Page 11 of Heroines of Olympus

MEDUSA

He’s here. He’s HERE.

Medusa drops to her knees on the deck as she is confronted with the god who plagues her dreams, twisting them to into nightmares. The conductor of the vicious cycle that keeps her trapped in the trauma that altered the very fabric of her being, literally, down to the genetic level.

Even under the magic of the hood, she can feel her snakes getting agitated.

This isn’t merely another Hero she has to face. This is a god that she only escaped previously because she had the element of surprise. Her brain screams at her to keep searching for a solution, but her resolve crumbles, knowing it’s hopeless. For someone so strong, and skilled with a blade, she should be shocked at how quickly the fight leaves her entirely when confronted by him.

She sits and leans her back against a supply crate as the corners of her vision pepper with stars that are only magnified every time she looks back in his direction by the final remnants of the setting sun glistening off of his polished armor.

As the ship at last pulls up beside them, she has no choice but to meet his stony stare. One look at her, resigned and dejected, and his face is alight with a cruel glee. She assumes he is here to finish the job of killing her himself, but the look in his eyes makes her fear he won’t be quick about it. She shudders at the thought of being at his mercy and vows it will never come to that, no matter the cost.

This shall not break me.

“Well,” Poseidon begins with a smirk. The fading sun casts his high mahogany skin into shadow. “It seems we meet again, my dear.”

He says it like it’s a casual occurrence, stumbling upon each other at the market, or at a Temple. It can almost be mistaken for genuine politeness, but she knows better. She knows how quickly that charming smile can turn cold.

Medusa pushes down all the thoughts of his iron grip on her upper arm when he would leer at her, tries to quiet the voice replaying in her head that lowly whispered about how the only thing keeping his hands from being extremely adventurous was because she “belonged to Athena.” She had always mentally bristled at the thought of ‘belonging’ to anyone but if it kept his touch from wandering she would not argue, instead choosing silent compliance throughout every aggressive come on, threat, promise, whatever he wanted to call it that day.

“Now, we could have avoided all of this mess,” he says, gesturing around. “If you, and Athena, had merely been more… shall we say… agreeable?”

Medusa’s eyes widen, then narrow. She is having trouble focusing on what he is saying. Her breathing refuses to slow, and she is getting lightheaded, her panic dangerously close to sheer terror. “What does Athena have to do with all this?”

Poseidon’s eyes widen with gleeful surprise that makes Medusa hesitate if she wants to know the answer. “I had been in negotiations with Athena to take you into my possession at my temple. She was hesitant to consider it at first, but we were in the process of final negotiations. Negotiations I had just arrived for when I saw you in the garden. You looked so lovely, Medusa. I didn’t think there was any reason to wait to claim something that would soon be mine. Surely you can’t blame me for being drawn to you?”

The weight of what he told her is crushing down on her. She has many questions, but lands on the only one she can fully form. “Why then, would you do this to me?” She gestures to her head, indicating the serpents laying in wait under the black hood. “Why would you make it so no one could look upon me if you wanted me to serve your temple?”

His answer is his ultimate violation. Shattering the fragile grasp remaining on her anxiety, he says, “Oh my dear, the snakes? I think they look lovely. You’ll have to explain how your companions are safe around you. I’m assuming the hood, but we can cover that on the voyage to the Sea Temple. You were so rude to me in the garden. My feelings would have been very hurt if I had any.” She hears the Twins chuckle at that in the background. He delivers the final blow with a self assured grin. “I told you no one else could look upon you without turning to stone. You must have assumed I meant no one other than yourself. No, lovely girl, I meant no one other thanIwould be able to look upon you.”

He continues talking, but Medusa hears none of it. She is finally succumbing to her panic as he raises his trident into the air. The water around the boat swirls, the beginnings of a whirlpool forming. Her vision blurs and regains focus, and she is unsure how much is because of the setting sun, and how much is because of her darkening peripherals. Turning her head to the side, she sees Psyche stepping onto the deck. She opens her mouth to warn her, but no sound comes out. Psyche’s beautiful dark eyes lock onto hers. As they stare at each other, the boat sways from the turbulence building around them. The wind gusts, whipping the ebony strands of Psyche’s hair around her face. She glows with a light that resembles the silver of the moon that crests on the horizon.

Psyche says to her, “Close your eyes, Lyra.”

Medusa listens but slowly. As the last sliver of light is visible, Medusa sees a blinding beam from where Psyche was standing and the entire world goes dark.

* * *

Medusa’s heartis pounding as she races through the garden. Despite needing her entire focus to be on escaping, her thoughts cloud and her stomach churns as she remembers his hands on her. His hot breath on her neck while he whispered something as his eyes glowed had finally snapped her out of her terrified compliance. Even a god’s nose can be broken.

She cannot deny that the feel of his cartilage meeting the heel of her hand had been satisfying, but Medusa is also too aware that her impulsivity started the countdown to her death. She had taken off running before she could see the rage in his eyes, or enjoy the blood running down his face.

She rounds a corner sharply, the vines from the topiaries smacking her face. The loose gravel makes her footing less stable than she would like, the flimsy sandals required of her to wear as an Acolyte slipping as she struggles for traction.

* * *

A slapof sea water up her nose jars Medusa awake. The salt stings her nostrils and her head is pounding as she realizes she is clinging to a large piece of wood, part of a ship, and afloat in the sea.

Everything comes rushing back into Medusa’s mind- Poseidon. The blinding light.Psyche.

Medusa whips her head around, and there’s barely enough light left in the sky to see scattered debris everywhere.No. Did anyone else make it?

She reaches up and discovers the hood is still perfectly in place. There is no time to be mystified by the magic as voices carry to her from her right and she rubs her burning eyes, trying to get a better look.There. She can just make out a couple of people on a larger piece of debris.

She reluctantly lets go of the board she is using to stay afloat and swims in their direction. Her right arm has a long gash along her bicep, and she winces through the pain of the salt water and exertion.

Halfway to her destination, a groaning sound comes from a cluster of boards to her left.

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