Medusa Gorgon's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Medusa counted her stone heroes and came up three short of the wall she wanted to fill. Twelve statues stood in her courtyard, swords raised, mouths open, eyes gone white where she had caught them. She ran a finger along the jaw of the newest one. The snakes on her head hissed at the cold marble. She had promised herself a full gallery by winter, one frozen fool for every hero the world sent to kill her. The world had stopped sending them. She stalked to the ridge above her lair and looked down at the road. Empty. Three weeks empty. The last traveler had turned his mule around a mile from her gate and ridden back the way he came. Someone was warning them off. She found the reason at the crossroads by dusk. An old man in gray rags sat on a milestone, waving a stick at a family of pilgrims. His voice carried up the slope. "Turn back. The snake-woman waits. Turn back." The pilgrims turned. Their cart wheels ground away toward the marble columns of the grand hotel that shone on the far hillside, safe under the favor of the gods. Her jaw tightened. Every guest at that hotel was a hero she would never own. She pulled her hood low and walked down to the milestone. The old man did not look up. His eyes were milk-white. Blind. That was why the stare would not work. "Tell me who pays you," she said. "No one pays me, child. I see what comes. I warn what walks." She drew her knife. Before she could raise it, the air went cold. Blue fire lit the road. A small figure stepped out of nothing, black robes dragging, hair burning pale blue above a scowling child's face. Hades. Her uncle in all but courtesy. He barely reached her hip and she still took a step back. "Put the knife away," he said. His voice was older than his size. "He belongs to me eventually. Not tonight." "He's ruining my harvest." "Then stop stabbing and start thinking." Hades flicked two fingers at the oracle. The old man slumped, breath still moving. "I'll take his voice for a year. Consider it a gift. In return, you send the next three to my gates instead of your garden." Medusa smiled with no warmth. "Two." "Three, or I wake him up." She spat on the milestone and nodded. Hades vanished. The oracle opened his mouth to speak and made only a dry click. He stood, confused, and shuffled off the road into the brush. Medusa climbed back to her ridge. By dawn, hoofbeats came up the road again, then more behind them. Heroes, at last, in a line. She counted them like coins. Then she remembered the debt she had just signed, and the count soured in her mouth. Three of these belonged to a god now, and gods kept ledgers.