Standing like an acropolis above the cemetery of heroes driven by their own hubris was the citadel, every bit as barren as the landscape. Nothing lived in the presence of the deadliest creature ever to have been spawned in the disagreements of man and God. No one had ever lived to truly reveal the fate or appearance of the creature but she was said to have been a sight too horrific for the soul to see. Souls died upon meeting the woman’s gaze. Perseus may have been young, too young to understand the true meaning behind this fear, but he was yet another hero to covet the demonic being. It intimidated him to be in the presence of her very palace, and a salute to the horror that she could wreak decorated her garden. Wildlife and shrubbery had fallen under her spell as much as man had. Perseus tried not to choke on his fear as the young hero felt the gentle grasp on his shoulder.

Gaius was a kind face, a true mentor to the boy who had never had a true father figure. Danaë had been the persecuted princess of the island nation of Argos, punished by her father and locked in a tower in the middle of the ocean. No man was ever to see her face for fear she would reproduce the fated heir that would take his life. Acrisius had wanted his daughter’s death to be clean of his hands, if not his influence. In her first months Danaë lived on the brink of starvation, ravaging what she was given if only to survive. Her soul slowly decayed, promising her death to be soon when she received a visit from Zeus, the Ruler of the Gods, in the form of a golden shower. He had become besotted with the unfortunate princess and his visit marked not only her replenished life, but also the conception of her son, Perseus. Gaius was fond of reminding him of the heritage, fonder than he was of truly recollecting it.

Danaë was the sole purpose he had undertaken the dangerous task at hand. Her life was to be taken by King Polydectes of Seriphos, brother of Dictys who had given them a home in their time of need until his death. Seriphos had been made their home after Acrisius attempted to murder his daughter and grandson by casting them into the sea. Seriphos had been their retreat after the escape from Argos. Polydectes was a vile man, undeserving of the youth’s mother, who ruled his brother’s nation with an iron fist. He was prepared to kill all that stood in his way. Perseus had one hope of saving his mother from her impending marriage. He would have to display the head of the Gorgon Medusa to the Soriphen court.

Perseus paused. “Surely this is impossible.”

“Stranger things have happened in the world of men, boy,” mused Gaius. His voice was ancient and reminiscent of a bull frog from the shore back home. It was the compassion that Perseus noticed. Gaius had raised him as a son and he was the only person, besides Danaë, that mattered. “We have not come all this way with the gifts of Hermes and Athena to back down at the final step.”

Nodding, Perseus remembered the sandals on his feet. Angered by the constant fluttering of the feathered wings at each heel but he was careful not to swear. Hermes would not have taken kindly to such disregard for his gift. They were the very sandals that had been granted to Hermes as he undertook the role of messenger of the God and Goddesses of Olympus. Perseus silently checked himself for challenging those superior to him. Athena’s gifts were what he had wanted when he had first sought to pray upon the rocks of the shore, the sword and the shield. They had been a trial to the young hero in themselves. Perseus had been forced to outwit the Graeae for the location of the Stygian nymphs who held the weapons. He had proved to be a true hero in the eyes of the playful creatures and he had then made his way towards the Citadel of Medusa.

Truthfully it was Gaius who Perseus worried about. He was not agile enough to outrun the demon should she choose to strike them but he was not disadvantaged by the curiosity to see her in the way that Perseus was. It was an impossible task to look upon the face of Medusa and survive but the urge to do so was latent within him.

“We cannot slay the beast if we do not enter, Perseus,” remarked the old man as he eyed the youth. It was clear that he was noting the signs of weakness. Should he succeed would faltering be made known to the Greeks who learned of his story? He would be the man to slay Medusa and claim her head for his own. Perseus wondered would the youthful eagerness be replaced with the skills and mind of a wizened warrior as the story progressed throughout the generations. Where would Gaius and Danaë fit into his tale? Perseus’ curiosity could only be described as his personal poetic tragedy.

Perseus shrugged. “I understand that.”

Moving slowly, his eyes cautiously focus on Gaius, Perseus tightened the grip on his weapons. He lifted the shield to leave only his eyes exposed. Athena’s shield was made of an unknown substance. It’s metallic resonance echoing through the lightest of movements, its stunning brilliance illuminating the path through the reflection of the sun’s rays. Summer was upon them but beauty was diminished amidst the land of cold rock and death. Gaius was close behind, fear emanated in the silence but neither chose to air their feelings. Mounting the steps that led to the Gorgon’s inner sanctum was harder than he could have imagined. The others trials he had faced were nothing but child’s play in comparison.

Perseus halted as he reached the top. Staring into the brief abyss only briefly before he turned to face his mentor. Gaius hid the strain of the activity from his protégé but it was clear in the brightness that highlight the beneath the man’s stern grey eyes, crowned by crow’s feet. “We go forward no further.” His statement brought an air of confusion onto the old man’s face.

“Then how can you expect to face the beast?” It was a logical question in the elders mind. He had come from a time of heroes, a time that had sunk into the archives of antiquity.

Perseus smiled, allowing his wise theories to be aired for the first time. Normally he had downplayed his intelligence and his strategic mind. He was a boy and nothing would be truly expected of him until he was a man. It was a role that he was aware he might never fill. Perseus had been calculating the best approach to slaying the monster within the mausoleum. How could he kill what he could not face? How could he avoid her devil’s stare? “We will enter with our backs to the beast. Even dreaded Medusa cannot harm us then. It may lay in wait for us beyond this door and expect a frontal assault.”

Gaius smirked. Judging character was a specialty of the man. He had noted the promise of Perseus long before he had undertaken the perilous task of retrieving Medusa’s head. Both men clutched their shields and entered with their backs facing the darkness that enveloped them. It was a slow approach. Just enough light slipped through the cracks of the roof to allow them to see via the shields they carried.

Silence slipped over them eerily; there was no melody to distract them. Medusa made no sound. Perseus wondered if she was even present before he corrected himself. Beasts of the Gods were nothing but pawns laid to test the few men willing to face them. They were the targets and trophies for those who wished to be venerated as heroes. Heroes were guaranteed their place in history and residence in the Elysian Fields for when they died. It was a life worth having but the trials outweighed the prize as they did now.

“Who goes there?”

Echoing around the walls of the hallow structure was a voice both menacing and alluring. Perseus gritted his teeth as he recognised the tongue. Medusa would prove to be a wise beast, as well as a treacherous foe. Capability of human speech was known amongst the beasts but it created an extra cunning within them, making the challenge to kill them all the more difficult. Still he was surprised that she, Medusa was more clearly a woman than before, had taken the time to speak with them. It was a less offensive attack than either he or Gaius had considered. Even as her words ended, the words reverberated from the walls in a sweet lyric.

After a moment of thought, the hero spoke. “It is Perseus of Seriphos and his tutor, Gaius of Ithaca.” Infuriated, Gaius resisted from striking out at the boy for revealing their identities. It was more than the creature needed to know. Perseus shook off his attempts at inflicting some form of punishment, stepping away from him by a few feet. Perseus scanned the area with the use of his shield but there was no sign of the woman. He waited for her to speak again, hoping that the echo was giving her location to them. Perseus now understood that was Gaius’ very worry. It seemed pointless to waste the opportunity; the Gorgon had watched them enter.

“Wont you stay with me, Perseus of Seriphos? I have been so lonely. Years have passed since I have had the opportunity to speak with another. I do not know how many have gone by us but my garden surely proves that I have been hidden for a lengthy period, does it not?” Her voice was lustful but lacked the manipulative aspect he would have expected. She did not attempt to use the feminine charms that would entrance a man; clearly her deformed figure would have repealed most. “Won’t you stay?”

Perseus turned his hazel gaze to the general direction of the sound. He positioned his shield to give a clearer view as he did. All that could be seen was Gaius’ worried expression and anger that Perseus, who arguably had the most to lose, was engaging the creature in conversation. “I think my reason for being here is clear to us both, Medusa.”

“You speak a name that you do not know the power of, young warrior. My tale will be lost amongst the ashes of civilisation long after you cease to exist. It will remain unheard for the progression of time.” Medusa’s voice now echoed from several different locations. She had learned his technique and she was on the move as she spoke. “I do not ask you to look at me. I just ask to be heard by someone. I have been so lonely all these years.” She paused for a few moments and there was no sound to be heard until she flickered onto the shield in the distance. It was a quick and hazy flash of olive green. “I will not harm you or the old man until I have finished. Won’t you hear my tale, young Perseus?”

Gaius’ hand clutched his shoulder tightly. “Do not forget yourself to this seductress, Perseus. How many men have fallen under her trappings before you? They line her garden and this tomb like they worship a goddess.” It was true; even as they had entered they had been forced to navigate the petrified bodies that stared towards the back of the citadel. It was a throne hailed in light. “Danaë depends on us.”

Perseus shrugged off his mentor. Curiosity battled within the youth’s head. Danaë’s life depended on his survival. He intended to walk from the palace of Medusa with her head held in his hands. Impulsively acting out the desire to kill her would see that her story was lost amongst time. No one had heard her tale and survived the incident. He felt Gaius’ concern. It could be a trap, entrancing them into her words and exploring her tale before she struck out of the blue. Still, Medusa’s tone had alerted him to a sincere insecurity in her character. She was as much an emotional creature as she was a dangerous one.

Weighing the options offered to him, Perseus made his reply. “You vow on the almighty Zeus that your tale shall be told until the end before we battle? I am a son of Zeus and I hear your pleas. I indulge them. I will leave here with your head Medusa but I am willing to hear your story. Do you accept?” It felt empowering to draw on his relation to Zeus and his role as demi-god. Perseus knew of his heritage, Zeus had guided and protected them on their journey to Seriphos, but he was unwilling to admit that he was a child of a God. However now was the time to allude to any rights for trust that he may have. Vows made on the name of a god could not be so easily discarded; there were repercussions for those foolish enough to do so.

Gaius expressed discomfort at his foolishness. He watched the shield closely to view a pre-emptive attack on behalf of the creature.

“I will not renege on a sacred oath, young warrior.” Huskily her voice echoed around the palace once more. He was assured that she sounded sincere. Perseus was relieved but he still moved closer to Gaius and clutched at his sword as an extra precaution. “In order to tell my tale I must tell you of my home. I was once a mortal as you are. I was a native of the wise and just city of Athens.”

WRITTEN IN THE STARS

By Gavin McMahon

Parthenon was the shining acropolis amidst the flourishing city of Athens. Rising high above the streets of town, it was the watchtower for the Goddess of War of whom they worshipped. Athena had blessed and protected the city from the destructive forces of those who wished to overcome its defences. In a world of many worshippers, Medusa slipped under the radar to her Goddess. Her role as an Athenian Priestess defined her and she held true to the rules of her trade. However, Medusa was known as the most beautiful woman in Athens. Although many disputed that she was the most beautiful in the world. Her heritage was not strictly Grecian, something which was looked upon with disdain. Yet it was the alluring Egyptian features of her high nose and wide set eyes mixed with her Grecian beliefs that made her the desire that she was.

Medusa held steady to her vows but had often indulged in the attention of men. Promiscuous rumours circulated about the young woman but as Athena had never punished her they were often forgotten. It was of her hair that she was most proud. Silken locks of black hair as dark as a raven’s feathers ran between her shoulder blades and along her spine. Lavender hues complimented her olive eyes and Hispanic complexion in a way that forced the other priestesses to pale in comparison. Two words could have surmised the beauty, chaste and vain. In her work she was flawless and her devotion to the Goddess of War who symbolised a strength that women could not exude was genuine.

Burning the incense as she prayed to the Goddess for guidance and strength, the priestess felt shivers tingling across her body. No rule prohibited prayer in the temple of Athena during the darkness of night but few of the priestesses would ever wander the grounds at such a time. Men and their boisterous behaviours frightened them but Medusa’s confidence allowed her to use this time to find a personal connection with the Goddess. Suddenly cold, she tightened the shawl around her exposed shoulders but she knew that would not help her recover. Smells of the oceans filled her nostrils as she gasped. Gods often meddled in the lives of humans but she had never experienced such a sight. In the temple of Athena under the pale, luminescent light of the moon stood Poseidon.

He was unmistakable but not as she had often seen him presented. Hues of olive, similar to her eyes, glistened across his shimmering skin which was clearly still damp. Wafts of grey hair swept from his head and onto his shoulders. She noticed specks of green shrubbery, from the depths of the ocean no doubt, lined his forehead and flowed through the grey locks. Poseidon’s pointed chin was massed beneath a grey beard and his eyes were not enticing as she had believed of the Gods. Even as they watched her pray they were harsh and cruel, cutting into her skin with an obvious envy.

“Almighty Poseidon,” began Medusa with a low bow before she forced herself upright. She neither scowled nor smiled, holding her face perfectly ambivalent. “I will allow you to worship the temple in solitude.“ She began towards the door but was prevented by an outstretched trident. Bright gold assaulted her eyes but she struggled to recover quickly. Pursing her lips, the priestess turned her gaze onto the God.

His slow drawl was lazy and effortless. “I do not worship under Athena’s name.” It was a voice that reminded her of the lulling waves on the coast line, the very mechanism of the man she now watched. Lowering her eyes with respect fear swept over her body. She managed to contain herself so that the change was subtle. He was as imposing as any God but more wrathful than many, with the exception of the hot-headed Ares or spurned Hephaestus. Poseidon had always slipped under the priestess’ radar but it now appeared that he had noticed her. Tales of her beauty would have made their way to the ports of Greece and therefore onto the sea. Poseidon was all knowing but curious of nature.

Her body tensed as she looked towards the door, unaware of the sultry and enticing expression that fell upon her high cheek bones and delicate eyes. “Then I shall leave you to your business, Lord Poseidon.”Again the now familiar golden triton blocked her path but there was no reply on this occasion. Poseidon began to circle her. Even though the exit was now open, Medusa knew that she could not outrun a God. Anger bubbled inside her. She was one of the most worldly of the Priestesses of Athena and she understood better than most the subtle hints of desire.

Poseidon’s lustful gaze was upon and it forced a shivering sensation to erupt within her body. She told herself that she was safe from harm. Even Poseidon would not anger Athena by attacking and molesting one of her virgin priestesses. Encouragement offered little comfort as she thought of the repercussions. If Medusa broke her vow, she would no longer be acceptable as a priestess but she would also be outlawed from any lawful and just marriage in the land. Her heart was in her throat as Poseidon stopped before her with eyes that tore her soul to shreds.

“I have long since admired the flaws in humanity. I see many of them in your own mind but you have rectified your sinning soul by your chase allegiance with the Goddess of War,” Poseidon seemed to smirk as he offered her a psychological analysis. As he ran his elongated, almost-pointed tongue across thin lips. “You reverence cannot hide how you feel. Your beauty is not masked beneath the ritual shawls that you have been forced to wear but instead accentuated by them.”

“I am a Priestess of the Parthenon, a worshipper to the virgin Goddess of Athens. I do not care much for what you speak of,” Medusa replied. Her tone replicated the tone she used on the men of the market stalls and those few sailors who approached her. It was not the tone to be used upon a God. Poseidon’s eyes burnt to life and she realised her mistake. Forbidden fruit was nothing more than an enticement to a God, a man who can have anything. “Athena has insisted on chastity from her pieces. We refrain from contact with men outside of the basic needs for supplies. A God is but a man of great power, I should leave.”

Poseidon smiled, bearing his pointed teeth. Every movement reminded her of the late incoming tide and his appearance seemed more similar to that of an ocean-dwelling reptile than a man. “Athena is but a child in the eyes of a true God. I care none for her foolish decisions.” His smile became something more sinister as he approached her. “You will not leave, Medusa of Athens, until I am satisfied with my bounty.”

Medusa screamed knowing that no one would come to her aide. Backing against the wall behind the monumental tribute to the Goddess of War the woman attempted to manoeuvre her way out of the God’s path. She breathed heavily until there was no sound in the temple. Peeking forward cautiously, her magnificent olive eyes noticed that the God had dispersed. Just as she prepared to give a sigh of relief torrents of water crushed at her from either side and forced her onto the slippery floor before the statue. Panting, Medusa pushed the damp strands of hair from her face and nervously eyed the room. Poseidon appeared from the stream of water that had been her downfall.

Attempting to scramble forward, she was halted as Poseidon’s firm grasp caught her arm. Medusa looked into the eyes of her attacker and saw no remorse. Passion wasn’t even his driving force but instead he longed to have what had been refused to so many before him. Avarice was a sin that only a God could afford to indulge in. Tearing at the seams of her lavender clothing until the screaming priestess was exposed beneath his heaving body of stunning musculature for such an old man, God or not. Poseidon never heard her screams and when he had done, he merely pushed himself off of the woman and disappeared into the night.

Medusa no longer screamed as she lay there. Her eyes were wide and dead, her lips curled as the silent tears rolled down the apples of her cheeks. It was gone. The God of the Oceans had stolen from her the only true possession she had had and turned her into an outcast, a shamed woman. It was a time when rape wasn’t understood, Medusa could only blame herself in the eyes of the law. Culture dictated that a God could not be refused and she had broken that law as well as her vows. Life would never and could never be the same for the woman. Slowly Medusa scrambled to her knees as she pulled the torn lavender clothes across her naked body and attempted to regain some of the modesty and dignity that she had been stripped off.

Inside she felt nothing. Poseidon had turned her from a dignified priestess into a sobbing victim. Allowing the shreds of fabric to gather around her knees, the weary priestess ran her thin fingers through her windswept and tangled hair. Catching hold of it, she pulled with a violent scream. Pain was all that she needed. It was the only reason she could feel alive. Her heart raced as the son began to rear its head in the distance, illuminating the vast ocean that now hid her rapist. Medusa felt violated as she pushed her way into a standing position and made her way towards the temple’s exit. Was she the original victim of the Gods? She would be.

“A mere priestess dares to desecrate the Temple of a God?” Stern and disapproving, it was a voice that could only mark her punishment. Forgetting her position, the scantily priestess turned to see the living incarnation of Athena. In truth she was less masculine than most artistry would lead someone to belief, at least in appearance. Medusa noticed that the woman held herself like a man but war had always been a man’s affair. She was clad in golden armour which was similar in shade to the Sea God’s trident that had marked her capture. It was somewhat fitting that gold, a substance of greed, had destroyed her existence.

Medusa spoke defiantly to the Goddess. “It was not an intentional fault, Mighty Athena. Your uncle Poseidon forced himself upon me.” Tears welled in her entrancing olive eyes as she spoke. Gulping back the pain that she felt, Medusa lowered her eyes so that the Goddess would no longer see the torment that had been inflicted.

“Now you dare to blame a God for your mistakes?” Athena snarled angrily. It was known knowledge that the Olympians were always watching over their places of worship. Medusa was angered that the Goddess knew what had happened and had failed to save her but also that she now tried her as the accused. Wind bristled through the temple and caused the warrior’s blonde lock s to billow from underneath the golden helmet with a white plume. “Medusa of Athens, you have some nerve to oppose the knowledge I have gained.”

“Was that whilst you watched him attack and violate me? Or was it when I cried out for you help and guidance to save me?” Athena’s eyes widened, infuriated at her impertinence. Medusa was not apologetic.

Athena marched forward and caught the priestess by the neck. “You will remember that you speak to your Goddess. Your punishment for such actions will be both fair and just. It was your vanity and beauty that brought this upon you, not the actions of a God.” Medusa was dropped onto the cold rock, panting as oxygen returned to her lungs. Shifting her glare to the Olympian as she recovered. Nothing that Athena could bestow upon her could ever be considered just and fair. It was clear that an example was being made of her. How would time distort her fate? Would she still be the victim in the long years of change or would she become the adulteress?

“You are no longer my Goddess,” choked the abandoned priestess.

The Goddess of War scowled. “You have learned that beauty is one of the most dangerous gifts that the Gods ever bestowed upon humanity. Gods are not without flaws Medusa of Athens. We are susceptible to the urges of humanity even if we are no punishable by them. Mortality is the curse that dictates you must be punished for the desecration of the temple.” It suddenly hit her that Medusa was emotionally dead, tears no longer fell and she didn’t plea for forgiveness as others had before her. Poseidon had forced the priestess to forsake her faith. “You will become the living reminder that beauty is dangerous even when I have stripped it from you. You’re features will chance and become similar to those of the archaic Gorgons. If any man were ever to look upon your face, the sight would turn his soul to stone. This is the curse that has been handed to you from the Gods of Olympus.”

Medusa groped at her hair again, exposing the beauty that had condemned her. High cheek bones masked her exotic face with a pointed chin and voluptuous lips. Her nose was arched and wide. Delicate olive eyes had lost their appeal but were still to die for. Athena turned from her and she could only watch the Goddess with a burning hatred to see her dead. Suddenly she longed for the day when humanity would rebel against Olympus and destroy the very people who had destroyed them for so long. Medusa’s weaknesses were replaced with a burning anger.

Sorrow appeared briefly in Athena’s eyes as she paused. “You will be spirited to an island that will become your home and you will only see those who search for you. I have made it so that you can never be approached by a woman, divine or otherwise. Medusa of Athens, my gift in your curse is that you will never witness the beauty that was taken from you.”

Athena disappeared without another word.

Mere seconds hadn’t passed when pain surged through every inch of her body. Medusa’s eyes looked towards the ceiling as she writhed in the pain of her transformation. Olive eyes that had been the desire of so many men and the envy of their women drew back into her sockets before expanding in a black mass. It was a dark that had never been witnessed before, the colour of the very sorrow and hatred that now lived forever in her soul. Lightly tanned skin that had been so complimented the in the past drew back and clung tightly to her bones, forcing the voluptuous lips to expose her pale gums and tongue that now protruded slightly. Medusa squealed loudly as she tore at the tiles of the temple, stricken by the pain.

Medusa’s hair, her pride and joy, began to writhe with life. Long dark strands of the raven locks snapped and hissed venomously as she clawed her way towards the entrance before collapsing with a thud. Where Medusa had lay only seconds before now lay a monster created out of agonising torture.

Beauty had become dangerous.

Medusa had been a priestess. Her life had been dedicated to prayer and worship of the Goddess of War, the Goddess of Wisdom and the Goddess of Justice. Athena had betrayed her trust, and decimated her respect. Denouncing the names of the Gods was the most heinous of sins but now the young woman did so gladly. They had stripped her very mortality from her, as well as her beauty and beliefs. Left behind was only the hallow shell of the woman that she had been but transformed into the hideous carcass of a beast from a breed that had long since been slaughtered by the heroes of the Old World. Medusa was all that remained of the Gorgons.

Crumpled with her arms wrapped around her legs, the snakes of her hair swarming around her face, the woman wept. She had yet to see the true extent of the changes to occur. It had all happened so quickly and she had merely woken placed on the throne of large, shadowy palace. Poseidon had taken his bounty. Athena had given her curse and her final blessing in one fatal swoop. Medusa had been transformed into one of the deadliest creatures ever to walk amongst the living. Gorgons were purported to have been the living embodiment of death, as evidenced by their appearance which was that of a corpse who had been dead for a few days. It was a clear sight in Greece during the mourning period but harmless to them. Medusa was a threat that would have to face a hero who wanted to purge her existence.

She didn’t know how long the throne had been her haven. There was no intention of moving in the creature’s mind. Not until she was forced from her seat to face off against the very man who would want to slay her. It could have been days or it could have been months, but her bones ached as she stretched to life. Sounds reached her sensitive ears from the shore of the island. Boats and pulleys were discussed amongst the course accents of men from regions beyond Athens. It was a disgusting accent, over-pronunciation of every syllable and word they uttered. Medusa roused from her throne, etching her way towards the door of the palace with the feminine elegance that the Gods could never have stripped her of.

Warm sunlight bathed her parched skin as she moved onto the stone steps of the Palace of Medusa, a place that would go down in history as the home of yet another monster. It was truly a beautiful island until her terrifying gaze fell upon it. Instantly the shrubbery began to wither beneath her simple stare. Trees faded into non-existence in the garden until the surrounding area was as barren and void of beauty as her soul. Birds and other wildlife suddenly transformed into ornamental stature across the wide expanse of stone. She was a woman wronged and could no longer even witness the beauty in others. Had Athena’s blessing truly been a curse? Narrowing her wide, black eyes into feline slits, Medusa grimaced.

“Bring the men,” hissed the fearsome creature as she began her reign of terror on the dangerous isle. “I will show them the dangers that a woman scorned can bestow.”

“Many men have arrived on the shores of my island just as you have young warrior. A common goal to retrieve the beasts head has united them above all other men. My curse has never been related to a mortal such as yourself or your mentor before now.” Perseus looked across his shoulder at Gaius. The elderly man continued to stand cautiously, undeterred by the Gorgon’s tale. “My tale is spent and I shall allow you to pursue what you have come for. It will be a loss for you to join my garden. The pleasure of conversation has been mine, Perseus of Seriphos.” Hissing and snapping sounds echoed from somewhere to his far left. Medusa had settled on the throne for a short period during her tale, illustrating her gruesome appearance in his shield.

Perseus prepared for the battle. Utilising his method of walking backwards his clasp tightened around the sword and his eyes refocused on the shield as a viewing glass. He was younger than most of the men who littered the garden, still of age to be considered a boy and eager to prove himself as a man. Flops of brown hair fell across his forehead, now soaked by sweat and crunched into an expression of determination. His heart seemed to stop as time slowed to a crawl. Gaius yelped from somewhere to his left. Perseus spun on his heel but shut his eyes. Returning his original position and readjusting the shield the sight became clear.

Medusa hissed at the petrified body of Gaius. Smirking as she traced her fingers along the man’s stony body. It hit the young warrior with a striking blow. His readiness to waste time and to listen to the tale of the woman had cost his mentor, his father figure, his life. Perseus felt physically sick as he looked at the remorseless expression that crossed the Gorgon’s olive toned features. Medusa had no sympathy for her actions but Perseus saw more to it than that. His current foe was merely a creation of what the Gods had made her. The youth believed that her tale had been of true origins and that she had once been a god-fearing mortal, punished for being the victim. Perseus considered her to be antiquity’s greatest tragedy.

Gaius had lost his life. Danaë still depended on him. Perseus could not lose. Shutting his eyes just as Medusa looked towards him, his other senses hit a high. He could smell the dried blood from untreated wounds on the creature’s body. Sounds like those of her snakes snapped his body into alertness and every particle of dust seemed to brush his skin. Perseus breathed heavily and taking a chance he swung his sword behind him. Even after the sword had swung free of his collision Perseus stood with his eyes closed. Heavy panting reverberated around the building and he lifted the shield to scan the area for the beast’s head. Medusa’s body lay between him and Gaius. It had been a risk but it was a risk that meant he would go in history. Perseus shared the deceased Gorgon’s concerns with the Gods of Olympus if not her hatred. He promised himself that he would have her story heard.

Placing his fingers into the pit of dead snakes that formed her hair, Medusa’s head was lifted to his waist. He was careful not to meet her gaze as he moved towards the petrified body of his mentor. Tears welled in the youth’s eyes that Gaius had taught him the skills but never lived to watch him become a man. Perseus kissed the cold lips of the statue and gave his final goodbye. Hoofs sounded as they came towards him and Perseus’ attention was drawn to the magnificent beast ahead of him, the Pegasus. Glorious white tones mixed the red of the blood from which he had been born. Pegasus had all the appearances of a horse until the beautiful wings were stretched, eclipsing the light of the sun from entering the palace.

“Spectacular,” gasped the man, now a true hero, as he paced towards it. Roars sounded from within the depths of the Palace of Medusa. Perseus was alerted the prospect of other creatures being born within the death of Medusa, who had reached her potency in death. He moved away, relating the tale in his head, and tamed the Pegasus through promises of affection. Mounting its back and trotting it to the entrance, a golden blade forced him to hurry in the darkness. He was not afraid to face another foe just weary of the trials he had faced.

Pegasus took Perseus onto the steps of the palace that had become a crypt before taking flight into the heavens across and across the vast ocean. His eyes looked upon the illustrious hues of blues and greens with an intense pity for the slain beast in his hand, her blood spilled into the oceans of the man who had pursued her and led her into destruction. Seriphos came quickly as did Perseus’ revenge on King Polydectes. He was exposed to the very trophy that he had requested for Danaë’s independence and transformed into a horrific pillar for eternity. Seriphos’ was destined to be guarded by its King on the north shore of the island, overlooking incoming ships.

Danaë and Perseus had a short reunion as his mind was on other topics. His mother mounted the Pegasus behind him and they took to the skies once again. Perseus felt safe in his mother’s warm embrace but he could not remember the sensation of needing her protection. Medusa and the trials that had led to her had changed him from a fledgling boy with desires to save his mother to the hero who had. It was destination the seemed fitting in his mind and a stoic smirk formed on his attraction yet harsh and boisterous features. Dislodging the sandals of Hermes as he stepped from the Pegasus’ back onto the rocky floor of the acropolis, Perseus aided his mother’s dismount.

“I do not understand why we’re here, Perseus? The Athenian Parthenon has little relevance to our lives. Athena, as great and mighty and just as she is, is not our idol,” Danaë spoke slowly and hesitantly. Her words would be heard by the Goddess of whom she spoke, and even Zeus’ protection would not save her from punishment. She had been a princess of Argos and a priestess of Zeus in her life but Athena was an Eastern tradition. Perseus seemed different; he had matured in ways that were unknown to her.

Perseus merely nodded in acknowledgement. His hands clutched the brown woven sack that currently held the head of Medusa evidenced by the red shading of the lower regions of the sack. It wasn’t a smart plan but even in the mind of a headstrong young man, retribution must be paid. For too the long the Gods had used the mortals of the world as pawns in their deadly games, forcing divine punishments on those who displeased them and praising those who didn’t. He no longer wanted to be a part of that game; it had taken the tale of a monster to show him that. It had told him that he could have an independent life and that he didn’t need to earn their respect.

“You’ll have to wait here. I need to do this alone,” he informed his mother. It was difficult to ignore the concern that was etched onto Danaë’s face. “I have this one final step to make so that I can truly assert myself as a hero of men and not another pawn of the Gods.”

Danaë grazed her son’s arm with a tender touch of affection when she could only stand by and watch him enter the Parthenon. Her eyes were wide with the knowledge that his actions would offend the Gods but her love for him was undying and she would support him in any future trials. Still, watching him disappear into the darkness of the temple was a constant struggle for the mother not to crumble under the pressure of these doubts.

Leaving his mother behind, Perseus entered Parthenon under the watchful gaze of Athena. The statue acted to boldly intimidate all who bowed before the harsh and menacing sculpted eyes of the Mistress of War. He could not imagine it to be the true likeness of an Olympian. Every arch and muscle of the body seemed over emphasised as it actively stripped the Goddess of her femininity. Athena was the supreme ruler of a challenge held in high regard amongst men. Women were prohibited from war and shielded from it; it made sense that the artists would bend the truth of her gender. He stepped onto the step that led to her sandaled foot. Perseus’ footsteps were heavy as he pulled the head of Medusa into the open.

Carefully placing the head onto the steps, he positioned it so that Medusa could witness the glory of the world that had she bad forced from. It was a sign of respect but it also acted as a mockery to the Goddess of Justice. Perseus smirked as he looked into the aggressive face with its tight clenched jaw. Forever she would be reminded off the atrocities she had inflicted onto an innocent woman. Slowly the Gods had transformed the beautiful virgin priestess into the vile monster that had met her end with his sword. He was struck with a sudden thought. Placing the weaponry onto the steps beside Medusa felt liberating. He was unarmed but he could finally be free of the power of the Gods, the control of Zeus that was his birth right.

“Cruelty need not align, Almighty Athena,” snarled the hero in a tone that he had once reserved for mocking his peers on the island of Seriphos. Perseus took the final step to freedom as he cast his eyes to the heavens beyond the Parthenon that was a prison and not a temple. “I denounce you and your Gods. I will not play your games any longer.” Smiling as he turned away from the statue, Perseus moved into the pale light of the setting sun. He could walk away knowing that he had rectified a small portion of Medusa’s curse. Athena would forever have to care for the artefact, preserving the powerful magic invoked into its creation.

Perseus looked back briefly. “Catch me if you can.” He was a hero. He was a demi-God. However, he was most proud to proclaim himself as mortal. It was what made him different from the Gods who had become corrupt with their absolute power. He was an outcast; he had condemned himself and his mother. And he wouldn’t have it any other way as he meandered towards the mighty Pegasus.