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Back Bright Air Black Save as PDF
Chapters (53)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. PRAISE
  3. ALSO BY
  4. AUTHOR BIO
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. EPIGRAPHS
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. BOOK TWO
  39. 1
  40. 2
  41. 3
  42. 4
  43. 5
  44. 6
  45. 7
  46. 8
  47. 9
  48. 10
  49. 11
  50. 12
  51. 13
  52. 14
  53. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

What mortals hope, the gods frustrate. From our dull lives and loves they make an unexpected passion play. They turn the bright air black …

—Medea, Euripides (translation Robin Robertson)

1

1

Her father a golden face in darkness. Appearing in torchlight over the water and vanishing again. Face of the sun, descendant of the sun. Betrayal and rage. Four plumes along his mask, a scattering of light, a kind of mane. His shield of many hides a hollowed blackness. Ashen spear a thin line, then gone. The sail above him bowed like the belly of an ox grown large as a god, hooves making no sound in the water below.

Nothing will stop him, Medea knows. He has lost too much. All she can do is slow him. She reaches down for a piece of her brother, a forearm strong and strangely soft now, already cooling, and drops it into the sea, almost without sound, buried by the splash of oars.

She has done this for Jason and will do more, she knows. Her brother dismembered at her feet. This is how the world begins.

Dark wood in darker water, a sea of ink, and pattern felt but unseen, quartering waves caught only in glimpses. Wood thick beneath them, lines creaking. Thick ropes of the steering at her back, groaning under pressure from the rudders. With every small wave she rises and falls and twists, and Jason and his men repeat every movement a moment later. All held together as one, barbarian and her Minyae. Each hull a home.

Flesh that should sink but will not, a forearm too small to notice in torchlight in that darkness but seen nonetheless. Her father commanding the sail lowered, the oars shipped. Great ox belly deflating, no longer holding light, gone dark and rumpled, the upper yard coming down. Oar faces in a row high over the water catching light and winking out again, the ship coming about. The hull dark, unseen, her father standing above. Bending now and reaching for his son.

A howl she would hear even from another sea, matched inside her, and if she could go back, she would.

Her father’s ship drifts. Lost and receding, torches shrinking, drawing closer together. Jason’s men pulling at the oars, practiced thieves. No talk among them. Watching her. No light, no sound except oar and sail and rope. A heavy breath of them, a heat.

Medea is without words, without thought. She has unstrung the world, pulled some vital thread and unraveled all. Nothing to do now but hold her breath and find out whether a new world re-forms. Her task is to portion carefully, use the pieces of her brother sparingly.

Her father raises his sail again, smaller now. Golden mask a fainter torch, spear and shield gone. Oars working invisible, glints of water disrupted and nothing more. But she knows his will. These Minyae no match.