The All-Seeing Eye

by Rae Else

  It suddenly dawned on El: this woman was the grandmother of the gorgon. What did that make her?

  ‘You’re not an arete then?’ El asked.

  A smile came to the woman’s face. ‘No.’

  ‘What is your—’ El began.

  Yia Yia interrupted. ‘You drew El to the Waseem Villa, didn’t you?’

  The woman nodded. ‘When I was strong enough, I divined the future to deduce what would bring El there. I knew if Dan were endangered she would come. So I manipulated the timeline to have her believe that he would be captured.’

  El’s expression fell.

  ‘I needed you, El. You were the only one who would help me return.’

  El remembered how she’d argued with Dan and Talus. Neither of them had been keen to bring this woman out with them. The idea that this living, breathing woman had been in that stone for so long horrified her. She tried to imagine what it had been like for her, stuck in the stone, conscious but otherwise not living. Entombed.

  Yia Yia’s gaze was flicking between the two of them, but soon became calculated as she rose to her feet. ‘It’s time we leave you to rest—’

  ‘I’d like to see Helen,’ the woman said.

  Yia Yia jumped before her usual façade of civility slipped into place. ‘I’m afraid that won’t—’

  ‘I’m not asking,’ the woman said. The bathrobe she wore made her look remarkably at home … and harmless. Her serious expression didn’t waver though, nor did she seem intimidated by Yia Yia.

  El wondered what Yia Yia would say. She listened to the woman’s heartbeat, remembering what Talus had said about empousa being impervious to all, that even their heartbeat wasn’t audible. Hers sounded like any other arete. She seemed just as fragile. But she claimed to have birthed one of the empousa. That made her as powerful as one, didn’t it, if not more so?

  El could feel Yia Yia’s mind working overtime, making similar deductions. Surely Yia Yia wasn’t going to risk refusing her?

  Yia Yia’s even tone broke the tension, ‘If you’re not Circe, then who are you?’

  The woman smiled. ‘You may call me Medea.’

  - Chapter Twenty-Four -

  Helen of Troy

  Yia Yia was steering the sleek speedboat as it bounced over the dawn waters. El and Medea sat in the back. After Medea had insisted on seeing Helen, she’d also asserted that El would accompany them. Yia Yia had been quick to agree. El was her successor; it was sooner than Yia Yia would have brought her to see Helen, but over the course of the journey, Yia Yia had pointed out various landmarks to El readying her for the day she took over the responsibility. El felt queasy at the thought and from the zipping of the boat. As the sun rose, the sky and water bore a translucent, mother-of-pearl quality.

  El wondered what Medea wanted. She didn’t understand why she wanted to see the empousa or why her own company was necessary. The accounts of Helen that she’d read were fresh in her mind: Helen killing and feasting on human blood; Helen ranting about her mother, Circe, and her deadly offspring, the gorgon; Helen threatening her arete captors. El tensed as she thought of what they were drawing nearer to.

  Yia Yia had already mixed Medea and El’s blood in a vial and added empousa blood, ready to incorporate them into the veiling when they reached their destination. Yia Yia and El had also taken some graeae blood to shield their whereabouts; Medea had declined, informing Yia Yia that no one saw her power. El recalled Talus’ confusion. It turned out this was just part of being whatever Medea was. She was unnerved to think that they were going completely off-grid with this woman. Not even Talus would be able to see where they were.

  The boat slowed a little as El watched Yia Yia uncork the vial and tip it into the sea. As they coasted on, a small island appeared ahead of them. Majestic domes and columns soared from the centre of the island, screened by crags. They glided alongside a small pier that jutted out to meet them. El was the first to climb up the ladder, offering Yia Yia and Medea a hand up in their impractical dresses.

  Yia Yia led the way further inland until they came to wide steps. ‘Welcome to Helen Island.’

  El couldn’t believe her eyes as she took in the temple-like structure. The building was gleaming marble, the friezes over the entrance and pediment containing sculpted beings, painted in bright, beautiful colours. It was like the pictures she’d seen of ancient Greek temples depicting the gods, but these beings were different. There were men and women, some with wings, some sitting on waves or with fish tails, some shining like the sun itself, embossed with gold. On closer inspection, there were other beings depicted, disguised in the marble; a raised limb or head disclosed their existence.

  ‘I repaint them every decade,’ Yia Yia said, noticing El’s admiration. She had an image of Yia Yia stood on a ladder in her lace dress, painting the stonework and choked back a laugh. Yia Yia as sole custodian of this place would have to tend to the building herself … as well as to what was within. No one else knew its location. Those who had, the previous heads of line, were long dead.

  She took out a huge, ancient-looking key from her lace purse and fitted it into the giant, lead door, at least twice the size of the manor’s back home. It groaned as they entered the shadowy antechamber.

  ‘I know that I said no powers, but you have a lighter – yes?’ Yia Yia aked El.

  She fished out the camping lighter and ignited the wooden torches in their mounts, either side of the door.

  ‘It’s old-fashioned but easier than having the building wired. Electrics was never something I wanted to take up,’ Yia Yia declared.

  El proceeded through the circular room to the next two torches by the inner door. Once lit, these illuminated the antechamber. The floor had a circular motif of the gorgon’s head in brown, red and teal mosaics.

  Yia Yia locked the door they had entered through, before returning the key to her purse.

  Taking one of the torches, she said, ‘Helen will be in the chambers beyond.’

  She pushed open the doors into the room.

  El stared up at the domed ceiling which, surprisingly, wasn’t classical in form like the columns and antechamber, but cruder.

  ‘This is the oldest part of the building,’ Yia Yia said. ‘Built at least two thousand years ago just like Moria, on Carras Island. Both were carved by ladon and typhon.’

  El thought about the organic flow of Moria. Both the exterior and the deep inner rooms, like the library, had a natural feel to them.

  Above them, the ceiling swept around in a graceful spiral like that of an ammonite. In the centre of the domed ceiling was a circular hole, open to the elements. In the middle of the room stood a round pool, the bright light above reflecting in its surface, dancing across the rough-hewn walls. Examining the light playing across her bare arms, El thought of her and Luke: the sun and the sea.

  At the thought of him, she felt comforted, remembering what he’d said to her. She had done a compassionate thing by rescuing Medea. She wished he was here with her. His sense of optimism never seemed to fail.

  El drank in the contents of the room as Yia Yia lit more torches. Huge paintings hung along the walls. The canvases all featured the same subject: the gorgon. Some were grizzly scenes depicting her severed head, others were more subtle, her features and form bearing sinuous qualities. El couldn’t believe the number of masters that graced the walls. She recognised a Caravaggio, then a Rubens. There was no sign of Helen. She must be in rooms further back in the building.

  Sculptures littered the vast space too. A statue of Perseus nearby held Medusa’s severed head, stone entrails curling from the neck like grape vines.

  ‘That one’s a Cellini,’ Yia Yia said, smiling proudly as she pointed to the statue.

  Medea’s gaze roved over it disdainfully. Yia Yia blinked, stiffening as if melding into the sculptures behind her.

  Among the sea of artefacts, El lighted upon a familiar one. It was a clay tablet depicting a kerykeion: two serpents, entwined.

 
; ‘That’s the oldest kerykeion ever found,’ El said. ‘It’s in A Brief History of Serpents.’

  Yia Yia was watching Medea, who came over to look too.

  El inspected it carefully: unlike the picture in the book that just had the symbol, the tablet had a number of intricate pictograms on the bottom.

  ‘There wasn’t any writing in the book,’ El said.

  ‘No,’ Yia Yia said. ‘We wanted to share the earliest kerykeion but chose not to publish the writing that’s attached.’

  ‘What does it say?’ El asked.

  ‘It’s cuneiform script,’ Yia Yia said, ‘Sumerian. It reads, “Here with my blood, I, Rosa, fold myself into the world of man.”’

  ‘Rosa?’ El said, ‘that’s the Waseem empousa, isn’t it?’

  Yia Yia nodded.

  Medea was gazing pensively at the artefact. ‘This was the first kerykeion, drawn with empousa blood alone, by Rosa, my daughter. One strand symbolises her, and the other her twin brother, Seth.’

  El stared at Medea. She was the mother of the empousa that El had seen imprisoned in that cell.

  ‘You come from Sumeria, not Greece?’ El asked, remembering the date and location of the first kerykeion to be found.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then why does the majority of arete lore originate from Greece?’ El continued.

  ‘It wasn’t until I came to Greece that I made the arete from the blood of the gorgon and the first of your race, Perseus. Greece is the cradle of the arete.’

  Yia Yia’s tone was low. Her voice seemed to mimic the soft glow of the fire. ‘You are the mother of two empousa, of both air and fire, the grandmother of the gorgon and the creator of the first serpent … you’re … a goddess.’

  ‘No!’ Medea snapped. ‘Don’t use that word.’

  Yia Yia looked bewildered but didn’t give up. ‘If you’re not, then you’re…?’

  Medea frowned. ‘A witch is, perhaps, the most fitting word that you have.’ Before Yia Yia could say anything more, Medea demanded, ‘Where is Helen?’

  Yia Yia blinked, surprised at being addressed so curtly. ‘She must be in one of the other rooms. I’ll go and call her.’

  It felt as though they waited in the vast, museum-like room for hours, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

  Yia Yia’s voice, softer than usual resonated from further back. ‘I’ve brought some people to see you. Visitors. Come now, don’t be shy.’

  Yia Yia returned, her step slow as she glanced back every so often, a smile upon her face.

  A woman followed. Soft, hazel hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, her skin was bronzed. Her movements were jerky and she crept through the doorway, hugging herself. She hid behind statues as she made her way into the room.

  Yia Yia flashed a winsome smile at Helen. ‘Come now. It’s not every day we have guests.’

  As Helen came closer, gazing out from behind the artefacts, El noticed that her almond eyes were a startlingly beautiful green, marbled with brown. Complimented by this were her high cheekbones. She was emaciated, almost as much as Medea had been; her red, Grecian dress swamped her, and her bare arms and frame were thin. El remembered what Yia Yia had said about rationing the dosage of human blood given to her and felt a pang of sympathy. She looked more girl-like than adult, her huge eyes darting furtively around.

  El’s attention was startled from the empousa by Medea’s voice. ‘Helena, the water in the pool – get rid of it.’

  Yia Yia frowned before her neutral expression fell back into place. ‘No need. Although Helen has had more blood than usual, she is nowhere near to becoming lucid and being able to merge with the water.’

  Medea merely stared at Yia Yia expectantly. Eventually, Yia Yia moved over to the circular pool of water, manipulating the liquid so that it swirled up and out of the hole in the domed roof.

  El asked, ‘What do you mean about merging?’

  ‘Empousa can manipulate the element they govern just as you arete can,’ Medea said, ‘but they can go one step further and transform physically into it.’ She watched Yia Yia and added, ‘There mustn’t be a drop left, Helena.’

  ‘It’s all gone.’ Yia Yia answered, drawing away from the pool. She looked at Medea condescendingly. ‘There really was no need.’

  ‘We can proceed,’ Medea said. She took off the cloak that she’d taken from Eirene’s wardrobe, which had concealed a shoulder bag. Shaking the leather flap open, she pulled out something plastic that contained a thick, red liquid.

  Yia Yia gasped. ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘From your fridge,’ Medea said calmly.

  El’s heart quickened. That wasn’t human blood … was it?

  Yia Yia glanced back at Helen, who was still shielding herself behind a statue, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She hurried towards Medea, trying to grasp the bag.

  ‘Put it away. Get it outside.’

  Medea stood her ground, keeping the blood bag from Yia Yia.

  Her voice was calm. ‘You need not worry. I am here. I will not let her escape.’

  Yia Yia’s jaw was slack. This was the first time El had ever seen her look afraid.

  Anger quickly flared in Yia Yia. ‘Helen is my ward. My responsibility. How dare you presume to give her blood against my—’

  ‘You … all of you arete are my responsibility,’ Medea proclaimed, staring Yia Yia down.

  She blanched as Medea stepped towards Helen, tearing the blood bag and throwing it across the marble floor.

  The iron tang permeated the air, some of the blood oozing across the stone. In a flash, Helen was on her haunches, the bag in her grip, sucking it dry in seconds. When it was emptied, she lapped up the spilt blood on the floor as a cat might a puddle of milk.

  Her eyes were trained on Medea who, to Yia Yia and El’s dismay, repeated the feeding routine. She’d dropped the leather satchel on the floor and continued to take out bag after bag and throw them to Helen. El’s heart beat violently. Despite Medea’s assurance that she wouldn’t allow Helen to escape, El wondered if that was what she’d come here to do: free Helen.

  With each blood bag that Medea threw to Helen, Yia Yia took a step back. Clearly, she did not trust Medea’s assurance. Fear flooded El as she watched the liberated empousa drain the bags. When she had finished her meal of human blood and was once more lucid, they’d all be recognised as her captors.

  El took a step back as she noticed the dawning light of comprehension in the empousa’s eyes. Her body was changing: Helen’s cheeks were rounding-out, her figure was becoming fuller, her feminine curves highlighted by the Grecian dress. It must be the blood having its effect. And … just as it was repairing the empousa’s wasted body, it would soon repair her mind and power.

  There was a change in Helen’s movements. No longer jerky, she rose with grace. There was a fluidity to her that captivated. She took a step towards Medea. That simple movement seemed to have been rehearsed a thousand times. It seemed impossible that this was the same woman from moments ago, or that nature had distilled all this beauty into one vessel.

  There was evidence of Helen’s recent meal: her chin was speckled with blood and it had splattered down her neck and chest. Dirt powdered her face, arms and dress. Far from diminishing her beauty, the stains seemed to illuminate it.

  ‘Helen of Troy,’ Medea said.

  Helen’s features twisted with hate. ‘How are you back?’

  Medea smiled. ‘I was awoken.’

  In one powerful flowing movement, Helen rushed at her. Medea stood her ground and then pushed her back.

  Helen stumbled, her eyes narrowing. Once more there was something feline about her: she looked like she’d pounce, but Medea rushed at her first. Her movement was so quick that her form blurred, the whirl of her blue cloak was all that El saw in the flurry of motion.

  Then Medea had Helen by the throat, pushing her up against a statue. ‘I wanted the satisfaction of wrapping my own fingers around your pretty l
ittle neck,’ she hissed.

  Helen’s fangs lengthened so that her luscious lips looked even fuller, and she gnashed at the air.

  El couldn’t tear her eyes away from Medea and Helen but was all too aware that if the empousa got the better of her, she and Yia Yia would soon be facing those sharp fangs. Yia Yia seemed to have attained some faith in Medea and had come to stand beside El, watching the confrontation with awe.

  No matter how much Helen railed against Medea, she was unable to move from the witch’s grasp. Her beautiful face became more and more savage, as her fists beat at Medea. Those powerful blows should have broken bones, but Medea didn’t flinch. El prayed that her iron control would hold out.

  Enraged, Helen’s curled fists struck the statue behind her. The marble cracked. Her legs kicked and although their force didn’t affect Medea, when they impacted with the statue behind, it split apart. Crashing to the floor, the marble exploded into shrapnel.

  A smile twisted Medea’s face. ‘That’ll do. Where’s her cell, Helena?’

  Yia Yia, giving them a wide berth, led the way while Medea dragged the struggling empousa after her.

  When they returned, El noticed Yia Yia’s pallor. She was sure she must look just as unnerved.

  El stared at the witch. ‘Why did you bring me here, Medea?’

  Medea’s eyes swept the room, repulsion and disappointment crossing her face as she scanned the art and artefacts. She looked at El, her expression clearing.

  ‘You needed to see what an empousa is truly like. The blood I fed her was in donation bags, but if it had been a human I’d brought here instead … or a dozen … she’d have consumed them all. Her bloodlust knows no bounds—’

  ‘That is why I limit her intake,’ Yia Yia piped up angrily.

  ‘You know from your own records,’ Medea said, casting her gaze once more around the relics, ‘that there have been accidents, things that cannot be anticipated. The wild thing you keep in here can never be tamed…’ Her eyes fell on El. ‘Never forget that.’