Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) (34 page)

Heavy footfalls set the ancient dock swaying. “Will you eat?” Stheno asked.

Medusa glanced up at her. “You still ask?”

“I will continue to, though I know your answer. You’re as frail as a wraith, almost a shade of yourself.” Stheno sat heavily beside her.

“Do not trouble yourself over me,” Medusa murmured.

“I will,” Stheno argued.

“What of father?” Medusa asked. They had returned only this morning, after traveling to their father to share her fate.

“He wishes you would come home.” Stheno shrugged. “I told him your bargain, but he cared little for it.”

Medusa stared out over the darkening waters. “He cares little for bargains that give nothing to him.” She sighed. “Why would he have me home now? I am of no use to him as I am?”

“That I cannot answer, sister.” Stheno bit into an apple, chewing heartily.

Medusa glanced up as her other sister joined them on the dock.

“Did you tell her the news?” Euryale asked.

Stheno glared at Euryale, “Not as yet.”

“What news?” Medusa asked.

“Spiridion has learned to throw the discus.” Euryale smiled.

“He was seen at the games,” Stheno explained. “He and Kore grow strong and healthy. Elpis’ marriage to Ektor blooms as well, for I was told she is with child.”

“And Xenia?” Medusa asked. Memories of her beloved aunt, her terrified face, woke her nights.

“She dotes on Kore and preens over Spiridion,” Euryale sighed.

“You were right to have Ariston take them to her,” Stheno agreed.

His name…

“Will you not ask about him?” Euryale asked softly.

She was silent, desperately trying to staunch the throbbing pain she felt. “He is well?”

“He is. He stays in Athens, helping them assemble a new council,” Stheno said.

Medusa nodded, pushing herself to her feet. She said nothing as she left the dock. The sand stuck to the wet soles of her feet as she ventured down to the water’s edge. Mercifully her sisters did not follow.

She’d tried to assure them that she was well, that they should go home without her. But they refused.

“Worrying over you has become Stheno’s favorite past time,” Euryale had teased. “Would you deprive her of one of her pleasures? She has so few.”

And Medusa had let it be.

Silently she knew their presence was all that kept her from desperate despair or madness. They served as a balm to her troubles, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell them so. If they decided to leave, she would not stop them.

Sometimes, though, she wished they would leave.

It was not enough to prod her about eating or force her out of the temple at sunset, Euryale had found some poor soul she’d terrified into keeping up with Spiridion and Kore. And, somehow, there was always news of Ariston too.

It hurt to hear of him, but it was worse not to. He was a good man, strong and able, tender and loyal. She could not imagine what he’d suffered, what he’d endured, to earn his freedom from Hades.

Each night she prayed he would find happiness and love again. She would not have him suffer an empty, lonely life.

And then she cried until her tears were spent.

###

The full moon was high overhead, pale and round. It seemed to be within Ariston’s reach, if he had any desire to try to capture it.

He didn’t.

His eyes burned, but he would not succumb to sleep. Not yet. When he slept, she was waiting, her very presence bidding him stay. Waking was torture, too much to bear willingly. How he longed to stay with her…

So he held himself rigid, carrying out the tasks set before him each day.

He could find no satisfaction in Athens, though the new council had asked him to stay. He’d given all he could. He needed to return to Rhodes. Mayhap his home, his family, could soothe him.

He closed his eyes, leaning against the base of the tree. The crackling of the fire, the rustle of the wind in the trees, lulled him into an uneasy doze.

Some nights he longed for her fiercely.

His fingers clasped the owl pendant he wore about his neck. It was all that was left, all that was real. He’d found his gift, draped with care atop her grave. Thea must have left it for him, before leaving him.

He was alone now, with nothing but his memories.

He stood, walking without purpose.

Flashes of her, her scent, the feel of her under his fingertips, pulled upon his patience until he began to run. His feet fell in an even, rapid rhythm. He ran, faster and faster, until he came to a break in the trees.

A small cove greeted him, the silver-tipped waters rolling under the night sky.

He moved towards the inky waves, scooping handfuls of its bracing saltiness over his face. He shivered before he rubbed his face with raw impatience.

He heard a sound to his right, a slight breathy giggle, and turned to find its source. In the shadows was a woman, a nymph, mayhap, for she glowed faintly in the moonlight. She was unaware of him, distracted by her companion. Her companion, his broad back white and well formed, faced away from him.

He turned, eager to leave this couple, when the nymph ran towards him, laughing.

Seeing him, she froze. Her amusement shifted swiftly, fading to irritation.

The man drew up behind her, unaware of Ariston’s presence – or uncaring. One great hand reached about her, cupping one of her exposed breasts.

“No more games,” the man’s voice rolled over Ariston. “Come now.”

That voice
… That voice haunted his dreams.

This man had said “I will have you,” to his lady.

This man had tormented and used his wife.

He knew this voice – for it haunted his dreams and chased his lady into the mist. His blood began to throb, growing hotter and hotter until it seemed aflame.

“I grow tired of playing.” The cajoling tones unleashed Ariston’s anger.

“He knows a great deal of games, lady,” Ariston said, the words helping to tamp down his rage. “But I caution you against this choice in bedfellows.” The fury that stole over him was powerful. He’d been caught in the throes of battle many times. Had he hated his enemy? He thought so. He’d been willing enough to take their lives. But this was nothing like that.

Hate did not encompass the violence that tightened every muscle of his body. He wanted blood, and suffering. He wanted death and revenge.

His mouth flooded with bile as Poseidon’s eyes met his.

Poseidon’s pale blue eyes regarded him with disinterest, raking him insolently as his hand slipped slowly from the nymph.

“Be careful, soldier,” Poseidon warned. “You’d be wise to leave this place.”

Ariston smiled, the harsh twist releasing some of his wrath. “Then I shall stay.”

The nymph, forgotten, cast a wary glance between the two before dashing into the woods.

“You cost me my prey.” Poseidon’s eyes sparkled, more amused than offended. “But you’ve made me curious. What is it you want?” He walked into the water, dousing his long dark locks with water. He sighed, turning back to Ariston. “Or do you know?”

“Your death.”

“You cannot kill a God,” Poseidon laughed. “You do know who I am?”

“I do,” Ariston bit out. “You are the great Poseidon. Your death is the only thing I want. But since I cannot kill you, I will have to be satisfied with your suffering.”Ariston pulled his xiphos from his belt, savoring the weight of the blade’s hilt in his hand. His blood continued to roar within him, tensing his body and heightening his senses. He noticed the slight quiver of Poseidon’s nostrils, the tightening of the God’s mouth, and then, in a flicker of understanding, the God’s eyes narrowed. 

Poseidon’s pale gaze fixed upon her necklace, the wooden owl resting against the Ariston’s chest.

Poseidon’s voice was low and harsh. “You are her husband?”

Ariston felt the laugh, one he’d hope would prove his virility, stick in his throat. He swallowed. “I am Medusa’s husband, yes.”

Poseidon eyed the sword. “You seek revenge?”

“What else can you give me?” Ariston taunted.

Poseidon said nothing.

Ariston charged, embracing the fire in his chest.

A wall of water rose high above him, dropping down upon him and forcing the air from his lungs as it slammed him into the beach.

“Peace,” Poseidon said.

Ariston stood, wiping the water from his eyes. “I have none. I shall give none.” He ran at Poseidon again, so close he was almost upon him. He swung his sword, stretching to ensure the blade would strike true.

But the water rose up beneath his feet and lifted him, once again throwing him back to the sandy beach. His sword fell from his grip, but he was too enraged to notice.

“You accomplish nothing,” Poseidon said, shaking his head.

Ariston glared at him, breathing heavily. The water was Poseidon’s domain, it was a futile strategy. On land, he might manage one cut… If he could lure him from the water, bait him.

“You fight like a God,” Ariston laughed, “hiding behind your tricks and deceit. Are you too weak to fight as a man? Or too afraid?”

Poseidon’s mouth formed a small smile. “Afraid? Of you?” He turned to go, the water rippling in his wake.

“So it would seem,” Ariston retorted.

Poseidon turned back to him with narrowed eyes.

Ariston sneered back, fighting the urge to rush forth, to storm into the water once more.

The water shifted, carrying Poseidon quickly to the sand before Ariston. “I will fight you, then, Ariston of Rhodes.”

Ariston nodded, clenching his hands.

“But this fight cannot give you what you seek. Tell me, do you rage against me for using your wife? Or because she hides from you, even knowing you search for her?” Poseidon paused, watching his face closely.

“She is dead…”

“So say the Gorgons. Mayhap she wants nothing of you now.”

Ariston’s arm whipped forward, meeting the cold flesh of Poseidon’s stomach with uninhibited fury. He savored the warm burn of his knuckles, sending his other fist into his Poseidon’s side with a roar.

He drew his arm back and released his fist, crazed with bloodlust. He struck Poseidon’s haughty chin squarely, a gratifying smack filling the air.

Poseidon reacted then, throwing his elbow into Ariston’s chest and robbing him of breath.

Ariston threw his fist forward, hitting the God in the neck and swiping his leg. Poseidon fell onto the sand, lying at his feet.

He offered his hand to Poseidon. “I am not so easily satisfied.”

Poseidon stared at his hand, then stood.

Ariston stooped and rammed into Poseidon, his shoulder smashing into Poseidon’s stomach and lifting him before letting him fall to the sand again.

Poseidon stood once more, his face no longer distant and haughty.

Ariston laughed. “Come at me then.”

And he did, forcing Ariston back against one of the large boulders that dotted the beach. His hands closed about Ariston’s throat, his intent obvious. Still Ariston managed to break free, knocking the God off guard by kneeing him forcefully in the groin.

Poseidon crumpled on the beach, kneeling as he fought to regain his breath.

Ariston stood over him, wanting this over.

“Is my suffering akin to yours? When you learned…that I had her. Were you crippled so?” Poseidon’s words were muttered in choking breaths.

“Your suffering cannot be compared to mine,” Ariston assured him. “I would put an end to it for you.”

Poseidon rose quickly, Ariston’s sword clasped in his hand. “No, Ariston, I think not.” He lifted the blade, pressing it against Ariston’s neck.

Ariston smiled again, lifting his chin and exposing his neck. Was it wrong that he wanted this?

Poseidon’s brow rose. “You doubt my intent? You have no fear of death?”

“None.” He meant it. “Kill me.”
End my pain.

Poseidon’s face twisted. “You seek death?”

“It is better than what waits for me now.” He cursed himself, cursed his words and the desperation that filled them.

“For a woman? All for a woman?” Poseidon tossed the sword aside. “You are no man to let a woman rule you so. No woman alive is worth…”

“But she is not alive. She is dead!” Ariston’s words ripped from him with such anguish that even he was surprised.

Poseidon shook his head wearily. “If you are so eager for death, let me help you on your way. Your lady wife lives, hiding amongst the caves off Crete.”

Ariston froze, stunned by Poseidon’s statement, but Poseidon only watched him.

“You lie,” he raged, moving to strike Poseidon again, but the God grabbed his fist.

“I have nothing to gain, Ariston of Rhodes. I am done with…this. I would help you on your way, if this is truly what you want?”

Ariston stared at him, ripping his fist from Poseidon’s grip.

“I warn you, Perseus of Seriphos has been sent to kill her,” Poseidon added.

“Why?” Why would she be sentenced to death?

“To end the curse. With her death, those cast in stone are free.”

Ariston was shaking his head. “The Gorgons’ curse?”

“It is Medusa’s curse.”

“Medusa?” Ariston could hardly speak the words, his mind was so addled. “It matters not, I will find her.”

Poseidon fell silent, his pale eyes traveling over the sea before he said, “If you go, you will find her. And no good will come of it.” He paused, turning back to Ariston with something akin to sympathy on his face. “Hear me, soldier. She will not thank you for going after her. And you will not live through the reunion.”

Ariston pushed himself away from the boulder, his ire forgotten. “I would rather face death at her side tomorrow than live without her.”

Poseidon’s look of surprise almost made Ariston pity him. He was immortal, ruler of the sea, but he knew nothing of love.

Ariston picked up the sword and set off. He had a long journey ahead of him. But this time he knew where was going and what he would find.

###

Poseidon slammed his cup onto the table. No wine eased his irritation.

If he’d killed the man would he feel better?

His dinner companions quieted somewhat, casting curious glances and whispers his way. Athena seemed most pleased with his foul mood.