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“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.
