‘The longest part is done,’ she said to the air, although as she heard the words in her ears, she knew them to be a lie.
Veiled from view by tall poplars and small almond trees, she felt her tiredness from the journey evaporate as, from her hiding place, she watched the family home.
A small figure skipped from the house. Laden with white sheets, she moved around the side of the building. Tears slipped down Medusa’s cheeks as she held her breath. ‘Euryale,’ she whispered.
Her sister’s hair had lightened in the years of their separation, her features grown sharper. It was an indulgence, Medusa knew, to come and see them like this. The kind thing would be for someone to weigh down her gown with rocks and stones and let Poseidon claim her for a second time. But what would her family learn of her then? That she had whored herself to a god and been unable to suffer the shame? She could not allow that ignominy to follow her sisters and parents throughout the rest of their days. What others thought of her, even Athena, mattered little to Medusa now, but she could not leave this world without her family knowing the truth.
‘Nono?’ A voice called from the house a moment before a woman appeared.
Medusa squinted in the morning light. Her mother? She had the same soft curves and gentle slope to the shoulders. Only her face, burdened with fewer lines, shone with youth. A shallow breath caught in Medusa as she realised her error. It was not Euryale who had emerged from the house, arms laden with sheets, but Stheno. Sadness and disbelief flowed through her. Had so many years passed? Her baby sister was now a young woman. Why did it come as such a surprise? After all, she herself had changed. A rasping laugh floated from her lips into the air. Oh, how she had changed now. Swallowing back the bitterness and treading lightly on the crisp leaves littering the earth beneath her feet, Medusa followed the line of the trees, making sure she remained concealed from her sisters.
With every sheet they hung on the line, Medusa felt the burning ache of separation growing sharper and sharper within her. Soon, the basket would be empty, and Stheno would go inside. The sun’s heat would keep them inside in the cool shade, and she would be alone again. She should sleep, she reminded herself. Rest in order to face the task that awaited her. Yet she knew in her heart that she would not.
When her sisters finished their tasks and retreated to the house, Medusa kept vigil, unable to even close her eyes. Every sight, every scent; she wanted to remember them all, from the way the light reflected off the earth, to the feel of that same dusty earth between her fingertips.
As the morning heat gave way to the cooler afternoon, Medusa considered sinking down into the shade of the tree and getting some of the sleep she so desperately needed, when the cloth on the door billowed outwards. There was no mistaking this figure.
‘Father,’ she whispered.
Thales had aged. Possibly more than Stheno and Euryale combined. There was a heaviness to his shoulders that she had not known before or at least had not seen. Perhaps the blindness of her youth.
As her heart raced, the excited hiss of her serpents grew wild around her crown. She did not yet know what their speech meant, or if it meant anything at all. At first, each hiss had sounded the same to her – angry, vengeful, evil – and yet as the days had passed, she had come to hear the subtleties within them. The intonation. The rise and falls. She had yet to learn whether she had any control over them. Still, she tried.
‘Quiet,’ she commanded. One or two dropped down, flat against her cheek. A sharp tooth struck against her skin. An accident? She could not tell and, for now, she cared not. Silently, she watched as her father worked back and forth. All day, she remained there, transfixed, until the stars crowded the sky and the lamps glowed orange through the windows of the house. It would be easy to spend the night hidden outside, she thought. Then come back in the morning and watch them again. She could find shelter in one of the animal pens. It would not be hard. With a fierce inhale, she shook the thought away. How often had she spoken to the women about courage? Courage to speak out. Courage to seek help. If she could not take her own advice now, when she needed it the most, then she had never deserved her place in the temple the way she had believed. Bracing herself against what would come, Medusa took her scarf and wrapped it twice around her head, binding the snakes as close to her scalp as she could manage as they fought beneath her fingers. She would pay for it later, no doubt, but it mattered not. Not anymore. After this night, she had only one endless sleep planned.
With the snakes bound, as silent as the night, Medusa swept across the dry ground towards the house. With her hand trembling as she pushed aside the curtain covering the door, she called out.
‘Father, Mother, I am home.’
Chapter 9
‘Do not open it any further,’ Medusa said as a chink of light no thicker than her thumb escaped into the darkness.
‘Who is there?’ Her father’s voice.
‘It is me. It is Medusa.’
‘Medusa?’ He moved again to open the door, but she clutched it with her fingers and held it firmly in place. ‘Do not
