Splat!

  Tsss…

  A harsh sulphuric odour rose from the melting spot on the stone ground and stung Medusa’s nose. If she hadn’t moved when she did, that would have been her—a sizzling smoking goop of dead flesh.

  The bird having the same acid breath as an ekhidna made no sense. Nowhere had she read of such a creature existing.

  Stop gawking and move to your left.

  When Medusa obeyed Clotho’s terse instruction, another splat hit the spot she had just escaped.

  That will be the last time I give you a warning. Focus.

  “An acid-spitting heron? How unexpected.” There was a note of deranged glee in the herald's voice. “And for those who cannot tell due to the distance, May, daughter of Venetis, is unawakened. We are in for fantastic entertainment, Valonites!”

  These animals wanted to see her suffer! Medusa gritted her teeth as annoyance surged. And that annoyance pushed away her panic and made way for fierce determination.

  They expect me to fail. Their stare of crushing expectation pressed down on her. But I'll disappoint you. I will disappoint you all.

  Clotho had said something about a lesson. If she could—

  The heron pierced forward, beak moving like a rapier but Medusa leapt away again. A step of the bird covered three of hers. And it moved again and again, its sharp yellow gaze trained on her.

  Do you feel it?

  Feel what? Medusa asked as she fled from the bird, all her combat knowledge abandoned. Punches and kicks would not do. She had always been insanely fit in all her lives, so running shouldn’t be a problem. That’s if the heron didn’t have some unfair advantage like superspeed or worse, taking to the sky.

  Your leaps, the speed of your run. Do you notice anything different?

  Medusa frowned, and then her eyes widened. Her speed had doubled, and there was something else... To test her suspicion, she leapt to the left and to her surprise, something gave her an extra lift before cushioning her landing.

  How? Medusa asked in shocked excitement. This went beyond the norm. It felt like there were literal springs in her steps. This is amazing!

  No time to sing about it. There was a stern note of urgency in Clotho’s voice. In the air around you—even in the Grecian continent—there is aether. But in Tartarus, the air is thicker with it. You must learn to manipulate it.

  How do—

  With unexpected speed, the bird shot forward.

  Medusa’s heart sank as two horrifying realisations registered. The heron had superspeed, and she wasn't fast enough to escape the bird’s coming attack.

  She could only manage a slight shift to the left, turning at the last moment to shield her heart from direct impact. The heron’s head slammed into her side.

  A raw cry of agony ripped through her throat as the forceful collision sent her soaring through the air. Her lower ribs… the sawing pain made breathing impossible.

  Collect yourself! You will crack your skull if you hit the ground without leaning into aether.

  Clotho’s warning came too late.

  Crack.

  Medusa’s neck twisted as her temple struck the earth. The blinding pain. Nausea churned in her belly and travelled up. Her body would not move. Each breath was a blood-laced choked wheeze.

  I’m dying. Medusa was too familiar with the feeling to not recognise it.

  Half a horai, remember? Clotho’s voice maintained its cool detachment.

  I’m dying, Clotho. Medusa twitched, her fingers and legs spasming. Black bled into her vision. This last struggle… so familiar.

  She vaguely registered the earth thudding rhythmically beneath her ear. The bird was approaching.

  I have to move, but this irresistible slumberous feeling. Her body smothered her will to cling to life. I… I think I have to sleep. I couldn’t headbutt it, Antonii. If I let go, I may meet you. We’ll be together. Maybe…

  So, this is the face of my liberator.

  Medusa blinked her eyes open and came upon an unexpected sight. She was lying on her side in a spread of still black waters. The sky possessed the dim blue of dusk and her nose picked no smell.

  But you are like him. How?

  The speaker had an angry feminine voice, and she was out of sight.

  Like who? Medusa frowned. Her voice box would not move and this… she blinked again as her frown deepened. This was not like the other deaths she had experienced. For some reason it evoked fear.

  Medusa attempted to speak again. “Where am I?” This time she felt her lips move but did not hear the words.

  STAB.

  She flinched as a large silver thread snipper pierced the water inches from her face. Too close. The water rippled when a hooded figure appeared next to the snipper and casually leaned against it.

  Your eyes do not tremble with terror. I see why she chose you. The hooded being hunkered down and rested her arms on her knees. Her nails were sharp and painted black, and beyond the shadow of her hood were glowing blue eyes.

  “You are dangerous,” Medusa said. Something about this entity reminded her of Clotho but if Clotho’s warmth was replaced with a chilling malevolent air.

  You have correctly spoken. Like I said, you are like him. She extended her index finger.

  “Don’t touch me.” Medusa's instinct screamed for her to get as far as she could from this being but her body was frozen.

  Oho. Wary as well. You truly remind me of that man from long ago. I— She suddenly canted her head to the right as if listening for something, then Medusa felt the prod of her intrusive gaze like physical fingers stabbing her brain.

  I see, you’ve even met him. Though she spoke the words quietly, they were laced with venom. The air charged up as she surged to her feet. If she was enraged before, now her fury was a burning physical force that cooked Medusa where she lay.

  Is that why she chose you? Her hood fell away as she retrieved her large snipper with a forceful hand. Her long damp hair swished with her movement as her glowing eyes reduced to furious slits.

  Medusa gawked. How was it possible to look ancient and young at the same time? Runes marked a line down her forehead, she spotted obsidian piercings along the shell of her ears and thin silver chains hung from her nose rings to each ear. Despite her fierce scowl, she was still stunningly beautiful.

  I am grateful for your initial unintentional help, but what must be done must be done.

  Why are you angry? Medusa longed to ask the question, but her lips couldn’t form the words as she was further pressed under the storm of the being’s fury.

  The goddess lifted her snipper, the twin silver blades shining ominously. After I kill you, I will find that sneaky rat and kill him too.

  Oh, well. I guess this is— A sudden warmth pulsed around Medusa’s wrist, shot to her heart and wracked her body with a great pulse of electricity.

  One blink, and she was back at the arena.

  Quick. Get up. That bird is looking at you like it's next meal.

  Medusa’s neck snapped back in place as her airway cleared up. The pain faded to a dull throb. She sat upright.

  Frowning, Medusa looked at her wrist. She would have died for real if the beaded band hadn’t helped at the last moment. And that being she met. Was she Clotho’s sister? Who was the other person she longed to kill?

  Clotho, I—

  Focus! If you die here, all this will be for nothing.

  Fine. I’ll tell you later.

  Like Clotho said, the bird was making its way in her direction. It moved in a halting manner; one thin leg up, head turned to the side, yellow eyes rolling as it observed her.

  Step. Pause. Stare. Repeat.

  At the feel of something sliding down her temple, she wiped at the spot and the strip of cloth around her arm came back bloody.

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  Tell me how to defeat it. Medusa staggered to her feet, retreating a few steps as she observed the bird.

  Use the aether around you as a path to control air.

  Huh? Medusa frowned, beyond confused. She had never heard of the possibility of manipulating air like aether. And why was Clotho speaking like it was something Medusa could simply figure out?

  The heron spread its wings, appearing even larger than it already did. Now it no longer took halting steps as it approached Medusa.

  How do I do that? When Medusa backtracked, the bird maintained her speed.

  Push against that feeling of aether around you. When you entered Tartarus, recall you said you felt a buzz against your skin.

  Yes, but I’m already pushing against aether. The leap and landing, isn’t that it?

  Oh… you are right. Then do as I instructed.

  Medusa groaned in frustration. I don't understand.

  The heron increased its walk to a trot. Medusa kicked up her speed and as she did, she tried it again. She leaned to the side as if about to fall but there was a recoil as expected.

  What next—she yelped and leapt away when the heron nipped at her with a loud snap. How was it so fast?

  She pressed into her run some more and, to her surprise, her speed increased in answer. This feeling… It was almost like the sensation she got whenever she speed-swam.

  That’s it. Be more intentional about leaning into aether in all your movements.

  The heron stopped, released a drawn-out croak and ejected a line of thick acidic sludge her way. To Medusa’s horror, it did not stop in a single spew. Another followed after her.

  Splat. Splat.

  A few drops got her across the back and the spots burned like fire. She staggered from the sudden pain but managed to right her steps with her arms wildly flailing. The flailing helped too—made it seem like she was wading through water.

  “Such speed!” The herald cried. “But it seems running is the only feat she's capable of.”

  Now you feel it, yes? You are even faster.

  I do. But that damn bird was still catching up. And the run was ridiculous. She felt like a child fleeing a territorial cockerel, only this cockerel was at least seven feet tall.

  Next lesson. Air is weaker than aether but more abundant.

  At her faster pace, the heron flapped its wings as its yellow eyes dyed to a deep orange tinge.

  The bird… something seems—

  What can you use as a weapon?

  They didn’t give me any!

  Standing still in the centre of the arena, the bird tracked her movement with now orange eyes.

  Think, Medusa. Even now, I can see a way.

  Medusa hissed in frustration when the heron lowered its body and flapped its wings.

  I think it’s about to fly.

  If that happens, it will take more than half a horai to kill it. What can you use as a weapon?

  What can I use? Think.

  I could shout?

  That would not work. You suffered internal injuries from your last use. Did your aunt not tell you?

  Oh. Now that she thought of it, she had nearly died the last time she used it. Then what else could she… Medusa's gaze dropped to the strip of cloth around her arms. Maybe.

  Halting her run, she brought her palm to her mouth and tugged at the knot with her teeth.

  Look. She waved at the bird. I'm not running anymore. Chase me. Just, don’t fly, please.

  The strip of cloth was fairly long and quite tough. If she could find a way to loop it around the bird’s thin legs.

  Because air is weaker than aether, it works best on objects. You’ve been leaning into aether; now it's time for air. What you’re holding is inanimate… Do you understand what I'm hinting at?

  It took an instant for understanding to strike.

  “YES!” Medusa shouted with a relieved laugh. Strangely, it felt like knowledge she possessed for the longest time but forgot for some reason.

  “May laughs at her foe,” said the herald. “A brave one. Perhaps, she’s fitting for the Manticores.”

  A section of the crowd cheered in answer. As if enraged by the crowd’s reaction, the heron rushed forward with its wings spread and body low.

  Try it now.

  Medusa shut her eyes and sharpened her senses.

  If aether felt like a soft force around her body, air was sharper. And it was with that in mind she shot for the approaching bird with the strip of cloth trailing behind.

  At the moment its beak would have stabbed her head, Medusa dropped to her knees and propelled her slide between the bird’s legs with the pull of aether.

  One twist of her wrist and the cloth stiffened, sharpened and moved at an arch.

  Slice.

  A pained croak.

  Not giving the bird a moment to collect itself, Medusa sprung to her feet and ran around it.

  The cloth had cut its left leg to the bone. Soot rose from the wound as the bird released an enraged croak in her direction. Medusa winced at the deafening sound but pumped power to her feet. If she could find a way to use the cloth as a lasso to tie the heron's feet.

  Seeming to figure out her plan, the bird twisted around and raced in her direction—that and the fact that its eyes were now blood red.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  The heron suddenly paused, but its red gaze remained locked on her. Its throat expanded like a frog’s coupled with gurgling sounds and rippling.

  “This…” Medusa gritted her teeth. What was this bird? Did it have an endless reservoir of acid in its gut or what? And she was beginning to feel fatigued. Her muscles were screaming and her tunic stuck to her body from sweat.

  It's time for the final lesson.

  The bird went low, feathery bulbous sac swaying as it twisted its neck this way and that. One red feral eye remained pinned on Medusa.

  It’s planning something. I must run now.

  The deluge came.

  Splat. Splat. Splat. Splat.

  Wheezing, Medusa pressed forward with all her might barely noticing the line of blood sliding down her nostril. The heat of the bird’s acid stung her heel as she struggled to run even faster.

  Clotho, the final lesson!

  Repeat this word: ???

  What?

  Hmm. I assumed if I spoke it into your mind you would understand, but that seems not to be the case.

  When her senses flared in warning, Medusa leapt forward, tripped and fell into a fast roll. She looked back in time to see green sludge spread even wider. The ground was fast becoming a minefield of boiling potholes.

  Shooting back to her feet, Medusa resumed her run. Now her breaths were harsh pants. At first, leaning into aether had been exhilarating but what was this agonising fatigue?

  Clotho, please!

  And she couldn't afford to slow down. The air stung from the steam the acid produced. Breathing was painful.

  I'm dying of exhaustion.

  How do you say it? Umm… Breathing?

  “Breathing,” Medusa repeated as she ran.

  Not in Greek. You say it with authority. Grab the word by its root. That is the real Theos tongue. The language of creation.

  But I can't understand it to even repeat it.

  Say ??? Grab the word.

  I'm telling you I can't understand the word you’re speaking. Inhaling was painful; it was like the walls of her throat were scraped raw and bleeding.

  If you cannot, then there’s nothing I can do. There was a note of resignation in Clotho's voice.

  Are you joking? Medusa skidded to a halt. And the heron took that chance. It flapped its wings and shot for her at the speed of a blink.

  Acting on instinct, Medusa grabbed its open beak.

  Mistake. Big mistake. The heron's strength was monstrous. Its open mouth was dark red and below its tongue was a hole the size of a large fist.

  The bird pushed, causing her back to slam to the earth and slide across the ground. If Medusa recalled correctly, there should be potholes of boiling acid ahead. Did it intend to push her in?

  “Breathing,” Medusa yelled in panicked desperation.

  Your body is too exhausted. Feel the aether around you and try again. This is important.

  How can I do that when I can’t even comprehend the word you spoke? Mortals can't speak Theos tongue!

  How confounding, Clotho mused. I did not expect teaching to be difficult.

  The back of Medusa’s tunic frayed as the bird continued pushing her across the ground. Her back and arm muscles were on fire. And as its hot breath fanned her face, her eyes stung.

  Clotho, say something.

  I’m trying to think but my extensive knowledge shows no immediate way you can learn the phrase.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Medusa muttered bitterly in English.

  This demon bird would overpower me and pierce my head in front of an audience. Her eyes stung for another reason. And… and I'm exhausted, damn it.

  Medusa’s eyes widened when the bird’s throat began vibrating.

  No. No. No. Not again.

  Clotho, I really do not want to die like this.

  Try harder. You’re the child of two deities. Theos tongue should come naturally to you.

  “Breathing!” Medusa yelled.

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  Medusa shut her eyes and resisted the urge to sob. Violent deaths were the worst. “Please, breathing.”

  Keep trying. ???

  Absolute gibberish. Nothing registered in Medusa’s mind.

  Maybe I'm adopted.

  When she opened her eyes, her heart sank. Wisps of green smoke coiled out of the hole beneath the bird's tongue. And that harsh rotten smell of sulphur.

  This thing… this thing is going to melt my head. Along with the terrifying realisation came a wild desperation. There had to be a way of escape.

  Everything. She'd pour everything into her next move. Medusa exhaled in preparation. Drawing in a short breath, she shouted and stumped her left foot with great force. The aether around gave her an extra boost as she arched her back and willed her legs to move fast using the momentum of the bird.

  And it worked. It worked!

  Medusa was back on her feet, beak still firmly in her grip.

  But it was too late.

  Since she was close, she saw how it worked. From the hole beneath the bird’s tongue, the sizzling sludge bubbled forth as green smoke spread.

  Medusa, try again. ???

  At Clotho’s repeated word, something loosened in Medusa’s mind and comprehension rushed in. And this root word Clotho spoke of could be improved. Without thinking much about it, she tweaked it based on other languages she had learned in her past lives.

  “Breathing.”

  Aether answered. It rushed through her nostrils, pulverised fatigue and strengthened every muscle. An abundance of air hummed around her, begging to be used. And everything slowed down.

  Medusa blinked at the bubbling venom beneath the bird's tongue.

  So simple. All she had to do was close its beak.

  Her arms moved in afterimages as she grabbed its beak and slammed it shut. The strips of cloth around her arm moved at her guidance and tightly held it close.

  Time was restored the instant she leapt away.

  A muffled explosion.

  Green sludge sprayed as the bird’s head and throat ruptured in a mess of charred flesh and bones. Its remains plopped forward, thin feet kicking in its last struggle before crumbling to ash.

  Medusa collapsed to her knees in stunned disbelief. First, there was silence, then a thunderous cheer erupted in the background but she didn't care.

  You. Clotho laughed. You did it. I knew it the moment I saw you, you bright child. Brilliant. Brilliant, indeed.

  I did it. I really did it. She flexed her fingers before her face as a bewildered chuckle escaped her lips. I can defend myself.

  “Thank you, Clotho,” Medusa whispered, meaning the words from her soul. Thank you.

  It's my joy to help, mortal. And this is only the beginning.

  My first idea for this story came in the form of a title (which happens to me often).

  The Fifth Life of Medusa Melon: A comedy featuring a jaded immortal Medusa living in East London. Dark sunglasses to hide her stone gaze, and a headtie to you know... fashionably keep the snakes out of sight (poor suffocating sneks).

  Cue a cliche inciting incident where she literally stumbles into Antonii. Sunglasses slip off, but dude doesn't turn to stone. Nani!

  Their personality blends so hard that they're convinced it's meant to be. But Antonii's fam is like, "Yeah...nah. Your girlfriend is hella sus, and we'll get to the bottom of this."

  Silly, I know, but I had a blast imagining hilarious scenes until I recalled how much I loathe Medusa’s original myth. The bleeding unfairness. My imagination switched gears fast, and here we are—

  Enough with the epistle. Leave a review or rating if you're up for it. Would appreciate that.

  Merry Christmas in advance to those who celebrate. Until next Saturday.