. "Next time, I will win! You just wait!" She scrambled to her feet, snatched up her bow, and before Cyd could say another word, she turned and sprinted away into the forest, not looking back.
"…Huh." Cyd stood alone on the beach, the wind ruffling his white hair. "Well, that's… one way to end it."
---
"You know, for someone who managed to outpace one of Artemis's chosen, you look remarkably troubled."
The voice was light, amused, and came from right beside him. A gust of wind, smelling of olives and clean parchment, stirred the sand. Cyd turned his head.
A girl was sitting cross-legged on a large, flat rock that had definitely been empty a second ago. She looked young, maybe sixteen, with a serene, intelligent face and eyes the color of a stormy twilight. Her hair was a cascade of pure, shimmering silver, tied back with a simple dark cord. She wore an elegant, unadorned white peplos. She propped her chin in her hand, studying him with open curiosity.
Cyd stared. Then he squeezed his eyes shut. "This is a dream. Has to be. Sunstroke. Bad bananas. Definitely a dream."
A cool finger tapped his cheek. "I'm afraid not, little mortal. This is very much reality." The girl smiled, a knowing, slightly mischievous expression. "I am she who is called the Gleaming-Eyed. The Lady of Strategems. The Goddess of Wisdom and Just War. You may call me Athena. And you… are the one seeking blessings."
Cyd's eyes snapped open. His brain, already battered by sprinting and angry huntresses, did a full reboot. Athena. Olympian. Number three on the 'gods to absolutely not piss off' list. Standing right here.
Instinct, honed by years of desperate supplication, took over. He dropped to one knee, a gesture of respect so automatic it bypassed thought. "Lady Athena! It's an honor! Could I, uh, maybe trouble you for a…" He thrust his left arm out, showing the bracer. "…a blessing? Please?"
"Ah, yes. The vessel forged by my talented sister." Athena didn't seem offended by his abruptness. She took his wrist in her cool, strong fingers, turning it to examine the white bracer and its three filled crystals—the warm orange of Apollo, the deep green of Hermes, and Hephaestus's own, which glowed with a soft, steady inner light. "Exquisite work. As expected. Apollo's gift is sincere. The trickster's… well, it suits him. And useful, I imagine."
"So… you'll…?" Hope, fragile and desperate, bloomed in Cyd's chest.
Athena released his wrist and tapped his nose with her fingertip. "I'm afraid not. Not yet. I have appreciated your consistent, thoughtful offerings over the years. A lock of hair, a well-sharpened blade, a neatly drawn map… they showed a mind that values preparation and intellect. But a blessing from me is not given lightly. It must be earned. It must be appropriate."
She leaned closer, her storm-grey eyes holding his. "Hermes understood this. He knew a generic 'safe travels' wouldn't serve you, so he crafted a situation to gift you with protection from deceit—a tool for a mind that values truth. Apollo… well, he is more straightforward. He likes you, so he gives you his light. My blessing requires a different currency."
Cyd's hopeful expression crumpled. "Couldn't you… be straightforward just this once? For old times' sake?"
"Absolutely not," Athena said, but she was smiling, not unkindly. "I am the Goddess of Wisdom. Hasty, unearned blessings are the province of lesser deities. Mine require contemplation. And… a test."
Cyd let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to come from his toes. "Alright. What do you need me to do, Lady Athena?"
The goddess tapped a finger against her lips, her gaze turning inward, calculating. After a moment, her smile returned, brighter and more cunning. "Your current predicament presents an ideal opportunity. You must get this stalled voyage moving again."
Cyd blinked. "…Come again?"
"Jason has lost his way. He drowns in softness and forgets his oath. The Argonauts grow fat on idleness. The thread of this epic unravels. You must re-spool it. Persuade Jason to leave this island and continue the quest for the Golden Fleece."
Cyd stared at her. The idea was ludicrous. "Me? Persuade Jason? Lady, he's in there getting fawned over by a hundred women who think he's a god. He has a queen offering him a kingdom on a silver platter. Why would he listen to me? I'm the guy who carries the apples!"
"Precisely why it is a test of wit, not force," Athena said, her eyes gleaming. "And I will not send you into this without a tool. I will give you a piece of knowledge. A method. One that is, I suspect, very important to you."
"Okay…" Cyd said slowly, intrigued despite himself. "A method for what?"
"That," Athena said, her smile turning mysterious, "is part of the test. I will not tell you what problem it solves. You must discern its application yourself. Consider it a puzzle. A riddle in the form of an action."
Cyd's face fell. "You're kidding. A method for an unknown problem? How is that motivating?"
"All the best motivations are born of curiosity and necessity," Athena said, standing up. She seemed to grow taller, her presence expanding until she wasn't just a girl on a rock, but a pillar of divine authority. She reached down and gently bopped Cyd on the forehead with one knuckle.
"Do not disappoint me, Cyd of the White Hair. Show me the quality of mind your offerings promised."
She lingered for a second, her stormy eyes seeing right through him. "The fate of more than one journey may hinge on your success here."
And then, with another gust of that olive-scented wind, she was gone. The rock was empty.
Cyd remained on one knee for a long moment, the ghost of her tap still tingling on his brow. He looked at the silent city, then at the forest where Atalanta had fled, then at the vast, empty sea.
"Great," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. "Just great. A love-struck captain, a kingdom of distractions, a homicidal huntress, and now a wisdom goddess who gives homework. My quest for a quiet life is going fantastically."