Sydney Brewer

Hr. 1

Athena

I'm still not sure which a sadder demonstration of my life is: waking up with cold steel against my throat, or my own lack of surprise at such an event.

Whoever had sent the lad was smarter than the rest; he held a mirrored shield in his opposite hand, keeping me from looking at him directly. He, at least, would not be joining my 'Honor Guard' of stone men, which littered the clearing edges.

My 'killer good looks,' as my friends constantly teased me about, had become deadly.

He was dry, which was odd; the small island in this swamp I call home was water-locked, impossible to reach except my very strong swimmers and those who could fly. The water nymphs, at least, took pity on my plight, and kept most unwelcome visitors away.

"I am Perseus, son of Zeus. For your crimes of desecration of a sacred temple and murder, I am sent to kill you." He sounded young, far younger than the others who had stood in him place. I wondered why he had been sent, at his age, when older soldiers than he had failed. Perhaps his master believed I wasn't capable of killing a boy? Or the shield idea was enough to defend him?

"Under whose authority?" My words were awkward, forked tongue clumsy on half-forgotten words.

"The gods, monster." Well, now that was rude. I did have a name, though nowadays it was more a curse than a greeting when it was said. The sword shifted, pressing harder at my leathery skin. I leaned away, into the hard ground I had slept on.

"There are many of those, little godling. I happen to know two of them rather… personally. Tell me, was it one of them that sent you?" While I doubted Poseidon cared what happened to me, now that he had what he wanted, I wondered about the other. The goddess.

"My father-"

"The godking has no interest in a little gorgon hiding her curse in a bog on the outskirts of the world. Who sent you?" My eyes glowed in anger; I could see their reflection in the corner of my eye, shining off the mirror he held. He shifted nervously, the blade skittering at my throat. I swallowed, and felt it scratch, almost catching.

"Athena. I am a champion of Athena."

I laughed, harsh as a crows caw, and the blade twitched again, finally drawing blood. I wondered, did my blood change when I did?

"Athena? That witch? What, she doesn't appreciate what I did with her gift? Doesn't care for her handiwork?" I snorted loudly. Any propriety I'd been born with had been lost when my hair came alive and my eyes began to glow. It had gone when the first mortal who saw my face had frozen, face stuck in an endless scream as his body changed to eternal stone.

The boy, Perseus, glared. I could feel the heat on my face, as strong as a gods rage. He had not lied, then, about his heritage.

"You dare to-"

"I have suffered much at the hands of the goddess of wisdom, little godling! Do not lecture me on my daring to do anything. It is my fear of doing things that put me in your path. I shall no longer hold my tongue, and at least be satisfied that what happens to me was caused by action." I propped myself up on my elbows, eyes still averted, and the blade slipped down to my breast, useless. I wondered, if I did look, could it really kill me? Am I not immune to my own poison?

"Why did you come?" He started a bit, the blade jumping up and down. He held it too tight.

"I… if I do not collect your head, my mother, she… she is held captive by a king of a island nation. I…" So, he was trying to help his a son hoping to defend one who loves him.

And Athena was only too willing to take advantage of that, to help him accomplish his end by her hand.

"She must enjoy your company, Athena, or you wouldn't have been outfitted thus. Do you know, the mirror trick hasn't been used yet?" His sword was equally favorable; normal steel could no longer slice my flesh. A god made blade, however…

He looked around, I believe, and saw the statues around the area, swords drawn and faces full of rage. And fear.

"You killed them all." It was not a question. A statement on my depravity, perhaps. I answered anyway.

"They attack at night, while I sleep. I wake at the feeling of steel at my throat, they see me, and turn to stone. Then, I get to spend my morning struggling out from under their swords." I hadn't known for a long time their blades, while still sharp, couldn't cut me as stone or steel. I had once been caught for two days trying to shove one off of me, as it had fallen when he froze.

"Why do they change?" Why hadn't he killed me? Was he waiting for someone else, or was he scared?

"I am cursed with it." He may have shaken his head; I couldn't tell for sure, but his sword moved with him, whatever he did.

"Why?" I laughed again.

"Why not find out? Go on, cut my throat. Watch my life flee my eyes, and enjoy my final moments while I see my past flash before me. Tell me if my blood is still red as a mortal, or black as my crime. Go on.

"Or, ask Athena, your mistress, what she did, why she sends her half-brother to kill her creation in a swamp. Ask her, or Poseidon, why I live still, with snakes in my hair and death in my gaze." He may have said something at that last moment. It could have even been an apology. But I wouldn't know, as the blade left my throat, and came swinging back. I looked up, and saw my reflection.

I was seven, and my home was burning, with my parents still inside. A temple priestess held me still as I struggled to go back, to either find my parents or die with them. She would not let me go. Despite her grip, I was alone; she had no words of comfort for me, nothing to say except that death wasn't for me, as I was so young.

I was thirteen, and the temple said I could no longer stay with them. I was near becoming a woman, and I was beautiful, or so they said. They did not want to risk men coming to seek my beauty, not at the Virgin's Temple. I asked to become a priestess, to stay chaste. They told me that, with my face, such a vow would not last, and it would anger the goddess.

I was fifteen, and giddy. I had moved to a different town, where a rich merchant needed a maid. He was pleased by my face, so the others said, but they all swore he would not touch me without permission. I was to help with the children.

I was sixteen, and praying at the temple of the Virgin. My master did not take me, but others looked as though they might. I was afraid, and wanted to hide my face in a shroud, to escape. My prayers were never answered, and the priestesses eventually asked me to leave, as I must go home so they could perform the sacred rights.

I was sixteen, and I was almost raped, only saved by my fellow servants. My master had a guest, and he took 'make yourself at home' to heart. I was banished from my town.

I was seventeen, and had found work with an aging fisherman's wife, who mended nets and could no longer feel the cords beneath her fingers. She welcomes my help, and the fisherman's children are a blessing. They remind me of the ones I had left before. I wondered if I would ever have children.

I was seventeen, and walking along the beach, as the waves broke. They said that Poseidon came here often, but I had never seen him, not in my many walks, so the rumors did not bother me.

I was seventeen, and I was running in terror. The rumors were true; Poseidon did indeed walk the waves on the beach, and he had been watching me, he said. He called out that I had been tempting him, trying to get his attention.

I ran, as hard as fast as I could, hoping I could get somewhere he would not follow. But he was faster, stronger and had no need of breath or pause, and was gaining. I reached the closest building, and shut the door of the Virgin's Temple just as he was reaching it. I drew the bolt, and retreated to the altar. I prayed, but again, Athena gave no answer. The door began to give.

I was seventeen, and a screaming goddess was in front of me. Poseidon had left me, broken and used, lying on the altar itself. I could barely hear her correctly, could not even stand in front of her.

I could feel the power of her words, however, and my hair began to shift.

I wasn't sure where I was, as I hid behind the trees. I had killed a man, watched him turn to stone and die in front of me. He was as surprised as I was at it; he'd only been trying to find who was crying in his grove. He had been kind, and I had come out of hiding to go to him.

I was on the beach, resolutely sitting and staring at the waves, wondering if Poseidon would come out of his domain. A sea nymph came out of the water, speaking to me while shielding her gaze. She told me to leave, before one of her younger sisters came out without being warned. I turned to go, and from behind she apologized for what she said, and for what her master did. I wept silently as I walked away.

I was decades old, and had a reputation for murder, with a list of kills longer than I was tall. They were sending soldiers after me, hoping to cut off my head and use its powerful gaze to destroy their enemies. I retreated further into the wilderness, trying to get far enough to avoid the wannabe heroes while staying out of reach of the real monsters that lived away from man. Voices behind me made me run again.

I was hidden from most, on a small isle in the middle of a vast bog, rotten and forgotten. Water spirits that haunted the waters had spoken to me, first in fear, then in sympathy. They, too, had dealt with amorous gods. They help me feed myself, and make conversation from the safety of their underwater lairs. After all, it has not been proven if an immortal can fall victim to my gaze.

I was sleeping, and missed my first would-be killer, as he sees my face and runs in terror, though it holds no power without my eyes open. The nymphs tell me of it later, sounding amused and sad, all at once.

I was sleeping, and when I awoke, my final assassin is successful, though even he is surprised. The nymphs screech at him, but he flies away on Hermes winged sandals, my head bobbing in a sack he carries.

I am held out to the captor king, turning his court to stone. The darkness of the bag has tricked me into believing that I was dead, that the sounds of the wind were my imagination. It appears that being immortal but beheaded causes odd things to happen.

I am wrapped in cloth, but I can hear the sounds of conversation, of praise. A soothing voice convincing the boy, Perseus, that I spoke nothing but lies, that I had been born a gorgon and given my powers by another who wanted a consort as terrible as he. She hums and wheedles and compliments the boy, and he hands me over without complaint.

I am held by a smith, with my eyes covered, as he fills Athena's command. He sounds sad, and a lesser goddess who he has married begs him to leave off, and destroy my head with the body that still rots in a bog. But Zeus, with his mighty roar, orders the work completed.

I am strapped to a shield, held in triumph of Wisdom's Goddess, turning her enemies into harsh rock that shatters as it falls. Her voice is never directed at me (I wonder if she knows I am here), but when she speaks of her mighty shield, and her half-brother who won it for her, it is full of triumph.

I am a shield, defending my curser. I hear Poseidon's voice, commenting on my fearsome face. It seems my power does not extend to gods after all. He does not speak to me.

I am Medusa, and I have learned that history will always favor the victors.