"Hear me, vain and foolish mortal woman! You dare to compare your daughter's beauty to mine, to one of the immortals? In my own sanctuary! You will regret your boast . . . and all will sorrow for the delight they feel over the cruel misfortune of my mortal son Calibos."
"Forgive me, Thetis! I did not mean—"
"In thirty days," the head continued relentlessly, "on the eve of the longest day of the year, your daughter Andromeda must be taken to the old sacrificial rock, where the first Canaanites paid homage to the gods of the sea who were so generous to them and their ungrateful offspring. There she must be bound and chained to the stone, a sacrifice to appease the anger of the sea goddess and to atone for your blasphemy—a sacrifice fit for the Kraken."
Few names could have rendered the crowd more terrified than they already were. That of the last of the Titans was one of them. Perseus held Andromeda protectively close, but there was no one to comfort the distraught Cassiopeia. She ruled alone. Now she agonized alone.
"And if we refuse?" asked Perseus, unintimidated by a voice from a stone head.
"Proud child, you are the cause of much of this. She must be delivered to the Kraken at the setting of the sun on the day indicated, or else the Kraken will be free to destroy Joppa and everyone within the city. For the insult that has been done to me, for the cruel injury you inflicted on my son, I demand the life of Andromeda."
"If I am the cause," Perseus replied firmly, approaching the stone head, "then I should make the restitution. Let the Kraken have me instead."
"It is too late. I have spoken. Andromeda is to be the sacrifice. In thirty days."
There was a rumbling and the headless statue split in two. Screams filled the temple and the priests bowed low in fear. His brave offer rebuffed, Perseus was once again the willing but perplexed youngster, uncertain what to do next.
As the people streamed out of the temple, the remnant of the once magnificent sculpture toppled forward, scattering queen, soldiers and priests. It shattered with a thunderous roar against the marble flooring, and with it, the dreams of the queen who'd ordered it raised.
No flute or lyre music filled Cassiopeia's private chambers that night. No dancer spun lithely above the mosaic tiles, no exotic dishes were proudly brought forth from the royal kitchens by the queen's chefs.
No entertainers plied their raucous trade in the taverns bordering the market stalls. Even the usually hysteric waterfront was quiet, the only movement coming from traders and merchants of other lands. They had learned quickly of the events which had taken place that afternoon in the temple and were anxious to finish their business well before another thirty days passed in Joppa. When that period ended, harbor as well as city would be deserted.
The mood in the royal chamber was even more somber than that afflicting the city at large. Though the cause was immortal and beyond human reach, and the danger older than recorded time, the assembly sitting in that chamber still had the air of a council of war.
Perseus and Ammon attended. They were joined by five of the most experienced and respected officers of the queen's household guard. Old Thallo was one of them. His four comrades differed in size and attitude, but they represented the best military minds of Joppa.
Loyalty and experience would not be enough this time, however. They needed a miracle, and miracles were not to be bought in the city's subdued marketplace.
One brilliant tactician was absent from that council, however. Queen Cassiopeia had fainted in the temple. Now she lay feverish and moaning in her bedchamber, begging forgiveness from a goddess who would not listen, more vulnerable in her delirium than ever she'd been on the throne.
But Andromeda was present. It was not her proper place to attend such a council, but it was her fate that would be decided there. If it was the will of the majority that she perish on the rocks beyond the harbor, she wanted to learn of it firsthand. So she stood quietly in the shadows and listened to the men.
Perseus could not sit still. He had already paced the floor for an hour, wishing for the unthinkable: an immortal throat under his fingers. In an hour he'd wasted more energy than most men use in a week.
"Is there any chance the goddess might relent and forgive Cassiopeia?"
"I think not, my boy." Ammon would not be falsely encouraging, for all that it troubled him to see the youth so tormented.
"She has announced her demand. To withdraw it would be to admit she was wrong in pronouncing it in the first place. Gods and goddesses must give the impression they are always right. If they were to change their minds like ordinary mortals, men might start to question them and begin to ignore their decisions."
"What about this Kraken, then? There must be some way to kill it."
Ammon laughed, not condescendingly. "My boy, I'm damned if I don't think you'd give it a try. But when the blood runs hot, memory runs short. You forget what happened to Argos."
Nervous words were passed between the soldiers.
"The Kraken is the last of the Titans," Ammon continued, "the last of those great immortal beings who fought alongside Cronos against Zeus. It would take a god to kill it, and they say only Poseidon and Zeus among all the gods can control it. As for killing it, there is no way it can be done—no way known to man."
"And you claim to be an optimist," Perseus said bitterly.
"So I am, yes. I believe strongly in the ability of man to eventually overcome most obstacles. But I am also a realist, young Perseus." He shook a cautioning finger at the frustrated youth.
"I believe in struggle, but not in needless sacrifice. If the entire city of Argos could not halt the actions of the Kraken, much less injure it, what can we hope to do?" He shook his head sadly. "Why must men become involved with the gods, when men are capable of confusing things sufficiently all by themselves?"
"Old friend, I've had just about enough of your philosophy. Words will not save Andromeda. If there is nothing else proposed, I will try to disable this monster by myself."
A soldier named Menas grinned ruefully at him. "Brave stranger, would you stab it in a toe? And you will have to swim to join battle with it, for the tale says much of Argos was destroyed by huge waves rised by the Kraken before it ever came close to the city."
"I'm a strong swimmer."
"And a brave fighter," Ammon agreed, "but bravery will not be enough to dissuade the Kraken. It has wrestled with Zeus. Would you do that too?"
"I would do anything if I thought I had a chance of saving Andromeda," he shot back. "Hades, but we must do something! I will not surrender the princess to appease the injured pride of a fickle goddess!"
A silence greeted his words, that voiced the feelings of his companions more clearly than any response could have.
Finally the officer called Solon spoke up. "Prince Perseus, we all love the Princess Andromeda and would give our own fives to save her. You must know that. We are pledged to it."
Murmurs of agreement rose from his fellow warriors.
"But what is the use of dying if only death is served?"
"We must have some reasonable chance of success before it is worth taking that risk," put in Castor.
"One moment, please, gentlemen." Everyone turned to face Ammon, who had been content until now simply to watch while they talked out their fears.
"I said there was no way known to man to slay the Kraken," he said smiling. "There might be a way known to woman."
"How you love your riddles, old poet." Abruptly, Perseus's anger softened and he smiled back. "Well then, for those of us poor mortals not the master of words that you are, unravel your puzzle to us."
"There is more to it than you think, Perseus. I said there might be a way known to woman—woman thrice over. To be specific, three old, blind women gifted beyond all others of the Earth in the ways of prophecy. Three women as knowledgeable as they are ancient."
"Who are they?"
"The Stygian Witches, or so they have come to be called. They live well beyond the desert frontiers of Joppa, in the
mountains of the north, toward Persia."
"Damn them, old fool, and you with them." Everyone turned to stare in surprise at Thallo. The usually phlegmatic warrior had bounded to his feet and was glaring at Ammon.
"Even if you found them, even if they showed you a way to defeat the Kraken, you would not live to use their advice."
"Why not?" Perseus asked, staring at him.
"It is said, sir, that they have a finely honed craving for human flesh. Once when the plague infested the city, the queen sent ambassadors to consult the blind oracles."
"Aye, I remember that time, though I was a youngster then." Menas regarded his colleague thoughtfully.
"And do you remember what happened?"
"Indeed," replied the soldier feelingly. "The ambassadors never came back."
"Nevertheless," Ammon insisted, "they are the only ones who might know a way to divert the Kraken, if not to slay it." He chewed his lower lip. "But their shrine is many days journey from Joppa, and we have only thirty given to us.
"That is no problem," Perseus assured him. "To Pegasus three days will be no more than three hours."
"The stallion of the air! Bless my soul, my boy, I'd forgotten." He scratched tiredly at his thinning hair. "Getting old, when I can't keep all the elements of the plot together."
Perseus clapped him on the back. "Never mind, old friend. You have offered a chance, and I will take it. I'll return with the information we need as soon as possible." He started out with the others close behind.
A pleading voice from behind halted them: "Perseus, take me with you."
Andromeda stepped out into the light and walked toward them. "If only as far as the Wells of the Moon. Just so that I may be with you a while longer."
Perseus gazed at Ammon, then Thallo. The poet glanced away and the old soldier simply shrugged.
"I may be going to my death," he told her softly.
Her reaction was not what he expected: she laughed. "I would rather die at the hands of a witch than in the jaws of the Kraken. If I am to be devoured, far better by something human than by some ancient monster."
"But the demand of the goddess," Solon hastened to remind her.
She looked sharply at him. "What should it matter to her how I die? She will have gained my death and that is what she wishes. And perhaps Perseus's as well. We may die together. That should please her." Her eyes turned back to stare into Perseus's own.
He held out a hand. She slipped hers into it.
It is known that when the gods are angry, the storms roiling atop Olympus are more violent than anywhere else in the world. Less is certain about the weather when the immortal inhabitants of that mountaintop dimension are merely irritated and confused.
Thetis stood before the throne of Zeus. Behind her stood Poseidon, Hera, Aphrodite and Athene, with the owl who served her as the symbol of wisdom and learning. The owl had turned its back on the king of the gods as though signifying its own disapproval of the course events were taking down on Earth. But Zeus failed to notice the movement, for the owl was as sly as it was wise.
"Your judgment was harsh," the king of the gods muttered from atop his throne.
"By insulting me, they blasphemed against all the gods!" Thetis snapped at him. "Did anyone in that vast assembly in the temple of Joppa object to their queen's odious comparison? Did anyone? No!"
"There was an old priest who—" Athene started to whisper, but she broke off at a warning look from Hera. Things were complicated enough.
"Against even you this blasphemy strikes," the furious Thetis concluded.
"Yes, yes," Zeus agreed irritably, acknowledging Thetis's claim with a wave of one hand. "Then of course your decision must stand. Now leave me."
Thetis departed, looking satisfied and smug. Poseidon sighed, the sound of deep ocean currents, and trailed after her. No matter how hard he tried to stay clear of the arguments and quarrels of Olympus, it seemed he was always drawn in.
Of course, if Thetis was right . . . and Zeus had agreed with her. The sea god emphatically wished his brother had never consigned the Titan to his care.
Zeus stepped down from the throne and crossed to confront the three remaining goddesses. His hands were clasped behind his back and his manner was changing from despairing to determined. Hera watched him warily, all too familiar with that look. Her husband was plotting something.
"It seems that young Perseus is moving into danger."
"He will find the Kraken a somewhat more formidable foe than that reprehensible Calibos," Hera said, and her tone reflected that she was not entirely displeased with the path events were taking.
"And your helmet is lost to him now?" he asked Athene.
"Swallowed by the swamps, Father. Lost forever to man. A great pity, too; I took pride in its fashioning. It was a fine bit of work, to make the metal bend the light around it like that."
"I agree. A great pity—replace it with another gift."
"That's not fair," Hera objected. "Athene has already given her gift to the young man, as did Aphrodite and myself."
"It was agreed that he should have the assistance of all three of you until this matter was completely resolved. Thetis's intervention has postponed that resolution, Therefore, he is properly entitled to continuing aid from all of you. He retains the sword and shield." He looked sternly at Athene, for all that she was his favorite.
"Replace the gift."
"Another helmet?"
"No." For a moment he was silent, thinking.
"Perseus needs knowledge far more than weapons of war. This Ammon he has struck up a friendship with is an admirable and wily old mortal, but his wisdom is lacking in certain areas. That is what Perseus most requires. And you, daughter, goddess of wisdom, are best suited to see that he receives it."
"I cannot wave my hand and make him wise," she pointed out.
"No, but we can offer him proper council," he said, looking toward her shoulder. "Give him the wise companion, Bubo the owl. It can supply advice when advice is required. Give Perseus also the ability to understand the owl's talk. This is my wish. And my command."
At that, he turned and stalked away from them, much pleased with his decision.
"Never!" Mildest and most even-tempered of the goddesses, Athene was furious. "Father goes too far in his defense of this Perseus."
"It is Zeus's command." Hera was sympathetic. "You cannot disobey."
"No, I cannot." Her anger was quickly overtaken by busy thoughts. I must give Perseus 'the wise companion, Bubo the owl.' So Father Zeus demands. An owl of mine named Bubo." She turned and walked off, muttering to herself.
"Now what do you suppose she's up to?" Aphrodite wondered aloud.
Hera watched the younger goddess disappear into the mists. "I don't know, mistress of affection." Then she grinned. "But if I know Athene, she will surprise us all, including Father Zeus."
The pool of water rested mirror-bright and unchanged near the center of the Wells of the Moon. Only Artemis's chariot had moved since the fateful night when man and horse had reached an understanding on this spot. It had turned slightly, and so the moon was no longer full.
The beat of wings sounded above the mating groans of frogs and the drone of night bugs. Pegasus dropped from the sky and landed on a slight rise overlooking the pond.
The stallion surveyed its territory. There was no sign of the man-friend it had come to love and serve. In heart and mind the horse knew he would soon return, and they would again skip clouds together.
Thirst impelled it down the gentle slope toward the water, where it bent and sipped noisily, sending spreading ripples across the still pond. There was a rustling from the far side of the surface but the horse did not hear it.
A crack split the night air and Pegasus's head jerked sharply upward. It was not the crack of thunder but a higher, unnatural sound. Something stung the stallion's neck and tightened around it.
Calibos dug his hoof into the earth and leaned back on the whip. He had it wrap
ped around the arm with his one hand and was shouting furious commands as the stallion bucked and reared.
The vegetation surrounding the pool erupted things that might once have been men. They swarmed around the kicking, neighing horse, carrying ropes and netting.
"Net!" Calibos roared. "Quickly, before it rises from the earth!"
Pegasus struggled violently, but the whip around its neck burned when it tried to pull free and Calibos's weight kept the stallion from positioning itself properly in order to fly.
The air was filled with nets. They were designed to catch creatures of the sea, but Calibos had suspected they would work with equal efficiency on something that swam through air.
The stallion continued to kick and to beat its mighty wings, but the harder it fought the more entangled it became in the nets. Entwined in the netting, its forelegs crossed. Finally it went down, bruising leg and wing alike.
Calibos felt confident enough now to let go of the whip. There was a burn the length of his forearm where the hide had rubbed off the skin, but he felt only pleasure as he limped toward his servants.
Additional nets were cast over the struggling, muscular prisoner until finally the great beast was exhausted. He lay on the damp earth, breathing heavily and eyeing Calibos with helpless fury.
The Lord of the Marsh stopped and bent close to the entangled head. "Well, intruder. No longer will you carry spies and troublemakers to my home. I toyed with your cousins. Their hunting once gave me pleasure and food. For that and for other things Zeus did this to me." He ran the fingers of his remaining hand across his misshapen features.
"But I could never quite trap you. You were always a little more clever, a little stronger than the others. But by taming you, that meddler Perseus caused you to relax your watchfulness just a trifle. Just enough.
"Let him do what he will now, but he will do it alone and not on the back of the master of the skies."
One sharp hoof kicked out suddenly. Calibos jumped back, but not in time. It caught him a glancing blow on one shin and he hobbled about in pain. There were unearthly giggles from the assembled swamp things. A stare from Calibos reduced them instantly to silence.
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