Muttering replaced the cries as he released the pressure on the eye. Their scowls, although he would have thought it not possible, deepened into such a web of ravines that it was almost impossible to tell where an eye or mouth or nose might have even been. Just folds of skin, no flesh or muscle, thinner than dried grasses at the end of summer.
‘Fine,’ one said finally, the bitterness in her voice as tangible as the stench which continued to pervade them all. ‘You will find what you want on the west side of the cave. By the entrance. It is back the way you came.’
Perseus’ eyes flitted. The light had helped a little, but should he get turned around again in the dark he would have no way to regain his bearings.
‘You can lead the way,’ he said.
The now-familiar cackle broke into the air. ‘How? We cannot see, you fool. Did you not listen a minute ago? What you have in muscles, you have lost in brain cells.’
Uncertainty gnawed at Perseus. It could easily be a trick. Another ploy to overthrow him once one of them was returned the power of sight. Yet, he would be prepared this time. He pulled out his dagger, strode across the cave, and grasped the nearest hag by the arm. A squeal like that of a pig before its throat is slit, shot through the air as he yanked the old woman towards him. He thrust the eye into her palm while pointing the tip of his blade beneath the woman’s rib. ‘Any trickery and I will plunge this into your flesh. You have worn my patience down.’ A sound of suction followed as she replaced the eyeball into her left socket. ‘Now move,’ he said.
With her spine curved like a hook, she was barely hip height to him as she dragged her feet in front of Perseus. Every few shuffles, she would cast her gaze over her shoulder and, in turn, Perseus jabbed the blade into the spindly lines of her ribs until, with a yelp or squeal of pain, she continued on. The remaining two Graeae wailed in the corner. Their incongruous cries provided a suitably dissonant backdrop to the absurdity of the situation. In Seriphos, even the craziest of old women were treated with some degree of respect. He shuddered to think what his mother would think at the sight of him now.
‘Here. On the left. In that hole. You will need to lift them out.’ The Graeae stopped and pointed to a fissure in the rocks. She had brought him close to the mouth of the cave, although he had yet to see whether there was any truth in whether the items would be found there. He would not put it past them to lead him to a cranny full of scorpions in the hopes that they sting him to an agonising death.
‘You will retrieve them.’ Perseus said.
‘Me? Do you not see how old I am? How can I lift such items?’
‘I do not care how you do it. Just do it.’ He pressed the blade deeper into her skin. His stomach lurched as he felt the skin yield a little bit. Could something so withered bleed? he wondered. And what colour would it even be? Surely nothing so grey could bleed red like a man. He cast the thoughts of blood aside as, with grousing words beneath her breath, the old woman reached her hand into the crevice and pulled out the hilt of a sword. Even in the darkness, the metal glinted.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Do you believe me now? This is as much as I can hold it. Take it if you want it. I’ll be damned if I’m going to hold it here for you until my arms pop out of their sockets.’
Seeing no sign of a trap, Perseus took the hilt from the hag and pulled the length of the sword out into the open. It was unlike any material he had ever held. No blacksmith on Seriphos has forged from this metal, of that he was sure.
‘It is made from adamantine,’ the Graeae said as if reading his thoughts. ‘Belonged to Zeus himself.’
Perseus turned the blade over in his hands, hefting it to gauge its weight. It was perfectly balanced as if it had been made solely for him.
‘Where did you get such an item?’ he asked.
The single eye of the withering woman narrowed. ‘Do you tell me all your secrets? No, you do not. You have it now. Be happy with that.’
In the pale light of the cave, his reflection glimmered in the sword.
‘What about the Kibis?’ One of the other Graeae’s voice echoed from the back of the cave, ‘He’ll need the Kibis, won’t he?’
‘Yes, yes, he’ll need it. Give it to him, Deino. Give it to him.’
‘I’m getting there. You try moving with a dagger digging into your ribs.’
‘The Kibis?’ Perseus questioned. Deino’s eye rolled backwards in a swooping circle of derision.
‘Here.’ This time, she made no qualms about reaching into the crevice, and from it, she pulled out a brown sack, similar in size to the one in which Perseus had brought them the preserved oranges. Not that he planned on leaving it with them now.
‘It’s for the head.’ One of the others called again. ‘When you cut off the head, you must put it in here.’
Taking the item from her, he squinted. The material felt strong but light yet, at its size, it would fail to hold whole even one of the serpents, let alone the entire head of Medusa.
‘Put the sword in it.’ Deino read his doubt. ‘You don’t believe me. Put the sword in it.’
Hesitating for only a moment, Perseus opened the laced top of the bag, certain it would struggle to hold even a fraction of the blade. Yet, as he gently lowered the sword down the cloth of the bag, it changed
