Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus)

by Sasha Summers

  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 fee
t 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?”

  Stheno shrugged, finally regaining her breath.

  “Then let us wait.” Euryale returned to the baby, her harsh face softening under Kore’s happy attention. “It seems foolhardy to drag the children from shelter when we must travel at night.”

  Medusa glanced at the sleeping boy, then at his small sister. The time together had allowed the boy some rest. While he was thin, he seemed less fragile. He ate heartily at every meal, her sisters made sure of it. How Medusa longed to see him round and laughing… He would be a handsome boy.

  But a soldier was coming, a soldier who might be able to help them.

  “Did he see you?” Medusa asked.

  Stheno shook her head. “I was atop a hill when I saw him. He was saddling his horse far below.”

  “Was he alone?” Euryale asked. “One man between the three of us is no matter. Why, Medusa could…”

  “Do not suggest such a thing,” Medusa stopped her.

  “He is alone,” Stheno said.

  “Euryale is likely right, Stheno. He must be a scout. Which means other soldiers will be coming soon, if he finds something to warrant their presence.” Medusa sighed.

  Should they leave now? She didn’t know. This soldier might pass them by.

  “We must keep an eye on him,” Euryale said.

  “And if he does find us?” Stheno’s agitation made her voice shrill.

  Medusa stood, reaching out a hand to her sister. She drew back, then, wary of putting her sister within the serpents’ striking range. “Maybe he would take the children to Xenia?”

  Euryale startled, “A soldier? You would place their care into the hands of a man more likely to take life than—”

  “Spiridion can care for Kore better than any of us,” Medusa challenged. “Who better than a soldier to protect the children? Who better than Xenia to raise them? She is alone now. She will shower them with such love… Love they deserve.” She watched her sisters, praying they would see the logic in her plan. “She will offer them what we cannot, a home and family.”

  Stheno nodded. “You are right, Medusa. If he comes upon us, I will ask for his aid.”

  “If he comes upon us,” Euryale argued. “There is no need to search him out.”

  Medusa’s heart was heavy. Her sister was loved for the first time, joyfully embraced by the eager arms of tiny Kore.

  For a moment she imagined life remaining as it was. It could be a good life, watching the children grow into strong and happy youth.

  But if they stayed as they were, Spiridion would not live to be a man. Her companions would make certain of that.

  His young life would be cut short by the very love she now bore him.

  She shivered as she spoke. “It is better if he finds them now, sister. The longer we have them, the greater their loss will finally be.”

  ###

  Ariston watched the old man with narrowed eyes. This was the first living person he’d found in more than a fortnight. His path had been littered with graves, more akin to Hades’ domain than that of Greece.

  This man, moving slowly on his aged legs, was a surprise. Had the Persians spared him because of his weakness?

  “Soldier,” he wheezed. “I fear you’ve come too late.”

  “Too late?”

  The old man shook his head. “All who lived here are dead.”

  Ariston nodded, grieved by the man’s words. “These are sad times, old man.”

  “They are,” the old man agreed. He stood, regarding Ariston with startlingly clear eyes set deep beneath weathered wrinkles. “Will you eat with me? It has been too long since I’ve had company other than myself.”

  Ariston swallowed his impatience. It did no harm to visit with this man. He’d pushed on, rarely stopping to sleep or eat. He, too, had suffered loneliness of late. The stronger Thea grew, the more frequently she left him.

  He nodded and slid from his horse, guiding the animal into the shade of some fig trees.

  They settled, sharing their dried fish, fruit and the remains of the hard bread Ariston had scavenged from a ruined farmhouse.

  “You’ve traveled far?” the old man asked.

  Ariston nodded.

  “And you fought in the wars?” The man raised a gnarled hand, indicating the jagged scar visible above Ariston’s exomie.

  “I did.” Ariston took a deep drink.

  “I was young and able once. I remember the feel of a sword in my hands.”

  “Do you?” Ariston smiled slightly.

  “Glory, boy, is everything.” The old man regarded him with raised eyebrows. “If I’d died on the battlefield, glory would have been mine. Instead I lived to see my children and grandchildren cut down.”

  Ariston swallowed. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  “Do you have a family, soldier?” The old man bit off a mouthful of fish, chewing carefully.

  The bite of bread lodged in his throat, but Ariston forced the words out. “I have a wife.”
/>   The old man nodded, smiling. “Is she fair?”

  He drank deeply, but the knot in his throat remained. “She is most fair to look upon and gentle of manner.”

  The old man studied him. “She waits for you?”

  Ariston drew a deep breath to steady himself. “I am looking for her now. She was injured and carried away by her family.”

  The old man sighed, leaning back against the tree. “I have seen no one in these parts.” He was silent. “Except for the Gorgons.” The old man shivered, tossing the pit from his olive over his shoulder.

  Ariston sat forward. “When? When did you see them?”

  The old man turned curious eyes upon him. “You cannot be looking for them, soldier. They are cursed by the Gods.”

  “I care little for curses, old man.” He leaned forward, meeting the rheumy eyes. “When did you see them?”

  “You care little for curses? And the Gods?”

  Ariston stood. “I’ve lived my life in service to Olympus. As did my lady wife. And yet the Gods turned from us both. So I no longer care about their curses, their will or their spite.” He smiled sadly at the old man.

  “Have you no fear?” the old man asked in hushed tones.

  “None.”

  “What of honor?”

  “You spoke of an honorable death? I had all but made my way to Elysium, for the will of Athena and the protection of her great city. I chose to come back to her – my wife – so that I might protect and love my lady. We would have served and honored Olympus, together, in the years ahead.” He paused, swallowing his anger. “And still they took her from me.”

  The old man regarded him in silence.

  “I ask you again, when did you see the Gorgons?”

  The old man sighed, “I will tell you. But first you must answer a question.”

  Ariston could not stop his hands from clenching, or the tightening of his jaw. He had no patience for this. And yet, this old man had news he needed. “Ask quickly then.”

  “Your lady wife – would she turn her back on the Gods?”

  “No,” he said. “Even now, when they have used her poorly, I know she would serve them. She has a faithful and forgiving heart.” He laughed, a hard mirthless sound. “And I tell you, old man, I would honor the Gods with her, for the rest of my life, if she were returned to me.”