I was washing my face when I heard the clanking of armour. When I went to look, Perseus was making his uneven way up the cliff. He was wearing his helmet and his shield, his sword and his sandals. He was coming back to me, kitted out for war. Is that it? I thought. Is love just easier when one of you no longer exists? Is it easier to keep a fantasy than a reality dressed to kill you?
Unseen, from behind a rock, my pulse pounding hard in my veins, my snakes rigid, I watched Perseus as he wended across the top of the cliff. His walk became more purposeful, but his shining head was cast down; he did not want to see this day, for all that he had made it.
I was paralysed: to run to him, or run away? But before I could make that decision, suddenly Perseus stopped, hurling down the sword and shield, falling to his knees. He raised his hands to his face, and I couldn’t see whether he was making an offering to the gods or wiping away tears. I will never know which. Perseus was positioned from me as he always was: too far away.
I could have run then, I suppose – over the terrain, down a hidden path, finding another cove to hide in, swimming away until my sisters spotted me and carried me to safety. But I realised, watching him slowly pick up his sword again and carry that shield along the cliff, that I wasn’t prepared to run any more. I’d been running from myself nearly my whole life. I had no idea what was going to happen, but I trusted that what was going to happen was right. The gods had bound us together now, and in a twisted logic, it was something I wanted. Now was the time for resolution. True knowledge of myself. No fear.
By now, Perseus was coming down the direct path towards my entrance arch, holding that moonlike shield in front of himself. Orado was barking and bounding behind him, as if agitated by his master’s decisions.
All I could think of in that moment was Athena’s warning: Woe betide any man fool enough to look upon you now! Whatever the goddess had meant by that, I didn’t want to hurt Perseus. I thought of his mother. I didn’t want to be the reason for someone else’s pain. And so I made my decision, and ran back into my cave.
‘Perseus,’ I called to him. ‘Just go home. Get out of here. Please.’
He didn’t stop: I could hear him coming.
Then silence: I knew he was outside the entrance arch. I heard a light clank of his sword as it brushed against the shield.
‘Friends don’t lie to each other,’ Perseus said. His voice was unlike I’d ever heard it: odd, colourless. He didn’t sound like a hero. He didn’t sound like a friend.
‘I never lied,’ I said. ‘I told you the truth. Every last bit. You’re the only person I’ve ever told. And I think the problem is, you know I’m telling the truth.’
At this, his footsteps started up again, and to my horror I realised that Perseus was coming round the entrance arch, towards my cave.
‘Perseus, go away!’ I said. ‘I don’t think it’s safe. For either of us.’
My snakes became agitated, coiling and uncoiling, undulating wildly, hissing loudly and snapping at each other, their fangs fully bared.
‘I can hear her snakes!’ he cried, as if I wasn’t even there. ‘Oh, gods, oh, gods – it’s true!’
‘Perseus, please,’ I said. ‘I’m not a monster. My snakes aren’t bad. This one’s called Callisto, this one’s Daphne—’
‘I don’t care what they’re called!’
‘Perseus,’ I said. My voice was hard as rock. ‘Hurting me isn’t going to save your mother.’
‘I told you not to talk about my mother,’ he said, and I could hear him coming nearer. ‘I trusted you.’
‘And I trusted you. And look who’s holding a sword!’
‘To think I told you all those things about her, about me—’
‘And I was grateful for it, Perseus. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to like that my whole life. I don’t know what’s going to happen here, but I fear it won’t be good. You have to go. I’ve asked you – now I’m telling you. Please, walk away. Don’t come any nearer.’
But Perseus ignored me, moving even deeper into my cave, dragging his sword in the gravel. I heard him stumble on the shield and swear under his breath. I backed away even further, and still he followed.
‘Perseus!’ I yelled. ‘Put that sword away!’
‘I can’t leave here without you,’ he said.
‘Yes, you can.’
‘Show yourself!’
I stayed hiding in the shadows. ‘I don’t want to go, Perseus. This is my home now. You’re the one who can leave. Athena cursed me, not you.’
‘You think I want this?’ he said.
‘Maybe you do?’ I retorted. ‘No one’s stopping you getting back on your boat.’
‘My mother—’
‘Athena forced this head of snakes on me, just like Poseidon forced himself on me. Just like Polydectes forced himself on your mother. Perseus, open your eyes. I just want to live. I just want to be me.’
‘I told you not to talk about her—’
Something snapped inside me. ‘I’ll talk about her all I want,’ I said. ‘And if you think I won’t defend myself, then the trials of your mother have taught you nothing.’
My snakes began to hiss even louder, straining to their very tips, as if they wanted to fly off my head and wrap themselves around his.
‘The sounds of a monster,’ said Perseus. ‘And the speech of one too. Oh, Hades,’ he said. He sounded like he was going to cry.
It might have gone differently if I’d kept quiet about Perseus’s mother. By summoning Dana? in an appeal to Perseus’s mercy, he forgot my pain and thought only of his. He took another step forward into the semi-darkness. With a huge effort, he lifted the sword to his side, and death vibrated in the air. ‘Come out from where you’re hiding,’ he said. ‘Don’t make me come to you.’
‘You don’t even know how to use that sword,’ I replied, my panic rising. Artemis was practically shedding her own skin in an attempt to escape off the top of my head. ‘I’ve seen you try to carry it.’
‘I do know how to use it.’
‘Perseus – you know the real me,’ I said, my breath trapped in the top of my chest. ‘The girl you’ve been talking to these past days. You said I was the only girl you could talk to—’
‘Shut up, Merina! I mean, Medusa. Shut up!’
I could hear his fear. ‘Perseus,’ I begged. ‘We like each other. We could shine together—’
‘I don’t want to shine with you. You knew this could never be, but you strung me along. You could kill me!’
‘What? How could I kill you? Leave, Perseus. I’ve asked, I’ve ordered, and now I’m begging you. Leave.’
But I heard Perseus moving even closer. ‘You know I can’t,’ he said flatly. ‘I told you my story, why I was sent away. Why I’m here.’
‘You’d never do this to me,’ I cried. ‘I know you never would.’
From the side of the shield, Perseus lifted the sword again, the blade swinging upwards through the air. ‘No, Medusa,’ he said. ‘I won’t leave you behind.’
He had found the very back of the cave, where I was hiding. The tip of his sword nicked my arm, slicing open my skin. It was a lightning bolt to the blood, and it woke something in me. Perseus was covering himself with the shield and he was coming for me. He wanted this over.
My foot kicked out and struck the edge of his shield. I’d underestimated my strength, and Perseus staggered back. The shield rolled to the side, a grounded moon, and he was left exposed. And for the first time in four years, so was I. My snakes extended themselves into an unholy halo, all scales and fangs, a multicoloured assertion of serpentine power.
Despite his fall backwards, Perseus was still holding his sword in one hand, his free arm across his face. He got to his feet and advanced, still not looking at me, waving the blade all over the place. Watching him like this, I’d had enough. I rushed forward and grabbed the tip of the sword with both my hands, and Perseus gasped in shock. We tussled over it – I could have lost my fingers – but all I wanted was to cast it to one side, to get Perseus out of my cave and back on his boat towards his mother.
‘Stop this,’ I said, fighting back tears. ‘All you need to do is leave.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t.’
‘Are you crazy? Are you really that crazy?’