Medusa

‘You’re unique, my darling,’ said Euryale. ‘The rules don’t apply to you – or me and Stheno, for that matter. On this island we live how we want.’

Euryale might call me unique, but my heart was a victim of pain and longing as any other mortal’s might be. ‘You think what happened to me is something to be proud of,’ I said, ‘but it’s horrible. How would you feel if you had a nest of crazy serpents on your head, where once you had a mortal plait?’

‘Look,’ said Euryale, beginning to lose her patience. ‘You’re unlike any other woman in the world. You should enjoy it.’

‘No. How would you like it – to have people frightened of you, to live in a prison cell in your own body?’ My sister’s look of ignorance enraged me further. ‘Of course you don’t give a flying squid,’ I said. ‘You’re immortal. You don’t even know what love is.’

‘That’s unfair, Medusa,’ said Stheno.

‘What’s love got to do with all this?’ Euryale said, narrowing her eyes.

‘You think it’s so great to be special,’ I hissed, hiding my pain in anger, realising I’d gone too far, for we never talked about love on this island. I pointed at my head, my snakes stretched in all directions, baring fangs. ‘It isn’t. It’s horrendous. I’m horrendous. I want to be NORMAL!’

My sisters covered their ears as my scream bounced around the walls of the cave. Echo, Callisto, Artemis, Daphne and all the other snakes flailed in painful panic. The very rocks that sheltered us were trembling, and Argentus fled.

‘Athena chose you!’ cried Euryale.

‘Like Poseidon did?’ I yelled.

‘Forget that monster! Love’s a fool’s game. You’d do well to remember that,’ Euryale said.

‘Darling,’ cried Stheno. ‘You’re not horrendous. You’re our Medusa. You’re as beautiful as the day you were born—’

‘I never wanted beauty then, and I certainly can’t have it now,’ I snarled. ‘Oh, just leave me alone. Both of you. Go. LEAVE!’

With their heads hanging – one in grief, the other in anger – my sisters walked from the cave. I heard their wings opening, their bodies rising – bodies which they loved as much as I hated mine. I envied them that confidence with such ferocity that my snakes turned to red-hot pokers spanning my skull. I was trapped; I was the one person I could never escape.

If only I could be Merina, the girl who cooked fish, the girl who boys wanted to stay and talk to. Merina, with normal hair. But no, I was Medusa. A monster. A hidden girl. All the things I never dreamed I’d be.





Perhaps the sound of roaring from my cave compound put Perseus off, for he was nowhere to be heard or seen.

Huh, I thought. Scared of a little roaring? But then, No. He’s had a tough time of it. Give him a break.

And to be honest, I was a little scared myself. The rage my sister had released in me was almost overpowering. I feared Perseus would not come back again, now he knew a little more about my strange family. He’d arrived on this island and shaken things up, reminding me of everything I’d been through, everything I used to be and was no longer. If I was a locked box, Perseus might have been the one to find the key.

All this emotion, after some kisses on a hand! I know, I know. But consider: life hadn’t been normal for me for a long while, and time on the island since Perseus’s arrival had taken on a liquid quality. He and I were centenarians, and we were lambs. I hoped for love. I even believed that maybe it was being proffered, and I thought I had it near my reach. I could hardly wait to see him. I wanted so much to know why he’d washed up in our little cove, and I knew he wanted to tell me.

I tidied up the cave and decided to go for a walk to the other side of the island, to the hidden paths he would not know, where I might walk freely without being interrupted. I needed to put my thoughts in order.

As I left the entrance arch, I could hear Orado barking down below at the bottom of the cliffs. I crept to my lookout rock, and to my dismay I saw that Perseus was back on his deck. He’s going to leave, I thought, and Callisto preened herself into prideful coils, as if to say she didn’t care at all. But Perseus didn’t seem to be setting sail. He was just sitting on a barrel, fiddling with a pair of sandals. He seemed annoyed.

‘Orado, they don’t even fit,’ he was saying. ‘Why did he give me these? Why can’t I just wear my own?’

I wondered who Perseus was referring to. He didn’t hurl the sandals he’d been trying on, but placed them down with deference, as if they were made of glass and might shatter. I saw how the sandals had wings: beautiful white feathers with pale pink tips, nothing like the storm-cloud colours of my sisters’ appendages. They were fine as a dove’s, yet plucked from a creature beyond my own imagination.

Daphne in particular peered down in curiosity, for she loved anything beautiful – but most of my other snakes began to writhe. They didn’t like those sandals.

It’s all right, I said to them. Look – Perseus doesn’t like them either.

It was true, for Perseus was gladly pulling on a much-worn, battered pair of sandals instead. I liked them for their neat practicality, their style and subtle flair, just the same as their owner’s. I liked too how Perseus talked to Orado as if expecting an answer.

I liked everything about Perseus, and my liking felt endless.

He pulled out the sword from underneath the goatskin, and finally I saw it in its full glory. It was enormous. It turned the deck gold in the sunlight – and it was far too heavy for him. The blade was straight and hard and true, so sharp it could only have been hammered by a god. Perseus could barely lift it. There was a ruby at the centre of the hilt, and from where I watched, it twinkled like a gleaming ball of blood.





I felt uneasy, looking at that sword. It was as if I were looking at something strangely familiar, but which only existed on the outskirts of my recent dreams. Perseus was ungainly with it; an unprepared but enthusiastic warrior. He laid it down, then pulled out a helmet, which he held as if it might explode in his hands. After placing the helmet on the deck, he reached again under the goatskin and dragged out a shining shield. He seemed to have an unending supply of weaponry.

I was mesmerised by this shield – as too, of course, was Daphne. This was even better than the sandals. She wanted it, I wanted it – all of us hiding behind the rock, snake or mortal, wanted it. The shield was smooth and round, as if the moon had fallen from the sky, as if Selene herself had descended to bless the waters round the boat. Next to the sword it seemed so pure, so bereft of bad intention.

Me and Perseus. Moon and sun, silver and gold. Why did he have this sword, this helmet, this shield – all these accoutrements of war with which to dress himself? He was surely too young to have them, as I was too young for what had happened to me; our bodies like precious metals that had been battered into weapons.

‘Perseus!’ I called, still hiding behind the rock. At the sound of my voice, he started like a guilty child caught raiding a toy box, surrounded by the evidence of his wrongdoing.

‘Good morning, Merina,’ he said, shoving all his spoils back under the goatskin.

‘Are you going into battle?’

He laughed. ‘I hope not.’

‘Thank Zeus for that.’

‘Are your sisters around?’

‘Out hunting. They always leave early and don’t come back till dusk.’

‘Ah.’ Even from up on the cliff, I could hear he was relieved. ‘I was just going to go for a walk along the shore,’ he said. ‘Will you come?’

‘Not now,’ I replied. ‘There’s something I want to tell you.’





CHAPTER EIGHT