Chapter 29: Unspoken Farewells and a Leap of Faith
The heroes returned, boasting of victory.
From Cyd's spot near the stern, watching them stream back onto the Argo, it looked less like a triumph and more like they were trailing catastrophe behind them like a bad smell. They were loud, brash, slapping each other's backs, their armor stained with dark, viscous fluid that wasn't quite blood. They'd fought a cyclops, a son of Poseidon. The air around them crackled with impending divine retribution.
That night, a bonfire roared on the beach, fueled more by hubris than driftwood.
"Raise your cups, heroes!" Jason's voice carried over the crash of the waves, flushed with wine and borrowed glory. "We have felled a giant! We have saved these people from a monster!"
Cyd didn't need to look at Atalanta. A shared, profound sense of 'oh, we are so screwed' passed between them in the silence. They wordlessly turned and walked to the far side of the ship, where the noise was just a dull roar and the sea's sigh was a welcome cleanser.
Leaning against the rail, Cyd spoke first, his voice casual, as if commenting on the weather. "I'm getting off this boat. Next island we hit, I'm gone."
Atalanta went very still beside him. The only movement was the slow clench of her fist at her side, knuckles whitening against the dark wood of the rail. After a long moment, she managed a single, tight syllable. "Oh."
"I want you to come with me."
She turned her head, her tawny hair whipping in the salt-stiff breeze. "Is that an order?" Her voice was carefully neutral.
Cyd smiled, a lopsided, humorless thing. He reached out, not to touch her, but to offer his hand, palm up, in the space between them. A gesture, not a demand. "If it were a command… would you listen?"
Atalanta looked from his face to his open hand. Her gaze was deep, searching, stripping away his casual pretense to see the raw ask underneath. Finally, with a slow exhale, she placed her calloused, hunter's hand in his. The grip was firm, real.
Cyd's smile softened into something genuine. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. "Ah, I'm touched. Really. But no… I'm not ordering you." He turned back to face the endless, star-flecked black of the ocean. "I'm heading to Calydon. Lady Artemis dropped a boar problem there. I'm going to deal with it."
A soft snort escaped Atalanta. She leaned her forearms on the rail, closing her eyes as the wind cooled her skin. "That doesn't sound like you."
"It really doesn't," he agreed, stretching his arms overhead until his shoulders popped. "But I… figured a few things out. Got some clarity."
The truth was, Calydon was in his future whether he kicked and screamed or walked with his head held high. Hermes had made that brutally clear. The choice wasn't whether to go, but how. He was done being dragged.
"So you finally want to be a hero?" Atalanta asked, a spark of something—approval, interest—glinting in her eyes as she glanced at him.
"Ha! Even if I did become one… I'd never be a hero like them." He jerked a thumb back towards the raucous celebration on the beach, his voice thick with disdain.
"If you ever turned into a hero like that," Atalanta said calmly, reaching up to poke the center of his forehead with a sharp finger, "I would put an arrow through this skull myself. From a very, very long way away."
Cyd laughed, the tension in his chest easing. "Good to know I've got a quality-control agent."
The next morning, with the ship reeking of stale wine and regret, Cyd made his announcement on the main deck. He kept it simple.
"That's the long and short of it. This voyage is… a lot. I'm just a regular guy. I can't keep up. I'm jumping ship at the next island." He clapped a sympathetic hand on Heracles's massive bicep.
"I'm the captain of this vessel," Jason interjected, his voice tight. The hangover and the wounded pride made a nasty cocktail.
Cyd turned to face him, and all the polite deference he'd shown before was gone, burned away by the clarity of his decision. "Really? You, the guy who'd still be polishing his father's sandals back in Iolcus if Heracles wasn't here carrying your weight? You're the captain in title only, and we all know it."
A stunned silence fell over the deck. Even the gulls seemed to stop squawking. Cyd had always been quiet, observant, vaguely polite. This blunt, cutting contempt was new.
Jason's face flushed a mottled red. The truth, especially a public one, was a slap. He could feel the eyes of the other Argonauts on him, measuring, doubting. His authority, always fragile, was cracking. He had to reassert it, and fast.
"You… you insolent—" he sputtered, squaring his shoulders. "By the grace of the gods, I challenge you to—"
Heracles's hand, large enough to eclipse the sun, landed on Jason's shoulder before he could finish. The pressure was gentle but absolute, sinking the younger man an inch into the deck. "Enough, Jason. You will not win this fight."
"What are you talking about?" Jason strained against the grip, his voice cracking. "He's a nobody! A clever peasant! I am a hero! I am—"
"Cyd is also a student of Chiron," Heracles said, his voice a low rumble of finality. He looked at Cyd with a mix of resignation and understanding. "Aren't you? The 'other' student our teacher never spoke of, but sometimes hinted at."
Cyd raised an eyebrow. "Figured it out, huh?"
"The pieces fit," Heracles shrugged. He wasn't about to mention Chiron's cryptic warning to 'be kind to the pale youth you may meet, for his path is both heavy and strange.'
"So what?!" Jason exploded, wrenching himself free. "I was Chiron's pupil too! A favored one!"
"Yeah," Cyd said, his voice dropping to a dry, conversational tone that cut deeper than any shout. "The 'favored' pupil who got chased off Lemnos without his pants by an island of scorned women. Real heroic legacy you're building there."
A few of the Argonauts choked back laughs. Jason's last thread of composure snapped. The humiliation was complete, broadcast to the very men he needed to lead.
"Cough. Cyd, perhaps a little restraint," Heracles muttered, but the damage was done.
Jason's eyes blazed. He pointed a trembling finger at Cyd, his voice cold and sharp as broken ice. "Get off my ship. Now."
Heracles stiffened. The other heroes fell silent, the mood shifting from amusement to unease.
"This is my ship," Jason hissed, every word dripping with venom. "If you have no desire to remain, then you will leave. Immediately."
"Jason, we are in the middle of the sea—" Heracles began, his own temper beginning to simmer.
"Ah, actually, that's not a problem," Cyd said, cutting him off. He patted Heracles's arm reassuringly. "I don't sink."
"What?"
Cyd raised his left wrist. The bracer glimmered in the morning light, and the deep blue crystal of Poseidon's blessing pulsed with a steady, serene light, as if eager for the open water. "Ocean's blessing. I can walk on it. Sort of the point."
Heracles stared, then a slow, genuine smile spread across his weary face. It was a smile of relief, of seeing a friend find a path out of the madness. "You really are full of surprises."
"So," Cyd said, giving a final, lazy wave to the assembled crew. He caught Atalanta's eye and gave a deliberate, slow blink—Calydon. Meet you there.
"I'll be going now."
"I'm coming with you."
Atalanta's voice was clear and firm. She stepped away from the mast she'd been leaning against and walked to his side, ignoring his wide-eyed 'what are you doing?!' look entirely.
"Uh, sister," Cyd said, lowering his voice. "You have a sea-walking blessing I don't know about?"
"No."
"Then how, exactly, am I supposed to get you to dry land? You want me to… carry you?"
"Yes." She nodded once, as if it were the most logical conclusion in the world.
"I… what?"
"Carry me." She stated it as immutable fact.
Heracles let out a low chuckle and gave Cyd a solid, back-pat that nearly knocked the wind out of him. "Good luck."
Cyd looked from Heracles's amused face to Atalanta's unyielding one. He sighed, a long-suffering sound that held a thread of warmth deep within it. Turning his back to her, he crouched down. "Fine. Get on."
Atalanta hesitated for only a second—a rare flash of vulnerability—before she carefully settled her weight onto his back. She wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders, gripping his tunic at the collarbone. Her long, muscular legs wrapped around his waist, locking at the ankles in front of him.
As he stood, adjusting to her weight (she was lean, but solid, all compact hunter's muscle), she leaned in. Her lips brushed the shell of his ear, her breath warm. The words she whispered were soft, feather-light, and carried the absolute certainty of a drawn bowstring.
"If your hands wander," she murmured, the promise as intimate as a kiss and as deadly as a viper's strike, "I will bite through your throat."
A shiver that had nothing to do with the sea breeze raced down Cyd's spine. He cleared his throat. "Duly noted. No wandering. Got it."
He walked to the ship's rail. Heracles stood there, his expression now serious, a silent farewell passing between the two men who understood the weight of destinies.
"We'll meet again, I hope," Heracles said, his voice gruff.
"Heracles," Cyd said, meeting the demigod's eyes. "I've never doubted it. You're going to be the greatest of heroes. The real kind."
A flicker of emotion crossed Heracles's face—gratitude, sorrow, resolve. He simply nodded.
Cyd tightened his grip under Atalanta's thighs, took a breath, and stepped over the side.
They didn't plummet. Cyd's foot met the surface of the water not with a splash, but with a faint, resonant chime, as if stepping onto solidified moonlight. The sea held him, Poseidon's blessing forming an invisible, steady path beneath his soles. He began to walk, away from the gilded cage of the Argo, toward the hazy line of a distant shore.
Watching them go, a small, lone figure on the vast expanse, Heracles finally whispered his reply to the wind, knowing Cyd couldn't hear it.
"And I believe… you will become a better one than I could ever be."