Solid weight of head and horns deep in the cauldron. Medea pries with the paddle from the edge, lifts the old ram as she will lift the head of Pelias, just to let him fall again. Boiled in blood, sharing the stew with the ram. If any creature rises, it will be half man, half ram, entrails intertwined, half covered in hide, half bare, heads fused. Pelias’ head mounted on the back of the ram’s, teeth snapping at the sky. Brain turned to bone, without memory, arms half buried in the ram’s back, hands useless on short stumps, legs gone below. Wandering trackless, never seeing what will come, staring without shelter into the bare sun. Even this would be too good for Pelias.

Clot of wool in one corner of the room, the sheep jammed in so thick, all their butts facing her, afraid to turn their heads to see what’s coming. The goats much craftier, edging for the door. Medea grabs the youngest lamb, bleating, and flings it into the air above the cauldron.

Asteropeia! she yells. Peisidike!

The lamb hits with all four legs wide spread. Dark stew red brown and thick taking shapes in the air, as if some new phantom might form or be read, augury of all to come. Vanished too quickly, spattered against floor and walls and wasted, Medea not quick enough. White wool submerged, but she reaches in with her bare hand, burning, and pulls the lamb free as the sisters appear. Midwife to an unnatural birth, lamb pulled from welter and gore of a ram, no need of a womb. She drops it bleating onto the stone floor and douses it with fresh water from an urn to stop the burning.

Asteropeia falls to the floor, hugging the lamb, weeping, laughing, a madwoman. No butcher after all. Peisidike aghast at what powers might be. Medea pulls her close. Peisidike, she says. Hekate favors you. Will you give your father a new youth? Will you let him be reborn?

Yes, she says quietly, clearly without thought, only staring at the lamb, this concoction of air, impossibility made real. Brown burning thing emerged from darkness screaming new life.

3

3

The moon too bright, every stone in relief, the air itself illuminated and shortened. When she passes a guard, there is no distance. She walks slowly, careful not to run, takes her usual path to the sea to bathe and then home. She must hold her sons and Jason one last time. She knows she may not survive the night.

The sisters washed and naked, carrying their clothing in their hands, axes hidden within. No unusual thing for the many daughters of Pelias to visit him at night. Every girl and young woman in a kingdom belongs to the king, even his own daughters.