Stone

Stone

Stephen Brooke ©2021

Each morning Medusa combed her snakes before a brazen mirror. They could be quite unruly, writhing out of place as soon as she thought she had made some order of them.

“Who’ssss going to look at you?” they hissed at her.

“I shall,” was ever her reply, and she went on arranging the serpents. Deep in her soul, she wished there could be another.

But all the men who came here wanted to kill Medusa. Some sought the glory of it, some felt a duty to slay a monster. Some wanted to use her head and its stony gaze for their own purposes. She had a parlor full of them, all turned to statues. Sometimes she rearranged them, from boredom, and placed them in compromising positions.

A very few were handsome and she might let out a sigh when her eyes went to their forms. Mostly the gorgon ignored them. She was too used to their presence. They were but so much clutter now.

And imagination only took one so far.

She was feeding her hair mice one evening when another intruder blundered his way into her cave. Night seemed a favored time for these heroic misadventures; perhaps the warriors felt they could accomplish their deed under the cover of darkness. Medusa lit several braziers until the place was as bright as noon. This man would see her and see her well. For a moment.

Ah, he was using the trick of a well-shined shield to reflect her image, so he would not gaze upon the danger of her eyes. Others had attempted this and ever made a mistake at some point. They might lose her image in the reflection and, without thinking, look about for her. They might be distracted by her other weapons, for Medusa did not slay by sight alone. Let them try to keep their eyes on their shields while she loosed arrows at them!

Here he came. Oh, so comely a fellow, with his lithe body and muscles and very little covering them. He grasped a long leaf-bladed bronze sword and kept his eyes firmly on the round shield.

Then he halted. “Why, you’re beautiful! I expected to glimpse a hideous monster.”

She was glad he had made no comment on her snakes. These writhed in agitation at the moment. “Kill him!” they murmured, and “Petrify him!”

“Hush,” she whispered. “So why do you wish to slay me, mortal man?”

“For the glory!” He chuckled in a slightly embarrassed manner. “That’s what I told everyone. That or ‘because she’s there.’ Really, I thought your head would be useful.”

Medusa nodded. She appreciated honesty. There was much to appreciate about this fellow, she thought, as she looked him up and down and up again. Her gaze lingered around his middle.

“I’d rather you stayed with me a while.” Medusa smiled at the thought.

“So might I,” he admitted. The warrior kept his eyes fixed on his shield. From fear or admiration? she wondered. A little of both would be fine.

“But what would you tell those who expected you to kill me?”

He pondered this question for but a moment. “I’ll just tell them I chopped off your head and, um, lost it while flying over the sea. I came here on a hippogriff, you know.”

“Not the first,” she told him. “Here,” she said, picking up one of her scarves. “Use this as a blindfold and you’ll be in no danger.” She chuckled herself. “Not from my eyes.”

There might have been a moment of mistrust but he took another look at her reflection and acquiesced. “I guess I’ll have to work by touch,” he joked. A little nervously, she felt. That was to be expected but she’d do her best to put an end to any doubts.

“The best way,” she answered. But she was glad she could see him by the ruddy, flickering light of the blazing braziers. She wanted to—no, she should be the polite hostess first. “Are you hungry?”

“Only for you.” That was all the gorgon needed.

She did need to let him sleep eventually. By the dying illumination, Medusa allowed her eyes to feast on the slumbering hero beside her. Her serpents stirred drowsily, before falling back into sleep. She should in a few minutes, but he was so good to look at, so handsome.

And it was so good to have someone with her. Someone who was not made of stone. Long had she yearned for this.

In the morning, he was already awake before her, his hands groping for her. That was what had awakened her, wasn’t it? The snakes hissed a bit in protest.

Medusa slid out of bed, and looked at the long sharp sword and shining shield propped against her wall, just below the fresco Apollo had painted for her. It wasn’t so good but one did not insult a god nor his handiwork—that sort of thing had gotten her into trouble in the first place. She hadn’t always had this snaky head, after all. “Come to me,” she called. He rose and embraced her willingly, avidly. As their lips met, lingered, her hands went to his blindfold and pulled it up.

“Best to be safe,” she told the mirror, sitting down to comb her serpents.

appeared in Lands Far Away 2021