Enchanted Fire

by Roberta Gellis

  Jason looked out over the quiet landscape and shrugged. “If we miss our game, we will still eat. I see nothing, just as you say, but that only makes me more uneasy. I am going with my shield on my arm, and I recommend that all of you do the same.”

  A few voices were raised in jests about overprotective mothers, but every man took his shield from the ship’s bulkhead. And since they would not be out of sight of the ship and had already examined the beach and found it safe, the whole crew went. Eurydice watched as they walked up the slope, separating into four parties on the way. She was as tense as a cat, but had said nothing because everyone was already wary. She had wanted to beg Orpheus to stay behind with her, but the warning that no one returned from the island might be because their ships were sunk. To remain with the Argo might be more dangerous than to go with the other men.

  Orpheus and Jason were both in the center group most directly approaching the cliff. One of the men with them shouted, raised his bow and loosed an arrow. Something Eurydice could not see caused the tall grass some distance ahead of him to move violently. The men raised a laughing cheer. It seemed whoever had shot the arrow had bagged some small game. So small a victim could not go far to feed the crew, of course, but if they were plentiful—whatever they were—they would lend interest to a salt-meat stew.

  As these thoughts came, Eurydice had looked toward the other groups to see if they had had similar success. Sweeping from north to south, her field of view crossed the cliff and her eyes were caught by movement near the mouth of several caves. Bats, she thought, but even as the word came into her mind she knew the creatures could not be bats; each was ten times the size of a bat. And fear gripped her. These were the reason no one returned from Aretias.

  She screamed a warning, fearing the men were too far away to hear her, but realized instantly that it did not matter. The creatures themselves were screeching loud enough for her to hear them now, and the men were all looking up, the best shots nocking arrows to their bows while the others raised their shields in defense. The groups were all running together, too—and four men ran behind the flying creatures from someplace near the base of the cliff. Eurydice muttered a far-seeing spell. She did not remember any of the Argo’s crew going to the cliff. Were these the masters of the menace in the sky?

  Tiny, but clear in every detail, those coming from the cliff were certainly not of the crew. Nor, Eurydice thought, were they the masters of the flying things now attacking the men. Although they clutched swords and were able to run, the strangers were hardly more than skin-covered skeletons, wearing a few tatters and many half-healed wounds. They were no threat and Eurydice raised her eyes—just in time. Some of the—birds? They looked like birds, but their feathers shone with the gleam of metal and their beaks were like lance points—and a party of them were overpassing the fighters and coming toward the ship!

  A shield. Eurydice knew she must somehow make a shield. She had an old spell she could renew, but it was a small spell designed only to cover her and protect her from those who thought it amusing to throw things at a witch. She imaged in her mind the transparent opalescent shell and began to draw power as she had never drawn it before and feed it into the shell. She Saw the shell thicken, swell, and stretch out. The deck beneath her feet grew cold; the air around her grew cold; a glaze of ice glittered on the water that touched the ship. The shell grew larger, larger, creeping across the Argo. She reached for more Power, but the shell had grown so large it cut her off from any outside source. Now the strength to sustain the spell would have to come from her.

  She heard the terrible screeching of the birds circling above her. She saw them dive, lance-like beaks extended to pierce her—perhaps to pierce the fabric of the Argo—and be flung away. They tried again, and yet again. One slid down the shield and lay on the ground, its neck strangely twisted. Then the birds rose and flew toward the edge of the beach to drop and rise again with large rocks in their claws. She poured strength into her shield, raising it up in the center so that it was like a tent over the ship. And the first boulder struck. The shield sagged but did not break. The boulder rolled down and hit the deck, but gently; it did no damage. More fell. Eurydice could not feel her feet or her hands. She would die! But she would die if the shield failed, and Orpheus and all the others would die too, if the Argo was destroyed.

  The creatures dove at the shield directly above her, slashing at it with the edges of their wings and the tips of their feathers. Eurydice could “See” the opalescent skin give with each attack, but it did not tear. Only a few rocks were falling. The creatures seemed to be enraged and desire only to tear away her protection. Her legs were numb to the knees now. She sank down on the deck. When the cold reached her heart, it would stop.

  The sound of the birds’ screeching rose and rose, and there were more of them in the air, circling and diving. Tears formed in Eurydice’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. She knew she could not strengthen the shield any more nor hold it at all much longer—the cold was beginning to creep across her loins and up her belly—and then she heard, mingled with the screeching, the sound of men shouting.

  Weak and dizzy, she struggled to understand and then realized that the crew had fought their way back to the ship but they could not pierce the shield any more than could the birds. She tried to lift herself on one elbow so she could see, but she could not control her arm and fell back, sobbing. If she dropped the shield to let the men in, the birds—but the birds were above and the men on the ground. With the last of her strength, Eurydice imaged the opalescent tent lifting around the bottom edges, rolling up while the curved dome stayed in place. Her belly was freezing and her lower ribs ached with cold. She could not breathe.

  * * *

  The horrible shrill screeching had somehow changed to a melodious bellowing. Eurydice opened her eyes, expecting to see the glittering birds but all that was above her was a clear sky and the bellowing was the singing of the men at the oars. She heard the sounds that marked the setting of the mast and raising of the sail, and she understood what it meant. A few moments later, Orpheus was kneeling beside her, his eyes full of fear.

  “Eurydice,” he cried, bending forward to kiss her when he saw her eyes were open. “What happened?”

  “The shield,” she whispered. “It shut out the Power in the sea and the earth. I had to draw on my own strength…” Her voice faded, but not before Orpheus had lifted her and buried her face in his shoulder so even the faint words were muffled.

  “You are cold as ice,” he said, propping her against the bulkhead. “I will get my cloak.”

  He brought back not only the cloak, in which he wrapped her but also a large handful of dried fruit. She wriggled a hand out of the cloak, seized the fruit, and began to eat ravenously.

  Orpheus watched, then leaned close to whisper, “Did you set the shield over the ship to protect it?”

  She nodded, chewed, and swallowed, then her eyes flicked toward the gangway where Jason paced back and forth, watching the sky. She looked up too, then back toward the island, but there was no glitter of metal feathers in the sky. When Jason was at the prow, she nodded.

  “Yes, I did. Did you not see the boulders? The birds dropped them. And they dove at the ship with those long, sharp beaks. I think they intended to sink it.” She smiled faintly. “I forgot that if I shut them out, I would shut you out too.”

  “You fool, you nearly killed yourself to protect the ship,” Orpheus muttered angrily, clutching her close.

  She rested in his arms briefly, glad of his warmth but another need was sharper. Wriggling free, she said, “To protect myself,” as she stuffed another fruit into her mouth. “Besides, if the Argo sank, how would we ever have escaped the creatures?”

  Orpheus was still studying her face anxiously. “Jason said you had fainted from fear when we found you lying on the deck. I knew that could not be so, but I had to call the time for the men to get the ship into the water… Are you all right? Truly?”

  “Yes, truly.
And of course you had to call the time. It was more important to escape than to attend to me.” She paused with a fruit near her lips, remembering. “Who were the men who came from the caves to join you?”

  “We do not know yet. They called a warning about the birds, though, and fought bravely against them. Jason did not deny them when they followed us aboard. No one would leave a man to the mercy of those creatures. Fortunately, the shield protected us long enough to get the ship afloat, and they did not follow us far out to sea.” He looked at Eurydice and shook his head, adding softly, “Jason thought the shield was some magic connected with the birds to keep us from the ship. He shouted for Hera’s help—she does favor him. Would you mind if we just let him think it was Hera’s work?”

  “Not at all,” Eurydice said, smiling.

  Jason was not so easy to fool, however. When it was clear they were not being pursued by the deadly birds of Aretias, Jason sent one of the men to ask Eurydice to come forward while he spoke to the strangers. With Idmon gone, he wanted another “Seer’s” opinion about how much truth they were speaking. Before she could answer, Orpheus said angrily that Eurydice was not well enough, and the man, seeing how she shook under Orpheus’ cloak and the whiteness of her face, nodded and went back with the message. That only brought Jason, Mopsus, and the four strangers to the stern.

  His blue eyes bright with anger, Orpheus started to get to his feet, but Eurydice pulled him down, and Jason said, civilly enough, “I am sorry to see you still so shaken, Eurydice. Would you like one of the cooks to see if he can make you some soup? Were you frightened when the magic covered the boat?”

  “No,” Eurydice replied, quite honestly. “I was terrified when I saw the birds attack you. I hope no one is badly hurt. I can do no Healing now, not yet.” She had had to say it, but she was annoyed by the speculative gleam that came into Jason’s eyes. “Thank you for the offer of soup, she said, hoping to distract him, “but by the time it will be ready, I will be restored without it.”

  Jason nodded. “Likely you are right and fortunately the men’s hurts are not dangerous. They can bind up each other’s wounds for now.” He was still staring at her, and Eurydice met his eyes as blandly as she could. Then his expression changed, his glance flicked to the four strangers with him, and he went on smoothly, “The worst hurt are these young men, who had no armor. They are Argos, Kytissoros, Phrontes, and Melas, who are, believe it or not, the sons of Phrixos. They were shipwrecked on Aretias while they were on their way to Thebes in the hopes of obtaining Phrixos’ portion of their grandfather’s, Athamas’, estate.”

  Eurydice knew now what Jason wanted. She smiled at the four while she “felt” them for the cold of deception, the slick oiliness of lies. There was nothing but a warmth of relief and joy. Even depleted as she was, she did not think she could be completely deceived. She smiled at them.

  “I am a Healer,” she said, “and I will tend to your hurts as soon as my strength returns.”

  They thanked her formally, but stiffly, and avoided meeting her eyes. Eurydice’s heart sank. She had been so sure that Colchis, with its witch-princess, would be welcoming to the Gifted, but these young men plainly feared and distrusted her because of what she was. Pushing her disappointment into a dark corner of her mind, she turned to look at Jason.

  “We seem, all unknowing, to have fulfilled Phineas’ directions,” she said. “I am quite sure these young men are what he told us to seek on that accursed island.”

  “I think so too,” Jason agreed, smiling. “Now let us see whether his prediction of what they can do will hold true.”

  “I am afraid,” the one Jason had introduced as Argos said, “that we have nothing with which to repay your favor of saving us.”

  “Yes,” Jason said, not smiling now, “you have, if you are willing to do it. We need someone to show us the way into Colchis.”

  Relieved smiles broke out on all four faces. “Yes,” Argos said, the others nodding agreement, “nothing will be easier for us.”

  “Not so quickly,” Jason said, smiling again because both Mopsus and Eurydice were nodding to confirm the sincerity of the speaker and his brothers. “You must first hear why I wish to go to Colchis and then decide whether you are still willing to guide us.” And he related in brief form the story of Pelias and his dreams of Phrixos’ death at the hands of his father-by-marriage, Aietes, and of Phrixos’ ghost’s demand that the golden fleece be brought to Yolcos. “We will not press you to betray your city if you believe my quest will do harm,” he finished quietly, but his lips had thinned when he saw the brothers begin to shake their heads in the middle of the tale and continue now and again to disagree with what he said.

  “No, no,” Argos said. “We will gladly take you to Colchis. I cannot believe it will do Colchis any harm to lose the golden fleece—if you can obtain it. But Aietes did not kill our father. We are quite certain of that. Aietes loved Phrixos, and he was a good and generous grandfather to us—our mother Chalkiope was one of his daughters. When you meet Aietes, you will see at once that he is innocent of our father’s death.”

  “He grieved terribly when papa died,” the youngest, Melas, said, and then had to stop to steady his mouth.

  “Yet you fled Colchis…” Jason suggested, letting the sentence hang unfinished.

  “But not Aietes,” Kytissoros growled. “It was—”

  Phrontes put a hand on his brother’s arm. “We have no proof.” Then he looked straight at Jason. “Nor did we flee Colchis in the sense you mean. We were in no danger there. We were simply not as content as once we were, and we thought that we would go visit our father’s homeland and see if we would be welcome there.”

  “True enough,” Argos agreed. “And I assure you Aietes did not wish us to go. He offered us all kinds of inducements to stay and only yielded when we promised to return, at least to tell him how we had been received. He will be happy to welcome us home again.”

  This proved to be the perfect truth nearly a month later when the Argo found a safe berth at one of Colchis’ marvelous stone piers. The men were silent as they brought the boat in, stroking their oars in time with the thin melody of the flute alone. They were somewhat awed, not only by the large city, glittering on the gentle slope up from the river shore in the hard, hot sunshine, but by the mysterious appearance of the river and city out of what had seemed a harsh rock-bound coast.

  For hours they had been creeping along the coast powered only by the oars while Phrixos’ sons stood watching tensely—Argos at the prow, Phrontes on the gangway about a third of the way back, Kytissoros also on the gangway, a similar distance from the stern, and young Melas between Orpheus and Ankaios. Neither the men, who were tired of rowing under the brutally hot sun, nor Ankaios, had been very happy. Ankaios did not like to be so close to the coast and was frantic between what the water told him—which was that they were following a gentle sandy shoreline—and what his eyes saw. They all had obeyed the orders of Phrixos’ sons, however, mostly believing that what Phineas had told them was true, that what they saw was an illusion, and that without the help of Argos, Phrontes, Kytissoros, and Melas they would not find Colchis.

  Suddenly Argos had called, “Back water! Back water!”

  The flute broke melody, sounded a piercingly high note. The men stopped rowing and lifted their oars. Orpheus called, “Back water!” and then, “Stroke! Stroke!” in a slow, strong rhythm. Phrixos’ sons all ran to the rail and leaned forward. The men were silent; nothing looked any different to them. Then Melas began to chant.

  Eurydice, who had been carrying water to the rowers, stopped and listened. The words were in no language she knew. She sensed no Gift in Melas and felt no magic, but the chant had to be a spell. It was a strange one, however. No aura of Power seemed to grow out of or surround the spellcaster. The chant ended. Melas raised his arm and pointed a finger Eurydice Saw a beam, like a ray of sunlight, lancing outward. It was a key spell! A key spell directed at a particular lock! Her eyes widened. She
had heard of such things but knew no one who could cast and maintain them.

  Even as the understanding came, the low-lying fog that blanketed the foot of the jagged rocks of the coast split where the ray touched it and rolled back. Instead of becoming more distinct as the fog disappeared, the rocks themselves melted away, exposing a clear passage into a wide river mouth dotted with anchored and moving ships.

  “Quickly,” Argos called. “Row in.”

  “Which is real?” Jason bellowed, suddenly afraid that Phrixos’ sons were not what they seemed and that his ship would be dashed to pieces on the now-invisible rocks.

  “The river mouth is real,” Ankaios shouted back. “I feel the flow of the water. Row! Row!” he urged, leaning on the steering oar so that the prow of the ship would turn into the clear area.

  “Hurry!” Argos yelled, as a faint shimmering appeared in the air to distort, ever so slightly, the view of the river mouth.

  “Forward! Stroke! Stroke!” Orpheus’ voice rose pure and strong over the gasps and cries of surprise, caution, concern.

  Whatever their feelings, the men responded as one to his voice, bending to their oars with gritted teeth and anxious frowns. Fortunately Ankaios’ Gift had not betrayed him. In fact, once inside the illusion of high mountains and jagged rocks, it was clear that Ankaios’ water sense had been correct all along. North and south beyond the mouth of the river, the coast stretched in long, gentle beaches guarded by high dunes. There were mountains to the east, but only in the distance. A little way up the river lay the city. Between strokes of their oars, all the men gazed at it, dumbfounded.

  Both banks of the river were full of wharves and piers: those on the south bank were simpler and built of wood, busy with cargo from all manner of fat-bellied merchant ships; those on the north bank were of stone and the ships that lay to along them were sleek and lean, like the Argo, able to carry a small cargo but built for speed, to fight or to run.