Page 11 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER TEN
Perseus sagged against the cabin door, exhaustion seeping into his bones. Three days at sea, and yet the familiar tranquillity of his fishing boat eluded him. The crew’s watchful eyes followed his every move.
He had spoken to Aetos, insisting he be assigned to a watch so he might help sail the ship. Atticus begrudgingly accepted him into his watch, his eyes bulging in surprise when Perseus had tied a perfect bowline knot. The sailors didn’t seem to grasp that Perseus had spent his life tying knots and mending nets, not wielding swords at vicious monsters. Yet, they insisted on calling him “Sir”, especially blond-haired Mikis, who bowed to him whenever they passed each other.
He sighed, closing his eyes for a few heartbeats. Perseus rubbed his temples, the mounting pressure of his mission making his head throb. He didn’t know how Kleos did it. Save for the first day at sea, when his face had turned green, and he emptied his stomach over the railing, his friend remained a whirlwind of energy, challenging the crew to rowing contests and regaling them with his infectious laughter. Kleos was particularly enthralled by Orestes, the grizzled veteran who had served in Polydectes’s army until he injured his leg. When they had camped on Naxos, Orestes had told tales stories of his youthful escapades during dinner. Kleos had soaked up every tale, his bellowing laugh echoing across the beach.
When Perseus’s eyelids fluttered open again, he jolted upright, his hand instinctively gripping the rusty sword at his hip. Before him shimmered a woman, her eyes glinting like polished steel. Full battle armour, radiating silver light, enveloped her form, casting an ethereal glow upon the darkened cabin. The sword’s hilt trembled in his hand as Perseus gaped at the goddess.
“Be at ease, Perseus,” she spoke, her voice smooth and cold, her stare roaming over Perseus’s body, “for I am Athena, goddess of wisdom and warcraft and protector of heroes. I have come to bestow the blessing of the gods upon your mission to slay the gorgon.”
Perseus blinked at Athena, dumbfounded. He must be hallucinating. There was no way in Hades that one of the twelve Olympians had bothered to leave Mount Olympus to seek him out. He was merely a fisherman, a fact he clung to despite the electric pulse of divine power running through his veins.
The familiar icy wrath, long buried, clawed at his mind. “Why?” he rasped, teeth clenched. “Why would the gods bestow their blessing now?”
Athena narrowed her eyes, the disdain in his words not lost on her.
For a few agonising seconds, Perseus wondered whether he should have chosen his words more wisely. Olympians were infamous for their pride and vengefulness against mortals who insulted them. Perseus half-expected lightning to strike him down, even though there was no open sky above him, and Athena did not wield her father’s lightning.
Instead of divine wrath, the goddess merely tilted her head, her gaze piercing through Perseus like a spear. “You have no idea whose blood runs through your veins, do you, young hero?”
To his dismay, Athena's words stirred something within him, a faint echo of the fatherless boy he had once been. A muscle flexed in his jaw. He did not want to know which god had abandoned him and his mother, leaving them to the mercy of the sea in a flimsy wooden crate. He told himself that it didn’t matter who had sired him; he would never be able to demand justice for Danae’s suffering. But his heart pounded in his chest, and his clenched fists were slick with sweat as he waited for the goddess to continue.
“You, Perseus, are not only the son of Danae, the lost princess to Argos, but also the son of Zeus, king of the gods and lord of the skies. I come to aid you in your quest, for we are kin, and our father has seen your determination to protect your beloved mother. He wishes you to succeed, to slay the beast that has ravaged the Aegean coast for too long, and claim glory in his name.”
Perseus almost laughed at Athena. The goddess had descended to assist him in becoming a testament to Olympian might. It took all his willpower not to curse Zeus’s name — his father’s name. He was the offspring of the king of the gods, the most powerful being in existence. Perseus’s stomach churned. That explained the electric fire that coursed through him in moments of unbridled rage.
“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?