So, in the last few centuries, she had stopped listening to their speeches. She had heard enough. Heard the arrogance time and time again. The presumption and complacency with which they spoke about any murder – let alone her own – so easily caused anger to swell through her in waves. The weight of each of her murders, each death by her gaze, was heavier than any stone effigy she could have ever formed, yet some of these men viewed it as a sport. Sometimes she wished they knew that as they stood there on their decks, spouting their words, it was not victory speeches that left their lips, but eulogies.
A distant storm rumbled beyond the horizon. She would not have the advantage of her sisters tonight then. It was as she was turning away from the sea, to begin her retreat to the caves, when the snakes reared upwards. They coiled over her skull with the energy of a summer morning. Their tongues flickered out of their mouths, tasting the air around them.
‘What is it?’ she said. She was still trying to sense the source of their discomfort when she caught the aroma that clung to the figure approaching her shore. Cold and metallic, but also fresh and fruity. It was not something she had experienced before or at least not in a long time. Memories stirred in the deepest crevices of her mind. A tremor palpitated in her chest.
‘They have sent me a god,’ she whispered. ‘They have sent me a god.’
Chapter 27
He found little comfort in his new form of transport. This must be what it was like to be a god, he thought, as he floated up from the shoreline. Thankfully, he had rowed ashore and only strapped on the sandals after pulling the boat up onto the beach. Otherwise, he would be arriving at the Gorgon soaked to the skin in seawater. The sandals were not the most convenient to manage; a little practice should probably have been advised. They had their advantages; brambles and rocks proved no obstacle, provided the distance he had to cover in each situation was no more than a couple of feet. Every time he lifted up, the lack of ground beneath his feet caused his stomach to lurch. Men were not, he discovered, designed to fly. The plate around his chest made the top of his body heavy and, more than once, he toppled forwards. With no solid ground to help maintain his balance, he found himself flailing in the air, flapping his arms like a fledgling. And like so many fledglings, he was quickly grounded. It did not take him long to abandon the sandals for the time being. The island was sizeable, and with his current pace of flying back and forth, he was unlikely even to reach the Gorgon’s lair by sunrise. Slipping them off, he buckled the straps around his waistband and continued inland. He would use the sandals when he was closer. After all, there was no chance she would be able to hear him yet.
His clumsy approach was deafening even over the storm that had followed him on to the shore. Thunder and lightning now antagonised the snakes. Every bolt seared heat through the air, causing them to recoil and hiss. The false hero was making good speed towards them now, heading up the path that led to the garden. For a while, she hoped he had changed his mind; fled back into the night from whence he came, as only the wisest or most cowardly ones did. Her hope was short-lived. None ever turned back now. Not unless they were running. Now it was just a case of waiting.
When he entered the garden, she heard the change in his gait. That in itself was not unusual. Even the most sure-footed staggered and stumbled at the sight of their fate, staring back at them through stony pupils. Stifled cries and muttered prayers would frequently reach her ears, though not from this one. Not the one with the scent of Olympus coursing through his veins. The scent of the Goddess.
She forgave herself for the delay in recognising the scent exactly. It had been two millennia since she had inhaled the sweet aroma and, back then, her senses had been far from the keen masterpieces they had become. Yet, now she had realised it, it was impossible to shake the memories that came with this stranger’s arrival. Athena’s scent was all over him.
As he weaved his way through the statues, Medusa was in no doubt that whoever this boy was, he was one of the Goddess’ heroes. Or at least had been at some time. It was more likely that he had fallen out of favour with the Goddess of Wisdom. That had to be it, for why else would she have sent him to the island if not for him to meet his end? Another youth for whom she no longer had a use. For a moment, Medusa closed her eyes and pondered what act he could have done to irk the Goddess in such a manner, but it did not matter. She would try to make his death swift, at least. It was the same grace she offered to all the men that set foot on her island. It was only after finishing her contemplation of these facts that Medusa became aware that the hero’s steps had altered. They no longer reverberated through the ground the way the footsteps of a man normally did. Instead, what she heard was a fluttering.
‘Sisters?’ She voiced her thoughts aloud only to shake them away the instant they had formed. Her sisters did not flutter. Their
