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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.
Medusa shrugged. “I know little about them.”
