Page 13 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Perseus and Kleos exchanged horrified glances as they beheld the grisly scene before them. Anger, terror, and grief were etched onto the petrified faces of the statues. Some still held the weapons they had sought to defend themselves within their stone-hard grip. One figure lay shattered on the ground, its marble limbs cracked and broken. Athena had spoken true; Medusa had come to the Cisthene.

Kleos circled the statues, his fingers brushing against the cold marble in morbid fascination. Behind them, a crowd of scared villagers had gathered, watching them with intent eyes. They were eager to tell the terrible tale of how the gorgon had ambushed their town three nights ago, butchering innocent villagers. Some boasted how they had chased the monster off, yet none dared to venture into the looming forest where she had fled.

Perseus’s hazel eyes followed a trail of dried blood that snaked across the cobblestones, leading to the city gate. Beyond, the trail vanished, the blood stains lost into the dense undergrowth of the forest, where a thick unnatural mist clung to the pines and cypresses, obscuring the path ahead.

Perseus turned to Kleos. “I need you to stay back. Take the king’s epetae and wait with them on the ship with the other sailors.” He gestured toward Linus and the other guards, who had donned their bronze armour and lingered behind them.

Kleos bristled, crossing his arms across his broad chest, “No way. I’m not letting you face Medusa alone.”

Perseus’s jaw tightened. He wore Athena’s shield and Hermes’ flying sandals. Kleos had no such protection. “That isn’t a request, Kleos. It’s an order.”

Kleos grinned. “And what are you gonna do if I disobey, Son of Zeus? Ask your old man to strike me down with a lightning bolt?”

Perseus whirled around, ensuring the sentinels were out of earshot. He had told Kleos what had occurred the morning after Athena’s visit. But Perseus wasn’t keen on anyone else discovering his heritage. He had always kept that part of him hidden, and that would not change just because his sire had suddenly recognised him after twenty-three years of nothing.

Perseus punched his friend in the ribs. “I don’t need lightning bolts. I can knock you on your ass just fine with my sword.”

Kleos erupted in laughter, his head thrown back. He cocked his head, his hand hovering over the hilt of his broadsword. “Be my guest. But as long as I can still walk after, I’m coming with you.”

Perseus shook his head. Once again, his friend was as stubborn as a mule.

Linus and his men approached them. He directed his cold gaze at Perseus, dark brow raised in challenge. “After you, fish boy .”

Perseus ignored Linus’s sneer, leading the men toward the looming pines, their weapons raised as they inched forward. A winding path ran into the heart of the wood. They followed its sharp turns, their eyes searching for any movement in the underbrush. But there was nothing. No fluttering wings, no scurrying creatures. An eerie silence hung in the air as if they were the only living beings in this desolate realm.

Hours passed in this silent march. Perseus, with Kleos at his heels, had long lost the blood trail. There were no footsteps, no broken branches to guide them. Yet, an inexplicable pull drew him onward, a humming in his chest urging him deeper into the woods.

Slowly, the landscape shifted. Pines and cypresses gave way to ancient yew trees, their gnarled roots spreading across the forest floor, their dark foliage sprinkled with red berries.

A howl pierced through the eerie quiet, followed by a low growl. Kleos stopped abruptly, the guards behind him stumbling into his broad back.

His eyes scanned the dense treeline. “The villagers never mentioned the wolves.”

“Scared, Son of Adamantios?” Erastus, the guard who had just bumped into Kleos, sneered.

Kleos glowered at the wiry man, squaring his shoulders in challenge.

Perseus intervened before his friend could initiate a brawl. “Let’s keep going. I want to be out of this forest before nightfall.”

The shadows stretched as the sun began its descent. Perseus led the group up a steep incline, climbing over boulders. The howling grew more insistent, beckoning him deeper into the woods. The higher they climbed, the louder the wails became, a haunting chorus that echoed through the ancient trees. Yet, there was no sign of the creatures themselves, no flash of fur or glint of teeth in the undergrowth. Still, the howls accompanied them with each step as if guiding the way.

Finally, Perseus rounded a sharp corner, stopping before a fork in the path. One trail led up a steep incline, the path rocky and unforgiving. The other led down a winding path toward a distant valley shrouded in shadows. Beside the fork stood a small hut, its moss-covered walls blending seamlessly with the surrounding foliage.

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 bl ood. 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.

“Thank you, young hero,” the crone rasped. “I know indeed where the creature you seek dwells in these woods. I heard her ascend the rocky path to the mountain pass three nights ago. There, at the foot of the peak, you’ll find an abandoned cave. If the gorgon still lingers in this forest, you will find her there.”

Perseus furrowed his brows. He hadn’t mentioned to the woman what kind of beast he was searching for. He glanced at Kleos, but he was already by the creaking door, beckoning him to leave.

As Perseus turned to follow, the crone’s voice rasped behind him, “Oh, Perseus, dear, you may take the wooden chest you desire as a token of my gratitude. You’ll need it for what awaits you at the mountain foot.”

Perseus glanced at the wooden box on the top of the shelf again, hesitating. It would have been polite to decline the gift; the jewel was too precious a reward for the little work they had done. Yet, his fingers flexed in anticipation even as he tried to resist the pulsating glow calling to him. Perseus gave in and snatched the wooden chest. Kleos’s stormy blue eyes widened, curiosity etched on his face .

Without another word, Perseus strode past Kleos into the fading daylight. His grip tightened around the box as he directed the king’s guards toward the path indicated by the crone.

Only when they had fallen into a silent trot, the men’s eyes trained on the rocky forest floor so they would not trip, did Perseus lift the box lid. Instead of the dazzling jewel, he found adamantine handcuffs glowing faintly in the evening light.