‘It is a journey I assumed I would only make once,’ Perseus replied. Goosebumps spread across his forearms at the thought of the underworld.
‘But you are a hero, and you will do what must be done.’ There was no question at the end of his sentence. Perseus drew in a long even breath as he considered what awaited him.
‘I will do what I must.’ He repeated his brother’s words. ‘I will kill the Graeae for these items if I must.’
‘Kill them?’ Hermes’ eyes and mouth opened wide in horror, although a smile still flickered in the corner of his eyes. ‘They are old ladies, brother. Monstrous old ladies, but still. They will struggle to do you much harm with only one tooth and one eye between the three of them. Even we gods have principles, you know. No, they will give the items to you. They may need a little persuasion, however.’
‘Persuasion? How?’
‘The method is of your design, brother. But don’t worry, I will see you again after you are done.’ The God rested a hand on Perseus’ shoulder as if he had been ever-present in his life.
With that, the conversation drew to a close. Hermes cast his eye out to sea before turning back to Perseus one last time.
‘Good luck, brother,’ he said again, and let his winged sandals carry him towards the stars.
Despite their lack of complaint, Perseus watched as the men grew more and more agitated during their days travelling towards the underworld. Bickering broke out, only slightly, and possibly no more than it would have done anyway, but now, on this particular pathway, it had all grown more acute to Perseus. The scenery had changed. The lush green of the islands was replaced by more cragged, arid landscapes from which dust clouds rose above the earth in great plumes, obscuring the sun and plunging them into a false night. When it was not dust, it was clouds that blanketed the sky. Rainstorms of hail and sleet constantly stole the sun. His father’s presence was evident in the forks of lightning that rattled across the sky, illuminating the perilous sea on which they sailed. Sometimes he wondered if it was a father’s compassion, each bolt warning him to turn back and go home defeated. He knew the reality, though. He would return to Seriphos a hero or not at all.
The daily sparring continued, and with as many men as could be freed from their chores, yet the joy had lessened. The thought finally sank into him that he was not doing this for pleasure or to boost his ego. He was doing this to survive. Fighting was not the only part of his life in which the joy had lessened.
Food – which before the men had eaten freely with little concern for running short – Perseus was now forced to ration. The Goddess had provided them with all they would need to reach the Gorgons, – not to mention the excess from Clymene – but their detour meant that they were likely to fall short by several days, if not longer. He cast his net more often, although the rougher waters gave little fish, and what they did catch tasted bitter, as if their flesh had been tainted with the grime and dust which now surrounded their existence.
Half a moon had passed since Hermes’ visit when a knock on the door woke Perseus from his slumber. It had been a restless night, full of dreams of three-headed monsters holding his mother and his men hostage. He had tried to save them, only to fail time and time again. Sitting on thrones of stone, the gods had watched on, laughing, while Perseus struggled to even lift a spear. When he woke, sweat had drenched his skin, leaving dark marks on the bedsheets.
‘Perseus, My Lord.’ It was one of the Spartans. ‘The island is in view. We have reached the Graeae.’
It looked to him more akin to a large rock than an island. Dusk was settling, casting the clouds in hues of crimson, as Perseus and two of his men rowed to land in the small wooden dingy, carrying with them a cloth satchel of oranges, preserved with salt, which Clymene had given to him. Persuasion came in many forms, gifts being the most obvious one in his mind.
‘One of you wait with the boat,’ Perseus told the two men. ‘The other, take a walk and see if there is anything on this island we can use. The women must find food somehow; see if there are any birds we can trap or places where fish seem to gather.’
Nodding, and without a word exchanged to allocate the responsibilities, one of the men took off around the edge of the island while the other hoisted the rope from inside the boat and secured it to a nearby rock. Perseus already knew in which direction he would head.
From their position, the island appeared so flat it would disappear during high tide. Only one area was raised higher than the rest of it. In the rock face was a dark shadow, a thin slit from which no light was emitted. A cave. Skirting along the coastline, Perseus gave himself a moment to feel his feet on firm ground. The rocks were black and porous, the air tinged with an ashy scent that reinforced in him the feeling of death that had been lingering in his thoughts since the journey began. Pushing them to the back of his mind, he started his ascent to the cave.
It was a pleasing realisation to learn that his newly-formed muscles worked as well on land as they did on the sea, and he scaled the height as easily as any man would take to a
