“I wonder what master Ares is thinking?”
Medusa just stood there, half in a daze, half in a rage as Lysander helped her buckle on a pauldron. The shoulder armour flared with an aggressive energy, acting as a kind of beacon or tracker? That part was unclear. She had stopped listening closely after Lysander dropped the news.
Ares got another contender.
Wow. What… bullshit.
Was she not strong enough? Had she failed some test she wasn't aware of? Why drop the news days before Zeus' trial? And to think she had been excited with the results of Clotho's experiment, only to get slapped in the face with such splendid news first thing in the morning. The insult didn't stop there; it got worse. Now, she had to partake in some contest? Oh, the insult.
Lifting her eyes, she glared at the mountain ahead, taking in its tightly packed trees and the low-hanging cloud blanketing its bald, jagged peak.
“They said he is also cursed.”
“Also cursed. I see.” A hollow chuckle escaped.
Lysander cocked her head, dark eyes narrowing as she observed Medusa. “I thought you’d be relieved to escape facing Zeus.”
Yes, she should be relieved; the pressure of standing before Zeus would be taken care of if she walked out from whatever this was. Having to remain hidden from his eyes was a good thing. But my insides are boiling. What's this molten rage?
A new contender all of a sudden. So what was all that brutal training for? From her time in Drys Valon to her blindfold training, all had been to represent Ares at the games. To discard her so casually and subject her to this? Even Clotho wouldn't give her a straight reply, claiming she needed rest because the surgery had drawn too much from her essence.
Scowling, Medusa touched the still tender spot at the back of her neck. “Who’s this new person? What's his name?”
Lysander shrugged and stood back to take in Medusa’s appearance. They had swapped the jingling uniform for a plain belted tunic, polished iron pauldron and knee-high sandals. No weapon yet, save for the ordinary daggers she was given at the start of her training.
“I haven't seen him. Don't know his name either.” Lysander frowned. “But if his father is who I heard he is, then the boy's curse will be something wicked.”
“Ah. I see. I see.” Medusa nodded repeatedly. Even though she was smiling, it was a pinched smile. “Was this Ares’ plan from the beginning? Then what was that spiel about being patient? What about his hellish training? Was he toying with me? I’m getting better at controlling my curse. I really am. If that prickly man could just—” Wait. Why am I hard-selling myself?
Lysander’s usually bright expression hardened. “I understand your grievance towards Master Ares, but watch your tongue.”
“Go to hell,” Medusa spat in English. Why am I doing this? She glared down at herself, disgusted. Am I some dancing monkey? Making up her mind, she reached for the buckle across her chest.
Lysander sighed and smacked her hand away. “Calm down. It's just a little contest to measure your growth. Even if you fail, Ares wouldn't abandon you. Deities aren't limited to a single contender, you know? More contenders mean better odds of winning the games. Your anger is needless.”
“Who says I'm angry?” Her scowl returned. And why am I relieved?
Lysander laughed and flicked her forehead. “Perhaps that temper comes with the red hair.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she mumbled as her focus returned to the mountain.
Lysander simpered and observed the mountain too. “When I suggested to Master Ares that you face a blood-carrier to test your growth, I didn't think he would interpret that as getting another contender. Anyway, an opportunity is an opportunity."
Apart from drawing out her gorgon form, Ares had trained Medusa to overcome her fear of neck attacks; still, she needed more exposure training. If she wins this mountain test, she'd likely be the one to face whoever Athena presents in the coming days. She'd finally meet the goddess after so many years. Would I tremble? Would the flashbacks rip through me? Lately, her bitter memories have been mostly contained, and her dreams have been silent thanks to saltpine. Too comfortable. More exposure training made sense. Hopefully, she wouldn't crumble standing before Athena.
“Now for your weapon.” Lysander flicked her wrists, and a dagger appeared in each palm. “I do not know where the red god got them from, but…” She whistled in appreciation as she observed the weapons.
Shiny black, razor-sharp translucent edge and golden runes etched across its handle. There was one rune in particular, like a ‘6’, but the curve extended into a spiral and held a dot in its middle. It looked familiar. Entranced, Medusa reached out.
Lysander held up the daggers, a playful grin on her lips. “No. Not yet, my red puppy.”
Medusa rolled her eyes at the silly nickname. “What now?”
“Sharper than a Cetus’ fin.” Her eyes shone with appreciation as she described the daggers like some silver-tongued merchant. “Flawless grip. Look at the smoothness of their curve. See that perfect balance?”
As she spun the blades, light bounced off their polished surface. They looked a thousand times better than anything Medusa had used in all her lives. “You said they are mine. Give them to me.”
Lysander’s smile only grew to an annoying grin. “How badly do you want them?”
Medusa knocked off the spike of rising anger and sighed. “Stop playing.”
As if in obedience, all traces of playfulness evaporated from Lysander’s face. “I don't know about the son, but I know of the father, so it pains me that Master Ares took in the spawn of a twisted reprobate. I need you to win. If possible, make it impossible for that boy to represent the master even in the games.” Gone was the easy cheer and bright eyes, and in its place was a haunted, vengeful shadow.
“What's this about?”
Flashing a weak smile, Lysander shook her head. “Just…do your best to win.” Life slowly returned to her eyes, and so did that easy cheer. “Forget what I said about maiming him. Don't do that.”
“I'll keep that in mind.” Her focus returned to the daggers. “Now, can I have them?”
“So cold.” She laughed and ruffled Medusa’s hair. “You remind me of a cat. The prickly type with harmless little bites.”
Medusa made a face. “I'm not a cat.”
“Maybe a dog, then? Mind catching these?”
Before Medusa could understand her meaning, Lysander flung the weapons in opposite directions.
Instinct honed over weeks of training snapped into action.
“Breathing.” As time slowed, Medusa moved. Fang punching out, she sliced a cut across her palm and whipped a trail of blood after the dagger to her left. A snag and pull. Then she flashed to her right and caught the second dagger just before it hit the ground. The first dagger, now linked to the trail of her blood, zapped into her palm like iron to a powerful magnet. But the execution was clumsy.
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She winced as the blade sliced through the flesh of her fingers. Flicking the blood off, she wiggled her fingers as they healed. Not bad for her first try with a weapon.
Similar to the case with the bees, her blood now had properties of the one-eyed river squid. Thanks to her brief practice with a small marked stone last night, she had learned something interesting about having rock huggers’ blood. Now that she thought of it, it was highly likely the daggers were from Clotho, not Ares. That activation rune on their hilt hinted as much.
Lysander flashed over, eyes shining with curiosity. “What was that? I've never seen that before.”
“You threw the blades, and I caught them.” The daggers were shiny black, almost glass-like in appearance; heavy but balanced in her grip. And it held aether, so drawing blood earlier had been unnecessary.
“These are awesome. Extend my thanks to Ares.” Her earlier rage had since fizzled to nothing. Now she was eager to brave the mountain and see how well these daggers would do against beasts or Ares’ fantastic new contender. This sudden burst of competition? She embraced it. Losing was not an option. Unleashing her gorgon form on him may be too much, but who knows? The occasion may call for it.
“Can you repeat the rules?” Medusa asked, still staring at her latest prized possessions. “I wasn't listening at the beginning.”
Instead of answering, Lysander took Medusa’s previously injured hand in hers and observed it. “Speak. What did you do with your blood? It dragged the dagger to your palm. How? I've never heard of such a thing. Were those fangs I saw?” She grabbed Medusa’s face, squishing her cheeks to expose her teeth. “I swear I saw fangs…” she mumbled, brow bunched in confusion.
Medusa pulled away. “I'll keep my secret.”
Lysander didn't know she was a gorgon. Only Ares did, thanks to the dome he set up whenever he trained her.
Releasing a loud burst of laughter, she patted Medusa’s head. “Very well, my red puppy.”
“As for your little test, it should not exceed more than two horai.” She faced the mountain once more. “Master Ares has placed a token at the mountain peak. If the other contender gets it before you, you'll know his location. An unmistakable bird call will follow whoever bears the token. The same goes for you. But here’s the interesting part.”
Bracing her hands on her knees, Lysander held her gaze at eye level. “It doesn't matter who gets it first. What matters is who makes it back with the token.”
“Can't I simply wait for him at the bottom of the mountain? He'll be exhausted from all that hiking and beast fighting.”
A mischievous smile curled Lysander’s lips. “Try that and see if it works.”
“Fine.” Medusa huffed. “When do we start?”
“Anytime soon. Been counting in my head.” She tapped her temple, then canted her head in a ‘follow me’ motion.
They walked in silence. Past the training ground. Off a wide, stone-paved path and down a winding dirt road. As they pressed on, Medusa noticed a hum in the air, quite similar to what she felt when she first stepped into Tartarus. Save for that, there was nothing odd. The bushes appeared maintained even this far off Ares’ main villa, and it remained so even as they pressed further towards the foot of the mountain.
“Once you step over the domain barrier, you will be transported to a random spot in the middle of the mountain. The same will happen to the other contender, but on the opposite side. Understand?”
Medusa nodded. At last, they reached the edge of the domain. Though invisible, the barrier warped ever so slightly, exposing its presence. Then they waited. If she were to guess, it should be about three hours before noon.
Finally, Lysander broke the silence. “It's time. Walk straight ahead. You'll know it when you pass the barrier.”
Medusa eagerly did as she said. It felt good to break the monotony of training for the past weeks. I'll be fast. Whatever stands in her path, she would cut right through. She planned to get the token and wait for the contender. Better to beat him first, then make her way down.
“Remember what I said,” Lysander called after her. “Use this opportunity to test your skill.”
Casually waving in response, Medusa stepped through the barrier.
***
Akrivi appeared in a nest of bones. He gagged as the thick smell of decay stuffed down his nostrils and yanked at the contents of his breakfast.
“Ugh.” He picked his way around brittle eggshells, twigs, and rotting bones. Some appeared fresh. The beast may be close by.
As if to confirm his suspicion, he sensed a presence behind him. The beast was probably watching for the best moment to strike. Groaning internally, Akrivi resolved to be quick about it. As he turned, he released a bit of his essence.
The bird, large and bearing feathers the shade of midnight, froze mid-stalk. It blinked shiny black eyes, opened its hooked beak and released a weak shriek before slowly retreating into the bushes. Smart bird.
Stepping out of the nest, Akrivi glanced around. Typical forest, but with a lush abundance of undergrowth, a sign that direct sunlight wasn't needed for some of the plants to grow. As he retrieved his sword from his pouch, he pulled aether tightly around his body to form a protective layer.
“What next?” he muttered.
From the gentle incline, he could tell which way was up. The thought of waiting for the other contender and taking their token had crossed his mind, but that was a risk he was unwilling to take.
Ares had promised power without Akrivi having to sacrifice his mortality. All he needed to make that happen was to win this contest. Deities were untrustworthy, but he had heard rumours about the red god. Though merciless, he was known to honour his word. So, winning wasn’t an option, it was something he must absolutely attain.
First, high ground. Sucking a breath, he fashioned a thin line of aether into a spring and jumped. Hopping from branch to branch, he cut all in his way until he stood at the top of the tree.
Not high enough.
He moved to another tree in silence. Birds fled only when he drew close. The crickets and cicadas sang undisturbed, and the leaves shifted naturally in the breeze. No beast on his tail.
Limiting his movements to the trees, he steadily increased his pace as he leapt from tree top to tree top. In less than ten meros, he should be halfway up. If he drew more from his aether reserve to double his speed, he would arrive faster, but there was no rush. If the other contender got the token before him, he'd know their location after all. Easy either way.
Ares said nothing about the blood-carrier he would be facing, so Akrivi was prepared to use every means to win, even his curse, should the situation demand it. If May were alive, she'd be the one he'd face. He had seen her performance during Demeter's festival. She was impressive, but he could do better. Even better than Arcas if he pushed himself, though there was always the risk of things exploding to horrors if he allowed his curse to take control. But this mountain was not an arena. He had no plan to hold back, not when Ares had given him hope for the first time in years.
He noticed it then. A slight disturbance in the air. Could it be—
A splintering crack followed by a crash that shook the ground enough to vibrate the tree he stood on. A beast was about. There was the option of drawing more from his aether reserve and shooting for the mountain to avoid a—no. It would be foolish to burn aether like that.
When the shaking continued, he stopped and looked behind him. The trees were shaking as if something massive was moving beneath them. And there was a pattern; whatever that was was heading straight to him.
Mind working fast, Akrivi considered his situation. His scent was sealed behind the aether shield coating his body, and his movement was silent. The beast was probably following his aether trail. In that case, fleeing would achieve nothing.
“A frontal approach then.” Allowing himself free-fall, he slashed a clear path on his way down. As his feet quietly touched the forest floor, the cut branches rained around him, making enough noise to draw whatever pursued him.
Weapon to his side, he waited.
More birds took flight, and the insects fell silent. The crashing increased as the ground shuddered. A large beast? Hardly made sense in the densely packed forest. But this was Olympus; anything was possible.
It appeared. At least, a glimpse of it. Black with bright red patches. Leathery skin. Fast. It moved in a twitchy, slithering motion. Not a snake. He had spied a stumpy leg. A lizard then?
A puffing sound. Drawn out and ending with an unmistakable wheezing hiss.
Akrivi realised what the beast was. A fungus salamander. Now it made sense why some trees had fallen. Its powdery breath possessed corrosive elements that could even burn through metal, depending on the age of the beast. As if to prove his guess correct, it scampered from around a large tree ahead, its mouth wide, belching a cloud of red spores.
Akrivi dragged aether from his reserve and slashed down. Bright blue trailed the path of his blade, parting the corrosive poison and travelling to the creature's open mouth. Something fast and heavy flashes forward.
Clang!
He noticed three things at once. The creature's tail had intercepted his attack; its tail was tipped with a round stone and was ridiculously fast for something that large.
Leaping back, he barely escaped having his head smashed in by the whipping appendage.
“Blood,” he hissed. Since when did salamanders grow stone tails? Yes, they had clubbed tails, but they were usually made of flesh like the rest of their body.
It's shot forward, its movement ridiculously fast for something its size. More hissing and another puff.
Akrivi slashed again and escaped a second swing from the tail. The attack crashed into one of the smaller trees instead, sending splinters flying.
Huffing in annoyance, Akrivi resolved to end this fast. Channelling even more aether into his sword, he leapt, twisted in the air and aimed his weapon down. The tail came at him again, swinging with insane speed, but he was faster. He slightly changed his trajectory at the last moment, aimed for the part where flesh met hardness. Slice.
Blood fountained, spurting black as the heavy appendage crashed into the salamander’s back. Releasing a drawn-out hiss, its open mouth belched even more spores that burned through all in its path.
Akrivi raised his blade when a bird's cry pierced the air. The call was abnormally loud and echoed from the mountain peak. His opponent had beaten him to the top. “Lucky bastard.”
Abandoning the writhing salamander, he launched himself to the top of the nearest tree and shot for the mountain peak.
Who Do You Want to Win?
