The Gorgon's Gaze

by Julia Golding

“No, just to wood. She only feels safe from it at sea.”

  The last piece fell in place. Connie now knew what Godiva’s companion species had been.

  “Can I take a look around?”

  “Of course, my dear, they’re yours, too—all family bits and bobs.” He watched his great-niece examine each article, tracing each carving with her fingertips. There were mythical creatures from all companies in here—dragons, griffins, snakes, water sprites, minotaurs. Hugh lived surrounded by them but did not know that they had been carved from life. Connie finally settled down before the chest and placed her hands on the compass symbol that decorated the lid.

  “Ah, I see you like my favorite piece. It reminds me a bit of that tomb. I’ve always reckoned this was the family safe. It’s full of old papers and ledgers.”

  Connie’s heart began to beat a little faster. “May I take a look?”

  “Certainly. I’ve leafed through it myself several times—a lot of it is mumbo jumbo.” He opened it and, with the knowledge of long acquaintance, rifled until he reached a bundle of papers. “Like this lot—I guess someone was translating from Arabic—see these squiggles here—that’s what it looks like to me.”

  Connie took the crackling pile of yellowed parchment from him and read the title. It had been written in English on the left-hand side of the page, leaving a column for some kind of script on the other. Though the English was flawless, the script had many cross-outs and inkblots as if the pen had hovered over the page too often as the writer searched for the right word.

  She looked back at the title—Fighting within the Gate: A Universal’s Guide to Repelling Hostile Encounters.

  “What do you think, Connie?” Hugh asked her, perplexed by her sudden stillness. “I thought it might be a translation of some Arabian Nights tale or some such—or a crusader’s handbook.”

  “I think it’s a translation all right, but from English into this other language,” said Connie. She didn’t add that she had a suspicion that the language was not one spoken by men. The author, she guessed, was Suzanna Caldicott, but why she should then go on to translate it was a mystery. Connie’s fingers burned to turn more pages, but she tried to hide her excitement.

  “Can I take this with me and see if I can make anything of it?”

  Hugh sucked his bottom lip. “I suppose so,” he said reluctantly. “But wouldn’t you prefer to choose something else?” He pulled out a big family Bible. “How about this? Or this? The accounts are fascinating—all that ballast, rum, and cordage—it keeps me amused for hours just looking at the numbers involved in keeping a three-masted ship afloat.”

  Connie shook her head, smiling. “I think it’d send me to sleep.”

  He laughed. “In that case, you can take those. It’s far too old to be of any consequence now, isn’t it? Godiva won’t think I’ve broken her rule.”

  So he was suspicious that it had something to do with the Society, thought Connie. She leafed through to the end. “Look, Uncle Hugh, the family compass is here again. Perhaps it’s something to do with why we chose that as our coat of arms. It seems to mention all those mythical beasts right out of heraldry, doesn’t it?”

  This common sense explanation pleased him.

  “Yes, it does. I hadn’t thought of that. Take it away with you then.” She got up, eager to make her escape. “But, Connie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t you want to know about the bike?”

  In her excitement, she’d forgotten all about the main purpose of her visit.

  “Of course—sorry. Did you manage to fix it?”

  “It’s as fixed as it’ll ever be. It’ll take you around town but not on the Tour de France.”

  “That suits me fine. Thanks, Uncle Hugh.”

  Connie sat on the floor between her bed and the window, hidden so that her aunt would not see what Connie was doing if she put her head around the door. It was getting dark. Connie put her bedside lamp beside her and sat in the pool of light with the papers spread out on the rug. Hugh’s chest had yielded a totally unexpected treasure. She had thought that she would have to arrange another trip to the Reading Room, but here in Suzanna’s handwriting was a draft of another chapter—and Connie hadn’t even had to brave the snake to find them.

  She began to read.

  It was nearly midnight when she finished. Her legs were numb from sitting on the floor so long, but far more uncomfortable was the knowledge that she had just absorbed. She had learned that universals were by no means immune to attack if a creature so willed it—as Suzanna’s rough illustrations rather too vividly showed with their images of people being stabbed, trampled, burned, frozen, and torn apart by an assortment of ravening mythical creatures. Universals could be electrocuted by a storm-bird’s lightning, turned to stone by the gaze of the gorgon, paralyzed by the cold grip of stone sprites, gored by a great boar, even driven to madness by the siren’s song. Their only hope was either to raise their shield in time or make a safe bond with the creature. But a bond had to be entered into by mutual agreement—no help if you were under hostile attack—and the shield was only as strong as the universal that wielded it—that defense could be breached if strength failed.

  She’d had a close escape last year, Connie realized. The sirens had wanted to encounter her and so had forged a complete connection that had done her no harm. Had they wanted to attack, she would have drowned, knowing nothing on her first encounter about closing her mind with the universal’s shield. She was lucky to be alive.

  Col arrived in the wood in good time on Saturday night because he had first arranged to have supper with his mother. He’d spent more time with her over the summer than he had during all the last six years. He couldn’t honestly say he felt any more relaxed in her presence, but he did have a sense that she approved of him—unlike his father, who these days did nothing but moan about how his son was turning out.

  “He’s jealous,” said Cassandra, threading some mushrooms on a stick and placing them over the fire. “Don’t think I don’t know that he doesn’t want me anywhere near you.”

  This was probably true, but Col didn’t feel he should even enter that debate as he still did not want to take sides between his warring parents.

  “What’s Evelyn Lionheart like?” Cassandra asked suddenly.

  She’d heard the rumors about Dad then, thought Col.

  “Dunno really.”

  “Is it serious?”

  He wished she wouldn’t grill him like this. He felt like the mushrooms slowly roasting over the fire.

  “Dunno. Dad hasn’t said.”

  She smiled and shook back her long hair. “No, he wouldn’t. I pity her.”

  Argand peeped out from Col’s jacket, lured by the scent of the food. Cassandra threaded a mushroom off the spit and threw it to her. Deftly, Argand caught it in her jaws and swallowed it still piping hot.

  “Magnificent creature,” said Cassandra appreciatively.

  “I s’pose being in Sea Snakes you’ve had quite a lot to do with dragon riders?”

  “Never had much time for them, but as for the dragons…that’s different.”

  She leaned over and gently caught Argand’s front paws and pulled the dragonet into her arms. She stroked the smooth golden scales, hissing between her teeth.

  “If it weren’t for the wings, she’d almost be like the young of a golden-haired gorgon.”

  “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

  Cassandra nodded. “She lives in the Pacific and Indian oceans, spawns with the yellow-bellied sea snake, highly poisonous.”

  “Spawns? I don’t understand.”

  Cassandra smiled mysteriously. “Few people do. The gorgons live symbiotically with their snake species.”

  “Symbiotically?” Col knew he’d heard the word but was not clear what it meant.

  “It means when two creatures join to live to their mutual advantage—the gorgon hosts the young, the snakes become part of the gorgon.”

  “An
d your gorgon?”

  “She hosts the adder.” Cassandra drew her diamond-patterned cloak closer around her and Argand. A cool, light rain had begun to fall. “She incubates the eggs, and they hatch into new hair.”

  Col tried not to shudder, but the thought was putting him off his supper. He checked his watch.

  “So you’re still meeting Connie at nine then?” his mother asked carelessly.

  “Yeah, I hope so.”

  “I told them you were. They want to meet her.”

  “Who does?”

  “The gorgon.”

  And her snakes, Col added silently.

  “Well, I s’pose I could ask her if she’s interested. I mean, she’s here to meet Argand really.”

  “But this is no weather for a young dragon to be out in. Why don’t I take her to the cave? You can bring Connie there. Send her in on her own so you don’t meet the gorgon’s eye by mistake.”

  “Well, I dunno.…”

  Argand crooned happily in Cassandra’s arms.

  “Look, she’s a lazy little thing.” Cassandra laughed. Her laugh was brittle—he would’ve said “nervous” if his mother ever felt anything as weak as that. “You can tell she’d prefer it. You can’t have been intending to let them meet out in the open—there are far too many people.”

  Col cast around for an excuse. He’d been looking forward to having Connie all to himself—and Argand, of course. This unforeseen expedition sounded very complicated. “But what about the climb?”

  “I’ll leave you the rope that I use.”

  “Well, okay, I suppose I could—”

  “Good, that’s settled.” She handed him a mushroom kebab. “Now tell me about Skylark.”

  Connie had chosen Saturday evening to make her bid for freedom because Godiva often listened to concerts on the radio, sending Connie up to bed early so she would not be distracted. At seven, Connie knocked on Uncle Hugh’s door.

  “Hello, my dear.” Hugh was whittling a piece of flotsam into a dolphin.

  “That’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you. It’s for you, you know. Birthday coming up at the end of the month, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, I have.” She’d almost forgotten that September was already here—her summer vacation had disappeared down a tunnel of lessons and lonely spells in her room. “Uncle, would it be okay if I took the bike out for a little before it gets dark?” She crossed her fingers behind her back as, whatever the consequences, she knew she had no intention of returning before the light was completely gone.

  “I suppose so.” Hugh fished around in his waistcoat pocket. “Here’s the key to the gate—the bike’s not locked. Promise you’ll not go far?”

  Connie’s hand was outstretched, the key dangling over it.

  “Of course, I—”

  “Hugh!” The door banged open and Godiva stood on the landing. Even now, she dared not cross the threshold. “What are you doing?”

  Sensing trouble, Connie grabbed the key and tried to duck around her great-aunt, but sharp fingers caught hold of her hair.

  “Ouch!” yelled Godiva as the hair spat sparks at her like an angry cat. She let go but seized Connie’s arm instead. “How dare you!” she bellowed.

  “Now, now, Godiva, don’t frighten the child. She hasn’t done anything wrong. I just said she could go out on her bike for a little while.”

  “Not done anything wrong!” exclaimed Godiva, shaking Connie in her fury. “Then how do you explain this? I went to check on her and found them in her room.” She held out a fistful of crumpled pages.

  “Now, I say, don’t do that!” said Hugh indignantly, trying to take the papers from her before she did any more damage. “I said she could have those to look at.”

  “You don’t know what you gave her, do you?” breathed Godiva. “But I bet you that she knew the moment she laid eyes on them.”

  “Know what? Connie thought it might be something to do with heraldry—mythical beasts and all that.” Hugh looked puzzled.

  Godiva seemed on the point of saying something but held back. “I’m afraid it’s much worse than that, Hugh. It’s exactly the kind of stuff they have been polluting her mind with in Hescombe. I didn’t know we still had it in the house—I thought I’d destroyed it all.” She turned on Connie. “You must break this, my girl, or it’ll break you. It’s like…like an addiction. You must not indulge in even the least daydream or you’ll tumble all the way back into your pernicious habits.”

  She addressed herself to her brother again. “She is certainly not going anywhere tonight.” She pried the key out of Connie’s fist and handed it back to Hugh. “I see now that I have been too lenient with her. It’s time I attacked this problem root and branch. Connie, follow me.”

  With sinking heart, Connie traipsed after her great-aunt to her bedroom. Her aunt marched in and turned to face her.

  “It starts here—tear these things down now!” She pointed with a trembling finger at the posters.

  Connie gaped. “But why?”

  “They are nourishing your delusions—they must go.”

  “But I can’t.”

  “Then I will.” Godiva reached up and ripped the unicorn poster from the wall, sending pins ricocheting around the room.

  “No, please, don’t!”

  But Godiva was merciless. She tore all the pictures down and crumpled them into a ball.

  “Dump out your things.”

  Connie sat down on the chest, determined to defend her photo album from Godiva’s assault. “No.”

  “Get up!”

  Connie shook her head. She was furious. At that moment, she wished she had some power—a gorgon’s gaze or a siren’s song—to strike down her great-aunt. “Just because you don’t want to be a companion to the wood sprites, doesn’t mean I have to be like you!”

  Something snapped inside Godiva. Her eyes were lit with a mad fury.

  “There are no such things as wood sprites,” she hissed, her spit flying into Connie’s face. “Now move!”

  When Connie remained sitting, Godiva seized her by the arm and pushed her to the floor. Her claw-like hand dove into the chest and pulled out the album. She held it high above Connie’s reach, ripping the pages out one by one.

  “Poison…filth…lies!” she shrieked, stamping on the picture of Scark, the seagull killed by Kullervo. Connie tried to snatch it back but Godiva crushed her fingers under her shoe. “You are not to touch—not to think—not to mention anything about the cursed Society ever again, you understand?” She bent down and swept up the crumpled paper from the floor. “This trash goes on the bonfire. You—stay in your room until I say you can come out.”

  As a parting shot, she took the shell from its place on the windowsill and stormed out of the room.

  Connie stood in front of the bare walls, nursing her bruised fingers, and burst into tears.

  Col grew restless waiting by Rat’s bus for Connie to arrive. She’d said she’d be here at nine. He’d allowed her an extra hour but still no sign. Something must’ve gone wrong.

  “All right there, Col?” Rat stuck his head out of the door. He had the blackbird perched on one shoulder and the rabbit on a piece of string.

  “Yeah. What’re you doing?”

  “Just taking them for a walk. Me ma doesn’t like them pooing in the bus.” He jumped down the steps, closely followed by the rabbit. Wolf whined inside.

  “What’s wrong with him?” asked Col jerking his head in the direction of the dog. If he was going to wait here any longer, he’d prefer to know what kind of mood the beast was in.

  “Dunno. He’s been acting up all evening. Took one sniff of the air and bolted inside. He’s crazy.”

  Col now noticed that the rabbit had stopped leaping after Rat and was quivering with terror on the bottom step. The blackbird peeped and flew back into the bus.

  “Looks like whatever’s worrying him has got to them, too,” said Col.

  Rat scanned the skies. “D’you reckon ther
e’s a storm on the way? I can’t sense anything.”

  “No, neither can I. I’d better get going. I don’t want to get caught in it.”

  “But what about your friend?”

  “I think she must’ve run into trouble getting away. She’s got this mental great-aunt who keeps her locked in the house.”

  “Sounds as if she needs rescuing.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Perhaps I should try.”

  “Count me in—I’ll bring Wolf—he’ll sort out the great-aunt. Eats great-aunts for breakfast, he does.”

  Col laughed. “Yeah, right. I’ll just tell my mom I’m off. See you soon.”

  “At school—on Monday—don’t forget.”

  “You’re really coming?”

  “Yeah.” Rat looked proud but a little sheepish.

  “Great. See you then.”

  Col jogged off into the wood, eager to fetch Argand and get home before the storm arrived. The thought of going to Chartmouth with Rat prompted Col to laugh. He couldn’t wait to see what Rat made of his other friends and what they would make of him. It was such a shame Connie wasn’t going to be there. He thought Rat would feel comfortable with her.

  He needed his flashlight to help him find his way along the ledge. Arriving outside the cave mouth, he called out a warning of his approach.

  “Hi, I’ve come to fetch Argand.”

  The echo was interrupted by the gorgon’s voice.

  “Ss-send the child ins-sside, hatchling. Ss-she can fetch the dragonet.”

  “I’m sorry but I can’t.” Col could now hear a distressed whistle from inside the cave. “Is that Argand? Is she okay?” He crept nearer, patting his pockets for the mirror until he realized he’d left it at home.

  “Why can’t the universal come in?” hissed the gorgon threateningly.

  Col didn’t feel like explaining himself to her and he was worried for Argand—she sounded really upset. “Mom, are you there?”

  “Don’t cry for your mother, boy.” The gorgon was getting closer. “Ss-she had faith in you, but it ss-seems you have failed.”

  Instinctively, Col half turned away. Part of him wanted to run for it, but he knew he couldn’t leave Argand behind.