“I fear you cannot,” she whispered.
He continued to stare, torn between shock and fear. “Do they hurt you?”
She shook her head, letting her eyes linger on him hungrily. His was the first face she’d looked upon that wasn’t her sister’s – that hadn’t been turned to stone.
“No.”
The goats moved about them, munching grass peacefully. The ram came at her, snorting, but the boy pushed the ram away, smacking the large sheep with his crook. She felt the corner of her mouth turn up, but refused to smile at his gallant gesture.
“He has no manners, that one,” the boy said, sounding wiser than his years.
“He is a fine animal.”
“When he behaves.” He smiled at her, his gaze only slightly less distracted by the serpents. “Are you alone too?”
She heard the sadness in his voice. “I travel with my sisters. And you? What of your family?”
“It’s only me and Kore.” His eyes traveled over her face.
“Where is Kore?”
He turned, pointing to the sleeping infant strapped to his back. “She’s finally asleep.”
Medusa stared at the red-faced babe, bound to the cradle board with mismatched knots and sagging blankets.
“But where is your mother?” she forced the words past the lump in her throat.
He turned back to her, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “The Persians came.”
She moved closer to him, but stopped. She could not draw him into her arms, she could not comfort him. Her serpents might not turn him to stone, but she had no doubt their venom would harm this brave boy.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I have some cheese and grapes”
His eyes widened at her words. “If you have enough to spare?”
“I have more than enough…” she paused. “What is your name, boy?”
“Spiridion.” He smiled.
She nodded. “Come with me, Spiridion. Let us find you something for that empty belly.”
They walked in companionable silence, giving her time to assess him. He was thin, frail even. His face was gaunt. Even his hands seemed bony. A boy his age should still carry the roundness of a babe. If he’d survived the Persians’ retreat, he must be a resourceful sort. And to care for his baby sister…he was a brave little soul indeed.
As they made their way to the cabin, she cautioned him. “Spiridion. I must warn you that my sisters…” She paused, considering her words. “Never mind. If you are brave enough to stand your ground when coming upon my monstrous presence, my sisters’ scowling faces and heavy brows will give you no pause.” She smiled.
“But you are not a monster.”
It was her turn to stare at him with wide eyes. “Am I not?”
The boy cocked his head, examining her face and slithering locks with great curiosity. “No. Athena uses the serpent. You must be a healer…or very wise. Which are you?”
###
Ariston’s search of Galenus’ home had done little to reassure him of Medusa’s well-being. He’d rummaged through every corner, overturning baskets and boxes and scouring each room with his torch held aloft.
Thea had led the way, hopping and gliding in short spurts.
The owl missed nothing. She was the best scout he’d ever known. It had been Thea who had found Medusa’s mat amid the chaos, knocked into the far corner of the room. The mat was dirty, blotched unevenly with red and black. Upon closer inspection he realized it was blood that had set into its woolen fibers. So much blood.