Gentle rocking of a ship, even in a sea without waves, from the motion of the oars. Feel of that pull, sound of the waterline, a stream unceasing, and the ship could be going ten times as fast. It feels and sounds that way, escaping quickly, one of many illusions. They are moving too slowly. Her father is out there somewhere not sparing his men.

The hull feels as if it is burrowing, as if they are going deeper into the sea. A bird with its head straining downward, trying to dive, but only sliding along the surface.

She wakes, a hand at her ankle. She yanks her leg in panic, then sees it is Jason leaning in at the hatch. Your father, he yells.

She crawls over tools and stones, avoiding blades. The hull bucking beneath her, no longer calm. Her breath coming faster, expecting to see her father at the stern, about to leap aboard, but when she emerges, she sees no ship. The sun late in the day, falling, and a wind now against them, waves formed. Land close along their left side, the Hieros mountains rising above. They’ve come too close to land. A headland is directly ahead, and they’ll need to go around it.

Where? she asks.

Jason points. Her father’s ship is much farther from land, veered away from their path but correcting course now, angling closer, a dark shape on the water and a flash with every dip of the oars. Rowing quickly.

The Argonauts all at the oars now, no sleeping.

Fools, she says in their language. You stupid fools.

They’re trapped. She hasn’t been to sea before, but even she knows they’re trapped against this headland. It should be obvious to anyone. And dropping a piece of her brother into the water will do nothing now. Her father’s ship no longer following behind. Fools, she says again. You will all die.

She walks forward between their ranks, and if she had a whip, she would beat them. They cower from her, look down at the deck, pull at their oars. Boys, not men. Descended from sheep, not from gods. Your fathers fucked ewes and lambs, she yells at them. Smeared out on the earth and even your four-legged mothers walked away and left you.

At the bow, she raises her arms to the bare blue sky that has birthed wind without cloud and calls on Hekate. Hear me now, she says. Hear me now more than any time before, more than any time to come. Too much to promise to a god, Medea knows. Fuel this wind and make every oar slip. Build these waves and drive my father all the way back to his shores.