The Deep End of the Sea, page 5
“So,” Zeus booms, and my attention snaps back to him. He is lounging in his throne, dressed in a t-shirt, torn shorts, and flip-flops. There is no beard, no mustache—just sandy hair and weathered, tan skin. I can see where Hermes gets his good looks. “Medusa, is it?”
I will my hands to remain at my sides, rather than go to the Girls or my glasses. My little snakes press tightly against my skull, shaking in the aftermath of the Lord of the Skies mighty voice. I want to shake right alongside them, but I force myself to stand still. “Yes, sir.”
Zeus’s fingers drum against the arm of his throne. “My son is most insistent that you’ve been unfairly punished for too long.”
Do I agree? Is that okay? I have no idea if this is something that requires an actual answer, so I incline my head just enough to let anyone know that I concur with Hermes’ assessment.
“We’ve just had a very interesting discussion about your circumstances.”
Somebody coughs pointedly; from Hermes’ descriptions of his family over the years, I think the perpetrator is Ares. And then, more loudly, he mutters his vehement disagreement with the use of discussion to describe what just went down.
Zeus doesn’t look away from me when he says, “Enough of that, son.”
It’s then that I finally allow myself to acknowledge Poseidon’s presence, sitting to Zeus’ right. He is exactly as I remember him: stunning, with hair so black it shines, and shrewd eyes whose color changes in waves as the blues in the ocean do. My stomach clenches so hard I feel like throwing up.
The bastard is staring at me, concern etched in his eyes. Full on, blatant staring. Face entirely passive, but I get the impression that a bomb could go off and he’d still be looking exactly where he is now.
His hands, on me. His voice, in my ear. The bile shoots up my throat.
Don’t make a sound. I promise I’ll gift you an experience you’ll never forget.
“Athena,” Zeus says, and I rip my attention away from Lord of the Seas. My skin crawls with anxiety as I continue to feel the pressure of his undivided attention. “Before I lay final judgment, is there anything further you want to add to counter the frankly disturbing claims your brother just presented us with?”
A god I believe to be Apollo says, “Father, we’ve heard more than we’ll ever need from that bitch.”
Zeus says, his voice tempered with what surely must be exaggerated patience, “As with any case presented to me in which you are concerned, you are also given opportunity for a final comment or argument. Athena is due hers in this case.”
Athena is sitting next to Poseidon. Her hair is in a tight bun, her expression sour as she peers down at me. There is disdain there, and something else—something I can’t quite pinpoint. But whatever it is, I am more than aware of her revulsion, and it saddens me. I worshipped her. Served her. “How many times do I need to say it? The little whore got what she deserved.”
I literally have to swallow back the vomit. It burns as it slides back down. Athena gets her say? What about mine? When do I get my say?
“Horseshit,” comes another voice, and my focus swivels to the left of Zeus. It’s Hades, the Lord of the Underworld. He is dark and handsome, but what has my attention is that his own eyes are filled with anger. I must admit I am surprised to see the emotion there.
“Uncle,” Athena says, but he holds out a finger towards her and her lips immediately shut in a way that tells me she’s probably not in control of her mouth at this moment.
“Niece,” he stresses, mimicking her formality, “this isn’t the first time you’ve overstepped your bounds by punishing innocents; this one just so happens to be the last remaining victim. If you even try to spew that victim blaming crap again, I’ll take you down to the Underworld with me for a spell. Maybe then you can understand what true justice entails.”
She gasps in outrage. I can’t help but stare up at Hades in amazement. I’ve never had any contact with him before, except for sending far too many souls his way over the years. Is he one of Hermes’ supporters?
“For somebody who is supposedly the bastion of wisdom,” Hades continues darkly, “you do a piss-poor job of exhibiting it yourself.”
A goddess I assume to be Aphrodite bursts into laughter; the sounds of wind chimes fill the hall. She’s sitting on the other side of Hermes, looking every inch of what the Goddess of Love ought to look like. And I am struck with a small sliver of jealousy, that she possesses her beauty and I a face that can literally lead to death.
The irony of this is not lost on me.
“Cease your frivolity, cow,” Athena hisses at her sister.
“How delightful. Your daughter strives to show example of my words,” Hades says, this time to Zeus.
“Athena, shut it, will you?” Zeus snaps. An exasperated sigh escapes from his lips as he kneads his forehead. Hermes was certainly right on this account—the Assembly loves to bicker.
“I agree with our Brother,” Hestia pipes up from her seat next to Poseidon. “Athena’s punitive play at a snit-fit has gone on long enough. Goodness,” the Goddess of Hearth and Home tut-tuts. “If she were my daughter, this nonsense would have ended long ago.”
Athena’s eyes bulge, but she prudently stays silent.
“You coddle her,” Hestia continues, shifting in her seat until she’s facing Zeus.
“Don’t start this again,” he warns, and then there is an explosion of arguing within the Assembly. Bewildered, I seek out my friend, but he’s focused on Poseidon, who, in turn, is focused on me. I stay silent, as still as the statues back on my isle.
“Enough,” Zeus eventually booms. “I’ve had enough of this. Hermes, you were right to bring our attention to this matter. With our influence waning in the modern age, we cannot condone such petty actions of our past. Athena, revoke the curse. The Gorgon Medusa has been punished long enough.”
Athena lurches to her feet. “She desecrated the sanctity of my temple with her overzealous, whorish libido!”
An imaginary fist punches my stomach. Before I break the rules and start shrieking, Hermes also stands up, visibly shaking. “You think she chose that? She was raped, you idiot!”
His words echo across the room. I cannot bring myself to look at Poseidon, but I know, just know, he is still staring at me.
His hands, on me. Blood on the floor, afterwards.
“If you want to be angry at somebody for defiling your holy ground, then take it up with our bastard of an uncle,” Hermes continues, his voice low and angry. “But you know that none of this was Medusa’s fault. You are acting beneath yourself to continue to punish her for something that was not her fault.”
Yet another reason, in a huge laundry list of many, as to why my gratitude toward my friend is boundless.
“Here, here!” Aphrodite fist pumps in the air. I glance over at her and she offers me a smile that’s a surprising mixture of sympathy and support. But then I remember, Hermes has always said that he and this sister are thick as thieves.
Zeus is clearly weary. “It’s done. We’ve voted, and I’ve decided. Daughter, reverse the curse now or your Uncle will be more than welcome to take you to the Underworld as he wishes.”
Athena is still not swayed. “But—”
I hold my breath. Hades rises and takes a step towards her. She slams herself back into her seat. “Fine. The beast may seek me out this week when there is time—”
Hades steps down from his throne. “Now or never, niece.”
“FINE!” the goddess of wisdom yells, and something strikes me so hard that I topple backwards. Pain, excruciating and sharp, coils around me tighter than any snake could. Hands grab me before I slam into the ground, but I can’t even see whom they belong to, the agony is so intense. I want to scream, want to claw at something, but I am incapacitated. My insides are shredding, my skin is on fire. All I can do is pray that the death I’ve yearned for for so long will be swift before I black out.
“Here. Drink this.” A soft voice tickles my ears. “It will help.”
I go to open my eyes and then I remember who I am. I am Medusa. My eyes offer death. I weakly root around for my glasses, but they are nowhere nearby. “Glasses,” I croak.
“Open your eyes, Dusa.” I know this voice, and it hurts to hear so much worry in it.
“Glasses,” I try again.
“No need.” His promise is gentle. “The curse has been removed.”
A hand instantly goes to my head. The Girls ...? But there is no movement, no soft hissing. There is only what feels to be hair, soft and matted.
“Snakes?” I mumble. A hand joins mine to tug through the strands; foreign shudders of mixed pleasure and comfort take hold in my muscles.
“Don’t tell me you miss them,” a female says, the very voice that woke me up. It’s kind. And I am ... panicky. The Girls, gone?
“Oh, stop,” a deep voice admonishes from further away. But it’s not in exasperation; it’s laced with amusement.
“Eyes?”
“You are no longer an instrument of death,” the female says.
My throat is so dry. “Swear?”
“I swear,” Hermes answers. Fingers interlace in mine; for such a recent occurrence, his hand in mine feels like it’s always belonged there. “Open your eyes, Dusa.”
My heart runs a marathon, and fear invades my body, but he has yet to ever lie to me. So I do as he asks, and open my eyes voluntarily, without a shield, in the face of others for the first time in ages.
I am in an ornate bedroom, in a canopied bed that could fit twenty people. Hermes is sitting next to me, his own blue-green eyes filled with concern. Behind him is a stunning woman holding a cup. Sitting a few feet away is Hades, perusing something on an iPad.
“They’re hazel,” Hermes says, and he sounds awed.
“Beautiful hazel.” The woman, surely a goddess, glances back at Hades. “The perfect mix of green and brown. Don’t you think?”
He puts down his iPad and grunts. But he doesn’t look fearsome, not like I once imagined him. At least, not in this moment.
“Drink this.” She nudges me with a cup.
I don’t take it. Not just yet. “You’re all alive,” I whisper.
“Of course we are.” Hermes lifts our conjoined hands and presses a quick kiss against my skin. A roar of heat streaks up my neck. “I told you we would prevail. The curse was reversed.” With his free hand, he pats me on my legs—
LEGS.
I have legs! I attempt to sit up, but the woman pushes me back down. No longer is half of my body reptilian. A few experimental wiggles of my toes promptly sends me into a fit of tears.
“What is it?” Hermes exclaims. He grips my hand harder. “Do you hurt? Did she do something to you we didn’t catch yet?”
“No, no.” Bending my knees produces a fresh set of tears. “It’s just, I have legs, and ...”
My friend laughs the same relieved exhale I’ve come to know over the years. “Stars above, Dusa. You scared me.”
“I wouldn’t have put such a trick past Athena,” Hades mutters in the background.
I need to see these legs. My legs. I go to rip the sheet off, but the woman stops me.
“File out boys.” She motions with her free hand toward Hermes and Hades. “Let’s let Medusa get dressed and fed before we do anything else, hmm?”
It’s then I realize I am completely naked under the sheet. If I’d thought I was overly warm a minute ago, I was quite mistaken, because now I am completely enflamed.
“Persephone, be nice to her,” Hermes warns. He squeezes my hand and reluctantly gets up.
She blows him a kiss. “I will pretend you didn’t just say that.” And then, amazingly, both gods exit the room.
I wipe away the lingering tears. “You’re ... Persephone?”
She smoothes back some of my hair; her touch is tender against my sensitive skin. “Yes, darling. You’re currently in my home in Olympus. Hermes thought it best you recuperate somewhere comfortable.”
And this is where he chose? Yet I lick my dry lips and promptly thank her for taking me in.
“I am delighted to do so. Oh! Hold on a second; there is someone who wants to visit.” She goes into a sitting room just off the bedroom and returns with Mátia. “This little man has missed his mama.”
I take my kitten and press kisses all over his soft face. So, Persephone is the favorite aunt Hermes trusted with my baby. “Thank you,” I tell her once more, letting gratitude coat my words.
She presses the cup she’d been offering earlier into my hand. “We’ve wanted to meet you for some time. Obviously, Hades and I have ... intimate knowledge ... of your characters over the years. Outside of what our beloved nephew tells us.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “You mean, from all the poor souls I’ve sent to you.”
“Yes, that,” she says with a wry smile. She is her husband’s opposite—light where he is dark. “Do not be ashamed, darling girl. Death comes for a person when it is exactly their time. Be rest assured, we are fully cognizant of the details of your situation.” She smoothes my hair once more. “Besides, how could we dislike anyone who has so thoroughly earned Hermes’ trust?”
It is odd to hear her refer to Hermes as her nephew, or me as a girl, as Persephone barely looks a day over twenty-five herself.
She goes to an armoire nearby. “Come. Let’s get you up on your feet and dressed.” She motions to what appears to be a depthless array of clothing. “Would you like modern or traditional?”
Over the years, I’ve developed a secret love for fashion despite the lack of ability to truly indulge in it. I poured over magazines and websites, marveling over just how artful clothing has become. But now, faced with a choice of practically anything I could ever want, and legs and a body to fit into such luxuries, I have no idea what I want.
If Persephone is bothered by my lack of answer, she doesn’t show it. She extracts a billowy pale gray dress from the closet and holds it out. “How about this one? It’s a little of both. Greek styling,” she fingers a threaded silvery pattern on the waist, “with modern sensibilities. Let us see if those legs are working yet.”
My legs tremble like a newborn foal’s, but I manage to get out of the bed. She has to help me immediately, as outside of the sheets, I am exposed, raw: new, pale, pink flesh shivering weakly in cool air. But Persephone acts as if this—me—is nothing out of the ordinary. She holds onto me as I pull the oh-so-soft to the touch silk dress over my head; it floats around me like a cloud. Something in my memory, deep and long repressed, stirs—an image, a sensation, of me in a dress not quite so fine, running through a golden field.
“Perfect,” Persephone murmurs. She carefully leads me a short distance over to a vanity and helps me sit before a modest sized mirror that looks out of place in such an opulent room. “Your hair is lovely.” She lifts the matted mess up in her hands. “An auburn I haven’t seen before, and with a natural curl to boot. No wonder Athena thought to replace it with snakes. She must have been out of her mind with envy when she saw how exquisite you were.”
I stare into the mirror and see nothing but a stranger. The girl before me is pale; her face is thin but unblemished. Her hair is tangled and wild, her eyes an unstable cross between brown and green. I lean closer and stare harder. I ought to recognize this face, shouldn’t I? Didn’t I wear it before, even if it was for a tiny sliver of my life?
But I don’t. And it’s unnerving, because if I can remember running through a field, wearing a dress, I ought to be able to remember my face.
Persephone holds up a brush. “Do you mind?”
A goddess asking me if she can brush my hair? How has the impossible become so possible lately? She goes to work once I agree, methodically yet carefully brushing my hair free of tangles. I continue to stare in the mirror, searching for clues or memories, but they are worse than elusive.
They simply do not exist.
Persephone’s touch is gentle, and I can’t help but greedily hold onto the pleasure a simple gesture such as having one’s hair brushed brings. When she’s done, she brandishes the brush above my head like a magic wand in a fairy tale book. “What do you think?”
There are perfect, barrel-sized curls circling the girl in the mirror’s head. Not snakes. And for a moment, sorrow and loneliness press against my heart so strongly that it’s hard to breathe. The snakes—my Girls—were constant companions. It’s not like I chose them; in fact, I’d resented them more often than not during times such as sleep (they rightfully hated when I leaned my head down at certain angles and squashed them) or when I had headaches and they buzzed about me with minds of their owns. But they’d been there with and for me more years than not. And now ... they’re gone. And it wasn’t like they’d died, and I had their bodies to grieve over.
They simply didn’t exist anymore.
It’s incredibly messed up how much I already mourn their presence. “The curls are lovely.”
Persephone leans down until her strawberry-golden hair presses against my darker curls. “Hermes is so right about you. You are a wretched liar.” She hugs me tightly; once more, I revel in her touch. Two embraces from two gods in less than two weeks.
It’s yet another miracle sprung into my existence.
Even still, I’m dismayed she might have taken offense at my words. I quickly correct, “I do like them; they’re beautiful, and I appreciate your help ...”
“I know you do.” She gives me another squeeze before standing up. “Believe it or not, I can well imagine how overwhelmed you are in this moment, and we three have been hovering over you for days when all you probably want to do is take a moment just to breathe.”
My eyes jerk away from the mirror, up to hers. “Days?”
Persephone sighs and puts the brush into a drawer. “Athena is not always the kindest of souls. She did as Zeus requested, but she ...” Her full lips purse together. “Well, I think she wanted to ensure everyone knew she was displeased with being reprimanded.” She pats my shoulder. “We’ll talk more about it later, but let me encourage you to keep your distance from that one from now on.”
