The Gorgon Bride

by Galen Sulak-Ramsey

  “Because you need to see who I am,” Euryale said. She shut her eyes and breathed deep. The strength in her grip faded, and her claw-like nails all but disappeared. Once again, she was the soft beauty Alex had always seen before.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I apologize for working myself up so, but we all have our ugly sides. I wanted you to taste mine.”

  “Taste?” he said with a nervous laugh. “Is your actual ugly side that much worse?”

  Her head dropped. “It can be, and I hate myself when it gets the better of me. I want you to know all that because if I ever do…change, please love me, stay with me. I’ll come back to you…eventually.”

  “What’s eventually?”

  “A week? A month? It’s not that long, considering we’re immortal.”

  “Maybe we could find a way so you don’t have to change,” Alex said.

  “It’s tied to my anger and something only the Fates can remove,” she said. Euryale shrugged as she went on. “Part of my curse.”

  “So essentially you’re the Greek Hulk on steroids.”

  “The what?”

  “Never mind. Look, I promise I didn’t have anything to do with bringing Jessica to the banquet. Yes, I was happy to see her, but my life with her is over. My life with you is what’s important now.”

  “Do you swear that is true?”

  “On everything I hold dear.”

  Euryale grabbed the back of his head and kissed him. “Then let’s leave discussions of the past alone and look to our future.”

  “As long as we’re confessing,” Alex said once they parted. “I hope I can perform as well as you expect.”

  “Are all famed artists this troublesome?” she teased. “If anyone can perform, it should be you.”

  “It’s not the same. My days were filled with getting a piece to perfection,” he said. “It drove me crazy to make mistakes, even if no one noticed them but me.”

  “I have no illusions of perfection, Alex,” she said. “But if it troubles you so, perhaps you should spend those countless hours practicing a new craft.”

  “Such as?”

  “Learning how to be with me,” she replied. “With such dedication to everything else, how can you not rise to greatness in my eyes?”

  With his worries melting, Alex opted to change the subject. “How do you like the new body?”

  “I like it very much,” Euryale said. She ran her hand up his muscular chest and gave his biceps a squeeze. “Hades spent some time remaking you. Have you found it suitable?”

  “Aside from being a little horny, it’s fantastic,” Alex admitted. His fingers were making their third round trip across her body as they spoke. “Apollo says it will also help in the games, so I’m trying not to be nervous about it.”

  “Trying, but not succeeding,” she said with a smile.

  Alex nodded. “Any advice?”

  “Do your best and the rest will work out in time,” she said. “Anything else I should know?”

  Alex thought for a moment, but came up empty. “Not that I can think of.”

  Euryale rose on her tiptoes and peeked over his shoulder at the clump of packages that had been brought to their home. “Shall we open our presents?”

  “And take my eyes off you?”

  “I appreciate the flattery, but I think we should see to our gifts.”

  Alex squeezed her and kissed her forehead. “I think we should retire for the night,” he said, looking to the bed in the corner. With the coals all but out in the fire pit, the mood lighting was perfect. “We can keep each other warm.”

  “No, Alex.” she said, laughing and pushing him away. “The bed will always be there. Surely you can wait five minutes?”

  “Around you, how could I?”

  “There may be days when you will have to endure much more than that. Think of this as good practice,” Euryale grabbed a log from the wall nearby and tossed it into the fire. Within a few passing breaths, the fire came to life, and their cavernous abode was lit once more. Euryale made her way to the pile of gifts that sat atop a large, oak table. “Now are you going to join me or not?”

  “Fine, fine. I’m coming,” he said, all the while deciding whether or not he really wanted to suppress his libido. A hop, skip, and a smooch on Euryale’s cheek later, he was at her side. “I’ll be good,” he said as the gorgon rolled her eyes at him. “I promise.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” she remarked.

  “Yeah, well, have you seen this before?” Alex reached down and plucked a small, golden-wrapped gift box and placed it in his wife’s hands. He tried to appear calm, but his nerves weren’t making such a look easy.

  “From you?” she asked, reading the note attached. She gave the box a shake and brief inspection. “A ring?”

  “Maybe.” Alex said, trying to keep his face straight. “It’s a little something I made on the way over here. It’s nothing fancy.”

  “I’m sure I’ll love it.” And by the look on her face, when she pulled out a sharply folded origami ring—one that perfectly fit her finger no less—she did. “It’s perfect,” she said, admiring its new home on her hand and giving him a kiss. “I’ll treasure it always.”

  Alex’s eyes shifted to the pile of gifts. “What did we get?”

  Euryale reached down and grabbed a long javelin, complete with a pink ribbon and small card attached. She gave it a twirl before handing it to Alex. “Envelope is addressed to you. See what the card says.”

  Alex reluctantly took the weapon from her, unsure why someone thought he needed an impaling device, or why it was an appropriate wedding present to begin with. Must be a cultural thing, he decided as he took the card and read its contents. “To Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Weiss, blah, blah, blah,” he said. “I, Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, do hereby bless the consummation of your marriage, blah, blah, blah, and I pray that this javelin will serve you well.”

  Euryale raised an eyebrow. “Blah, blah, blah?”

  “Well, that was the gist of it.”

  “Perhaps I should read them from now on,” she replied. “Does it say anything else?”

  “There’s a P.S. at the bottom.”

  “Stop ogling my body and tell me what she said.”

  “Right, sorry.” Alex tried to sound sincere in his apology, but he was certain he failed. Not that it mattered, anyway. As if he needed to excuse such things. “P.S. I was going to get you a bow, but Aphrodite insisted that you would rather have one of my javelins, so I obliged. Let me know if you’d like the bow instead.”

  “That was thoughtful of her,” Euryale commented. “Sounds like she spent some time on it.”

  “I don’t want either, to be honest,” he replied, dropping the card on the ground. “I mean, what am I going to do with a spear?”

  “It’s a javelin, Alex, and not the same thing,” she said, scooping up the card. “And whatever you do with it, where on earth are your manners? Don’t throw cards away. It’s rude.”

  “Sorry, bad habit. What else is there?”

  Euryale went through the pile and found a pair of swords. “How sweet of Hephaestus. Do you know what these are, Alex?”

  “Swords?”

  “Of course they’re swords, Alex. What kind?”

  “Short ones that don’t have a card attached?”

  Euryale sighed. It was the type of sigh any male might receive after not properly identifying the latest Prada, lace-up, round toe booties with covered heels and leather soles—or whatever their mythological, Greek counterpart was. But instead of answering directly, Euryale flipped the scabbards around and pointed to the name engravings made on each.

  “He made us His and Her swords?”

  “Close enough.” Euryale laughed and placed the weapons to the side.

  “What kind of god gives His and Her swords?”

  “The kind who’s the God of Smiths,” Euryale replied. “He’s
made countless weapons and armor for the Olympians. Why wouldn’t he make us some as well?”

  Alex shrugged. “Don’t know. But it’s not what I was expecting.”

  “Don’t be like that, Alex,” she playfully scolded. “Appreciate the gift. It was sweet of him to give us something so personalized.”

  “Eh, I suppose,” Alex replied. He looked over his shoulder to where his new chariot was parked. “I guess it’s a little manlier than the wagon and ponies.”

  “It’s a chariot and I happen to like the ponies.”

  “Well I’m glad one of us does.” Perhaps it was fate, or merely a long-lost friend calling out to him, but whatever the reason, Alex shifted his eyes from his wife’s ass long enough to spy a small package tucked away and neatly wrapped. The paper used was smudged with something dark, chocolate or fudge perhaps, but was otherwise folded neatly. Alex held it up to his ear and gave a rattle, but was unable to determine what was inside the box. Shrugging his shoulders and at the prompting of Euryale, he read the card:

  To Alex.

  From Hermes.

  Thought you might like one of these. Give a whistle if you need anything else!

  Alex carefully unwrapped the gift as if a wrong tear or overeager rip would detonate a miniature bomb inside. When all the paper had been removed, and the lid to a small box opened, Alex found himself looking at a Rolex—his Rolex, to be precise.

  Euryale yawned and stretched. “Come, Alex,” she said, taking him by the hand and pulling him toward the bed. “You’ll need your rest before the games tomorrow.”

  Alex followed without question. Given the way she looked at him over her shoulder, he was quite certain several cups of coffee would be needed in the morning.

  Chapter Fifteen

  If it hadn’t been for her father, Zeus, Athena would have never bothered attending the games, celebration of a wedding or not. Everything about them rubbed her the wrong way, from the misogynist views about who could compete, to the smugness of each god that won his respective event. The latter of the two further highlighted what a bore the games had become. Hermes, as always, won every foot race without any difficulty. Likewise, none could catch Apollo’s chariot as he blazed around the track, though she did admit that Alex’s ponies were the most adorable pair of creatures she’d seen in a long time. And Hephaestus, even with his limp, had won the boxing event, staying true to his nickname of The Hammer Fist.

  Athena yawned, stretched, and shifted in her marble seat. For the amount of time and resources Zeus had put into creating such a lavish stadium, she wished he had put more thought into the comfort aspect. Having access to three dozen separate food vendors and instant replays splashed across the clouds above meant little to her if her legs constantly went to sleep.

  For the majority of the day, Athena had been reading her latest book, Howitzers: Artillery Explained. While she loved the writing and the detail the author put into it, sadness struck her heart for Ares. In the two thousand years since the Olympians had been away, there were plenty of momentous battles that he would have been overjoyed to take part in.

  The past, however, was the past and nothing could be done about that. As such, Athena kept reading and when she finished chapter nine, Forward Observation for the Coordinately Challenged, she realized something was amiss. Like most somethings that were out there, whatever it was, it wasn’t clear, only a nagging feeling.

  Athena marked her place, put the book down, and looked about. Zeus was demanding more wine and threatening a satyr with a two-billion-volt enema if it didn’t return posthaste with a new pitcher. Hera sat next to him, crass faced as always and probably still demanding to know where his daily activities had taken him. Two rows below, Artemis was arguing with Poseidon, the topics being that she should be able to compete if she so wished and that archery should be included in the Olympic Games. It was a tired argument, one that was brought up every time Zeus organized a sporting event.

  Near the sidelines, Ares was warming up, javelin in hand, while Alex stood a few paces away, nervously fumbling with his own. Neither held any lasting interest for the goddess, and it was clear neither was the source of her unease. Then Athena spied Aphrodite, who wore a tasteful yellow sundress and was seated a dozen rows beneath her, pleasantly chatting with Euryale and Jessica.

  Athena raised an eyebrow. Upon further inspection, she noted her sister glowed with genuine excitement and wasn’t faking it to be polite to the gorgon and Alex’s old love as Athena had originally assumed. Something was about to happen, and it bothered Athena that she didn’t know what that something was.

  A cry, guttural and warlike, drew Athena’s attention away from her visual sleuthing. On the game field, Ares had just made his first of three throws. The God of War bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, watching his javelin arc high in the air. It was a fine throw, one that would best most of his previous attempts over the years, and when it landed, everyone knew he’d walk away the victor. His second and third throws only solidified the prediction, and he returned to his place, boasting so all could hear.

  Athena turned her attention back to Aphrodite. The Goddess of Love gave quiet applause, seemingly unimpressed by her lover’s success. However, her disinterest in the games faded when Alex took to his feet and she happily directed Euryale’s and Jessica’s eyes toward him.

  “What are you up to?” Athena whispered under her breath.

  It was at that moment she noticed the javelin Alex carried and put the pieces together.

  As Alex prepped for his throw at the start of the runway, Aphrodite looked over her shoulder, locked eyes with Athena, and mouthed two little words. “Game on.”

  * * *

  Alex grunted. It was a manly, watch me skewer this crash of rhinos and live to tell about it, sort of grunt. Though his rational side would later come up with a rational explanation—precisely the sort of thing it was good at—at that moment he was certain the almighty grunt of manliness had been the cause of his success. Any other explanation was poppycock.

  The javelin Alex hurled sailed through the air as if it had been launched by Ares himself. It sailed past the fifty-meter mark, passed the one hundred, the two, and then the three, before landing at the far end of the field.

  Alex squinted. Exactly where his javelin had landed was hard to see, but he was sure it was at least a competitive attempt. Thankfully that meant he wouldn’t have to slink away as he had when he was lapped three times in the chariot race.

  Heavy steps approached, shaking the ground. Ares planted himself in front of Alex. His face twisted and muscles bulged, and the god showed as much restraint as a rhino that had recently been skewered.

  Alex, feeling like a feeder rat tossed in front of a python, spoke first. “Was that a good throw?”

  Ares narrowed his eyes and spoke slowly, enunciating every syllable. “What sort of subterfuge is this?”

  Alex’s mouth hung open, unsure of what words it could form that would spare him a grisly end. He averted his gaze, adjusted his loincloth, and looked to those in the stadium, hoping, praying, that their reaction would offer some insight on what he should say or do, or at least what the hell was going on. Sadly, all the Olympians, the minor gods and goddesses, and creatures of myth and legend, stood from their seats, unmoving and without word, their eyes fixated on the far end of the field.

  “Answer me!” Ares demanded, drawing a yelp from Alex. Ares lifted him by the shoulders and carried him across the field.

  Alex struggled, kicking and pushing against him. Though he failed to free himself from Ares’ grasp, he found his backbone in the process. “Let me go!”

  “Explain how a mortal throws as you,” Ares said, tossing Alex to the ground.

  Alex picked himself up and dusted off. From the other end of the field, it had been hard to see how far his throw had been. But now that he was closer, the source of Ares’ rage was apparent. Sticking in the ground at a perfect forty-five degree angle wa
s Alex’s javelin, the head being five or six paces farther than Ares’ best mark. “Beginner’s luck?” offered Alex.

  “You say this was luck?”

  “Well, no. Maybe something like luck,” Alex said. For the second time in the past few days he wished he had brushed up on his stalling skills. “I mean, I was a decent athlete back in my day. Good at baseball, too. Had a killer swing. Maybe this new body, courtesy of Hades by the way, tapped into that. Maybe you should blame him?”

  “Blame him? Blame him!” Ares yanked the javelin free and shoved it in front of Alex’s face. “You’ve brought dishonor to yourself and tried to cheat me of my rightful victory. If it is battle you seek, it is a battle you shall find.”

  “I’ve done no such thing,” Alex said. “I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t cheat. Maybe you should’ve practiced more.”

  The moment the words passed his mouth, Alex’s brain scolded him for relinquishing control of his tongue. Ares seemed to have a similar thought but decided to issue his reprimand physically. By the time Alex had thought about ducking, he was flat on his back, vision blurred and spinning.

  “That’s enough,” someone yelled. Someone nearby. Someone who, much to Alex’s later thanks, stopped Ares from stomping Alex’s brains out. “These games are in celebration of his wedding, and you have no cause to accuse him of cheating.”

  Alex redoubled his effort to focus, and when his vision cleared, the large, meaty hand of Zeus pulled him to his feet.

  “Everyone saw,” Ares said, arms crossed and foot recently stomped. His voice had lost the harsh, unyielding tone but still held its spite. “No one can out throw me. No one.”

  “Unless he is judged a cheater, he is under my protection, and you will not touch him,” Zeus said, squaring off with Ares as thunderheads filled the sky. “I have run these games flawlessly since they began, and I’ll not have you throwing accusations around of being unfaithful.”

  Ares spat. “I demand a war to settle this matter and to reclaim my honor.”