Page 8 of Heroines of Olympus

Pulling Medusa’s attention back to her, Psyche asks, “What do you know of your parents and how you came to be chosen to be an Acolyte?“

Confused by the drastic change in topic, she sets the shield aside. It takes her a moment to recall what she had been told by the Masters, by Nikolas, by the Council. They said Medusa was to be given an explanation one time and then she was never to speak of her parents again. She was so young and fortunately, Nikolas has taken pity on her and allowed her to talk about her family in quiet whispers when they were away from prying ears.

“My mother was a mortal woman who had caught the eye of a rakish god. He was not cruel, but he was also not kind. My mother loved me dearly, and that she was so honored when Athena herself chose me to be one of her Acolytes.” She does not feel the need to state her feelings about her forced fate. There is no reason to share any more than necessary until the visitors reveal their true motive. Medusa is not expecting Alec and Psyche to exchange surprised but worried glances. Is her history not even her own? Is it yet another part of her that the Council has carefully crafted?

“This will be hard to hear, but there is so much more to your story.” Psyche says with a forlorn gleam in her eye. Despite Medusa’s unease at the world shifting information she is sure to receive, something about Psyche’s expression is exhilarating.

“I can’t share much with you yet, but I will reveal what I can. It was your mother who was the god. Your father was a mortal, and he loved her so very much. Your mother was part of the Pantheon, and it angered them greatly when she fell in love with your father. After she discovered a plot to have him assassinated simply for being an inconvenience to them, she vowed to never let the Pantheon harm him, and they fled that night. They somehow eluded the trackers sent to follow them, but only for so long. By the time they had caught up to your parents, you were already born.

“The trackers captured your parents and brought them and you back to The Temple of Olympus. They quietly executed your parents, overseen by the god your mother considered her closest friend, Athena. Before your parents died, Athena told them she was choosing their daughter to be an Acolyte for her temple and she would grow up confined to the very life they had sought to escape.”

Medusa’s chest tightens, and she finds it hard to breathe. “How can this be true? They extensively instructed me on the history of Olympus, the Pantheon, and there was no mention of this.” Her brain struggles to process this information. Has her entire life been designed to exact revenge on her mother? Who was a god? It is Alec who responds this time, his voice taking on a tone that is both dark and soft.

“Your mother’s betrayal angered the petty gods, especially Athena, and they ordered all records of your mother to be eradicated from the history books. They repainted murals, tore down statues, and cast an elaborate glamor, causing her to fade from people’s minds. All because your mother and my brother had the nerve to fall in love.”

Medusa’s jaw drops. “You mean you’re my uncle? My family?”

She has always been alone, and the hope that blooms in her heart at the prospect of having family has her absolutely terrified. Every Acolyte spends almost their entire Initiate period wistfully daydreaming of the family they might have hailed from. In the dining hall they would boast amongst themselves, their tales getting grander and grander as they claimed to have come from the families of Guards, Heroes, and even the gods themselves. She had never taken part in those fantasies, instead clinging to the small piece of knowledge that someone had loved her.

“I am. I was one of the few people who knew where they were hiding. I helped them get supplies and tried to keep an eye out for the trackers.” He looks down and his voice gets very low as he says, “The trackers knew to watch me. They figured out where you were and waited for me to leave on a supply run that day. I didn’t know you were gone until I returned the next day. I don’t know how the glamour didn’t take. Maybe my grief had been too strong, but I remember them fiercely.”

His obvious guilt weighs heavily on him. Medusa is not sure what to think, which way is up, but there is one thing her gut tells her is certain. She reaches across the table, feeling the rough wood brush against her arm, and places her hand over his.

“Uncle…” Medusa says tentatively. “You can’t blame yourself. I don’t know entirely what happened that day, but it sounds like you were brave enough to defy the Pantheon to help them. That tells me you loved them very much, and that is what matters.” It surprises her to see a slight glint in his eyes from tears that are peeking through but will never fall.

“Thank you,” he responds with a breath that sounds like relief.

“I’m glad to begin to know some of the truth about my life, and I know there is so much more that I don’t know yet, but my most pressing question brings us to the present. Why have you come to find me now? Why am I so important?”

“We are part of a group that has been working in the background to save as many people as we can. People who have been crushed beneath the boot of the unforgiving tyrants who run our world. All will be revealed in time. I know we must seem so cryptic, but this level of secrecy is the only thing that has kept us out of the Pantheon’s hands.”

Medusa understands being hesitant to trust. She doubts her guard will ever be fully down again and kicks herself for ever dropping it to begin with.

“Come with us,” Psyche says. “Join us and help us make a difference.”

Medusa pauses, looking around her home of the last eight years. She sees nothing that brings her any comfort or joy. Only faces haunting her every waking moment. This invitation could be a setup. A trap. Maybe the Pantheon is getting more clever with their approach.

Her gaze at last lands on the young boy once more. So young. Forever frozen. Robbed of decades’ worth of living and for what? This may be impulsive, but she does not care. She has nothing to lose at this point.

“How soon do we leave?”

* * *

They are almost backto the ship, Medusa and Alec rolling the shield down the hill, while Psyche carries Hermes’s sandals and the small bag with Medusa’s meager possessions, when they hear Yiorgos calling for them. He is waving his arms frantically and pointing to the horizon. A ship.

“We’ve got company. We need to move!”

They scramble aboard, tucking the precious artifacts down in the cabin.

The sky is a breathtaking mix of vivid sunset colors giving way to the soft pastels and deep blues of night. The sun sinking on one horizon, in a burst of pinks and oranges, while the moon rises on the opposite one, the soft lavender haze fading into the twinkling navy sky.

Medusa scans in all directions, trying to spot any more threats but cannot see anything else. She turns and sees Yiorgos handing Alec a scope that he focuses toward the sunset. She rushes over to him to glean any clue what they face. He sees the panicked look in her eyes and hands her the scope, pointing her in the direction he had been viewing.

She squints tightly against the glare of the sun. There, off in the distance, a ship. Not a large vessel, but still bigger than the small boat the four of them currently occupy. They are still too far off to assess how many people are on board, but based on the size alone, it is too large to be the usual party of one, two Heroes at most usually sent to dispatch her. Why is this time different? And why is another group here so soon? She knew that was always a possibility, but their increased attention on her indicates that at last her whereabouts have finally made it back to the Pantheon. She gulps in dread and tries remaining focused on getting through whatever is headed their way.

Alec raises the anchor. Yiorgos preps the solitary sail as they make haste to depart. A gust of wind fills the sail and they are in motion faster than she would have thought possible. She hurries over to the back railing, desperate to see a gap opening up between them. The bright, golden light shining from the setting sun makes it hard to judge the distance between the vessels and she holds her breath until she knows if they are clear or not.

After a few minutes, the ship gains on them, and she knows they cannot slip away. Once again, she will have to make choices that never stop weighing on her soul. She may tell herself that she holds no guilt over having to kill to protect herself, and that is true to an extent. However, guilt or no, she can feel the mark it leaves every time. Marks that will follow her around forever escape from them too unrealistic to even be a dream.

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