The shore on the right without fire or settlement, lost in the black. They could crash into land at any moment, wood breaking on rocks.

They row for hours, long wide channel endless, passage through Nute, and it seems possible the day might never come again. Swallowed and no rebirth, held in this night. Stars above embedded in her flesh, lit only to remind that all is enclosed, that there is a roof to the world. One vein in a body larger than imagining, lost in the vastness of this small nowhere.

Nute, Medea says. Largest god, final and first.

Jason and his men unaware of passing through Nute, unaware there may be no rebirth, that night may extend forever and this channel never end.

Fires more numerous, and these, too, like the stars above, must be embedded along the margins to show passage, a gift from Nute. Darkness unmarked would be too much. Fires even along the darker shore.

Ilium in doubt only before it’s been seen. Vast glow and flames beyond counting. This vein bending to the left, narrowing, seeming almost to end, pinched close and so brightly lit even in the middle of night. Other ships moored along the edge.

Jason speaking softly but pushing his men to row faster, to keep steerage as the current strengthens, a kind of river even faster than the one from her father’s sea. The Argo sliding sideways, then straight, then drifting again. Argonauts visible now in glimpses, faces lit by the glow. The water made of pale gold.

Stone walls lit by torch, a large citadel well defended. Encampments extending to every hill beyond, not as large as Hattusa but larger than her father’s city. Controlling this passage between seas, gateway where the land hooks, the channel bent and narrowed.

Medea is sure they will be stopped by other ships. They reach the bend and row furiously, current sweeping them sideways. Jason encouraging his men.

City of stone among outcrops of rock the same color. Formed rather than built, emerged from the earth long before any human hands could have shaped it, mythic city raised by giants or even earlier. It may appear only in torchlight, at night. It may wink out and disappear during the day, then grow again out of darkness.

Spearmen standing along the walls unmoving, thin sentinels not yet awakened, the Argo insignificant, not recognized as a threat, drifting along out of control, oars reaching into water with little hold.

No pursuers. The city passing lit and impossible, receding quickly, already becoming rumor. The shores ahead with few fires, the channel straightening again, and their passage through Nute continues.

23

23

There is a time when nothing is in sight, when there are no fires and no shore and even the stars have vanished behind cloud. Rowing into absolute black without belief, waiting for rocks to tear the hull.