Page 17 of Crown of Serpents

Perseus moved toward the hut, his hand raised to knock.

Kleos caught his arm. “What are you doing, Perseus?”

Perseus blinked; the spell broken. “I — I thought that whoever lives here might have seen the gorgon.”

Before Kleos could reply, the door creaked open, revealing a hunched figure in the doorway. It was an old woman, her face a map of wrinkles, her once-violet eyes covered with a milky sheen.

She extended a gnarled hand towards Perseus, her voice was raspy and weak. “Galene, is that you? Come, child, help me with the stew.”

Perseus shifted uncomfortably, the crone’s frail fingers still clinging to his tunic.

He spoke quietly, not to startle her. “I am not Galene. My name is Perseus, and I am looking for a creature hiding in these woods. I thought perhaps you might have seen something, but…” He broke off, realising the futility of his question. The old woman was blind; she could not have seen Medusa.

“Perseus,” the crone mused, smiling. “A fine name for a young hero like yourself. Tell me, would you spare an old woman a few moments of your time? My daughter, Galene, is out foraging for mushrooms, and I need a hand with the stew I'm brewing.”

Perseus hesitated, glancing back at the king’s guards, who remained at a distance, watching him. Kleos nudged Perseus’s side, shaking his blonde head in a silent warning.

The old woman croaked, tightening her grip on Perseus’ arm, “It will only take a few minutes.”

“Of course,” Perseus replied.

He followed her inside the smoke-filled hut, and Perseus coughed from the wretched stench of whatever bubbled in the cauldron. Kleos, who followed Perseus’s every step, stifled a gag.

The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with dried herbs and vials of swirling liquids. A jar of bones and animal skulls lay scattered about. Kleos shot Perseus a worried glance, but Perseus simply shrugged. Somehow, he knew this curious hut was precisely where they needed to be.

The crone spoke again, her voice brittle as she fought a rattling cough, “There is a well behind the house. Would you be a dear and fetch me a bucket of water? I'm not as spry as I used to be.”

Beside Perseus, Kleos sprang into action. “I’ll do it, Ma’am.”

The woman’s milky gaze shifted toward Kleos, her nostrils widening as if she was only now sensing his presence. “Thank you, dear.”

She turned back to Perseus, sensing his position despite her blindness. “Perseus, dear, would you mind fetching me some dried aconite petals from the top shelf? I cannot reach them anymore. They should be in a small, stoppered glass vial, a vibrant indigo colour.”

“Of course.” Perseus nodded, scanning the dusty shelves. He grimaced at the contents of some of the jars and containers. One of them particularly caught his attention: a jar of pickled toads. He frowned in disgust. What in the world was this woman brewing?

Finally, he spotted a promising vile, the dried petals within, somehow retaining their vibrant colour. As he reached for it, brushing away the cobwebs, a faint sparkle caught his eye. It emanated from a dust-covered wooden box, the iridescent light within beckoning Perseus closer. Drawn by the glow, he lifted the lid, revealing a large jewel. It didn’t just sparkle, it pulsed with an inner light, radiating life. The sword at Perseus’s belt hummed in response. Mesmerised, he reached out, the aconite petals forgotten.

“Have you found my flowers, dear?” the crone’s voice croaked, breaking the spell.

Perseus jolted, tearing his gaze away from the iridescent jewel. He shook his head as if to clear it. For a moment, he had considered robbing a blind old woman because of a shiny stone. What had gotten into him?

Perseus grabbed the aconite petals, handing them to the woman, but his eyes kept returning to the glowing box. Just then, Kleos returned with a wooden bucket sloshing with water. They watched in uncomfortable silence as the crone mixed both ingredients into the swirling stew. Perseus wrinkled his nose. Whatever she was brewing, it reeked of decay and something sinister. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what was inside.

At last, the crone looked up from the bubbling kettle before her. “I’m missing one final ingredient… a drop of immortal blood. Perhaps you know where I might find some, my dears?”

Perseus shuddered at the sight of her twisted smile. Kleos stepped in front of Perseus, a protective barrier between him and the crone. She barely reached his torso.

“What exactly are you brewing?” Perseus asked.

“A powerful medicine,” she croaked, “to heal poisoned and inflamed wounds.

Perseus’s pulse quickened. “For whom?”

“Oh, a poor creature I found in the woods. Hunted by someone, she managed to escape, but the poor thing had an arrow lodged in her leg. I had to remove it.”

Perseus slowly approached the kettle. The crone's blank stare unnerved him, but he drew a small knife and pricked his palm. If a drop of his blood could help create a healing potion, then perhaps Zeus's power had some use after all.

Perseus pierced his skin. The crimson droplet sizzled as it hit the bubbling surface, the potion transforming from muddy brown to a rich, deep burgundy.

---