Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) (30 page)

Yet she had no one to blame but herself.

“Come, Medusa.” Stheno opened the door, tempting her with the beauty of the view before them.

They were indeed on the tip of Greece, rising above the cerulean depths of the sea beyond. The sound of the gulls, the steady roar of the surf and the tang of the salt reached her nose. She inhaled deeply, unable to tamp down the slight pleasure she felt. She rose slowly and moved towards the door.

She ignored the excited hiss and slither that commenced about her shoulders. They would not tarnish this. She wouldn’t let them.

“Go on,” Euryale urged.

Medusa nodded absentmindedly.

The sun was setting. And they were on the sea. The warmth of the evening caressed her shoulders, attempting to cut through the cold that clung to her insides since she’d stumbled from Athena’s temple.

It felt as if years had passed.

But when she thought of him, it was only moments. How the sea wind would have tossed his curls and kissed the bronze of his skin.

She drew in a shuddering breath and closed her eyes against the brilliant rays of the sun. But the throbbing began anyway, causing pain to cleave her head and scalding heat to sear along length of her scar. 

The faint jingle of a bell reached Medusa, its merry tinkling a familiar sound. It stirred memories of home, of Elpis and Xenia, and her beloved Thea. It, coupled with the salty sea air and the bleat of a goat, pushed her burdens aside.

Her head seemed to lighten, making her sigh with pleasure.

Relief came when she found sleep…or when the serpents spied a victim. In those moments before they found some prey or sport to destroy with their sparkling red eyes, they were one heaving mass of muscles and sound – stretching out to ensnare their prey with one fatal look. It was then, before they struck, that her head was calm and weightless…

Medusa stilled. They moved as one, swaying in anticipation of something she couldn’t see. They had found something or someone to prick their interest.

The ringing bell drew closer, drowning out the sounds of her serpents.

Spare me this, I beg of you
, she pleaded to whichever God might be listening.

There was nothing to be done.

They wove and bobbed, their sites fixed on their victim already.

“No,” she pushed them down, frantically pulling up the thick scarf about her shoulders. One serpent snatched it, then another, and pulled it from her hold. She tried to reach it, but a breeze caught it and pushed it along the dusty ground at her feet. It blew over the rock cliff before her labored efforts could retrieve it.

She shook her head, pushing the serpents away in desperation. It was too late. They would have done their damage by now, she knew. She turned anguished eyes towards the tinkling ring of the bell.

A small boy stood there, his brown eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at her.

Chapter Thirteen

The serpents hissed and bobbed, clearly startling the boy.

She could not hold them all. She sucked in her breath sharply as one bit her forearm deeply. And still, she tried to fight them. “You must leave, boy. You must run.” She could not bear to see him suffer.

But the snakes had not changed him. Even now, regardless of her futile attempts to stop them, they wove and glared at him to no avail.

The boy stayed as he was, a small and precious child. Her struggles ceased.

Athena’s curse spared children…something Medusa was truly thankful for.

He stepped closer to her, wide eyed and pale. “Can I… can I help, mistress?”

She stared at the boy, surprise making her weak. Such a guileless offer squeezed the tattered air from her lungs.

“I fear you cannot,” she whispered.

He continued to stare, torn between shock and fear. “Do they hurt you?”

She shook her head, letting her eyes linger on him hungrily. His was the first face she’d looked upon that wasn’t her sister’s – that hadn’t been turned to stone.

“No.”

The goats moved about them, munching grass peacefully. The ram came at her, snorting, but the boy pushed the ram away, smacking the large sheep with his crook. She felt the corner of her mouth turn up, but refused to smile at his gallant gesture.

“He has no manners, that one,” the boy said, sounding wiser than his years.

“He is a fine animal.”

“When he behaves.” He smiled at her, his gaze only slightly less distracted by the serpents. “Are you alone too?”

She heard the sadness in his voice. “I travel with my sisters. And you? What of your family?”

“It’s only me and Kore.” His eyes traveled over her face.

“Where is Kore?”

He turned, pointing to the sleeping infant strapped to his back. “She’s finally asleep.”

Medusa stared at the red-faced babe, bound to the cradle board with mismatched knots and sagging blankets.

“But where is your mother?” she forced the words past the lump in her throat.

He turned back to her, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “The Persians came.”

She moved closer to him, but stopped. She could not draw him into her arms, she could not comfort him. Her serpents might not turn him to stone, but she had no doubt their venom would harm this brave boy.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I have some cheese and grapes”

His eyes widened at her words. “If you have enough to spare?”

“I have more than enough…” she paused. “What is your name, boy?”

“Spiridion.” He smiled.

She nodded. “Come with me, Spiridion. Let us find you something for that empty belly.”

They walked in companionable silence, giving her time to assess him. He was thin, frail even. His face was gaunt. Even his hands seemed bony. A boy his age should still carry the roundness of a babe. If he’d survived the Persians’ retreat, he must be a resourceful sort. And to care for his baby sister…he was a brave little soul indeed.

As they made their way to the cabin, she cautioned him. “Spiridion. I must warn you that my sisters…” She paused, considering her words. “Never mind. If you are brave enough to stand your ground when coming upon my monstrous presence, my sisters’ scowling faces and heavy brows will give you no pause.” She smiled.

“But you are not a monster.”

It was her turn to stare at him with wide eyes. “Am I not?”

The boy cocked his head, examining her face and slithering locks with great curiosity. “No. Athena uses the serpent. You must be a healer…or very wise. Which are you?”

###

Ariston’s search of Galenus’ home had done little to reassure him of Medusa’s well-being. He’d rummaged through every corner, overturning baskets and boxes and scouring each room with his torch held aloft.

Thea had led the way, hopping and gliding in short spurts.

The owl missed nothing. She was the best scout he’d ever known. It had been Thea who had found Medusa’s mat amid the chaos, knocked into the far corner of the room. The mat was dirty, blotched unevenly with red and black. Upon closer inspection he realized it was blood that had set into its woolen fibers. So much blood.

He’d stayed, bracing himself against the silence of the house and the fear that threatened to overcome his resolve, but found nothing else.

On his way from the house, he’d stumbled over the limb of a broken statue. He’d cast only the briefest glance at it, unbothered by the Persians’ looting when his lady was still lost to him. But the limb was a forearm and hand, splayed wide. The workmanship was unsurpassed and lifelike.

And on the hand was Galenus’ family crest. A ring he’d been forced to swear fealty to when he’d joined Galenus’ household.

“It was as if Zeus had struck him from Olympus, catching him up and casting him in slate. He was rock…he was stone,” Xenia’s words filled his ears and mind.

He’d stooped, examining the broken piece with care. Each tendon and knuckle was painstakingly intricate. Turning the arm, he noted the slight creases in the bend of the elbow. None was left beyond the arm, the rest had been shattered.

Thea had cackled at him, ruffling her feathers with impatience.

“We will find her, little one,” he’d reassured them both as he’d made his way to his horse, tethered outside.

He’d mounted and turned, sweeping an appraising eye over Galenus’ house once more. If Ektor spoke the truth it would not be here for much longer. His eyes strayed to the olive trees, those three trees he thought of so fondly.

Thea settled on his shoulder, cooing in his ear.

“We will find her,” he said again.

As they approached the trees, he felt such defeat. He’d hoped that, somehow, she’d still be here. Or that there would be some sign to indicate where he should venture next. She would have known he’d come after her, surely.

But she thought him dead.

The pain in his chest threatened to overwhelm him.

He saw him then, in the deepening shadows beneath one of the olive trees. Nikolaos lay on his back.

“Nikolaos?” His voice was harsh.

Nikolaos didn’t answer.

Ariston nudged his horse closer to the figure. No, it wasn’t Nikolaos, but it was his likeness. Though the statue had been cut cleanly from the shaped shoulder to the figure’s waist, it was as detailed as the arm he’d discovered within the house.

It was Nikolaos’ face, frozen in distress, that greeted him. His stomach tightened, as did his grip upon his reins.

Perhaps there was a curse. Whatever had transpired, it left only unease within him. He would not linger here.

He camped overnight, surprised when Ektor joined him. It was Ektor who mentioned the caves, inspiring him to set off at first light.

Ariston’s knees gripped his horse as he scoured the horizon for any sign of caves. The Gorgons might have come here, fleeing from Athens even when the Persians had been at their door.

He swallowed his frustration, though it choked him to do so, and turned his energies to searching the caves. He prayed they’d found shelter, for the Persians had wrought destruction well into the countryside beyond the city.

He was comforted to know Stheno and Euryale were with her. Though Elpis had described them as monstrous creatures, their devotion to Phorcys and their family was unshakable. They would guard her, tend her, and care for her as long as she had need of them, if only to return home with her.

He prayed that her wounds had healed, that she was well enough to travel. They would journey to Rhodes as soon as he found her.

Thea lifted her wings, flapping to climb into the pale blue sky.

His eyes narrowed, watching the bird’s slow climb. She was still so weak. Her frailty restored his anger and gave him the energy to carry on.

The sun was high when he found the first cave entrance. It led into a series of small, shallow caverns. But there was no sign that any person had been there.

He rested in the shade of the rocks, sharing food with Thea. She could not hunt for herself yet. She gobbled the dried fish, clicking noisily before she flew off. Moments later she circled back, clicking and cawing for his attention.

“You’ve found something,” he whispered, jumping to his feet to follow.

The entrance of the cave was small, easily missed. The ground was covered in rubble and slate, unlike the rock and walls of the surrounding caves. He nudged the stones with his feet, then bent to inspect the pieces.

It was the same stone, brittle and grey, that had made up the statues in Galenus’ home.

A chill found him, but he brushed it aside.

He stood and ventured into the cave.

The passageway was narrow, forcing him to bend in order to fit. He moved swiftly, trailing a hand along the cave wall. The darkness was pitch, forcing him back out of the cave for light. Holding his torch aloft, he started again.

The tunnel went on. It was silent and cold here, deep inside the hill.

And then it stopped, turning sharply to the left and opening in to a large cavern. At first the cave offered nothing more than the rest. But the flames of his torch revealed a patch of white amidst the rocky floor. He looked closer, making out the crudely hidden remains of a fire pit, several footprints and a white cloth.

Ariston knelt, fingering the embroidered robes his lady had once worn as Athena’s servant. His hands gripped the finely woven linen to his chest, pressing it to him for some sense of reassurance.

But the intricately stitched gilded owls and serpents were discolored, stained copper by the dried blood that hardened its length.

###

Medusa watched the boy sleeping peacefully on her mat.

Little Kore sat on Euryale’s lap, reaching for the shell necklace Medusa had made the night before. The little girl squealed in delight when Euryale tipped her back playfully.

“Silly child,” Euryale laughed.

Medusa shook her head. “She is precious, sister. And well you know it.”

Euryale smiled at the baby. The baby smiled back.

Medusa marveled at the transformation of her sister. A week had come and gone, but Stheno had no luck finding anyone who might care for the children. And they all agreed that brave Spiridion and giggling Kore would not be left behind.

But neither could they go with them to Phorcys’ house.

Stheno entered, looking ragged. She had left in the early morning hours, the quest to find the children a family or home occupying most of her waking hours. She was gasping for air as she pulled her veils from her head.

“We must leave.” Her voice was urgent.

“Now?” Euryale looked at her sister with a disapproving scowl.

“What happened?” Medusa asked.

Stheno shook her head. “Someone is coming.”

“Mayhap father sent someone to look for us?” Euryale asked.

“When has father ever sent someone after us, sister?” Her tone was bitter, a tone Medusa had rarely heard from Stheno. “This is a soldier, from the looks of him.”

Euryale waved a hand, dismissing Stheno. “If it is a soldier, he is more likely chasing the last of the Persians from Greece. He is no concern of ours.”

Medusa asked. “You think he will come here, to the cabin?”