Page 14 of Crown of Serpents

“I see this revelation comes as a surprise,” Athena observed, her posture unnaturally still. The silvery glow of her armour was a beacon of light in the dim, cluttered cabin.

Perseus snapped out of his spiralling thoughts, the impatience etched on the goddess’s face. Despite their shared parentage, her grey eyes remained utterly compassionless.

“Forgive me, My Goddess. After years of wondering, your words left me speechless. To discover the lord of the skies as my father ... but I am ready to receive your wisdom now ... if you would grant it.” He bowed, lowering his gaze, but the words of reverence tasted foul on Perseus’s tongue.

The bargain with Polydectes forced him to mask his true feelings, to swallow the urge to insult Athena, Zeus’s favourite daughter. He would not forsake his mother for a petty impulse,yet it gnawed at him.

Finally, the goddess declared, her probing stare never leaving Perseus’s face, “You shall receive my wisdom and my gifts. First, I bring you this adamantine sword, forged so sharp — it will cleave the gorgon’s head off in a single swing if your aim is true.”

Perseus stared at the gleaming sword in Athena’s hands. Its blade sparkled in an iridescent light as if it had been made from the purest diamonds. The Titan Cronus had used an adamantine sickle to castrate his father, Uranus, for adamant was the only material sharp enough to cut a divine being in two in one strike. Perseus accepted the blade with trembling hands, momentarily forgetting the rusty blade already strapped to his belt.

“Second, I give you my shield, its polish so fine, you may gaze upon the gorgon’s reflection without turning to stone. Be wary, young hero, for if your eyes stray, it only takes one glance, and you are gone.”

Perseus accepted the shield in awed silence.

“Finally, Hermes borrows you his winged sandals, swift as the wind, to escape Medusa’s wrath. Use these wisely, and victory is yours. Hesitate, and tragedy awaits.”

The weight of the goddess’s gaze bore heavily on Perseus. For the briefest moment, a spark of hope flickered within him as he beheld the mighty weapons in his hands. His blood hummed, fuelling the illusion that he could conquer the world in Zeus’s name. The thought made him nearly drop the magnificent shield and sword, his stomach clenching with a sudden dread.

Still, he bowed his head. “Thank you, wise goddess, for your counsel and gifts. I shall … put them to good use.” The hesitation in his voice betrayed his reluctance to make another vow. His promise to Polydectes was one thing, but this was an Olympian goddess.

Athena did not let on that she noticed the waver in his voice, though undoubtedly, she had. “See that you do, young hero,” she said, “not just for your mother’s sake.”

Perseus flinched slightly at the thinly veiled threat. Athena clearly desired his success, but her motives remained a mystery. It couldn’t be familial concern, not after decades of neglect.

“One more thing, Perseus. Medusa no longer dwells on the island of Lesbos. She has ventured to Anatolia to the small town of Cisthene. Seek her there, and you will find what you are looking for.”

With that, her shimmering form dissolved into a blinding silver light, leaving Perseus alone in the cabin, the only sound the flapping of Hermes’s winged sandals. He stared into the darkness, the rhythmic rocking of the ship soothing his simmering mind. Zeus, the lord of the skies, was his father. A shiver ran down Perseus’s spine. What did the Olympians want with him? And why now, after a lifetime of silence?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Pain seared through Medusa’s abdomen as she staggered out of the alley. Blood dripped from the wound inflicted by the barmaid, staining the ground with each laboured step.

Every breath was a struggle, a tangible weight pressing against her chest. Her vision blurred, her senses dulled, yet she continued walking. Medusa knew that she needed to be far away when the other townspeople discovered the mangled bodies behind the tavern. She didn’t want to leave the barmaid’s corpse with her assailants. She hadn’t wanted to kill the girl.

A gut-wrenching scream erupted behind Medusa. A patron must have stumbled upon the carnage, and the trail of blood would lead them straight to her. She needed to move faster. Medusa blocked out the pain and stumbled around the next corner. The road ahead was dark, and Medusa clung to the shadows as she hurried away from the tumult behind her.

The shouts escalated and Medusa ducked behind a food cart as doors to the tiny clay houses banged open. Curious facespeeked out, curious about the growing commotion.

Fear sparked in her blood. This was bad, very bad. Medusa pressed her hands against the gushing wound.

“Blood trail! Around the corner! The killer went this way!”

Shit. Shit. Shit. They were onto her.

Summoning the last vestiges of her strength, Medusa burst from her hiding spot, no longer clinging to the shadows. She became a wraith weaving through the labyrinthine alleys, her serpentine hair a dark banner against the moonlit sky.

“It’sher! It’s the gorgon!” a villager’s cry pierced the night, followed by a chorus of echoing shouts: “After her! Kill the beast!”

Torches flared to life, chasing Medusa’s shadow. Her sandals hammered against the cobblestones, but the angry shouts grew only closer. Each ragged breath was a searing agony, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her.

An arrow whistled through the air, and Medusa swerved as the bronze tip dug into the cart next to her. She glanced over her shoulder to see at least a dozen angry men chasing her, three armed with bows.

More arrows whistled, one grazing her shoulder before embedding itself in a nearby door frame. A bitter curse escaped Medusa’s lips as she sprinted toward the crossroads ahead. To die like this — hunted by a rabble of fishermen, slain by the very mortals she scorned — was a fate she’d never envisioned.

Of course, Medusa had known from infancy that she could die like any mortal. Despite her terrible powers, she wasn’t like her elder sisters — Stheno and Euryale. Her flesh was just as weak as any human’s, destined to decay and return to dust. Yet, she’d always assumed her end would come at the hands of something greater, something more formidable than a torch-wielding fisherman.

But now, weakened by the gaping wound in her abdomen, tears of pain and frustration blurring her vision, doubt gnawed at her. Was this really how her life would end?

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