‘I do not understand,’ she said. A trickle of blood had slithered from two tiny pinpricks on her fingertips. Hauling her body upwards, she noted the weight upon her scalp. Once again, she lifted her hand and touched the tender part of her scalp once more, and once again, she recoiled as the pain struck her. Two sharp stings accompanied by four drops of blood. Her gut twisted, churning with an unknown dread. Twisting her neck, Medusa swivelled her eyes, first left and right, then finally upwards. The sounds in the room dissolved into nothing but a sea of hissing.
‘No, it cannot be. It cannot be.’
Chapter 8
Medusa had no choice but to walk under cover of night as there was no manner by which she could walk in the daylight. Even if she had kept to the shadows and walked only in the groves and forests, it would not be dark enough to conceal the curse that had befallen her. Errant rays of sunshine would surely break through and betray her, no matter how well she hid. Through brambles and thickets, she stumbled, praying that the moon would soon reach its newest face and be absent from the sky, for even in its muted pale glow, there was light enough to see the writhing mass atop her head: a crown of serpents fit only for the Queen of the Damned. They were bonded to her as a finger is to a hand or toe to its foot, and how many she had, she did not know, for she had not yet counted them. With every passing mile, she convinced herself that they would soon be gone. Once Athena had calmed down and seen sense, seen that Medusa was not to blame, the snakes would be gone.
The journey that had taken her four days with her father took three times that on her own. There was no one she could call upon to ask when she lost her way. No tavern she could crawl into to check whether the road she had taken would lead her to her parents’ village. When voices rattled in the distance, she would scurry away, crawling beneath roots and between rocks to camouflage herself. She would clamp her hands around the snakes, pinning them to her head in a bid to stop their furious calls, while straining to hear the travellers’ words, hoping to hear the utterance of some familiar village or temple. This was the way she picked her route; through the eavesdropped gossip of merchants and traders.
It was on the waning of the moon that she sensed the eyes watching her. Six nights walking had seen her feet harden and blister, and while not a morsel of food or water had passed her lips, she felt no hunger. Just a burning desire to be home, in the comfort of her father’s arms. That night was dry and still. Cicadas and field mice flitted about her ankles. The farmland she stalked held less coverage than she would have liked, with new wheat that was barely waist height. But the route was now familiar. Various craggy trees and a worn-down farmhouse sparked a memory of her trip with her father. She did not wish to lose the path and set herself back further by picking a more covered route, so she decided that if anyone were to appear, she would lie flat on the earth and wait for them to pass. She was just figuring out a place to rest before the sun rose when a single sound rang out in the night. Medusa stopped in her tracks, causing her snakes to fall silent in trepidation.
Yellow eyes glinted out into the dark, high among branches. Perfectly round pupils glimmered with a glittering grey. Despite knowing of its presence, Medusa had never seen the creature by the Goddess’ side, yet there was no mistaking it. The Little Owl. Athena’s owl.
With her chest pounding, Medusa’s eyes locked on the creature, but it did not so much as blink.
‘You know,’ Medusa called. ‘You know what he did to me. Why do you make me suffer like this?’
The owl offered no reply. It cocked its head to the side, then straightened it again. Medusa watched, her heart still trembling, as she waited for it to take flight. Even when she approached it and her snakes commenced their hissing, loud and violent, it remained motionless. A living sculpture on the branch.
‘Please. Let me serve you faithfully, as I always have. Or let me pass on. Do I not at least deserve that after what I have suffered?’ Time paused as she stood there and, although her eyes never left the little owl, her questions remained unanswered. Slowly, the moon traced its path towards the horizon. Only when the sky began to lighten, and still no answer was forthcoming, did Medusa turn and continue her journey, knowing the yellow eyes would always be watching her.
After twelve days of hiding and twelve nights of walking, the boundaries of her family’s farmland came into view. The owl had continued to drift in and out of view. Some nights, it would sweep past, casting its silhouette across the white of the moon. Other nights, she would only hear its hooting call off in the distance, reminding her of things she would never be allowed to forget. The Goddess had chosen her path for her. Now Medusa had no choice but to walk it.
When the farmhouse finally breached the horizon, the stars had already faded from the sky. Medusa’s routine had been to find shelter as soon as the stars began to fade, but that morning, as the first rays of the sun struck the earth, Medusa knew she was too close to stop. The reward, she decided, outweighed the risk. The air was filled with familiar scents that grew stronger and more potent
