Page 22 of Heroines of Olympus

“Um. Yes,” is all she replies, still unsure where the hostility is coming from.

Shaking his head, he scoffs as he brushes past her and walks away.

Before leaving, he turns back and calls out, “Let’s see if we can get back to our home without you adding to your death count, Viper.”

He turns on his heel and walks off, leaving Medusa speechless. Her brow wrinkles in frustration as she tries to work out the source of his anger. Does she have a reputation, falsely perpetuated? Lies to make anyone who might offer her aid be hesitant to trust her? The thought has often crossed her mind that Poseidon may have spread lies about her, and she always circles back to feeling insignificant, making it impossible that he would care enough to spread rumors about her. Her run-in with the captain means she needs to re-evaluate that possibility.

Not wanting to bump into him a second time, Medusa walks in the opposite direction that the captain went, and resumes her endless tirade of thoughts and questions, swirling and roaring in her head all demanding priority over the others.

The salt smell on the breeze is familiar and Medusa closes her eyes to relish the feel of the wind. It feels so much sharper than normal and she has to wonder if the absence of those senses in the Oasis is the reason. The railing is smooth beneath her hand as she glides it along as she walks, giving way for breaks where the sails are tied.

When she makes it to the bow, Psyche is there, facing out toward the water. Medusa just waits for a minute and observes. The bit of moonlight occasionally peeking through the swiftly moving clouds reflects off of her onyx hair as it blows in the breeze. When Medusa realizes she has been standing there for longer than is polite, she returns to her cabin and not intrude, and turns to leave abruptly. Before she can make an undetected exit, her foot gets tangled in a coil of rope and she falls over, making an ungodly amount of noise before catching herself at the last second on the railing.

She looks up and sees Psyche now watching her, doing her best to stifle a laugh. Despite the urge to feel embarrassed and storm off, Medusa plops down on the deck and falls into a laughing fit that steals the air from her lungs. She laughs so hard her stomach muscles are cramping and tears are streaming down her face. As if a floodgate and years of isolation are melting away and in that moment, and there might be ways to enjoy life once again.

Psyche walks over, also laughing, because laughter like this is contagious. Psyche takes a deep breath to calm herself and extends a hand down to Medusa. She reaches up to take Psyche’s hand but pauses as the moon reflects off the scales on her wrist. Is she going to be disgusted by Medusa’s touch?

As Psyche pulls, her hand slips, and she falls backward onto the deck, leaving them entangled in the rope, and each other, laughing again. The cycle renewed.

The moment is finally dying down as they wipe tears from the corners of their eyes, and Medusa almost forgets how monstrous she is. A middle-age woman comes running up to them out of breath. Her all white attire identifies her as a healer.

The woman notices Medusa and stares for a moment before remembering why she is there. “Psyche, goddess, we need your assistance urgently. We have done what we can with the Hero’s head injury and he has been asleep but stable. This afternoon, a fever was making itself known, and we have been trying to get it back down. It just keeps climbing. We did the best we could while you were recovering, but if you can help us, I think he needs it.”

Psyche responds, “I’ll be right there, Agatha.”

Agatha nods and leaves. Psyche turns back to Medusa, extends a hand, and they help each other up. “I must head straight down there,” Psyche pauses. “You’re welcome to come with me, but I can understand if you don’t want to.”

Medusa hesitates and thinks about her reply. Fear plays no part in it by any means, but the thought of being around Hero unsettles her.

How will she ever move past it unless she faces it head-on? “Let’s go. I can’t promise I’ll ever be friendly with someone like him, but I imagine I can be civil.” Medusa half laughs but knows deep down that this will be a test of her patience and restraint - asleep or not.

* * *

When they reach Cadmus’cabin, Psyche immediately enters. Medusa hesitates at the threshold, watching from the back as Psyche walks up to the still figure laying in the bed and places the back of her hand against his forehead. Agatha steps aside and lets Psyche take the lead.

“He’s burning up. I’m going to need you to grab me several things,” she instructs Agatha. Psyche recites the list to her, and she silently slips out of the room.

The smell of hot sweat hovers in the room and the air is thick from humidity., either from his fever or their efforts to bring it down.

Psyche turns to Medusa and adds, “I have to go get something from my cabin. It’s a magical item that can help him. I hate to put you in this position, but I can’t leave him alone right now. I need you to keep an eye on him.”

Medusa’s mouth falls open in shock and she is ready to refuse when Psyche interrupts, “It will be but just a moment, I promise. All you need to do is watch him and if anything at all happens, come shouting and myself or Agatha should hear it.”

After reluctantly agreeing, Medusa takes slow steps across the room and takes a seat in the chair next to his bed as Psyche leaves. Medusa studies the walls, the floorboards, the flickering low flame in the lantern… anything to avoid looking at him. The small room provides little distraction, and Medusa studies the Hero’s face. The pallor of his skin is concerning and drained of color as beads of sweat roll down his forehead.

She continues her silent study of him as his brow occasionally furrows. The gash on his forehead is impossible to miss. It looks deep, about four inches long, crossing from his temple to the top of his eyebrow. The surrounding skin is red and inflamed. If infection has not set in yet, she imagines it will be soon.

His dark brown hair curls and falls just below his ears. Right now, it’s stringy and clinging to his skin. Her thoughts wander and she remembers why he is there in the first place. Medusa has every right to be angry. This man had to know Poseidon is a monster and yet he was there, anyway. She is fed up with always turning the other cheek, trying to imagine the best of intentions from everyone. Is this rage in her because of the years of isolation? Or is it the result of every injustice Medusa has suffered?

Wringing her hands, she attempts to distract herself from the torrent of angry thoughts that pour into her consciousness. Even under the weight of the hood’s magic, Medusa can feel her serpents waking up, their agitation coursing through her. One of the scaly patches on the back of her left hand is rough beneath her fingertip as she uses the texture to ground herself, but it is no use. So much has happened in such a short time. The contact and conversation has been overstimulating and draining. It is all too much after eight years without it. A constant push and pull, the war of emotions in her head and in her heart. The tug of craving affection, anything to stave off the unbearable loneliness, and pushing those things away once she has them. She hopes it will balance out and she can experience life again, but Medusa has to get to the other side of this adjustment with her sanity still intact.

As she sits there, staring at his face, in her mind it morphs into the face of every Hero and mercenary who has come for her, every Master who has punished her. Angry tears well in her eyes and the hardened part of her soul wants this man to pay for all of it.

Medusa talks herself into this aggressive sense of justice with an ease that should alarming. This man will pay even if she has to hold his eyes open. Before she even realizes she has decided for certain on this course of action, one hand is moving toward his face and the other up to remove her hood. His face is only inches away when his eyes fly open and Psyche walks in.

13

HESTIA

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