Medusa, A Love Story (Loves of Olympus 1)

PROLOGUE

Perseus’ heart pounded. Sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes, but he ignored it. His hold tightened on the sword Zeus had given him as he pressed himself against the uneven outer stones of the temple ruins.

He peered inside cautiously, his eyes trained to the ground, searching for shadows – any trace of movement. He took a deep breath, readying himself. He was alone on his quest, but he had the Gods’ favor. With their gifts of weaponry, surely he would prevail.

Time was his enemy, second only to the monster he’d come to kill.

He placed Hades’ helmet upon his head, rendering him invisible to his foe. He raised the shield, a gift from Athena, and stepped inside the crumbling temple. A candle burned within, its flames casting shadows that jumped and fell.

It was silent...

A steady tapping, rhythmic upon the broken flagstones beneath his feet, pricked the hair along his neck. His heart accelerated, and he braced himself before turning a wary eye towards the sound’s source.

It was the blood of the Gorgon’s guard dripping from his sword, nothing more. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his nerves, swiping the sword along his cloak to cease the telling sound.

Steady, Perseus.

He must keep his wits about him. He must defeat the monster; the fate of the woman he loved, his lady mother and all of Seriphos were in his hands. He could not fail.

He knew to be careful.

He knew what he must do.

And, just as important, he knew what he must not do.

To look upon Medusa was fatal. Not an easy end, but a painful transformation from life to death. One look from her serpent locks hardened the body, the blood, the skin, into brittle grey stone. What remained was but an effigy of the human form, a pathetic tribute seen only by the creature in her dim lair.

There was a rumor, one he would test this day, that Medusa’s death would reverse this spell. Once she was dead, the horrid curse would be broken, and those poor souls trapped and punished by the witch set free. If…no, when he succeeded, he would have freed these people too, enabling them to leave this bleak place and return to their homes.

He moved stealthily, willing his steps to be silent. He needed the advantage if he was to cut off Medusa’s head – a weapon, even after her death. A weapon he would use to turn the beast, Cetus, to stone, and free his captured love, Andromeda.

His toe dislodged a stone, sending it across the floor with a resounding racket.

“Perseus? Are you Perseus, then?” A woman’s voice, lilting and melodic, echoed from within. “Are you the boy come to set me free?”

Perseus was startled. How did she know of him? Or of his quest?

He spoke boldly, “I am.”

She laughed, a bittersweet sound. “What is it you want with my head? Gold? Power? Or do you wish to be a hero, celebrated by the Gods?”

“No.” He stumbled, his agitation making him clumsy. The floor beneath his feet was covered in rubble and rocks. It was hard to navigate while keeping his back flat against the wall.

His hand clenched his sword. He was only slightly appeased by his invisibility – for Medusa was nowhere to be seen either.

“No?” She laughed again. “You’ve made me curious now, brave Perseus. What brings you to hunt such a dangerous trophy?”

“Something you know nothing of, Gorgon. I come in the name of love. For the love of my lady.” His voice rang out, echoing off the walls.

There was silence. No breath, no movement. Even the flickering candles seemed to still and wait.

He swallowed down the bile that threatened to choke him, fighting the urge to run – to hide. His very breath might expose him as her target.

“Love?” Her voice broke, surprising him. “Well, then, Perseus, you must heed my directions if you are to take my head without turning yourself into stone. I will have you succeed on your quest…for love.” He’d never heard such anguish.

Perseus’ heart pounded. What trick was this?

“And, if the Gods are finally done with me, I might at last find peace in Tartarus…or Hades before this day is through.” She laughed sadly, then said, “Listen closely, boy.”

Chapter One

One Year Earlier…

“Again.” Ariston smiled, encouraging his massive opponent.

But mighty Bion swayed where he stood. His broad chest rose and fell raggedly. He shook his head, visibly struggling to maintain his balance.

Ariston sighed. He felt no pity, only impatience. Each day the Persians sailed closer to the mainland. Each day he pushed these men, heedless of their fatigue. Their lives depended upon it.

These men were painters, scholars, philosophers, tradesmen, and servants, yes, but they were Greek. And Greece needed them now.

No. Greece needs skilled soldiers to defend her shores. But she must make do with these.

The men surrounding him offered little to be intimidated by, no matter how hard they drilled or practiced. He would pray to Athena and Ares. If the Gods heard his prayers, these men’s bodies would become as fierce as the hearts in their chests. And then the Persians would know what fear was.

Ariston straightened his shoulders, smiled smugly at his exhausted sparring partner, and swung his sword once in challenge. Bion took the bait, surging forward on clumsy feet. His sword arm, as thick as Ariston’s thigh, cleaved the air with a surprising whistle.