‘Medusa?’
‘Please. Do as I ask. Turn out the light. Then I will come inside. Please.’
A moment’s hesitation hung in the air.
‘I will see to it now,’ he said.
Thales’ footsteps retreated, and the light of the lamp sputtered out. Adrenaline flooded her veins. The decision to come here had been selfish, she knew that, but there was no turning back. Forcing down her fears, Medusa pushed open the door.
‘Child.’ Aretaphila’s voice was weak and confused. ‘Is that really you?’ her mother said and took a step towards her. Medusa shook her head.
‘Please, stay where you are. You must stay where you are.’
‘But we can barely see you, child. I cannot see your face in the darkness.’
Medusa nodded even though, through the blackness, no one could see. Pain rose up between her ribs, a longing she had suppressed for so many years. Her need for her mother’s embrace. She remained motionless as if cast in stone.
‘Why do you come to us cloaked like this? Please, let me see you. It has been so many years. Let me lay eyes on my beautiful daughter. My beautiful, beautiful Medusa.’ Aretaphila’s words became a sob as she moved for her child, but found her path blocked by her husband’s arm as he held her back.
‘Medusa.’ Thales’ voice trembled. ‘What is wrong? Why have you come back to us?’
In the quiet, she could hear the hiss of the snakes, incensed by their confinement. She wondered if her parents could hear it too. She had never been close enough to another person for them to strike anyone, but she had no trust in the creatures. They were not part of her, no matter how it might appear.
‘I need to tell you.’ Medusa kept her tone as steady as she could. ‘I need to tell you both what happened. You must sit away from me. Then you may light a candle.’
Thales moved deftly in the darkness and, soon, a faint glow began to brighten the room and illuminate the faces of her parents. Despite the desperate desire to look upon them properly, Medusa kept her gaze intently on the floor.
‘That is enough,’ Medusa said as the room grew brighter.
In the dim light at the top of her field of vision, Medusa could make out her parents’ hands. Thales gripped his wife’s.
Thales gently guided Aretaphila towards the back of the room, although he himself made no move to follow.
‘Father.’ Medusa spoke with longing. ‘Please.’
Slowly, moment by moment, word by word, Medusa told them. She held nothing back, for she owed nothing to the Goddess. Nor to the other priestesses, none of whom appeared to defend her honour in her hour of need. She told them about her encounter with Poseidon. Of the meetings before when he had come to her disguised. Of the night in the temple. Her eyes remained down as she spoke, recalling to them Athena’s contempt as she had struck Medusa to the ground and left her bleeding upon the marble floor. By the end of the tale, her mother’s weeping had grown so loud that she woke the girls sleeping beyond the curtain.
‘Mama? Papa? Who is here?’
‘Go back to sleep!’ Thales’ spoke sharply to his daughters. ‘Your mother and I need you to sleep.’
‘I hear Medusa. Is that Medusa?’
‘Your sister is with the Goddess,’ Aretaphila replied.
‘But —’
‘Sleep. Now!’
Her parents waited together in silence until no more whispers could be heard in the other room. Whether Stheno and Euryale were asleep, it was impossible to tell.
‘My child.’ Tears choked the old man. ‘I have failed you. I placed you there to protect you.’
‘This is not on you, Father.’
‘It is all on me.’ He placed his head in his hands before extending his arms towards her. ‘Maybe this is a blessing. The strike she gave you, it cannot have wounded you so badly, for you found your way to us. You found your way back to us.’
Medusa stayed silent.
‘This is not on you, Father,’ she said again. ‘And this is not on me. This is on the gods.’
Aretaphila shook her fist in the air. ‘They play at gods only when they wish to. Their spite, their vengeance, they are more grotesque than any mortal could ever be. I will go to the temple myself. I will demand an audience with that wretched goddess and call her out in front of the whole world.’
‘Then she would likely curse us both, Mother. And I will not give her that satisfaction. As Father has said, I am not dead. I found my way back to you. Maybe this will fade with time.’
Thales rose from his seat.
‘Whatever curse has been bestowed on you, we can weather this, my child. You can stay with us here. You will be safe here. The Goddess will not hurt you in our house.’
‘I fear you are wrong.’ Medusa knew she should leave then. She had said her part. They had listened. If she went now, they would remember only this. But the warmth of her father’s words warmed her. Flooded her with hope. What if his words were true? If she could live out her days with her family at her side, should she not at least try?
She placed her hand on the scarf around her head, the coils twisting beneath her fingers.
‘You should move away a little further,’ she said. ‘And try not to make a sound. I do not want to startle them.’
Medusa knew her parents would be looking at each other, wariness and confusion in their eyes. They must think she had gone mad, she realised, and she laughed sadly to herself. How much easier madness would have been. A mad daughter, kept in the house, let out only to collect eggs from the hens or to chase rats from the coop. Easier indeed.
The hissing increased as she worked on the base of her neck. She had penned them in well and no doubt she would be repaid in malice.
Her
