Page 41 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)
CHAPTER FORTY
The terrain grew more uneven as Medusa and Perseus climbed over boulders and the cracked red earth towards the temple of Athena.
An uncomfortable silence hung between them since that morning. Medusa had awoken alone, wondering for a moment whether Perseus comforting her had been part of her nightmare. But then he'd returned with a clean chiton and water – a kindness she could barely acknowledge with a mumbled thanks.
She stole a glance at Perseus. The afternoon sun illuminated his profile in golden light. Her breath caught at the sight, and her stomach lurched. He caught her gaze, one eyebrow raised, and she quickly looked away, heat flooding her cheeks.
She nibbled on her fingernails, her thoughts spiralling again. Did Perseus know what nightmare had plagued her last night? Had she spoken in her sleep? Had he heard why she had been chased from the temple?
The nightmare had left her more skittish than ever. She had spent their trek fantasizing about bolting into the woods rather than facing her former mistress. She had imagined the wind brushing through her hair as her flying steps carried her farther away from Perseus. Medusa would have been free, and his mother … would be damned to a lifetime of serving a cruel king’s every need.
So, she was still limping alongside Perseus as the shadows grew longer. Her new gown was drenched in sweat, and the scar on her thigh throbbed with every step. It took a considerable amount of willpower to stop herself from wincing.
A piercing cry tore through the underbrush, and Medusa nearly jumped. She glanced at Perseus, but he was already charging toward the commotion. With a hiss, she followed.
The shrill voice grew louder, calling a name repeatedly, “Gale! Gale! Gaaaalee!”
A small figure raced across the clearing. A girl, no older than ten, with dishevelled hair and tattered clothes, stumbled over debris, repeating the same word: Gale. What was she doing alone in these woods?
She paid Medusa and Perseus no heed as she frantically searched the underbrush, her voice increasingly desperate. Hesitantly, Medusa approached the girl, moving slowly so as not to startle her.
“What’s wrong? Do you need help?” Perseus spoke, his voice gentle.
The girl whirled around, her eyes widening as she took in the two strangers.
Medusa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and attempted a reassuring smile, a foreign expression on her face.
The tiny figure bolted towards them with unnatural speed.“I’ve lost my best friend. Gale is gone. She must have run away … I’m scared something might happen to her.”
Medusa extended her hand toward the girl, unsure how to comfort the child. The girl clung to it immediately, her hand tiny in Medusa’s palm.
“Don’t worry … we will help you look. What does your friend Gale look like?” Medusa asked.
The girl peered at Medusa with bright violet eyes. It wasn’t the child’s unusual eye colour that made her breath hitch but the hope and gratitude that shimmered in her silver-lined eyes.
“Gale is … very small and … she has brown eyes and fur … and her tail is very puffy.”
Perseus and Medusa exchanged confused looks before he crouched in front of the child. “Your friend Gale is … an animal?”
“A polecat! For now, at least … she hasn’t always been one, but now she is. That’s why I am so worried. Many people are hunting in this region, and I fear that …” A tear streamed down her rosy cheek.
“It’s okay. We will find your … pet … before any hunters, okay?”
As he got up and patted her shoulders, Perseus shot Medusa a suspicious glance. Medusa shrugged and followed the small figure that had bolted ahead deeper into the underbrush.
“So … you said Gale wasn’t always a polecat? What was she before?” Medusa asked causally while turning over a hollow log.
She schooled her features into neutrality, attempting to hide her concern for the lost child in the woods. Had she run away from her home? Was Gale a figment of her imagination that helped her cope with her solitude? How long had the spindly child wandered through the underbrush?
“Gale was a human woman once. A midwife who angered Hera by delivering a baby the goddess had cursed. Hera was jealous because Zeus was said to be the father, so she ordered Eleithyia to prevent the birth. But my Gale is very clever … so she told Eleithyia, the goddess overseeing all childbirths, that the baby had already been born. So, Eleithyia let go of the womb, and the baby came out … but when Hera found out about Gale’s trick, she cursed her as punishment … and that’s when she found me.”
Medusa and Perseus had gone quiet at the incredible tale.
Perseus broke the silence, his eyes brimming with curiosity, “Is that why you are here? To seek help at the temple so Gale can be transformed back?”
“Oh no … nobody there can help me. Only the goddess who cu rsed Gale can undo it,” the child said while attempting to climb a branch to search a knothole for her friend. Medusa hovered nearby in case she slipped.
Suddenly, Perseus bolted as he spotted a trap laid by a fallen tree. A furry creature writhed and squealed in it. It was a polecat, streaks of blood marring its soft fur.
Instinctively, Medusa held the child back, unsure how badly injured her animal friend was.
Perseus freed Gale from the trap with nimble hands. The creature looked at the hero with beady eyes, nuzzling his hand in thanks, before it rushed toward the little girl, not minding its injuries. The child opened her arms as the polecat lunged into them.
“Oh, Gale! There you are! I’ve been so worried. Haven’t I told you that you mustn’t run too far away?” the girl turned toward Medusa, wrapping her short arms around her middle. “Thank you, Miss. Thank you, Sir!“
Medusa could not help but smile as she regarded the child. It had been long since someone had treated her with such utter lack of suspicion — as if she were mortal. The only other person was Andromeda.
She glanced at Perseus, who observed the scene, an unreadable emotion flickering across his face. Silently, Medusa motioned toward the child. They couldn’t leave her alone in this forest. Perseus seemed to share her concern, though he, too, hesitated.
When Medusa turned toward where the young girl had just been moments ago, the child was gone. Medusa searched the underbrush, but there was no trace of her — as if she had vanished into thin air. The forest was eerily silent, the wind rustling the pine trees the only sound. No sign, footprint, or broken branch indicated that the child and her polecat had ever existed. The only thing that lingered was the story of the polecat that had been a woman once. Only the goddess who cursed Gale could undo it.
She had noticed the flicker of hope in Perseus’ eyes when he thought another deity could undo such a curse. For a moment, Medusa’s own heart had begun pounding faster at the possibility, but her hope had been snuffed out as quickly as it had come. Only the goddess who spoke the curse could undo it.
Medusa knew that she would remain trapped in this prison of a body for eternity. Athena was not a forgiving goddess. Once she passed judgment, in her eternal wisdom, it was final, as unwavering as the foundation of the Parthenon.