Page 28 of Heroines of Olympus

What Medusa pictured as a small band of fighters, maybe some support personnel, is actually a bustling community with people milling about in the streets, the occasional child darting in and out of the crowd, sometimes with others in tow.

The Leviathan pulls up to the dock and the deckhands toss ropes to the awaiting men, who catch them and tie off the ship. A vessel this size would normally not fit in the presumably shallow water of the harbor, but considering the wards, there must be more magic at work.

One of the dock workers looks up to the ship after securing his line. He takes in Medusa, his eyes widening as he notes her golden-green skin, scales along her collarbone. At no point does he become hostile, but he watches her cautiously, suspiciously until she slips into the background of the docking process and waits for Psyche or Alec.

On her way to find her companions, she passes the captain again, and he narrows his eyes and continues his conversation. So much negative and suspicious behavior toward her has her rethinking if she should have left her island. At least there, the only person who loathed her was herself. That is a feeling that is always there, simmering under the surface for pretty much her entire life.

Her thoughts are still a storm cloud of emotion when she finally spots Psyche coming up the stairs at the back of the ship. When Psyche sees her, she smiles a bright smile and Medusa swears it can rival the moon.

Medusa has joined a rebellion against the Pantheon, completely upending what meager life she had. Is this really the time for developing a crush on a god? One that would likely fizzle out before it even had a chance to start if the god in question found out what she really almost walked in on.

Once she is in front of Medusa, Psyche says, “I’m sorry it took me so long to make my way to you. I had to discuss the transfer and care of Cadmus. That’s all taken care of now and I would love to take you to get settled. How does that sound?”

Psyche was with Cadmus. Did he tell her the truth once the dangerous beast was safely gone? Medusa’s stomach clenches at the thought of the goddess looking at her with disappointment.

Oh yeah, Psyche asked her a question. Right.

Medusa nods. “That sounds wonderful.”

The thought of all the stares that will inevitably come once they step off the boat is unsettling, but Medusa cannot stay on board forever and if it is in Psyche’s company, she can endure it. Psyche loops her arm through Medusa’s and they walk over to the gangway and off the ship.

The Isle is gleaming in the golden hour of the setting sun. The tall rock formations that hide it from the front should block out said sun, but somehow it’s still brightly illuminating the community. Medusa finds there are many things she wants to inquire about later and if magic plays a part in their function is high on the list. They make their way through a worn dirt street, and she closes her eyes and takes in the sounds and smells. The mild breeze coming off the harbor mixes its salty smell with searing meats, roasting vegetables, metal being worked, and stables. The inaudible murmur of people talking, and the clanging of tools from the blacksmiths come together in a song of community. It has been so long since Medusa has been anywhere populated. She does her best to stay grounded and breathe deeply so the noise does not overwhelm her.

* * *

An hour later,Medusa is in her new lodgings. Despite the initial shocked face of the dock worker, most of the people Medusa passed on the street were warm toward her. There was an occasional concerned face, even a couple of hostile ones, but it is not as bad as she had been expecting. No children ran away in terror after seeing her.

Psyche set her up in a room in a building up on the hillside, equipped with a bed with soft white linens, a modest dresser, a chair, a trunk, and a bedside table. The view out of the small window captures the buildings going down the hill and then the bay down at the bottom. The Mysts are visible as well and linger on the edge of the horizon.

With a little time to kill before she goes exploring the Isle with Psyche, Medusa hopes to bathe. Cleaning up would be a welcomed relief after their time at sea and Medusa misses the hot spring from her cavern. There’s a washbasin in her room but she braves going to the baths down the hall. They passed them on the way to her room and the call of the warm water outweighs her anxiousness about being around people.

The towels are soft under her fingers as Medusa grabs one from a small stack on top of the dresser and a thin silk robe that is hanging on the back of her door. The bronze color is very appealing, and she wonders if it was random or chosen for her.

The hallway is thankfully empty on the way to the bath. The end of the hall opens up to a large area with five small pools of bubbling hot water, separated by stained glass for privacy, each with a view similar to the one from her room but with a much larger opening. They are all empty, so she chooses the one at the end that feels the most isolated from the others. Removing her dirty travel clothes, everything but the hood and talisman around her neck, Medusa makes a mental note to ask Psyche more specifics about the hood. Can it get wet? Are there any important things she should know about it?

The hot water caresses her skin, and she sighs out loud at how good it feels. The tension in her body slowly melts away, and she can feel her muscles slipping into relaxation. Bubbles gently massage the soreness away and an ache that she had not noticed in her bones finally recedes.

This is the first time bathing without the constant wriggling and hissing of her serpents and she relishes the quiet. In their absence, though, Medusa realizes she has more awareness of them than she ever noticed before. An unexplainable feeling, the quiet is unnerving and welcome. She can normally feel the presence of each of them. How much more is there to unlock with her serpentine companions?

Medusa crosses her arms over the ledge of the window and relaxes as she takes in the view. It constantly surprises her how much more is here than she expected. It has been eight years, but she has never even heard the mention of a possible resistance group. Can they have gained this much momentum and support in only a few years? Tired of the never-ending swirl of questions in her head, she tries to just calm her mind and focus on what is in front of her. The setting sun is almost below the horizon, and lights flicker on in the windows of the Isle as people light candles and prepare for their evenings.

A group of children play in an empty portion of the street. They are holding hands, skipping in a circle, and when she listens carefully, she can hear the hints of a nursery rhyme being sung. Conversation in the hallway, moving toward the baths, quickly drowns out the sounds of the Isle, getting closer every second. Medusa reaches for her towel to leave, but it is too late. A group of three men come in, chatting amongst themselves loudly about their most recent exploits. Quietly moving to the back of her tub, stays as quiet as possible, hoping to escape their notice. Once they settle in their tub, she can leave.

The men seem like they are about to get into the tub on the opposite side of the bathing room when one of them scans the room and his sights land on her.

17

MEDUSA

Panic rears its head at the look in his eyes, and Medusa’s serpents sluggishly come out of their slumber in response. The energy coming off of the men has every instinct telling her to run, but she knows she is cornered. Immediately, she curses herself for ending up in this situation, warranted or not.

“Well,” he says with a smile on his face that looks anything but friendly. “Heard you were here. Didn’t know if the rumors were true.”

His friends follow the direction of his stare. They look equally excited about their find, and she doubts their intentions are cordial. Medusa has no choice but to stay in the water, keeping her vulnerability as minimal as possible. If she does not humor them with a reply, they will get bored and leave her alone.

“I’m talking to you.” The first man says. “Wouldn’t expect some half-snakethingto know basic manners, though.” His friends laugh raucously.

“I don’t recall hearing a question,” Medusa answers with a stare that is getting more hostile by the moment. She tries to reign in the fear and her temper, having just arrived on the Isle and not wanting to cause trouble until she at least has some answers. If they force Medusa out because she has to defend herself against these men, she will spend the rest of her life in isolation, driven mad by the barrage of questions that she knows will never leave her.

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