Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus)

by Sasha Summers

  Poseidon watched her retreating figure, his mood restored. He called out, teasing her. “What? Will your husband not assist you in the matter?”

  She glanced back, making him flinch beneath the pain he saw. “He would more eagerly assist you, Poseidon. As well you know.” She swept from the gardens.

  Poseidon sat on a nearby bench, shaking his head.

  He would never love, he vowed. It brought too fleeting a pleasure for too many trials. He’d be wise to remember his cock was just as satisfied by a Goddess, a nymph, or a mortal maid. There was no purpose in sharing any more than that with any woman.

  ###

  Ariston blinked against the rain. He wiped his eyes, the sting of the ocean water cleansed by that of the rain.

  The island, a patch of solid black atop the storm-tossed sea, was small and exposed. No one could approach it without being seen long before they reached land. He’d known he could not risk such a journey by day.

  As strong a swimmer as he was, he grew weary. He’d had to anchor his ship far out at sea, along the reef. The rest he would have to do on his own. And while the storm only aided in providing him cover, it churned the waters and made his journey a greater challenge yet.

  But he had cause to keep going.

  She was here.

  He’d learned a great deal about the happenings of this island.

  “Three Gorgons live on that rock.” The old man had leaned forward, whispering through sun-baked lips and almost toothless gums. “I’ve seen only two of them, but I know of the third, Medusa. It’s her magic that takes me to the island. It’s her curse that punishes those who’ve broken the law.”

  Ariston had sipped his wine with care, the tightening of his hand about the cup the only evidence of his discomfort. “Who sends these men to be punished?”

  “The Gods.” The man peered about the room before he continued. His whisper was so soft that Ariston leaned closer. “I take them to the island, and my son lives in Asphodel instead of Tartarus.” The old man shook his head. “It is a bargain of sorts.”

  Another bargain offered by the Gods.

  “And these witches,” his voice was harsh. “Why do they do this?”

  The old man waited for Ariston to refill his cup before he shrugged and continued, “I’ve heard stories. Some say the witches want immortality. Others say they have some of Hades’ gold in the temple, protecting it.” The old man shrugged again, finishing off his drink once more. “Mayhap they enjoy the suffering of others? No one speaks of them too loudly, for fear of bringing the curse to shore.”

  Ariston took another sip of his wine. “But no man named Perseus has traveled through these parts?”

  “Perseus of Seriphos?” The old man smiled. “Not yet. But we know of his boast, we know he will come for Medusa’s head. And all know the Gods favor him. Maybe I will be the one to take him to her? What an honor that would be.”

  Ariston had left quickly, pleased he was not too late. It had taken time to make his journey, time to find her refuge, and time to track this fisherman – the only man who’d ever visited the Gorgons’ island.

  He feared he had little time to reach her.

  He’d purchased a small fishing boat and set sail in the direction the old man had mentioned. It took him the better part of the day, and then only the faintest break in the horizon showed Ariston where the island was.

  He’d circled, remaining too far to be seen clearly, and waited until darkness fell. Now he swam in the rolling sea, battered by a thundering storm.

  When his feet at last touched the sand, he crawled onto the beach and lay still beneath the storm. He did not think on the rain or thunder or lightening. He did not care that his limbs shook with fatigue or his heart raced with anticipation…

  “It is Medusa’s curse,” Poseidon had said.

  What had happened to her? Why would any magical being, Olympian or no, cast such a curse?

  He rubbed the water from his eyes. He did not know what waited for him, what had happened to his love. But he did not fear her or her curse. How could he?

  A flash of memory rose, warming him.

  “Like this?” she’d called to him as she’d hefted the fishing net.

  Her smile had pleased him so.

  She was too tender, her heart gentle. Whatever had happened, he knew she had suffered dearly. He would do whatever he could to end her suffering.

  But first he would hold her. How he ached for the feel of her arms about him – her silken hair slipping between his fingers.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She lay, lost in her dreams.

  She dreamed she was on their beach, with the sun warm on her face and the sand beneath her bare skin. She could feel his large hand enclosing her ankle. His touch surrounded her, causing her to shiver. How she missed his warmth. His hand lifted, though he pressed a kiss to her knee. She could hear him shifting to lie beside her.

  She turned slightly, pressing her face into his shoulder with a sigh.

  He spoke, “My lady. How I love you so.”

  She felt her heart twist, for his words seemed to stir the air beside her ear.

  His lips brushed her forehead, her cheek, her chin and her throat. His head dipped down to rest on her chest. “You sleep so deeply, love. But your heart beats so I will not fear. Only wake up to me now.”

  Medusa felt the tears in her eyes. What a wicked dream this was.

  She could smell his scent, of sea water and fresh air, beneath her nostrils. His curls were soft and pliant, damp, beneath her grasping fingers.

  Such sweet torture, that her lips could remember the feel of his lips on hers so well.

  Maybe this dream, so painfully real, would finish her now. For she knew she couldn’t bear to wake.

  “Medusa,” he whispered against her lips. “Wake up, love.”

  And, with a shuddering sigh, she did.

  The floor beneath her was hard and cold. There was no sun, no distant sound of waves or gulls. She could not bear to open her eyes for fear he would fade away…

  But his lips…his lips were against hers and his breath stirred her face as he sighed.

  No…no…

  “Speak not, Ariston,” she begged softly.

  There was silence.

  It was a dream. He was not here.

  Her eyes opened to the sweetest sight she had ever seen.

  He lay at her side, smiling at her with unconcealed pleasure. “I will speak, my lady. For I have been too long without you and I would have you know how I have missed you.”

  He was no dream.

  His curls, wet from the rain, clung to his forehead. His grey eyes regarded her, an ever constant warmth. His hands clutched her cheeks, his thumbs caressing her…

  Her heart filled with love, such love.

  “For I have missed you, wife.”

  The veil moved. She felt them, heard them, as they responded to his voice.

  Her breath tore from her, but she bit back the sob. She had to hurry.

  Tears poured from her eyes as she shook her head. She placed her hand to his mouth, covering it and whispering fiercely, “Peace, husband, I beg you, speak not. For I would have you leave this place, at once, of your free will…”

  His lips pressed to her palm and he whispered, “I will not leave you. Not again.”

  They moved, stirring the veil. They were hissing, ever so softly, in her ears.

  “If you love me, you will go now. I would have you live. Please. For once they wake, I cannot stop them…” She pulled her hands free and covered the veil, pinning it in place. They began to bite, viciously, but Medusa held them tightly. “I beg you…”

  “I cannot.” He spoke quickly, desperately. He searched the lines of her face, his joy and anguish tearing a whole in her heart. “I cannot.”

  His lips descended on hers swiftly, silencing her pleas and breaking her heart.

  “I will not part with you again, love…” His lips grew so cold upon her.

  N
o… She pressed her lips against his. They did not yield to her.

  His hand was hard, rough, upon her cheek.

  No.

  “No.” She could not breathe.

  The curls she’d stroked only moments before were as solid as the slate floor beneath her. His grey eyes, closed in a kiss, would not open.

  “No… No!” Her words were an angry cry, torn from her throat. “Ariston.”

  She clung to him, cupping his face with trembling hands. She kissed him, wrapping herself around him as if she might warm him with her touch. Ragged sobs ripped from her chest, yet she pressed herself closer to him, as close as she was able.

  He lingered there, all around her.

  The floor beneath her still held his heat. The air was scented, flooding her nostrils and constricting her throat as she choked to draw him in. “Ariston…” she sobbed, pressing her lips to his ear. “I love you, my love. I love you.”

  “Medusa?” Stheno called out as she ran into the temple.

  “What has happened?” Euryale followed.

  She pressed her cheek to his, nuzzling his ear as her tears flowed freely.

  “Medusa?”

  She would not look at them. She could not open her eyes. She could not look upon what she had done to him. “Leave me.”

  Euryale hand touched her ankle, seeming to steal his warmth with her very touch. She shook her sister’s hand off, fitting against him so that the hard stone scraped against her skin.

  “Leave me!” she cried. “Go!”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “What can we do?” Stheno asked.

  Euryale’s voice wavered, “Let us help you, sister, please.”

  “Kill me. Kill me,” she pleaded, “so that he might be free.”

  Silence hung in the cave, broken only by the sound of weeping. Whether it was her or her sisters, she cared not.

  She had turned him. She had done this. And she could not bear it.

  A serpent moved, slithering across her cheek – towards Ariston.

  It would not touch him. She would not let it touch him.

  They will never touch him.

  She reached up, grabbing the serpent with all of her strength. Never had she felt such rage, never had she felt hate. Yet it consumed her, empowering her with the strength she needed to tear the snake free from her head.

  The pain was blinding, robbing her of breath and sapping the fury that drove her.

  The serpents were on her then, biting and twisting and twining about her. She did not fight them, but fell back on the marble floor. They writhed, slipping and tightening about her neck. She prayed they would finish this.

  But they grew slower, sluggish in their movements – becoming as weak as she was.

  Her head, throbbing mercilessly, was too heavy to lift or move. And the pain…pain meant she still lived. The knowledge filled her with such anguish.

  Her face felt hot and sticky, but she had no will to wipe the blood that flowed from her wound. Her hand still clutched the serpent, hanging limp and lifeless. From the weight and girth of it, it was a large serpent. She could not close her hand around the creature...surely it would leave a gaping wound – one that would bleed her heavily.

  If she had the strength, she would pull them all from her… And ensure the end of this. She lifted her hand, reaching up slowly, but they were on her.

  The serpents wrapped their bodies about her arm, pinning her down. A rain of fangs and venom showered the side of her face and arms. Yet, she made no move to protect herself. It didn’t matter, not really.

  She lay still.

  “Medusa,” Euryale was sobbing in earnest now. “Please stop.”

  “Let us tend your injury,” Stheno cried, too.

  “No,” she whispered. “They would bite you…hurt you… I can take no more.” She turned her head, away from them.

  She opened her eyes.

  He was beautiful.

  Her tears and blood blurred his face, but she’d no strength to wipe them away. She drew in breath and raised her trembling hand. The effort was great, for there was none of her that did not hurt. But she reached for him, touching his cheek. “I can take no more.”

  ###

  Her feet had been so cold.

  The bones in her ankle had been prominent, fragile. Clearly traceable beneath his seeking fingers.

  “You are not dead, Ariston.” Hades voice stirred him from his thoughts. The God sat in his chair, before a roaring fire. “But you are not alive either.”

  He cared little for Hades’ words.

  Gone was the sun-kissed gold he remembered, the soft lush curves he’d caressed. She was too thin, her curves replaced with sharp angles. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. But her pulse had throbbed steadily in her throat, giving him some sense of ease.

  Hades cleared his throat. “I would have you stay in my home until this farce is finally over.”

  Ariston inclined his head, absently, his mind racing.

  She was still his love. In those moments of waking, she had leaned into his touch and sighed in pleasure. Until she’d opened her eyes and discovered he was not a dream.

  “If you love me, you will go now. I would have you live. Please. For once they wake, I cannot stop them…” she’d pleaded.

  “Wine?” Hades offered, holding a goblet towards him.

  Ariston stared at the cup, taking it when Hades pressed it into his hand. “Thank you.”

  He had been too long without her. He could not look away from her or hear the warning she’d tried repeatedly to give him. His eyes had feasted on her face, noting the long scar that ran across her forehead and the dozens of small punctures, bites of some sort, dotting her temples and jaw.

  The blue of her eyes had not dimmed and the curve of her lips had been too great a temptation to resist. As his lips had found hers, her scent assailed him.

  His fingers contracted about the goblet, cracking the stoneware. “She has suffered more than any should suffer,” he ground out.

  Hades’ heavy-lidded eyes met his, though his face revealed nothing. “You both have.”

  Red eyes.

  They’d risen from the dark veils she wore, bobbing and swaying together as they fastened their attention on him. And coldness had seeped into his bones, binding him in place. His feet and legs, his body and arms, his chest grew heavy and prevented him from drawing in breath.

  She was weeping beneath him, her sobs pure agony. He’d closed his eyes against her torture. And then, he could not open them.

  He’d heard her scream. “No…”

  And then he’d opened his eyes and found himself here, with Hades.

  “What offense did she commit to…to warrant such a punishment?”

  Hades sat back in his chair, “I avoid Olympus, Ariston. I find it taxing more often than not. I know Medusa lay with Poseidon to protect you. When she learned of your death she went to Athena. She quarreled with the Goddess, something few have dared before. And in doing so she let loose Athena’s wrath.” Hades took a sip of his drink.

  “Is there no reprieve?” Ariston asked.

  “There is nothing you can do,” Hades shook his head. “Perseus comes soon. He will leave a hero and she will be free at last.”

  He swallowed. “I cannot stand by and let her die…”

  Hades stared at him. “You have no choice.”

  “You cannot…”

  Hades rose, his face devoid of any expression. “You would set her free. And soon she shall be. What life would she have, even if the curse was broken? Mayhap Olympus will favor her for all she has endured. She has a part to play in Perseus’ tale.”

  Ariston tried to draw in breath, but his lungs felt tight.

  “And with her death, you are free,” Hades added.

  He turned to the God of the Underworld. “Let me stay.”

  “The Land of the Dead is for the dead, Ariston.” Hades crossed to the fireplace. His brow furrowed as he peered at a wilt
ing bloom pinned on a white satin pillow. He stroked the stem with a hesitant finger and then drew back. “As you want her freedom, she would give you yours.”

  Ariston’s eyes lingered on the flower, recalling the flash of tenderness he’d seen on Hades’ face. He had to try once more. “Life and freedom mean nothing without her.”

  ###

  Poseidon watched, anxious for this to be behind him. As was Athena, he thought, and Zeus. Each of them had their own design for the day’s impending events.

  “He has some skill with a sword,” Ares sounded skeptical.

  “Enough?” Zeus asked.

  Ares’ brow lifted and he shrugged.

  “Have Hermes take this to him.” Athena held forth her golden aspis. “To keep him safe and give us eyes. We will see what he sees, hear what he hears.”

  If Athena grieved for her favorite priestess, Poseidon saw no evidence of it. Perhaps Athena longed to forget Medusa – as he did. Her death would speed the forgetting.

  Zeus took the shield, nodding at his daughter. “My thanks, Athena.”

  “He will have your helmet?” Hera asked. “If he is invisible to her serpents, he will have the advantage.”

  Hermes nodded. “He will. My helmet and Athena’s shield…”

  “And this.” Zeus handed Hermes a sword, sheathed in a scabbard of gold. “Hephaestus made quick work of it. It will cut clean and true.”

  Hera smiled. “He will not fail.”

  So Hera had yet to learn of Perseus’ sire? If she had, Poseidon knew she would throw his gifts from Olympus and champion Medusa.

  “And Ariston?” Aphrodite asked.

  “He is In-Between,” Apollo answered. “Hades has him, for safe keeping I think.”

  Poseidon wondered at this announcement. Hades vowed never to meddle in the mortal realm. Hades came to Olympus so infrequently because he despised the sport his brethren made of mortals.

  “Hades is sheltering Ariston?” Poseidon voiced.

  “It astounds you that your brother would find some mercy for the man?” Aphrodite asked. “Have you all forgotten what this man has done? For Greece? And for his wife?”

  Hera sighed. “No one has forgotten.”