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Below her, the sea rolled. Gone was its clear green and blue depths, a thing of beauty. The sea that greeted her was black and grey, its waves twisting and tossing angrily, striking out at the ships that tried to stay afloat.
What sun was visible shone brilliantly over only part of the Aegean, the other roiled with the destruction of the storm.
It was the Persians who sailed waters untouched by the ravages of this storm. They sailed beneath the rays of the sun, on gentle seas. While Greece’s sons were tossed about on waves that threw their ships from trough to peak, a force greater than the mortal foes they battled.
It was a message for her.
Was Athena so angry that she could turn a blind eye to this? Would the Goddess take the lives of so many soldiers to punish her? Could she punish Medusa for a deed born of love?
She felt her heart drop with the ships as they slid into a trough from the top of a wave, towering twenty feet over them. One ship could not right itself, listing so far its sailors were thrown into the sea. She cried out, but it was lost to the angry call of the raging storm.
The sea was not controlled by Athena. The Goddess would not sacrifice these men; she loved her city too well. Nor would she willfully endanger those loyal to her.
This was Poseidon’s doing.
Her love had brought this about. And her fidelity to a mortal man would be the end of these Greek soldiers. The Gods, it seemed, would not intercede.
Her heart, her love, would die with them.
Ariston, tender and loyal, filled her senses. She could not lose him.
If she went to the temple…but there was no time. And Poseidon would not stop.
She had no time for sadness. He needed her help, her protection. She would do what she must to ensure he came back to her. She would fight for him the only way she could.
Forgive me, husband. She cried, a sob choking her.
A scream tore from her – carried on the wind – taking all of the air in her lungs. It was a wordless, sorrowful sound, tearing at her throat and staunching her tears.
She must cling to her resolve. For no matter how much she feared Poseidon, or the deed she must endure, she must bend to his will. There was no other way.
She closed her eyes, pulling an image of Ariston to mind. He was smiling as she cast the net into the water. His hair lifted in the breeze off the waves, his eyes sparkled in the sunshine. It steadied her, to think of him so.
She drew air deep into her lungs. “Poseidon!”
He was there before her instantly. His near colorless eyes regarded her with mocking amusement, while the muscle in his jaw tightened. “Did you call me, fair Medusa?”
She met his eyes, met his undisguised lust with only the slightest flinch. Her panic rose, choking her, so she nodded silently.
“Very well.” He reached for her, offering his hand.
She stared at his hand, at his long fingers and well-formed arm. To have the power he controlled. What would she do with such power? Would she grow jaded and use it to suit her purposes?
She turned her eyes towards the ships churning below, dismissing her fear – and her fury.
She placed her hand in his.
His hand was hard and cold. His grasp unbreakable, she suspected, though she did not try. His fingers seemed to undulate about her, free flowing yet molding to her. His touch was alive, rippling as the winter seas upon her skin. To the eye, he simply held her hand. But his coldness leached all warmth from her and chilled her to the bone.
He looked at their hands, joined, and smiled.
In that instant the wind calmed. Her cloak no longer whipped about her. The rain lessened, then stopped. The waves settled, falling flat and lifeless.
They churned anew, shifting against the Persians without mercy. Those waves that had toppled Athens’ triremes now towered over the Persian vessels with a mighty vengeance. Eight Persian ships were swallowed, two more driven to collide. So quickly he’d turned the tide on Athens’ enemies, with terrifying and immediate finality.
Poseidon had played with her.
As the sun broke through the grey clouds, Medusa thought she heard a cheer from the ships below.
