Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus)

by Sasha Summers

  “You died,” she insisted. “You were struck down…”

  “I was struck down but, as you see, I live.”

  She shook her head, “But you… It’s because you died.” Her voice wavered and she pulled herself from his hold.

  “Is my lady wife well and within?” His patience was wearing thin. “What has happened?”

  Elpis shook her head, faster and faster. “No. She is not within… She was left in Athens.”

  He froze, staring at her in surprise. Anger, pure and unfiltered, spilled from his lips. “Left behind?”

  Elpis raised her hands. “Do not wake Xenia, I beg of you.” She glanced over her shoulder towards the tent.

  “You may well beg, Elpis, for I will beat you soundly if you do not speak plainly.” He felt the tightening of his jaw, the curl of his lip.

  He cared little for Elpis’ fear or Xenia’s nerves. He would know everything – now.

  “She was ill.” Elpis looked away, her eyes avoiding his. “But she was not alone. Her sisters kept her. She could not make the journey to Aegina. She could not…” She shook her head again. “Her sisters were to care for her until she… until she….”

  Ariston stared at her, his throat tightening. “Until?”

  “Her head… She fell, coming back from the temple and… cleaved her skull.” She was shaking her head again, her arms wrapped about herself. “I’d been with my family, readying them for our departure. When I took them to the docks, I saw that neither Galenus and Xenia, nor your lady were there. I ran back to his home, to help if they had need of me.”

  He turned from her, listening to her words with growing alarm.

  “Galenus was gone…as was Nikolaos. Xenia was…screaming uncontrollably. She could not speak, but wailed and cried for Medusa.”

  Ariston spoke, unable to control the anguish in his voice. “For Medusa?”

  “She wept and cried out. Stheno said the sight of Medusa was too great, for her wound was violent to behold – or so Stheno said. In truth I did not ask to see our lady… Xenia’s wails stirred such fear…” Tears streamed down her face. “I could not bear to see her so, not after everything she has endured.”

  She was not dead. If she was…he would know it somehow, he would feel it. She was alive. “You did not see her? You did not see her wound with your own eyes?”

  Elpis’ lowered her gaze in shame. “No. I am not brave, my lord.”

  “But Xenia did?” he asked, his voice low and lethal.

  She pleaded, “You cannot trouble her with this, my lord. She will be of no help, of that I can promise you. She does little but mutter nonsense, often too softly to be understood. When I do hear her, I wish I had not. Her mind…has twisted.”

  “She was the last to see my wife, Elpis. I will speak with her in the morning. Once we set sail to Athens, I will speak with her.”

  He would hold on to hope. Medusa had taught him that, above all things. He would find out what happened, and he would find her.

  ###

  Poseidon drew in a deep breath, stunned by Athena’s announcement. In truth the Council Chamber was silent. Even Ares’ quick tongue was silent.

  “What have you done?” Zeus thundered, with good reason, his voice reverberating amongst the clouds.

  At least Athena had the decency not to challenge her father’s wrath. Her subdued response showed no sign of challenge, only regret. “She was in need of a punishment.”

  Poseidon leaned back in his throne. He did not take kindly to the twist in his stomach or the flicker of conscience that worried the back of his mind.

  This matter had nothing to do with him.

  Medusa had dared to challenge a Goddess. Yes, Athena was the Goddess of Wisdom, but she was also the Goddess of Strategy. When challenged, Athena was quick to react – as evidenced by her reaction to Medusa.

  “This is your idea of a just punishment, daughter? For whom?” Zeus bellowed. “How did she come to excite such a punishment from you?”

  “She has… she has known a man – in my temple,” Athena declared.

  “The temple now smoldering in ruins?” Ares asked, a scornful look upon his face. “If this mortal woman elicits such a response for coupling with a man in your temple, I look forward to the justice you will serve upon the Persians that destroyed your city – and your temple.”

  “And burned every crop in the fields,” Demeter mourned. “Even if Persephone and I work as one, Greece’s people will suffer hunger.”

  Zeus held up his hand. “The Persians will be dealt with by us all.” He leveled an angry glare upon his daughter. “Athena, you must see the error in this?”

  Poseidon tensed, in anticipation and apprehension. Athena did not take kindly to being chided, especially in front of the others.

  “I see nothing of the sort.” Her voice grew stronger. “To have used my temple thusly is low enough, but she dared to blaspheme the Gods, myself and Poseidon, too.”

  Zeus looked at his brother sharply, but said nothing.

  Poseidon held his tongue. This was not the time to confess his part in this tragedy. He was sorely tempted, but Athena’s lack of discipline made him quiet. This was what he wanted, to thwart his self-righteous niece, to outwit her in her own home. And he had.

  He’d never considered that Medusa might speak out so. They had made a bargain, nothing more. He had underestimated her grief…and her love.

  Damn her.

  Yet she had no right to question Athena, to demand explanations. She was a mortal. She had been a mortal.

  Now she was a monster.

  “You will put an end to this.” Zeus stood, towering over Athena and trembling with rage.

  “Father!” Athena’s face grew red and her lower lip quivered. “She has wronged me after I loved her so dearly. She has betrayed me. And…and she has made a mockery of her marriage and the man she calls husband.”

  “The hero from Salamis,” Ares noted.

  “The man Hades freed?” Aphrodite asked.

  Apollo frowned at Athena in disapproval. “A man who deserves honor and respect from Olympus and his wife.”

  “He may have returned for his wife,” Aphrodite said, “but they cannot be together now.”

  Poseidon’s pleasure paled again. Medusa had been true in all. She’d been maligned, cursed, and injured because of him. How could he reveal the truth? To slake his lust he’d promised Medusa safety for her husband, a man he’d done nothing for. To further his enjoyment, he’d pricked his niece and taken Medusa in the temple.

  She’d given herself because of the love she had for her husband. A man who loved her so dearly, he gave up Elysium to return. But he’d never hold her in his arms again or look upon her adoring face – not now.

  He’d not seen the wrong in it until now. He would look a villain before all, if he confessed his part. Zeus might demand justice – Athena most certainly would.

  And he did not enjoy the sorrow that gripped his stomach.

  “He is a hero to all of Greece and Athens,” Athena said, nodding. “He was my guard, a cunning fighter, an Ekdromos of the finest skills.”

  “A hero with no wife to come home to.” Aphrodite looked at Zeus pointedly.

  “What of this man…” Zeus looked at Athena in question.

  “Ariston. Ariston of Rhodes,” Athena said, her voice low. “He is deserving of more from a wife, a better wife than Medusa. I did him a favor…”

  “Surely he will find another willing woman to wife?” Apollo was unconcerned.

  “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 unti
l 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. Nikolao
s 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.