She cried out as she pushed herself from the wall, knocking the snake from her shoulders as she fell out of the cave opening and into the sunlight.
The sun blinded her, and she flung her arm up to cover her eyes.
It bit her then.
She jerked away, but it bit her again.
“Bite me, then,” she yelled, grabbing the snake about the neck and pulling it with all of her strength. “Then leave me be.”
The snake coiled about her arm, anchoring itself firmly to her. She continued to pull, growing frantic as she realized she could not disentangle herself. Her freedom was slipping away as the others found her.
Her cheek tingled beneath the sting of another bite, then her ear, her jaw. They continued, wrapping around her head and neck, forcing her to release the serpent as she fought to defend her face.
A sob escaped her as she swatted the snakes away. Her fear overwhelmed her, making her frantic as she twisted and thrashed on the ground. But she could not evade them. They were too great in number.
She closed her eyes tightly and cried out, releasing her anguish and despair in that instant.
There was no use in fighting them. She had no reason to live. It was fitting that these creatures, one of Athena’s favored animals, would be the end of her.
Her cry twisted. The sound grew, bouncing off of the hillside and rolling away from her as her sobs overtook her.
Would she be cast into Tartarus? She knew better than to hope she might see Ariston.
A shout rose, a man’s voice, carried to her on the winds.
Persians? Did it matter now?
Her head throbbed, her eyes burned and the grief in her heart consumed her. Whether at the sword of a Persian or the poison of these snakes, this life was almost over. She was ready… No, she was eager for death to find her.
But she did not fade. The sun continued to torture her with its luster, and her head felt as if it was being pulled every which way. She hugged herself, lying still on the dirt and rocks that littered the mouth of the cave. She could not move, the pain in her head would not allow it.
The snakes did not leave her, though they ceased their assault. Instead they coiled about her head and shoulders, filling her ears with their whispers.
She stiffened, but had no will to fight or move.
A breeze blew over her, lifting her robes and cooling her scorched skin. Her heart, pounding in her ears, did not still. Her lungs ached, but did not falter. Those wounds the asps had inflicted throbbed in time with her heart. Each bite sealed a molten needle under her skin, skewering her muscle with fiery intent.
But still she lived.
A voice, a man, was close by. He was coming. She could hear him. The ground seemed to reverberate around her. He was not alone. No, two…maybe more.
The serpents stirred, filling her ears with their whispers. She swallowed, relaxing as one slippery tongue touched her neck, flicking the skin. Apparently satisfied, the serpent moved forward, sliding atop her neck towards the sound of the approaching men.
As their footsteps grew closer, the vibration of their steps shook her. The men’s words made no sense to her. She knew nothing of the Persians’ language, but the man sounded angry, speaking harshly to those accompanying him.
She must try to move. She must, for her sisters’ sake.
She forced her eyes open, ignoring the searing white heat that sliced through them. She lifted her arm, wary of the snake that sat upon her. It stared at her face, angling its head to regard her with interest. Its head bobbed while its tongue flicked out to touch her chin. She winced.
The voice was closer, almost to the top of the hill, where she still lay.
The serpent turned towards the voice, hissing and undulating.
It seemed eager – almost as if it were waiting for them, these men.
She moved ever so slowly, shielding her eyes with one raised arm while rolling onto her side. They could only bite her again, and she was beginning to suspect they weren’t fatal, but the pain in her head prevented her from moving quickly.
The wrappings her sisters had tied about her head lay beside her, but she would not bother with them now. If the wound opened, there was little she could do. Her death was imminent.
As she rose, the snake moved too, lifting from her neck with sudden fluidity. She shivered, startled by its speed.
She forced herself into a sitting position, closing her eyes long enough to gain her balance.
Surprisingly her head felt lighter now, as if some great weight had been lifted.
The voices were almost upon her, so she opened her eyes…to discover a most peculiar sight. Her shadow.
The snakes had not been suspended from the caves walls, or its ceiling. They had not been hanging off exposed roots or out of crevices her eyes could not discern. These serpents, they clung to her.
All about her their bodies and heads weaved in constant motion. Their sounds muted all else, their number was so great. She stared at them, though their attention remained unwavering as they peered at the cliff’s edge.
They were waiting for something.
Her head swayed in time with them, she realized, though she felt steady for the first time.
One dipped down, sliding across her cheek to dangle by her chin. The hand that shielded her eyes wavered, but the snake seemed not to notice.
Athena’s words ripped through her.
“Wisdom will rule you from this day on, your constant lullaby their serpent’s song. Only those with an innocent heart, women and children, are set safely apart. A heart of stone is your curse to bear as they turn man to stone with their ruby stare. Keep them safe and keep them whole, or to Hades you will send their soul. Your disloyalty causes man’s life to end, but through your death they live again.”
Medusa’s hands slipped across her forehead, sliding towards her hair with trembling fingers.
Athena looked to the owl and the serpent for wisdom. They acted upon instinct and thought, not emotion. And Athena found that virtuous.
Her hand touched a sleek coil of serpent. It moved, flicking its tongue against her fingers before shifting. There were more, varying in size and texture -- so many. Long and short, thick and thin, they acknowledged her touch and parted for her. Tongues and heads, necks and bodies…but no tails were found – because they had none.
Their bodies ended where hers began, joined as firmly to her head as her arm or leg was to her body. They moved with her because they were a part of her.
Panic receded, fear vanished. Only horror remained.
Her lungs constricted.
What had Athena done to her?
Her stomach roiled, forcing bile up. She swallowed, hoping to gain control, but fear and disgust won. She vomited, gasping for air as her stomach convulsed and twisted repeatedly.
Why?
A man shouted, too close to escape now… And then they were upon her.
There were eight men, armed heavily. She’d unknowingly alerted them with her scream.
Surely they would kill her and this nightmare would at last be over.
But the serpents quieted suddenly, becoming utterly still – forcing her to do the same.
Her vision blurred slowly. A haze clouded her sight, obscuring the details of life as the world around her turned an eerie shade of red. She blinked, but the redness remained.
As her eyes met the first man, obviously their leader, he froze. His eyes, deep brown and intelligent, widened. Whatever words he uttered ended sharply, choked with an unseen force from his chest.
It happened quickly.
The sun was behind them, making it impossible for her to focus against its blinding glare. But she could see that it was not just this man, but all of them, gasping for air.
She stood, wavering on unsteady legs, as the men grew rigid.
A sudden snapping filled the air, followed by cracking. The man’s eyes seemed to widen further, bulging as his neck convulsed and went rigid. The skin of his neck disc
olored, a sinister darkness creeping up his thick neck to his rigid jaw. The darkness, a strange coating like grey chalk, moved steadily, covering his cheeks and mouth. His nostrils seemed to pinch, as if he was gasping for breath, before the grey covered his nose. His eyes rolled, staring about him blindly until his eyes locked with hers.
He was in pain, horrible pain. His eyes clouded, blinking furiously until the ridge of grey overtook them. She watched, stunned, as all of him hardened, turning lifeless and brittle.
The man was stone.
She gasped and pressed her eyes closed, but it did not erase their suffering… Her chest was heavy with grief and her head felt heavy once again.
When she opened her eyes, more than two dozen ruby eyes waited for her.
###
It was not yet dawn. Ariston pulled his blanket up, rolling onto his side and squeezing his eyes shut. But she was gone, tearing his heart open as sleep left him.
It was cold.
The stars hadn’t yet faded, but a thin band of light laced the horizon.
He stretched, stifling a groan as his stitches pulled. He was lucky, doubly so, he knew. His wounds at Salamis were minor, mere scratches compared to those he’d suffered before. He could endure them knowing that today he would have his lady in his arms.
Today they would sail to Aegina and help those Athenians return home before winter set in.
Xerxes had fled after the defeat at Salamis. And though much of Greece had battles still to be fought, he knew the tide had turned. Whatever hold Xerxes had upon them, the Panhellenic League – Athens and her allies – would make certain to crush it soon.
Now Athens needed its people, to rebuild and restore its grandeur. It needed to rally and stoke the fires of victory before another campaign began. A campaign he would gladly learn about when such news found its way to his father’s home, on sunny Rhodes.
“Pamphilos.” Ariston shook his second’s shoulder, rousing him. “Let us be gone with the sun.”
Pamphilos peered at him from between swollen lids. “Your lady inspires a great deal of enthusiasm, Ariston. She must be beautiful…or fearsome,” he teased, laughing.
Ariston held his hand out, pulling his second to his feet. “She is fearsomely beautiful. With a heart more lovely still.”
Pamphilos arched an eyebrow. “You’ve not been married long?”
Ariston laughed. “No, friend, I had two nights with my wife before our battle off Athens’ shore.”
“And then we sailed on to Salamis?” Pamphilos smiled. “I envy you your homecoming.”
Ariston nodded. “As well you should.”
“I’ll pray to the Gods your stitches hold.” Pamphilos laughed.
Ariston laughed too.
Would she run to him?
He shook his head as he climbed aboard the trireme, a smile upon his face. Even readying the ship did little to dampen his joy. Once they were at sea, he relaxed. He wasn’t the only husband on this ship, for many had left a wife or family when they’d set off to fight. He watched the men, wondering if any felt anticipation as sweetly as he did.
There was no shame in it, this need for her.
Fear would not rule him, though it crept upon him in moments of weakness. He could not help but worry. Had Poseidon changed her?
They need never speak of it, nor would he ask her what happened. If she needed to tell him, he would listen – and hoped he could offer her the support she might need. But he would never ask her to relive it.
His hands fisted and he pulled the sails’ lashing tight, ignoring the burn of the ropes across his palms.
Would she still want him or set him aside from shame?
Or had she gone with Poseidon? He swallowed. If she’d gone, she had no choice in the matter.
No. He would not let his mind twist his heart with such thoughts.
She was waiting for him on Aegina. She would welcome him with open arms, he knew this.
And he loved her more deeply. Whatever she’d endured or submitted to, she’d done it for him. He would do the same for her. He would do whatever he had to for her safety. Nothing mattered more to him.
As long as he had her love, there was nothing more he needed or wanted.
They had time to live and love. He prayed his face was well-lined and his hair all but gone before he found himself kneeling before Hades again.
Whatever time he had with her, he would be thankful for it.
The voyage was tiresome. The crew chafed to get there, as did Ariston. But choppy seas and blustering winds tossed them about, setting them on Aegina’s coast at dusk.
The docks and shore were covered in the tents of Athens’ refugees. People, hundreds of women and children, came out to greet the returning heroes with cries of joy and pride. Ariston’s heart grew unsteady and his gaze searched the crowd for one glimpse of flashing blue eyes or honey locks.
As the crew tossed ropes down from the trireme, the dock master clambered up to the deck.
He clasped forearms with Ariston. “Welcome home, heroes of Athens. I am Kallistratos of Aegina, and I am at your service.”
“We thank you for your welcome, Kallistratos. I am Ariston of Rhodes, an Ekdromos for Athens. How fare our Athenians?” Ariston noted the slight twitch of the man’s mouth and waited.
“As well as such a sizable group may be, so far from home and with little in the way of comfort.” He appeared to have something more to say, but reconsidered. He smiled tightly.
“We’ve been tasked with taking them home on the morn,” Ariston said. “Xerxes is far gone now. And Athens needs to fortify its walls before winter comes.”
“Sir, some of the men are anxious to find their families.” Pamphilos spoke softly at Ariston’s elbow.
Ariston nodded. “As am I, Pamphilos.”
“A word of caution, soldiers. There has been talk of illness amongst some in the tents.” Kallistratos’ face was wary, his voice dropping.
Ariston froze, raising a hand to still his men. “A fever?”
“Perhaps…of the mind, it seems.” Kallistratos shook his head.
“How many have died?” Pamphilos asked.
Ariston continued to watch the man. There was something more. Something Kallistratos was not telling them.
“No… none dead, brave hoplite.” He paused. “It is nothing fatal, it seems. It does nothing more than confuse memories. A few women have said things that make no sense – as if they’ve witnessed a creature or spirit from Hades.” He looked at them and shrugged. “It may be nothing more than poor conditions or lack of water…”
Ariston nodded. “But none have died?”
“None dead.” Kallistratos repeated. “Now, I will leave you to greet the other ships soon arriving. But find me if you’ve need of me.”
He smiled brightly before crossing the plank the crew had lowered.
Ariston watched him go. The man wanted the Athenians gone, it was plain to see.
“It would be hard to leave one’s home and temple, not knowing when it would be safe to return,” Pamphilos murmured to Ariston. “Such nervous fits are understandable from the fairer sex?”
“Be wary, Pamphilos. Speak plainly to the men. If there is illness, we would be wise to leave it here. Now Athens needs only the strong,” Ariston answered.
Pamphilos nodded and returned to the men, looking grave.
Ariston made his way to the plank, fighting the desire to run. He would find her.
There were hundreds of people in the tent town of Athens. Faces he knew, but more he did not. After walking aimlessly up and down the rows of tents, he turned back to the dock to find Kallistratos.
“I seek news of the councilman Galenus and his wife, Xenia of Athens?” Ariston asked. “My wife is in their household. Which tent is his?”
Kallistratos face stiffened. “Sir, Xenia and some of her household have taken the tent farthest from the settlement.” He took Ariston’s elbow, leaning in to speak softly. “The lady Xenia is stricken with t
he…illness, I fear.”
Ariston assessed the man’s face. “Is she mad?”
Kallistratos cleared his throat. “So it would seem.”
“Who accompanied her?”
“Several serving girls—” Kallistratos began.
“Galenus?” Something was not right. As spirited as Galenus was, he would not have stayed behind. He was a statesman, not a warrior.
The older man shook his head. “He did not make the journey, though I know not what happened. And his wife, Xenia, she grows dangerously agitated when asked.”
Ariston turned from the man, his pace quickening as he moved along the shore. Something had happened in Galenus’ house, something to distress Xenia gravely. Try as he might to avoid it, his unease increased with each step.
The tent was placed aside. A fire burned inside, but the flaps were closed.
All about him sounds of family and life, of reunion and joy. But here, the stillness of Xenia’s tent warned him.
“Lady Xenia?” he called out. “Xenia of Athens?”
He heard the gasp of a woman, startled, then a ragged sob. He froze, unsure of how to proceed. There was another voice. He could hear it faintly, another woman speaking, soothingly, in hushed gentle tones.
He waited, fearful of calling out again. But he would not leave without news.
“A moment, please.” The voice was close, as if the woman were standing on the other side of the tent wall. “Let me calm her.”
“I will wait,” he assured her.
The wind blew, threatening the flame of his lantern. He paced, his ears straining to make out the interior’s happenings. But the words were whispered, too muted to make out.
He stared at the tent, willing someone to come out.
And Elpis did.
“Elpis?” His relief was instantaneous. He moved forward, clasping her shoulders. “You are here. And well?”
“My lord?” she choked out. “Ariston? But you…you cannot be here.” She seemed to droop in his hold, so he steadied her. “You are dead,” she whispered.
Chapter Eleven
“I am here, Elpis.” His tone offered little comfort, he knew. But his wife may yet wait for him in Xenia’s tent.
Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) Page 20