His unblinking eyes rested on mine. I know who you are, daughter of the sun. All that the sea touches comes to me at last in the depths. I have tasted you. I have tasted all your family. Your brother came once also seeking my power. He went away empty-handed, like all the rest. I am not such a one as you may fight.
The despair rolled through me, for I knew he spoke truth. All the monsters of the depths were covered in scars from battles with their brother leviathans. Not him. He was smooth all over, for none dared to cross his ancient power. Even Ae?tes had recognized his limit.
“Still,” I said, “I must try. For my son.”
It is impossible.
The words were flat as the rest of him. Moment by moment, I could feel my will leaching from me, bled away by the relentless chill of those waves and his unblinking gaze. I forced myself to speak.
“I cannot accept that,” I said. “My son must live.”
There is no must to the life of a mortal, except death.
“If I cannot challenge you, perhaps I can give you something in exchange. Some gift. Perform a task.”
The slit of his mouth opened in silent laughter. What could you have that I want?
Nothing, I knew it. He regarded me with his pale cat eyes.
My law is as it has ever been. If you would take my tail you must first submit to its poison. That is the price. Eternal pain in exchange for a few more mortal years for your son. Is it worth the cost?
I thought of childbirth, which had nearly ended me. I thought of it going on and on with no cure, no salve, no relief.
“You offered the same to my brother?”
The offer stands for all. He refused. They always do.
It gave me a sort of strength to know it. “What other conditions?”
When you have no more need of its power, cast it into the waves, so it may return to me.
“That is all? You swear it?”
You would seek to bind me, child?
“I would know you will honor your bargain.”
I will honor it.
The currents moved around us. If I did this thing, Telegonus would live. That was all that mattered. “I am ready,” I said. “Strike.”
No. You must put your hand to the venom yourself.
The water sucked at me. The darkness shriveled my courage. The sand was not smooth but jumbled with pieces of bone. All that died in the sea came to rest there at last. My skin rose, prickling and prickling, as if it would tear away and leave me. There was no mercy among the gods, I had known it all my life. I made myself walk forward. Something caught at my foot. A rib cage. I pulled free. If I stopped, I would never move again.
I came to the seam where his tail joined gray skin. The flesh above looked unwholesomely soft, like something rotted. The spine rasped faintly against the ocean floor. Up close I could see its sawtooth edge, and I smelled its power, thick and gagging-sweet. Would I be able to climb out of the deep again, once the venom was in me? Or would I only lie there, clutching the tail, while my son died in the world above?
Do not draw it out, I told myself. But I could not move another inch. My body, with its simple good sense, balked at self-destruction. My legs tensed to flee, to scramble back to the safety of the dry world. Just as Ae?tes had before me, and all the others who had come for Trygon’s power.
Around me was murk and dark currents. I set Telegonus’ bright face before me. I reached.
My hand passed through empty water, touching nothing. The creature was floating in front of me again, its flat gaze on mine.
It is finished.
My mind was black as that water. It was as if time had skipped. “I do not understand.”
You would have touched the poison. That is enough.
I felt as though I were mad. “How can this be?”
I am old as the world, and make the conditions that please me. You are the first to meet them.
He rose from the sand. The beat of his wing brushed my hair, and when he stopped, the seam where his tail met his body was before me again.
Cut. Begin in the flesh above, else the venom will leak.
His voice was calm, as if he told me to slice a fruit. I felt dizzied, still reeling. I looked at that skin, unmarked and delicate as the inside of a wrist. I could no more imagine cutting it than an infant’s throat.
“You cannot allow this,” I said. “It must be a trick. I could blight the world with such power. I could threaten Zeus.”
The world you speak of is nothing to me. You have won, now take the prize. Cut.
His voice was neither harsh nor gentle, yet I felt it like a lash. The water pressed upon me, vast depths stretching out into their endless night. His soft flesh waited before me, smooth and gray. And still I did not move.
You were ready to fight me to have it. Not if I am willing?
My stomach churned against itself. “Please. Do not make me do this.”
Make you? Child, you have come to me.
I could not feel the knife handle in my hand. I could not feel anything. My son seemed distant as the sky. I lifted the blade, touched its tip to the creature’s skin. It tore as flowers tear, ragged and easy. The golden ichor welled up, drifting over my hands. I remember what I thought: surely, I am condemned for this. I can craft all the spells I want, all the magic spears. Yet I will spend the rest of my days watching this creature bleed.
The last shred of skin parted. The tail came free in my hand. It was nearly weightless, and up close there was a quality to it almost like iridescence. “Thank you,” I said, but my voice was air.
I felt the currents move. The grains of sand whispered against each other. His wings were lifting. The darkness around us shimmered with clouds of his gilded blood. Beneath my feet were the bones of a thousand years. I thought: I cannot bear this world a moment longer.
Then, child, make another.
He glided off into the dark, trailing a ribbon of gold behind him.
It was a long way back up with that death in my hand. I saw no creature, not even in the distance. They had disliked me before; now they fled. When I emerged onto the beach it was nearly dawn and there was no time to rest. I went to the cave and found the old stick Telegonus had been using as a spear. Still trembling a little, my hands unwound the cord that bound the knife to its end. I stood a moment looking at its crooked length, wondering if I should find a new haft. But this was what he had practiced with, and I thought it safer to keep it as he was used to, crooks and all.
I held the spine gently by its base. It had filmed over with a clear fluid. I bound it to the stick’s end with twine and magic, then fitted over it a sheath of leather, enchanted with moly, to keep the poison at bay.
He was sleeping, his face smooth, his cheeks faintly flushed. I stood watching him until he woke. He started up, then squinted. “What is that?”
“Protection. Do not touch anything but the shaft. A scratch is death to men and torment to gods. Always keep it sheathed. It is only for Athena, or utmost danger. It must return to me after.”
He was fearless, he had always been. Without hesitation, he reached and took the haft against his palm. “This is lighter than bronze. What is it?”
“The tail of Trygon.”
The stories of monsters had always been his favorite. He stared at me. “Trygon?” His voice was filled with wonder. “You took his tail from him?”
“No,” I said. “He gave it to me, for a price.” I thought of that gold blood, staining the ocean depths. “Carry it now, and live.”
He knelt before me, his eyes on the ground. “Mother,” he began. “Goddess—”
I put my fingers to his mouth. “No.” I drew him up. He was as tall as I was. “Do not start now. It does not suit you, nor me either.”
He smiled at me. We sat together at the table, eating the breakfast I had made, then we readied the ship, loading it with stores and guest-gifts, dragging it to the water’s edge. His face grew brighter by the minute, his feet skimmed the earth. He let me embrace him a last time.
“I will give Odysseus your greetings,” he said. “I will bring you back so many stories, Mother, you will not believe them all. I will get you so many presents, you won’t be able to see the deck.”
I nodded. I touched my fingers to his face, and he sailed away, waving indeed, until he vanished from my sight.
Chapter Twenty-one