Weeks and months turned into years, which passed with the same ebb and flow of the tide, the same wax and wane of the moon. New leaves sprouted green in the spring and fell crisp and brown to the earth when autumn encroached. They built fires, more from habit than need as none of them felt as afflicted by the cold as they had once been.
The outcrop on which they had made their home offered enough greenery to stave off hunger, and enough caves and alcoves that some solitude from one another could be found. But at times, solitude from each other was not enough. What they longed for, what they all longed for, was solitude from the world. It was in the summer of their fifth year that Medusa learned just how much her sisters felt that need.
It had been a day to bask in the sun. One where the warmth that rose up from the ground was cooled and lessened by the breeze that swept in from the sea. She had been gathering roots and herbs with which to make a soup; grateful she had learned the difference between hemlock and cow parsley given how close together the two grew on the island.
From her position on the ground, she saw the two figures approaching the top of the cliff. There was no denying the changes in herself and her sisters, although rather than the physical maladies her sisters had gained, her transformation was more efficacious; another reason for Euryale’s resentment of her. Medusa’s sight had improved so much now that she could recognise a sea hawk from its tail-feathers, a hundred feet from the shore. She could hear the rustle of its wings as they tucked inwards, ready to dive, and the rush of air as it plummeted towards the water. Her senses had sharpened to the point that, even sitting deep within the network of caves, she could still hear the lapping of waves and the whistle of a breeze across the rocks.
The way the sun glinted, Medusa could have almost convinced herself – had it not been for the twisted spines and hunched shoulders – that it was any two women with brazen locks of hair, enjoying the heat and each other’s company as they strolled slowly upwards. Medusa watched as they continued their amble up to the rockier heights, gliding over surfaces where a mortal would have had to stop and go back, or else crawl on their hands and feet until they reached more even footing. For all their ungainliness, they too had a new strength that could easily have matched her own if ever tested. With their eyes on each other, they reached the highest point of the island and stopped about two feet from the edge of the cliff. Their manes billowed wildly, as though blown by the breeze and not the result of a cascade of serpents adhered to their scalps. Ignorant of Medusa’s presence below, they exchanged a word before taking each other’s hands. Medusa lifted her hand to them in a wave, but their eyes were not towards her. She thought perhaps she should call out, and was about to do so when her sisters recommenced their stroll, this time at pace. Their snakes startled into the air as the two girls ran, hand in hand towards the edge of the cliff, their fingers remaining intertwined even as the ground disappeared beneath their feet.
‘No!’ Medusa screamed, dropping the herbs she had foraged as she raced towards the beach. Bile caught in her throat.
‘Stheno! Euryale!’ Her feet caught on the rocks, causing her to trip and stumble. ‘Please. Please, no.’ She clambered up the rocks, her normal sure-footedness failing her as her feet slipped on the greasy seaweed. Her knees sliced against the sharp clamshells.
‘Sisters! Sisters!’
She heard the weeping, soft and muffled, long before she saw them. In her mind, she saw the injuries. Broken necks, perhaps. Shattered bones. How could she help them here? she asked herself. She could not. That was the truth of it. She could carry them back to the caves, maybe. But she had seen enough fallen bodies made worse by the clumsy hand of a helpful onlooker. They would die where they lay, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, caked with their blood. They would die, carrion for the birds that circled overhead. And she would have to look them in their eyes, fight back the tears, and hide the quiver in her voice as she told them that everything would be all right, even as the last glimmers of light faded from those eyes. That would be it. Her last sisterly action. To be by their sides and holding their hands when they died.
With a final heave, she pushed herself up to the last ledge. The air rushed from her lungs.
‘How? It cannot be.’
Huddled together near the base of the cliff, Stheno was wrapped in her sister’s arms. Joints protruded at ugly angles, and sockets were dislocated and inflamed with purple welts. Despite this, their cries, she quickly realised, were not of pain.
‘We will find a way,’ Euryale whispered, her hand caressing the snakes on her head and speaking as if a mother to her children. ‘We will find a way.’
For Medusa, there were no words. She slipped down to a shelf below. Cradling her knees, she continued to listen to the muffled sobs and moans and vowed never to leave her sisters’ sides again.
Chapter 13
Despite the promise she made in those early years, it proved almost impossible for Medusa to keep. While she never mentioned to her sisters what she had seen, Euryale, in particular, watched her with more narrowed eyes from that point on. The evenings spent together telling stories grew shorter.
