Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) (27 page)

“Aphrodite, find him someone – someone pleasing to honor his heroism,” Zeus ordered.

“Brother,” Poseidon interjected. “He loved his wife. He will look for her.”

“He will give up,” Ares snorted. “Husbands tire of wives, not women.”

But Zeus watched him, his eyebrow arching in question. “Speak Poseidon, if you have something to add to this matter.”

Poseidon spoke with confidence. “Ariston will seek his wife until he finds her. The man bargained with Hades for that very purpose. He may give her up – but it will take time. Time he will spend searching.”

Athena’s eyes narrowed. “Then his fate is sealed.”

Hera rose, outraged. “You cannot condemn this man! Not after all he has done for Olympus. Husband, I implore you. There must be another solution.”

Quiet filled the chamber once more. Even Poseidon mulled over this dilemma. But then, Zeus would decide the matter.

When Zeus finally spoke, there was a gleam in his eyes. “Whatever happens, no more harm must come to either of them. Until this matter is settled, I demand it.”

###

“How can I trust you?” Medusa asked Euryale in despair. “How can I?”

Euryale shook her head, shrugging. “You have no choice, Medusa.”

“It will not happen again, sister. I promise,” Stheno intervened, ever the peace-maker.

“It will not,” Medusa agreed. “I cannot bear it!” Whether Euryale had meant for Medusa to discover the man in the last village, she could not be certain. But his face, those of the fishermen, and the messenger, along with those Persians who’d fallen victim, haunted her. “I will not bear it!”

Euryale smiled. “Idle threats, to be sure.”

“Why do you torment me?” Medusa whispered.

“It brings me pleasure. Something I have very little of in this life.”

“Peace,” Stheno said. “I will go, Medusa, I will go with Euryale to scout our way.”

Medusa drew in a steadying breath, her head aching unbearably. She nodded.

“We need food,” Euryale said as they left the hut. “I tire of berries and nuts.”

“If she would eat,” Stheno replied.

“I will eat it.” Euryale laughed.

Medusa listened to the sounds of their fading bickering, ceasing long after they’d disappeared from sight.

They would not leave her be. They forced her on, to sleep and move and dress and talk. When she would lie still and do nothing.

She removed the wrap from her head, lightening some of her burden. They fell about her instantly, stretching and writhing in pleasure at being set free. Whispers, tongues – they slithered amongst themselves and assessed their surroundings with mesmerizing ruby eyes.

She refused to look at them, though they tried to capture her attention.

That they were joined to her, she could not deny. But she would not acknowledge them. She could not.

They were evil.

She stood, moving to the small window set in the crudely built wall of their latest home. It was sunset. She had no reason to fear the pain of the sun, time had healed that much. Yet she shaded her eyes anyway, a habit now.

The sun stained the sky rose and pink, painting the clouds with gilded edges and feather-like whimsy. She stared, unable to appreciate the picturesque view or the soothing sounds of evening. The ache was there, gnawing on her stomach with unrelenting torment.

She missed him. How she wished she could join him, if only for an instant.

“I will not think on him,” she whispered. It was an oath she repeated daily but could not keep.

Her mind resurrected every moment they’d spent together. Yet, when such memories faded, her agony was greater still.

In the early hours of dawn, she recalled his features as he’d lain beside her.

In sleep, his face was both peaceful and relaxed. His lips parted. His breath had brushed across her shoulder, warm and heavy.

This was not the careful, ready man of the day. This was her lover, gentle and sweet.

She’d moved closer to him, letting his heat seep into her.

His lips had pressed against her temple. “Are you awake?” he’d whispered.

She turned to him, pressing a soft, lingering kiss upon his lips. This was the only answer he needed from her. His hands had been warm as they’d moved over her.

She shivered now. Even the sun could not warm her. In the heat of the day, when the sun made the air crackle with its heat, she shivered still – another part of her punishment.

How she missed warmth.

One serpent pressed against her jaw, slithering up her cheek and across her forehead. It was cold on her skin.

As cold as my heart.

She would not push it away, no matter how much she wanted to. She’d learned her lesson. While their poison did not kill her, she’d been struck by a fever that lingered for two days, the wounds swollen and aflame. She was mindful of anything that slowed their travel. She feared discovery, knowing her curse would bring suffering to others.

That she had no control over them was without doubt, it had been part of Athena’s curse. Strangely, they had no interest in hurting her – as long as she was careful of them. At times they seemed to woo her, bobbing in front of her to stare expectantly at her. She would close her eyes until they’d gone.

Another serpent moved, resting along her shoulder to peer out at the hills and mountains stretching out before them.

She missed the sea. She missed the sound of the waves and the smell of the salt air. Though even those sounds would likely sound different now. It took great concentration to hear beyond the incessant hiss of the serpents. When she bound her head it helped, but the ache from the added weight was heavy and they, the serpents, did not like to be stifled so. They snapped and dodged, twisting about her arms and pulling at her fingers in an attempt to evade the trap.

For now, she would leave them be. When her sisters returned, she would cover them.

Euryale was unnerved by their constant motion. Stheno said little about them. Medusa suspected Stheno hoped that ignoring their presence might erase them from being. A hope that made Medusa smile – sadly.

They would need to move on soon.

Athena’s curse had done more than turn her locks from silken to serpentine. She had truly brought the wrath of Olympus against her. Apollo’s sun blinded her, burning her eyes and slicing exquisite pain across the scar marring her forehead. Demeter’s crops, those left untouched by the Persian troops, had begun to shrivel and die when they’d tarried too long.

They’d stayed hidden in the last herder’s hut for less than a week before the village wheat began to grey and fall.

She would not cause the suffering of others if she could avoid it.

This cabin, a crumbling pile of wood and stone, sat atop a rocky hill. She prayed that her visit would do no harm to the good folk who worked this land. If any remained.

So many dead, so much destroyed. Without her curse to blame.

Since she – the serpents – had killed the Persians, Medusa hid. She followed her sisters while the moon was high. They traveled in the shadows, preferring a deer path to that of the goat paths – man tended goats. She vowed to keep innocents safe. It was the only thing she could do.

It ate at her, the guilt of those men’s deaths. While Persia was their foe, she had no desire to hurt another human. But the others had been Greeks, survivors of the Persians brought low by her carelessness. That she’d cause the suffering of another, a slow excruciating death, turned her stomach sour.

She could not eat – her stomach would revolt. She could not sleep. Too many memories found her – memories more nightmare than not. While fragmented and dim, she could recall making her way to Galenus’ house after her fall. It had taken all day, for her head bled and throbbed with such agony that she collapsed from it. She’d stumbled through Galenus’ gate and staggered towards the olive trees.

Leaning heavily against the trunk of the tree, she’d stared up into their branches to rest. They swayed and danced in the evening sun, doing little to help her gain her bearings. Her eyes had troubled her, blurring in and out of focus in the fading light.

It had been this spot where he waited for her. Where he would wait for her no more. She’d swallowed back her cry and turned towards the house.

There was great activity in Galenus’ house, though she’d not understood what. Nikolaos was loading the donkey cart, while two of the housemaids ran back and forth carrying linens, boxes and sacks. What was happening?

Nikolaos peered towards the gate, his rheumy eyes narrowing as he saw her under the trees.

“Mistress?” he called out in his crackling aged voice. “Mistress, you must come quickly. The Persians are headed for Athens’ shore. We must sail to Aegina.”

She would have moved towards him, but her legs trembled with exertion. The pain in her temples and neck subsided, but her head had begun to sway. She tried to push herself from the tree, but her stomach churned. She’d no choice but to cling to the tree. She pressed her cheek against the bark and hoped for strength.

“I need Elpis… Please fetch her to me,” she called out, shaking from the effort.

“She’s gone to her father’s house, mistress.” He hurried to her. “Let me help you, if you are hurt….”

He’d said no more.

She had not seen it happen, for she’d closed her eyes to rest against the tree. She’d nodded, her words quivering. “I thank you for your kindness, Nikolaos. I fear I’m dearly injured…” She opened her eyes.

He’d stood before her with wide eyes and open mouth. His sparse, wiry hair had not lifted wildly in the wind, as it normally did. It had stood up in disarray, hardened grey and rigid. His wrinkled face and the gentle droop of his jaw were fixed, immovable. His hand remained outstretched, gnarled fingers extended to offer her assistance.

“Nikolaos?” she’d sputtered, unable to believe what was before her eyes. “Nikolaos?”

But only silence had greeted her.

He’d frozen, a stooped grey statue, silently regarding her in horror.

“Medusa?” Stheno’s voice pulled her to the present.

She turned from the window, greeting her sisters with weak smile.

“You warn us from drawing attention, yet you stand in the window with those…those wee beasties keeping watch?” Euryale shook her head.

One of the serpents turned towards her, bobbing its head in agitation.

“Does that mean it likes me? Or it wants to turn me to stone, too?” Euryale asked.

Medusa shrugged. “I know little about them.”

Stheno dropped a large bag on the table, smiling. “There were only a few villagers left and they were most generous.”

“Of course they were,” Euryale laughed. “You told them we would leave. They could not give us enough food.”

“It is more than enough to make the journey to Delphi,” Medusa said softly.

Stheno nodded. “We shall eat well.”

“Tis troubling to see so many women and children alone in the country, though.” Euryale pulled the veils from her head. “Most of the men must have sailed off on the triremes. Or found peace at the end of a Persian sword.” She draped the veils over the single aged stool that sat beside a teetering table.

Medusa did not stare, though her serpents did. They were fascinated by her sisters, bobbing and weaving about when they first removed their veils.

“Your beasties think we are men,” Euryale snapped. “Come now, monsters, we are not so ugly as that.”

Stheno laughed, her eyes casting the slightest glance upon the serpents before turning back to their food.

Medusa laughed too, a little, for Euryale had startled her. Every serpent head turned towards her, every red eye widened and gaped. They swarmed about her, rubbing and caressing her cheeks and neck, her shoulders and forehead, with heightened hissing.

Stheno and Euryale gaped, startled by the sight.

Medusa closed her eyes, shivering in disgust at the affection they bestowed upon her.

“It’s as if…” Euryale gasped.

“They love you,” Stheno finished, her words strangled.

###

“She would not yield to him, not willingly, my lord. This you must know.” Elpis told Ariston, swaying in time with the waves. “Even Athena turned from her pleas... When she knew your life was in danger…only then did she seek out Poseidon. She had no choice in the matter.”

“I cherish her, Elpis,” his words rasped out. “Nothing could change that.”

“I fear you may find her changed.”

He nodded. How could she not be after such an ordeal?

“I will take you to Xenia, then. She is below deck, away from the rest. Her outbursts are troublesome to the others. She’s always been a fragile woman. The burden of losing Galenus, Medusa, and her home were too much for her.”

Ariston followed her down the ladder. “I’ve no intention of alarming her.”

“Then you must not press her for answers she does not have,” Elpis cautioned him. “She is not capable of sense, Ariston. Be mindful of that when she tells you things.”

He nodded before brushing past her to the lady Xenia.

Xenia sat, regarding him with steady blue eyes. She looked tired certainly, and distraught. But not mad. “You are Ariston? You are husband to my…Medusa?” Her voice possessed the dignity of a councilman’s wife. “I remember you.”

He bowed. “I am.”

“Elpis says you have questions for me? About my husband?” Her voice sharpened slightly, but her eyes held his.

Her pulse, he noted, beat steadily in her throat. She did not seem greatly agitated. As yet. “Was he taken by the Persians?”

“He was not taken. Go, see for yourself. You will find him there.”

Ariston paused, careful with his words. “Is he living?”

“Is he living?” She stared at him. “By the Gods, I know not.”

He knelt before her, speaking in soft tones. “Can you tell me what happened, lady?”

She glanced about, her eyes scouring the darkness. “I can. But you will think I am mad, as the others do. But I am not, I assure you.” She met his gaze. “The Gods have cursed us, Ariston. They cursed my home and my family.”

Ariston swallowed, uncertain which was greater – his irritation or his apprehension. “What curse do you speak of?”