Curses of Olympus (The Olympus Trilogy #2)

44. Medusa

44

MEDUSA

T he mirror is a lead weight in Medusa’s hand, her fingers curling around it in her pocket as she briskly walks back to her room.

She does not dare to glance at the object or pull it out until she is certain she is completely alone. Her fingers caress the scales of the dragon encircling the mirror, so similar to the ones on her own body.

Medusa closes the door behind her and walks over to the sofa, taking a seat as she slips the mirror out.

For such a small item, the detailing is exquisite. Each and every one of the dragon’s scales have been rendered to perfection, and the teeth that protrude from its mouth are razor sharp to the touch. As she stares into the moonstone eyes of the dragon, the eyelids close, and Medusa startles as it begins to blink.

A clicking sound precedes the long serpentine body of the dragon beginning to move in a circle, continuing to feed into its mouth.

“ Daughter of Rhea.”

Medusa jerks her head, looking around for the source of the raspy voice, but she remains alone.

“ Look at me, child.”

When Medusa brings the mirror up to her face, her own surprised expression greets her, but the surface of her reflection swirls, and three faces appear. Their features are obscured, like a fuzzy memory.

“You are mistaken. I know no one by that name.”

“ You do not know her name, but you are her daughter nonetheless.”

Emotion wells in Medusa’s chest. She has never known her mother’s name. Rhea…

“ Your legacy has been kept from you by a charlatan, thinking she can control Fate herself.”

“Who?” Medusa asks, forehead creasing as she surveys the mirror.

“ We cannot say, but you will know very soon—as long as you possess the strength to unlock this mirror. As a daughter of Rhea, granddaughter of Ola, this should be of little challenge to you.”

“Ola? Who is that?”

“ We ask the questions,” the voice hisses.

Medusa rolls her eyes but nods.

“ Do you consent to an examination?”

“Do I have a choice?” Medusa raises an eyebrow. There is no turning back. If she is going to help the Allegiance and rid the world of Poseidon, now is the time to shoot for the moon.

“ Not if you want a chance at victory.”

“Fair enough. I consent. What next?” The vagueness of the statement does not escape Medusa. What would a mirror deem victory to be?

“ Prick your finger on the dragon’s tooth, then allow five drops to fall into the dragon’s mouth. We will do the rest.”

Medusa looks at the sharp fang skeptically but brings her thumb up to its point. After the briefest sting of pressure, the tooth pierces her skin. She counts as the drops fall, then sticks the tip of her finger into her mouth to stop the bleeding.

The rooms suddenly spins, and Medusa can barely feel herself slumping against the arm of the sofa.

When she next opens her eyes, she is no longer in her room, the Under Temple, or well… anywhere. There is nothing around her, no floor, no windows. Is this what the Oasis would be like if someone other than Psyche were to be the one orchestrating it?

“Yes, that is exactly what it would be like.” Medusa whips around and finds Psyche approaching.

“How are you here with me?” Medusa asks, bewildered.

“I am not. You will be guided through this journey by three people of significance to you, but I am not them. We merely take their form, partially for your comfort and partially because it helps the subject open up.”

Every one of Psyche’s physical and vocal mannerisms is perfectly displayed on this artificial version of Medusa’s lover, and the experience messes with her head.

“All right,” Medusa takes a steadying breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

Psyche/Not-Psyche chuckles. “Your eagerness will not make this easier, but we shall begin. Together, you and I will revisit important moments in your past that have lingered and left a mark, good or bad. Do you want to start in the beginning, or go in reverse through your timeline?”

A mirror appears before her, a larger version of the handheld one.

“Uh, go backwards, I suppose.” Medusa shrugs her shoulders, but the decision was an easy one. To her thinking, the worst of Medusa’s experiences have been in the more recent years. Perhaps getting the hard part over first will be preferable?

As if they are watching it happen before their eyes, a scene appears in front of them. Medusa’s heart rate kicks up when she sees they are in the Sea Temple, back in her cell as the Twins walk in.

“Can they see me?” Medusa asks, taking a few steps backward into the blackness.

“They cannot.”

She breathes in relief. “Thank the fucking Fates.” Fake Psyche shoots her a scathing look, and Medusa throws her hand over her mouth. “Apologies.”

Fake Psyche nods, and they return their attention to the scene.

It is hard not to look away as Medusa is forced to watch the assault that resulted in one of the Twins’ deaths and a permanent maiming of the other.

The space before them fades back to black once the scene concludes, and Fake Psyche turns to Medusa. “This was quite a violent ordeal for you. It is clear they were the aggressors, but are you happy about the outcome? Would you wish for the same one if given the chance?”

Medusa chews on her bottom lip, trying to really think before she answers. Impulsivity does not seem ideal for this situation. “I am not angry with myself for what I had to do to keep myself safe. However, I do not enjoy inflicting harm or ending a life.”

Fake Psyche nods, saying nothing, and turns back to the vast emptiness before them.

In a blink they are back in the bath house on the Isle of Mysts. Medusa can almost feel the warm humid air.

Again, Medusa must watch as lives are claimed in her wake.

Again, Fake Psyche asks the same question.

“Do men like that have to answer questions like this when they die? You can clearly see the monstrous acts they will commit on a whim, but yet it is me that you ask to justify their deaths?” Medusa’s serpents hiss loudly as she throws her hands up in frustration.

“It is not for you to know what those men experience, daughter of Rhea. Those men are not trying to unlock a great power that we must assess if you are capable of handling.” Fake Psyche’s tone is hard, cold.

“Fine. Would I wish for the same outcome in this specific situation? Yes. Those men violated me without a second thought. They will not be doing that to anyone else ever again.” Medusa crosses her arms.

Fake Psyche continues to walk Medusa through her past, until the imposter’s face swirls and morphs into Fake Alec. It is he who guides Medusa back into the garden with Poseidon.

Medusa sobs when she sees herself, the version of her before her curse. She almost does not recognize her. Her cheeks burn with shame as she watches the god look at her as if she is a meal. She has to remember that it is not really Alec watching this with her, and this is not real at all. It is in the past.

Fake Alec wanders through her days as an acolyte, and watching the old times in the Temple of Wisdom is like looking at an entirely different life. Perhaps, in a way, it was.

“There is one last memory to go through, but we can only share part of it. It has been tampered with by the charlatan, but rest assured all will be known soon. The test is almost over, daughter of Rhea.”

Medusa turns abruptly, brow crinkling in confusion when no one there.

Faints voices sound throughout the void, and Medusa strains to hear them.

“No! You don’t get to do all of them. That’s not fair!”

“Oh, be quiet, sister!

“Clotho, Atropos, and I want turns with the memories, too.”

An ancient voice sighs. “Fine.”

“Hello, Lyra,” a feminine voice pulls Medusa’s gaze to her right as a woman approaches.

Medusa drops to her knees. She does not need to know this woman’s name. She recognizes her own hair, eyes, skin. “Mama?” Her voice cracks.

“I am in her form, yes. But I am not your mother.”

Medusa takes heaving breaths, calming herself. “What memory do you have to show me?”

The scene that unfolds before them is blurry, but Medusa can make out herself as a very small child, clinging to her mother’s skirt, along with two little girls who look so much alike that they must be sisters—triplets?

“Do I have sisters?” A sob bubbles up to the surface. Cool scales brush against her cheek, and Medusa leans into the contact from her serpent.

Fake Rhea nods. “Indeed. Kore and Della.”

“Where are they?” Medusa holds her breath, scared to know the answer.

“Watch.”

Rhea and her daughters stand in front of a swirling vortex, faintly surrounded by large standing stones. The shadow of someone approaching appears on the ground, but the identity of the stranger is obscured.

Rhea clutches her daughters tightly to her when she sees the new arrival. Words are exchanged between them, but Medusa cannot hear anything they are saying.

“Why can’t I hear them?” Medusa asks.

“That is one of the tampered parts of the memory.”

Before them, Rhea suddenly shoves her daughters into the vortex, and Medusa cries out in real time, watching as her tiny self breaks free from her sisters and runs back to cling to her mother.

“Lyra, no! Please go!” Rhea shouts.

“No Mama, I’m not leaving you!” Little Lyra wails.

Medusa watches in horror as the obscured figure jerks her younger self away from Rhea, who drops to her knees.

The stranger opens a giant hole in the ground, and a man is marched into the scene by Zeus.

“Kronos!” Rhea calls from the ground, and he rushes to her side, dropping to his knees.

After another heated exchange that she cannot hear, Medusa must watch her mother and Kronos jump into the pit.

“No!” Medusa cries out.

Fake Rhea turns toward an obviously wrecked Medusa as the image before them fades. “You never knew what became of your parents. Whether you are aware of it or not, you have blamed them for abandoning you your entire life. It clings to your soul no matter how many happy moments come your way. You felt discarded, but do you still hold them responsible?”

Medusa shakes her head as tears silently stream down her face. “Did I fail the test because I blamed them all this time without realizing?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” Medusa swallows nervously.

“While we have been on our journey here, your soul has been placed on the scales of Fate by my sisters.”

“Your sisters? Are you one of the Fates?” Medusa shoots off the questions rapid-fire, throwing her hands over her mouth to stop herself when Fake Rhea raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, dear. Whom else would you expect to be in charge of something like this? One of those idiot gods?” Fake Rhea scoffs.

“So how long do we have to wait on the outcome?” Medusa asks.

Fake Alec and Fake Psyche return, and Fake Psyche says, “Not long at all. My sisters and I have measured your merit, daughter of Rhea. Are you prepared for your judgement?”

Medusa shifts her weight, “Uh, what happens if I say yes and fail?”

“You will return to your room, and the mirror will go back to being a mirror. The war will be lost. Many innocents will be killed,” Fake Alec answers.

“Ah. So low stakes then.” Medusa chuckles anxiously.

All three Fates stare back at her with stony expressions, and Medusa purses her lips. “Guess I won’t be traveling the realm as a bard.”

Fake Alec pinches their brow, turning to Fake Psyche. “So much of her mother in this one.”

The statement causes pride to swell along with a cascade of emotion that she resembles her mother in any way.

She is not granted much time to enjoy it, however, as Fake Rhea clears her throat. The illusions dissipate from the sisters, and in their place are three silhouettes of stardust. In turn, they each say their names.

The being of pink stardust steps forward and says, “I am Clotho.”

“Lachesis,” says the green figure.

Lastly, the purple sister raises a hand. “I am Atropos.”

“Thank you,” Medusa replies. “It is lovely to know your names and see your true forms.”

“The honor is ours,” Clotho says softly. “We have been waiting for a very long time for the ouroboros to be activated by a daughter of Rhea.”

“This curse has been hard, and you have suffered greatly at the hands of others,” Lachesis says. “Would you like to be relieved of your serpentine burden? You can look like your mother again.”

Is this what I want? How many times have I stared in my reflection, desperately wishing for my long red hair, and soft skin devoid of scales?

The cool touch of a serpent brushes against her cheek once more, and it reminds Medusa of each time she has killed because of the deadly gaze of her snakes. But they were in self-defense. Every single one of those people wished her harm, and for what? Because a god got his ego bruised?

She raises her hand to her cheek and smiles as a serpent coils around her fingers. They saved her life countless times. While Poseidon may have intended for this to be a curse, Medusa has grown to appreciate her serpents.

They are part of her. So much so that Psyche can’t separate them from Medusa’s soul.

“No.” Medusa steadies her voice. “Thank you for the kind offer, but that won’t be necessary. Please tell me how to help the Allegiance.”

“The realm is ready to know the truth. It is time for the tides of change to shift and for the oppressed to rise up against the Pantheon,” Atropos says, their tone stressing the seriousness of their statement.

“Your soul has been weighed and judged. We find you to be a more than worthy wielder of the power that lurks in your veins. It cannot be fully yours just yet, but you will not have to wait long,” Clotho adds.

An energy surges inside of Medusa, and it feels like the final lock holding her back from mastering her serpents fully finally shatters and breaks away. She can completely sense each and every one of them distinctly.

They feel strong—strong enough to take on a god.

“Why me?” Medusa asks. It is one of the parts of this that does not make sense to her.

“The day you were taken from your mother and father made the world wrong.” Lachesis’s tone is sober as they continue, “That was the day the balance of the scales was skewed. A daughter of Rhea was necessary to undo the curse, and you are the only daughter of Rhea in this realm.”

Medusa shakes her head. “No, I have sisters. You saw them.”

Clotho nods and responds, “But they are not in this realm.”

Blinking back the confusion, Medusa asks, “What do you mean? This is the only realm. Don’t you think we would know of others if they existed?”

Lachesis laughs. “Obviously not, because there are, and you don’t.”

The world feels like it is spinning, and Medusa wishes there was something in the darkness to hold on to to steady herself.

“How do we get to the other realms?” Medusa asks after taking a deep breath.

“Watch,” Clotho says, pointing back to the void before them.

When an image appears, this time it is Medusa sitting in her room in the Under Temple with the mirror in her hand. She steps forward, squinting to get a better look at the mirror’s reflection.

Inside the mirror, images flash at lightning speed. Glances of worlds flit into view and disappear just as quickly: columns and wisteria, castles and vines, a mind-boggling world clearly in the future, world after world.

The images finally slow, and she watches herself in the scene as she leaves the room and finds an ornate box. It is made of mixed metals and covered in swirls and gems, and vines that wrap all the way around the box keeping it closed. There is an open circular space on the top of the box, and she intently observes as the mirror is placed in the opening and turned clockwise until it makes a series of clicks.

The scene fades once more, and Medusa gapes at the Fates. “That’s it? Where do I find that box? Does it open the other worlds?” she fires off questions.

Clotho chuckles. “So inquisitive, but I would expect no less. Your companions will know where to seek the box. As for the rest, it will make sense when it is time.”

Medusa grunts in frustration and is ready to tear into the Fates, but before she can they are already fading, their stardust twinkling out. Blinking, she opens her eyes and finds herself back in her room, being shaken awake by Psyche—actual Psyche.

“I have to tell you everything,” Medusa blurts.