It was similar to what Medusa felt when she waded through the gates of Tartarus; the only difference was the thicker darkness and the sensation of being dragged down by hands clutching her ankles.
When her feet settled on a solid surface, the thickness in the air vanished and the hands slinked away. She ran her hands over her face and arms, grounding herself with the knowledge that her limbs were intact and she felt no pain. Still fine. Not dead yet.
Crack.
She braced herself in readiness for an attack. There was a distant sound of clunks and clatters, like stones tumbling off a rocky surface.
“At last,” said a voice that sounded exactly like hers.
Danger blared in Medusa’s head. If only she could see.
A chuckle. “You think it would be better if you could see?”
Instead of answering, Medusa stood straighter and noticed for the first time that she couldn’t feel aether at all—just air, and there was the sinking feeling that she may be unable to manipulate even that in this plane.
“You know?” The voice turned sweet. “I’m not your enemy.”
Since Medusa had never heard of a speaking beast, there was the possibility that her curse wasn’t a beast like Ares assumed. Still, it would be foolish to let her guard down. Whatever lurked in the darkness could see her and probably knew her thoughts. A tough, if not impossible opponent.
“Don’t be so guarded.” The voice sounded utterly relaxed, even friendly. “I am you and you are me. Please, let your guard down.”
Medusa’s heart sank when her suspicion was confirmed. This entity could indeed read her mind. “Perhaps… perhaps showing yourself may help me let my guard down.”
Instead of complying, the being chuckled again. “I did not expect it to feel this good.”
There was a scraping sound like a large body dragging over a rough surface. Medusa gulped and tensed up.
“Remember when he died?”
“Who died?” Medusa could swear there was a presence to her left.
“Wise, kind Antonii. Our husband.” The words were whispered into her left ear.
Hand flying to the spot, she whirled around. Widening her eyes, she strained her sight, desperate for the barest glimpse of light.
“Remember how you lost it when he died?” The voice pressed on, and to Medusa’s surprise, there was sadness in her voice.
“I… I don’t remember.” Her expression slackened when she realised she recalled nothing after Antonii died. She had assumed she died immediately, but it made little sense. The first time she experienced decapitation, her consciousness remained for a full day before death finally came.
“Of course, you do not remember.”
There was the sudden sensation of something enormous looming over her. A harsh shiver racked her body. She looked up into the darkness, feeling completely exposed.
Light laughter. “You place too much faith in that memory of yours. How about thinking again about the night they made us a widow?”
“Us?” Medusa bristled. “There is no us. What are you?”
“But I told you I am you. Though our connection was severed in our first life, I was still present… seeing everything. Mum from our second life was the worst. Calling us ugly cat. Pfft. Did she ever look at her reflection? I was her spitting image. The nerve of that shrew, speaking of ugly things when her insides were rotten. Those superstitious savages. To do that to me…”
As the voice railed on, Medusa recognised something alarming. The words the voice said were thoughts and feelings she had suppressed in her second life.
“And you, you just let them do that to us. Justifying the unfairness as some sort of… of punishment. Spineless.” The rage her words bellied cooked the air around Medusa, stinging her skin.
“Please, stop talking.” That the voice sounded like hers but gave off a different personality was unsettling.
“You despise Athena but her doctrine is burned into your very soul. Oh, I’ve waited—longed for this day.”
Another scraping sound and what sounded like the swish of a garment.
“We took our revenge, you know?” Her voice grew quiet. “We killed them.”
Medusa creaked her neck in the direction of the voice. “What?”
“Now I have your attention?” There was glee in the voice.
It had to be a lie. The only time she ever sought revenge was in this life. Her other lives had been filled with penance, toiling to appease some unseen god. Dying for absolution.
“That!” The voice grew acidic with rage. “That pitiful mewling for forgiveness. Oh, am I glad you paid a visit. I’ll pound some sense into that soft heart—turn it to stone.”
Medusa’s sight returned when light suddenly flooded her vision. Ahead was a version of herself, perhaps twenty or older, but much much taller. She laid on her side, her curves like hills and valleys, jaw braced on a closed fist and expression annoyed as she twirled a needle between long fingers. Even more curious was the soft green light her body emitted, along with the glowing threads that extended from her back and fused to the massive rock behind her.
“I’m ashamed you’re a part of me.” She pointed with the needle, her frown squeezing her brow. “So dependent on penance was your mind that you attempted to erase that delicious memory.”
Stuck between awe and confusion, Medusa mumbled, “Erase?”
“You killed them all. Perseus and his purse men.” Glee returned to her voice and her eyes sparkled with delight. “Turned them into little piles of nothing.”
Medusa raked through her memory but drew blanks. “If such a thing happened, I would have remembered. I want Perseus dead. I wanted him dead with all my heart”
“And that burning desire broke my chains and allowed me to breathe at last. The Moirai saw it too.” She snickered as a small proud smile curved her lips. “Don’t believe me? Ask her.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“I...I killed Perseus,” Medusa muttered in disbelief. “Impossible. How?”
“Turned him to dust with a touch. Haha.”
“No. If I did that I would have remembered. I would have—”
“It’s because you’re pathetic.” The needle threw off light as she pointed with it. “Weak body. Weak mind. Weak… everything.” Cold seeped into her voice. “These weaknesses, we shall cut them all away. Piece by ugly little piece until we find your spine.”
The curse sat up, braced a hand on her knee and pushed to her feet. As she moved, her gown swished, sending a gust of wind Medusa’s way.
Craning her neck didn't seem enough. How? Just how could something be this tall?
“The red god said you should tame me until I become a humble little beast.” A chuckle, soft and deadly, danced from Medusa’s left ear to the right. “But he is not us. You were correct when you told him we’re different.”
Medusa remained silent, caught in a daze of incredulity and horror. Surely, Ares must be mad to suggest she could defeat that.
“No, he isn’t mad. That he turned his curse to what you saw shows the insane level of his will—something you should copy.” The curse flicked a lock of long curls off her shoulder as she spoke. “Our curse is different and soon you will learn why.”
She stared down at Medusa. “But keep this in mind. I will never shrink to your position. Instead...” Her eyes lit up with a green mischievous light as she smiled. “You must rise above me before I submit. And even if it means dying a million times, we’ll swim through that mud.”
“I…” Utterly dumbfounded, words abandoned Medusa.
“You have nothing to say? Fine.” The curse moved the needle between her index and middle finger. “Block this.”
She flicked her fingers and the needle shot for Medusa exactly like her attack on Eriste. Seeing death speeding her way, her body betrayed her. It froze and the needle hit its mark.
A flash of blinding light was all Medusa recalled before springing awake, hands held before her face and mouth open mid-scream.
Did…did I just die? The hairs on her arms stood on end. Her death had been so instant that she felt nothing.
Medusa looked ahead and flinched. The curse was present, but this time she sat with her legs folded monk-style and hands braced behind her.
“Hmmm, this wouldn’t work.” There was a contemplative note in her voice. “You’re way too easy to kill—a mere breath to the gods.”
Sitting up, she reached for one of the threads attached to her back and yanked it off.
“How about we make this fun?” She asked as she let go of the thread. It moved on its own, like a floating headless snake.
Medusa didn’t know which was more terrifying, the approaching thread or the suggestion of making things fun.
Body taut with the urge to flee, she took a step back. She could rip off the blindfold. No. She had gained nothing so far. The plan was to use every opportunity to get stronger. Gritting her teeth, she stood straighter and waited.
The glowing thread stopped before her face and moved no further.
“Do you recall Cuauhua? The one with the scar across his throat?”
Taken aback by the sudden question, Medusa had to quieten her scattered memories to remember. “He… he was a friend.” Until duty took over the reins.
The curse clapped her hands and cocked her head. There was an impish grin on her face. “I kinda miss him. How about we go back to that day?”
Stunned, Medusa gapped at the curse. “Why would you—”
The thread shot forward and latched onto her forehead.
A blast of frigid wind snapped at Medusa’s tunic and stung her face. Raising an arm to shield her eyes, she blinked and came upon a scene.
No way did that insane curse bring her to this day. No way. But denial wasn’t strong enough to erase the fact that she was on her knees with hands tied behind her back. She took a sniff. The smell of the forest and coming rain. It felt real—too real.
“Don't be mad.” The voice returned. “This is good training. If we repeat this often enough, we may find a bit of that spine we spoke of.”
“And it had to be this…” Medusa drew in shaky breaths through her mouth as her heart thundered. “It had to be this day?”
“Yes. This will strengthen your mind and body. This day is the best day ever!” There was sarcasm there and her voice was high with false happiness. If the curse was really a part of Medusa, there was no way they would feel comfortable here.
Fear, bitter and raw, spread across the back of Medusa’s tongue. She resisted the urge to look behind and failed. The templo mayor stood tall in the distance, the place of her second taste of death.
Medusa looked beyond the small charred corpse ahead, over her weeping mother, past the line of warriors and into the fringes of the forest. She could sense the curse just beyond, watching.
Someone was speaking behind her. That language—Nahuatl but more primitive. She recognised the voice as well. Her mother was giving her up. She spoke rapidly, spewing every incident that proved Medusa was indeed bad luck sent by the Filth Eater.
Medusa’s focus drifted back to the corpse. Her name was Xochi, the youngest daughter of one of the neighbours. The seven-year-old had followed Medusa like a shadow after each hunt, asking questions, endlessly chatting and being cutely in awe of Medusa being the only female hunter in six villages.
Pure Xochi didn't deserve the death she got but that was life. Sometimes thunder strikes trees and sometimes, in a twist of unbelievable cruelty, it strikes a child. But her opinion was insignificant and their superstitions were as firm as the mountains.
Now her mother was weeping about how Medusa was born on the day Tlaloc, the rain god, unleashed a tornado that wiped out a quarter of the empire. The priest was saying something about how Medusa’s evil luck had caused the child’s death and how an immediate cleansing was necessary.
Her mother hummed and hawed in agreement amidst sniffles.
Teeth clenched, Medusa wished she could curse that blasted curse for making her relive this day.
There were four warriors present, one of which was Cuauhua. Previously, she hadn’t dared to meet his eyes for fear that she would see cold judgment in them. The feeling was the same even now.
“How sentimental.” The bushes rustled as a small figure stepped out. Since those around did not react, it meant Medusa was the only one seeing her curse. This time she appeared as a much younger version of herself in her second life. Her birthmark was stark against sun-kissed skin like a red map spreading from her left temple, over an eye and down her jaw before stopping at her clavicle.
“I’m eager to see how you will act this time.” The curse strolled over and stopped beside the charred corpse, staring down in sadness. “You could plead like you did the first time,” she glanced at Medusa from the corner of her eyes, “or run. You are quite good at that, right?”
In the background, she caught more of her mother's words. How Medusa had the marking of the Filth Eater and how she preferred to dwell in the bushes like beasts. It stung, even after so many years, it still stung.
“Doesn’t it take a beast to birth a beast?” Her curse chuffed then turned away with an enraged look on her face. “You have sensed no aether so far, right?”
Medusa remained silent.
“Here is the fun part. Across the forest, the villages, even along the road to the templo mayor are aether spots.” Her voice grew lively, like the rage Medusa just witnessed had been some illusion. “You can obediently allow them to take you to that altar, or do the needful.”
It started drizzling, tiny pelt after pelt darkening the loamy ground. Her wrist was raw from the rope digging into her skin and her knees ached from kneeling since the priest's arrival. Xochi’s mother kept wailing dirges in the background and weeping.
I didn’t do that. I didn’t kill your daughter. It just happened. I’m not some harbinger of misfortune.
“If you choose to run, they will chase you.”
The wind kicked up. Medusa shifted on her knees.
“When they chase you, they will try to kill you—yes, even our dear Cuauhua.”
Medusa clenched her fists, as her eyes drifted to the four warriors. Two wielded spears, the third carried a club, and Cuauhua had a quiver and bow.
“You said you wish to defend your life, to hold your ground before gods.” The curse clicked her tongue and shook her head. “But without experience against powerful opponents, those are empty words backed by mere emotions.”
The curse’s bare feet left no print on the ground as she strolled over. When she stopped in front of Medusa, her hand rose as if to touch her shoulder, only to fall back to her side.
“Do the needful. I will be waiting at the templo mayor.” With those words, she vanished.
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