Page 8 of The Conquest of Medusa

Dammit.Too late. The thing shifted from one foot to the other, gazing with a look of triumph as it spotted the boat. Medusa stood on the deck while the captain and the crew cowered in the hold. She stared at Perseus, and the breeze carried her shout over the choppy water: “You moron!”

“Hey,” he shouted at the creature.

It looked at him and squawked, the rumbling chatter as loud as it was disturbing. Venomous intent rolled off its body as it clicked razor-sharp teeth at him. Perseus held up his sword, pointing it at the winged wolf-beast, who ducked its head as if accepting the challenge and then flew at him in a straight blast. It clutched him with one claw and lifted him in the air. Instead of the scream of terror it might be used to hearing at such a moment, Perseus laughed. He stabbed at the beast’s chest with his sword, and it shrieked, rolling midair, carrying him over the sea. It flew low as it let loose another angry squawk and dragged him through the water.

Perseus spluttered and coughed as water filled his lungs. The creature rose, squeezing him upside down, and the choking salt reversed itself, flowing out of his mouth and his nose in a painful flood. She took him for another drenching ride in the waves. His head skipped along the water like a stone. It fucking hurt. His neck most likely broke, along with his eye socket. Agony ripped through him at the cracking and splintering of his own ribs. Squeezing him again, the creature flew upward at supersonic speed, the ascent so swift and brutal that he lost all air. Suffocating now, lungs crashing in on themselves, blackness danced at the corners of his eyes, a spreading shadow that was beckoning him into a permanent embrace.

Just barely alert, not even sure how he was holding on, it occurred to the dying demigod that he still had his sword.Oh, right.Almost calmly, he swiped it across the Helyx’s throat, and she screamed and gurgled. Flame and blood rippled, falling through the air like vermilion rain, along with the gristle of her throat. Perseus withdrew the blade and hacked along the back of her neck with every last ounce of his kinetic and psychic energy. He connected and cut hard. The head, the body, and he fell from the clouds. The burn of its blood and horror filled his mouth as they hurtled toward the water, the surface rising to meet him, a flash of sea green to the right and the blue of the sky to his left.

Everything slowing. Crashing. Body slamming and breaking on the surf.

Blackness.

Then a faint light. Dreaming or dead? Maybe not dead.

Mighty Poseidon gazed at him in the deep with a scowl while his brother, the Shadow of Hades, reached out to Perseus from over his shoulder with a hand outstretched.

Softness. Flesh, warm and firm but still soft.

Perseus didn’t know how that was possible until he opened his eyes and realized his head was on Medusa’s lap. His body rocked gently as the boat underneath him crossed the waves and the metallic sky passed over him. Thinking of the sky, he thought of his flight and his fantastic crash and pressed his hand against his chest. It hurt. It really fucking hurt.

“How long have I been out?” he asked, gingerly feeling his face. The growth of his hair seemed to have accelerated.

“The Helyx was yesterday. You passed the night senseless. Do you remember any of your dreams?” Medusa asked.

“They were bad. I saw my uncles. I feel like I died but…I guess I didn’t. I feel strange. It doesn’t usually take this long to heal,” he said, coughing. The taste of copper and soot filled his mouth. “What’s wrong with me?” He was dazed, couldn’t sit up without his head swirling with pitch-black clouds.

“The Helyx was half-demon. I think some of her blood fell in your mouth when you cut her,” Medusa said. She sounded strange, a note of something he hadn’t heard before in the short time he’d known her. “We need to get you some medicine or…”

“Or what?” he asked, staring at her, trying to stay focused.

Medusa held up his arm. Blackening veins pulsed along an artery, slowly feeding into other smaller channels of blood. They turned darker while he watched.

“What’s happening to me?” Perseus asked, his voice rising in panic.

“Hell sickness,” she said. “It can kill humans and turn gods. Into monsters.” She gazed at him, trying to smile. Now he recognized that sound in her voice and the look in her eyes. Fear. Unadulterated fear. “But you can be cured. We can fix this. We just need to get to Stone Carver’s, which, lucky for you, is on the island where we’re headed. He gets his medicine from the sea. The water there is full of Cetus’s magic. It’ll work. We just need to get through Cetus’s minions.”

“What happens in the meantime?” he asked.

“Try to stay sane.” Medusa peered over the side of the ship to the mountainous shore and nodded. “We’re just about to land. Sorry but you’ve had all the rest you’re going to get while you were asleep. We need to get started before Cetus discovers we’re here.”

Slowly, carefully, Perseus stood, making sure he was steady on his feet. He was healing despite the blackness spread through more of his surface veins. Or was itbecauseof the demon's blood? Was it hell power healing him now, rather than the grace of his Olympian lineage? Feeling more stable, he flexed his muscles and stretched. Yes, he felt good. In fact, he felt great. And strong. Really strong.

Watching him test out his muscles, Medusa shook her head at him. As the crew brought the ship as close to the shore as possible, she looked at the expanse of sandy beach and tropical trees.

“Maybe you don’t need an ‘I told you so’ right now, maybe you do,” Medusa said quietly. “Either way, I asked you not to engage that creature. It wasn’t after you. You could have died and for what? So they can write songs about the great hero Perseus? That’s not what I signed up for.”

“Noted,” Perseus said with a smile. “Do I detect a hint of caring in your warning?”

“You have a great imagination,” Medusa answered with cheek, and turned to climb down the side of the boat without another word.

Peering over the side, Perseus found her seated with one of the crewmen in a dinghy. He followed and they soon pulled up to the shallows. From there, he and Medusa set off, passing through a dense, lush jungle. Birds cawed above and tiny creatures he couldn’t name scampered— like lizards, but with eerily human faces. They made him anxious, so he kept his focus on the path, then on Medusa’s shapely backside as she led him through the brush. She slowed after maybe two hours of silent walking and looked over her shoulder at him, gesturing with a tilted nod.

Perseus grunted, then paused when he realized he’d grunted. Looking down, he saw that his fingernails had sharpened into claws. He ran his tongue in his mouth and felt the sharpened tips. Medusa looked at his mouth, then shivered and looked ahead again.

“Cute fangs,” she murmured. “There’s the town. If you can even call it that.”

Perseus leaned over Medusa’s shoulder, enjoying the sensation of her warmth against him, and stared at what she was seeing. Row upon row of sun-bleached driftwood shacks leaned in a state of such disrepair they looked as though they’d started their deterioration three hundred years ago. Pyres burned here and there.

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