Act 2: The Battle with Perseus
“Lord Zeus, I don’t know if I can do what you ask.”
Athena, the goddess of wisdom, and Zeus, the lord of the skies, were walking in a hallway of the council room on Olympus. A session with the other gods had just adjourned; they had been discussing the situation in Argos, which Zeus’s son, Perseus, was trying to resolve.
“He will not be able to succeed without our help. He needs Medusa’s head.”
Athena froze. “At her state, death is a gift to her. She needs to live with what she’s done.”
“And she’s had long enough to do so,” Zeus’s voice was pleading now. “Please, Athena—for the good of my son. He loves the girl Andromeda. It would be a pain for him for everything that he wants to disappear.”
Athena sighed and looked into Zeus’s eyes. They were desperate. “Even If were to do so,” she said, “What if your son fails?”
“He will not fail.”
“How are you so certain?”
“We’ve given him our gifts. He’s very strong,” Zeus said plainly.
“Those who have entered have lasted only seconds in Medusa’s lair,” said Athena stubbornly. They had reached the end of the hallway now, so they sat down on a bench and continued talking.
“Athena,” Zeus said impatiently. “It is a small thing to ask of you. She may have committed wrongs in your temple, but now we need her for the good of everyone, not just your grudge.”
Athena looked downward, her mind drifting away to when she caught Medusa and Poseidon in her temple. She had been very angry indeed, causing her to do what she had done. But how was Medusa fairing now? Maybe she had lived out her punishment long enough. Maybe she had realized the consequences of her actions. If Medusa’s head was used by Perseus, she could be a hero, redeem herself, in way.
“Alright,” said Athena. “I will give her mortality once again.”
Medusa was sitting on the chair in her corridor, fingering a note which she had received from Poseidon so very long ago. The paper was old, yellowing and frayed, but that only made the memory sweeter. It was the only physical remainder of her life before her curse.
Medusa spent a majority of her time sitting on that chair—absorbed in memories and thought. Her dreams each night were broken recollections of all she had left behind in Athens—they started off as sweet, joyous times from her life, but they all ended the same way. Again and again in Medusa’s mind, her lovely, corn-silk tresses would turn to snakes, and her skin would become creviced and dry. She would be banished to this temple and turn her former lover into stone.
She had completely lost the concept of time. She could see no light, do nothing within this temple—to her, days were classified by the amount of time between the various attacks from heroes who had come to slay her. They had all failed miserably—Medusa guessed that they hadn’t realized or fully come to terms with her power. She didn’t know exactly how many people she had turned to stone, but she knew that it was a lot—a lot of stupid young men.
The note she was looking at had been given to her by Poseidon when she had first arrived at the temple. She could just barely make out the words. She had even forgotten what the note was about. She just remembered that it had made her happy.
Medusa took the quiver of arrows off of her back and fingered each one delicately. Poseidon had made these due to his own affection for her. She missed him deeply. She missed being able to have to human contact that was beyond just killing people. It had been a mistake for her ever to become a priestess in Athena’s temple. She shouldn’t have taken for granted the interaction with men she was able to receive.
It was at that moment that Medusa thought she heard something. Could more travelers be coming? She dismissed it at first, but then the noises grew louder. Medusa slung her quiver back over her shoulder, grabbed her bow, and went to investigate.
When it became clear to her that there were people there—a group of three, to be exact—she stayed hidden behind a pillar and watched them. They looked utterly clueless, but it was clear that they had a leader—he stood taller, more gallantly then the others, and his armor, shield and weapon looked much stronger.
Medusa started to move forward, and her snakes hissed at the perfect time. One of the men, frozen with fear, looked straight forward into her eyes. He crumbled to stone and finally to nothing. The second man went down much more easily—he ran over to the area where his friend fell, and looked up at Medusa, locking eyes with her.
Two had gone down very easily. But there was still one to go, and that was the leader. He was running backward, closer to the exit. For a minute Medusa thought he was escaping, but soon tried to hide behind one of the pillars. Medusa still saw him, though. She took out one of her arrows and fired, but he dodged it easily. She fired another arrow, and the same thing happened. Medusa was beginning to get frustrated. There was something different about him, she realized. He was much smarter, much stronger than the others. After firing another arrow, Medusa realized why he was doing so well. He was carrying a shield which he could use to look at her reflection. If only she could get the shield out of his hands…
Medusa descended the stairs and loaded an arrow so it would be ready when she wanted to fire. She continuously jerked her head back and forth, side to side—just in case the leader came out and struck her by surprise.
Her footsteps seemed amplified by the quiet and spacious room. That was when Medusa saw something shiny slice through the air. She instinctively dodged to the side, and when something shined she jumped. The leader! She saw his face beneath a layer of shine. Medusa, frustrated, shot her arrow. It bounced off and fell limply to the side. Of course it had been his shield! How had Medusa not seen it before?
Her snakes sensed her frustration; they were tugging viciously at her skull and hissing madly. Medusa turned. If what she had seen was his reflection, he must have been close by. However, she did not see him. She loaded an arrow and began to tip-toe down the hall. Why was this boy different? How was he not dying? There was definitely something special about him. Could he be…Medusa shook her head. It was impossible. Athena had left her to rot for eternity. It wouldn’t make sense for her to send someone, just so they got killed. Her thoughts turning to the gods, she thought of Poseidon. How marvelous it would have been for him to be here. He wouldn’t care how she looked—the arrows had proved that. She leaned down, whispering into the arrow which she had loaded, “This one’s for you, dearest.”
It was at that moment that the leader, who was hiding behind a pillar, swung at his sword and sliced off Medusa’s head. At that moment, all of his tenseness had evaporated. He was breathing heavily, thinking to himself, I did it, I did it. Now he could turn the kraken to stone and finally marry Andromeda. He closed his eyes as his he fingered a loose snake. It was disgusting—there was cloth back at camp that he could put it in. Everyone had said it was impossible to kill Medusa. But he had achieved the impossible. He remembered the conversation earlier. Medusa was beautiful once, he had been told..He had put an end to her miserable existence.
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