Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) Page 3

  Medusa waited, ignoring the barbed sting of Euryale’s insult. She was a good daughter to their parents. She always had been, no matter what Euryale might imply.

  Had she not come here, to Galenus and Xenia, upon her parents’ bidding? Had she not entered Athena’s temple to beg for their salvation? And when Athena had granted them favor in exchange for Medusa’s service, had she not accepted without question?

  But all her past deeds would be forgotten now. They had need of her once again. Why else were her sisters here?

  “Have you eaten, child?” Aunt Xenia gestured towards the table. A small feast had been arranged to mask the underlying threat of this visit.

  Medusa shook her head and made her way to the table, taking a fig and nibbling in silence.

  Stheno moved forward, stooping to regard her from the depths of the black veils. Her sister towered over most mortals, yet Euryale was the taller of the two. As Stheno assessed her, two bright spots seemed to glow beneath the veils.

  Medusa smiled at her sister, warmly. As a child, Stheno had loved her best.

  “Our father believes he has given you time, Medusa, more than enough time to fulfill your obligations to Athena and to your…” Stheno paused over the tender terms Medusa had given her masters, “aunt and uncle.” Stheno’s voice softened as she added softly, “Come home, sister. We miss you.”

  “And I miss you.” Medusa placed her hand on her sister’s arm. “But I’ve little say so about when I might return….”

  Euryale interrupted, her tone ever sharp, “The Anestheria. You have until then to tell the Goddess you’re called home.”

  Dismay flooded Medusa’s chest and stomach. How could she present Athena with such a decree? Athena was a Goddess – an Olympian. Athena might release her, when and if Athena chose to do so. If Medusa dared try such blasphemy, at her sire’s bidding or not, the cost would be great. A cost she would be forced to pay, undoubtedly, as her father would not see reason.

  She swallowed the bite of fig she’d been nibbling. It stuck, thick and uncomfortable, in her throat.

  “Why now, nieces?” Uncle Galenus boomed, causing all to jump.

  “She won’t stay comely forever, dear Uncle. While the Gods thought to bless her with beauty and child-bearing, she suffers from mortality…” Stheno’s explanation grew more troubling. “Father fears her loss and seeks the gift of immortality for her.”

  Euryale interrupted again, smugly this time. “Poseidon has offered –”

  “Poseidon?” Medusa stared at her sister, surprised.

  “Father has won the God’s favor. He helped destroy a fleet of Persian ships. Poseidon was well pleased, so pleased that the Sea God will give you the Gift in thanks. By Anestheria,” Stheno spoke with care.

  Medusa chewed the remainder of her fig with a vengeance.

  The Gift? Was immortality a gift? One life serving others was enough. As honored as she was to serve Athena, she knew the Goddess would eventually choose her replacement, for Athena had little use for the aged. And when Medusa was released, she would return to her parents to do their bidding, continuing her life of service. Once this earthly life was over, she imagined that life in Hades’ realm might offer fewer restrictions. Or, at the very least, fewer demands.

  If becoming immortal was a gift, she wanted none of it. But her wants would have no bearing, this she knew.

  No matter how much she wanted to explain, to ask for their understanding and support, she said nothing. I suppose that is the wisest course for now.

  “Athena has agreed to this…. arrangement?” Galenus’ words were harsh.

  Euryale shook her head. “Not yet. Poseidon will petition for her release, but Medusa might help it along by entreating Athena, as well.”

  “Do you know what you ask?” Galenus demanded, his face reddening.

  “What will become of her?” Aunt Xenia’s voice quavered. “Will the Goddess release her from her duties?”

  “Athena is the daughter of Zeus,” Uncle Galenus blustered. “To anger her –”

  “Poseidon is his brother.” Euryale shrugged. “Whose wrath is the greater?”

  “Why must there be wrath? And against whom?” Xenia looked amongst them in panic. “If there is wrath, there will be punishment. So who is punished? Who? Medusa?” Xenia turned a sad eye on Medusa.

  Medusa smiled at the woman, hoping to soothe her fragile nerves. She was the only child Xenia had ever seen live past the fourth year of life. It was a cruel trick of the Gods, to have her born from such monsters, Xenia oft told her. But it was her parents that had given her to Xenia and Galenus in trade. And for that, Medusa was grateful. She was truly fond of Xenia.

  “Fret not, Aunt,” Medusa said softly.

  “No harm will come to our sister,” Stethno’s voice joined Medusa’s.

  “It is of little concern to you, Xenia. You can always find another girl to play your daughter or niece in her stead. Or is it the punishment that might befall her that vexes you so?” Euryale watched the older woman as she spoke. “If she is punished, mayhap she will be cursed to look as we do? So all will know we are sisters?” She turned, gliding soundlessly across the floor in her dark robes and veil. “Will you weep if her beauty is lost, Aunt Xenia?”

  Stheno’s tone was more entreating. “Beauty or no, she has a birthright. Medusa is a Gorgon and daughter to the most fearsome sea titans. She has been kept from her home these long years. You’d not abide such a separation, Xenia. No parent should.”

  “No.” Xenia shook her head, visibly grieving for the children she’d lost. “I would not wish such misery on any parent.”

  A heavy silence filled the air.

  Medusa felt despair churning in her stomach, but pushed such weakness aside. She was not alone. She would pray, she would find gifts, and hope her Goddess would grant her forgiveness and a solution to this dilemma.

  Thea’s screech filled the courtyard, the flapping of her wings signaling the owl’s arrival. Medusa’s offered her arm to her pet, seeking comfort in Thea’s solid presence.

  Stheno moved forward, cooing and clucking at the owl. The owl stared back silently before she stretched her wings and yawned.

  Medusa smiled slightly, impressed by Thea’s bravery.

  Uncle Galenus broke the silence. “Eat, rest. You must be weary from your travels?”

  “We ate along the way. Goats are plentiful on the hillside,” Stheno said, amusement in her voice.

  “As well as young goat herders,” Euryale added, her sudden shriek of laughter bouncing off the stone walls.

  Medusa smiled in spite of herself. Her sisters still had a wicked sense of humor. It was said that the Gorgons would eat the flesh of one still alive, and use his bones to clean their teeth. But she knew them well. Stheno had little stomach for blood and neither was violent. They were indeed fractious, caustic and brutish – but nothing more.

  “Tell me, did you cook them first?” she teased, aware that her aunt and uncle’s faces grew more horrified.

  “The goats?” Stheno asked, her voice merry.

  “Or the goat herders?” Euryale finished, her shout of laughter filling the night air.

  ###

  Ariston watched her run along the beach, her glorious hair swirling about her in the ocean breeze. Her blue-green eyes peered at him, and she laughed as she took his hand.

  “My love?” she murmured.

  He looked at their hands.

  Medusa… She was his lady – a beloved and loyal wife. With each breath, the strength of their love filled him.

  She ran into the waves, her hand slipping from his.

  “Ariston?” she voice was soft, her tone desperate. Her face changed then, startling him. Her eyes widened and her smile faded.

  The sun vanished. The sky grew dim, then black and grey.

  When he reached for her, she was gone – swallowed by a dark mist. A sharp pain twisted his heart, his lungs gasped for air… He called to her, the sound echoing eerily through th
e fog. But there was no answer. And no matter how hard he searched, he could not find her.

  Medusa screamed hoarsely. The sound, weighted with real terror and despair, forced him upright.

  He woke, heart pounding, dripping sweat. The images lingered, vividly. His hands trembled, rubbing over his face and through his hair. The sound of her cries echoed yet.

  Need clawed his chest, followed by pain – such raw pain.

  It felt real. He’d loved her… needed her so – body and soul. And he’d lost her to something or someone.

  A dream, nothing more. Yet he felt no reassurance.

  Sleep was lost to him. He would not revisit such things. Standing on unsteady legs, he breathed deeply of the chill morning air. Just a dream.

  His eyes adjusted to the dim light, the moon glinting off the shaft of his spear. Clasping its solid weight within his fist offered him some sense of security. With shield in hand, he slipped from the long house.

  His eyes narrowed, tracing the dim horizon. All was peaceful, yet he was not.

  Damn the Persians for not making landfall, for he hungered for a fight. Restlessness seized him. He would run until he could think of her no more, run until the fear gripping him eased.

  Sunrise found him still running, legs leaden. But the fatigue of his body did nothing for the ache in his chest.

  It was as if all he’d dreamt was real. Never had he experienced such joy…or felt so unsettled, so troubled.

  Once returned to the guards’ house to wash, he splashed handfuls of icy water over his face. With a wince, he submerged his head and shoulders in its clear depths.

  It helped.

  But waiting for her, pacing the path between his home and hers, only resurrected his anxiety. He longed to see her, yet he dreaded it all the same. He would know that she was well and safe. But would seeing her force him to accept that the longing in his heart extended beyond the confines of his dream?

  He busied himself, sharpening his spear until the tip of the doru was razor sharp, cleaning his helmet, and mending the seam of his cloak. When he had nothing left to occupy him, he paced.

  The winds lifted, growing stronger with each passing moment.

  At last he heard her approach and turned to greet her, too eagerly. She headed towards him, blue eyes sparkling above her veils.

  He nodded quickly and turned his gaze from her.

  She was indeed well, easing his worry while tempting his soul. Her veils offered no buffer to his heart, the whisper of her smile was a shadow through its gossamer fall – enticing him all the more.

  The wind was howling now, swirling sand about their legs.

  “Take the mule,” Galenus barked from the door. “And hold tight to the animal.”

  Ariston readied the animal, loading it with care while Nikolaos helped her mount.

  They left the yard in silence. His jaw clenched. It would be better if they did not speak…

  “Good morning,” she said softly. “Or it was, until the winds came.”

  He shouldn’t answer.

  “Will it rain?” she asked.

  He swallowed. “No.”

  She said nothing more.

  He would remember his place and treat her as he would Athena, as was right. This was his vow, silently uttered; one he repeated as they made the climb to the temple.

  A powerful gust of wind buffeted him. He turned quickly, fearful she’d been blown from the mule.

  The wind lifted her veils for but a moment, revealing her vulnerability and weakening his resolve. He ripped his gaze from hers and swallowed the words he would offer to soothe her. His knuckles whitened about the mule’s lead rope, pulling the stubborn animal with renewed determination.

  He hesitated once they reached the steps of the temple, but knew there was no help for it. He turned to help her from the mule, offering his arm safely covered by his thick leather greaves.

  But she was already moving, slipping from the saddle to loosen Athena’s offerings before he could reach her.

  “Allow me to help you, priestess.” He watched her fingers fight the coarse rope knots.

  She glanced at him, then stepped back. “My thanks, soldier.”

  He freed her parcels, hefting the lot into his arms with ease. The wind gusted, prompting him to offer, “May I carry them for you? So none are lost to the wind?”

  She nodded, moving towards the temple steps without a word or glance in his direction.

  ###

  She did not meet his eyes as he pulled her offerings from the saddle. It would be her undoing, to find curiosity or sympathy in his grey eyes. Instead, she rushed up the steps and into the safety of her temple. She must pray, and put whatever tenderness she might feel for her guard from her mind… and her heart.

  Once inside, she paused, feeling momentarily downtrodden. He entered the temple, cradling her offerings with surprising care.

  She did not face him as she spoke, but moved to light the tapers surrounding the temple dais. “Thank you, soldier. You may place them there, by the altar. I know you’ve training to attend to. I’ll not keep you.”

  She busied herself, waiting until he was gone before she glanced back.

  It was a long trek to the camp Themistocles and the Athenian Council had constructed. But his responsibilities extended far beyond the care of a priestess. It was Ariston who trained new hoplites, led a troop of Ekdromoi soldiers, and offered strategies to the council. He served Athena, yes, but Athens as well. His skill with sword and shield were his tribute to both.

  Elpis had learned much for her – never asking her mistress why she gathered such information. If Elpis had asked her, Medusa would not have had an answer.

  She lit a long stick, sharpened and dipped in sweet incense, and carried the flame to the four unlit tapers that sat in each corner of the temple. The interior soon glowed warmly, easing some of her torment.

  She had purpose to her life. It pleased her to serve the Goddess. And she must concentrate on her duties, cherish them – and them only. Surely then she would forget everything else.

  “I did not expect my little one to come.” Athena’s voice was like the ringing of a bell. Not high and shrill, but deep and resonant, with a pleasing timbre.

  The Goddess’ voice, like her presence, demanded attention. From her elevated height to the luminescence of her skin, she exuded power.

  Medusa fell to her knees, pure pleasure filling her. “Athena. I am here.”

  “As I see. Did the wind blow you here? Or did you walk?” Athena laughed, a mesmerizing sound. “Rise, little one, and show me what treasures you have for me.”

  Medusa smiled as she stood. Athena always made her smile. It was a delight when the Goddess came, each visit a rare and humbling gift. “I have many – all carried by a troublesome donkey that pulled against the wind and the efforts of my lady’s soldier.”

  Athena laughed. “’Tis a shame that the sun chose to so abruptly hide itself, for it was a joyous morn. Apollo lit the sky with gold so brilliant it made many turn their eyes away.” Athena sat in her chair, carved from pink marble and placed in the center of the dais behind her altar. “Did you turn your eyes away from its brilliance, Medusa?”

  Medusa smiled and shook her head. “We rose to greet the sun, Thea and I, staring out the window at its beauty. Once it woke, I felt I had to keep it company.”

  Athena nodded. “But then it went away?”

  Medusa paused, then whispered, “Did my company chase it away?”

  “Why ever would you say such a thing? Have you done something to anger the Gods?” Athena regarded her with an affectionate smile. “I cannot imagine my little one capable of such a thing.”

  Medusa spoke softly, “I know not. But I would ask for your counsel, lady, as I am struggling so.”

  Athena sighed, her smile growing tolerant. “Speak, little one, so that you may show me what lovelies you have for me.”

  “My father, Phorcys –”

  “Foolish monster that he
is,” Athena interjected.

  “He would have me…home. He has procured the Gift for me from Poseidon, by Anestheria.”

  Athena rose, her finely arched brow rising. “What? And take the Priestess I have chosen to serve me?” Anger laced her every word. “What nonsense is this, child? You say my uncle aids your father in this move? Does Poseidon know who you serve?”

  Medusa winced, startled by Athena’s indignation. “I know not…”

  “Phorcys thinks he has repaid me? That he, a mongering Titan, shall set the terms of your service?” Her face flushed and her voice echoed throughout the temple with unsuppressed fury. “Poseidon must know that championing this...this insult will lead to strife.” Her eyes narrowed as she bitterly muttered, “A thought he relishes, of that much I am certain.”

  “I know only of my father’s request, Goddess, nothing more.” Medusa’s words were a whisper.

  “I will know the truth of it soon enough.” Athena stood beside Medusa, staring down at her. The Goddess smiled slightly, sighing before she spoke again. “Now, do your duty and show me my tributes before I go, little one.”

  Medusa did as she was told. Athena praised the tarts and bread Medusa had made for her, sampling them as Medusa arranged the other offerings. She was pleased, and Medusa hoped that was enough.

  “You shall train all of my priestesses, I think, as you please me so. I will have need of them in my new temple.”

  “New temple?” Medusa waited, surprised.

  Athena pulled a scroll from the tuck of her robes, spreading the parchment on her dais with care. “My temple, the Parthenon. It will be the largest in Greece.” Athena smiled broadly. “It will be a thing of beauty, a crown for my city of Athens.”

  Medusa marveled at the size and scope of the structure. “All who see it will be struck by its majesty,” Medusa assured her.

  “And know it is my house,” Athena said. “Once the Persians are gone, building will commence.”

  “There is no hope, then? War will find Athens, Goddess?” she asked. And if there was, what did that mean for her guard? Though that question pressed on her as dearly as the first, she knew better than to ask it.