The cloak was the first thing they took from Medusa at the arena gate.
The female instructor, blank-faced and slim as a reed, draped the cloak over her arm and shooed the boys.
Akrivi gave Medusa an apologetic shrug. Win for us, he mouthed before joining Lonian and Vyron. After waving goodbye, they merged with the crowd of students and external spectators entering the arena.
As Medusa trailed after the instructor, she took in the colosseum-style exterior. Three stories, probably half the size of a standard stadium, with walls covered in climbing vines bearing delicate white flowers that smelled of… Medusa took a sniff. Gardenia.
In her first life, she was never granted permission to visit the stadion at Athens, but she had heard stories from other priestesses, brutal stories that made her weak little heart tremble with compassion and horror.
Hopefully, today wouldn’t be anything like that. She doubted Demeter was the type to revel in blood and gore.
Following the instructor past one of the many alcoves lining the external wall, they entered a corridor with a high, curved ceiling that stretched in a series of turns, ending with a tall door at its end and a smaller one to the left.
The instructor gestured at the smaller door. “Head in. Change. I’ll be waiting.”
Like her first day in Drys Valon, a new outfit was laid out, but this time it was finer. Instead of a plain brown, thigh-length tunic, this bore red embroidery of vine patterns and gold-coloured tassels lining its hem. The sandals were of a better quality as well, climbing up to her knees with a red iron guard across her shin. The belt came with finely crafted clips, no sword in sight again.
There were two unexpected additions, though. A polished bronze breastplate with a fire-breathing hound's head etched across its middle and a helmet. The helmet was also bronze with a perfect line work and a full red plume as its crest. This was good. It may not do much in completely concealing her face, but something was better than nothing.
After making quick work of getting ready, Medusa wrapped the provided strophion around her arms, grabbed the helmet and stepped out.
One sweep from head to toe and a satisfied nod from the instructor.
Beyond the tall door were other medallion holders. She recognised two of the three. Arcas and Hoxha. After sending her a curt nod, Arcas faced ahead, his serious expression even more intense. It was different from Hoxha. She waved and fell in step with Medusa as they made their way up narrow flights of stairs that opened to a waiting area.
The morning sun spilt through the window to their right. Below was a spread of a section of the school grounds, and on the horizon, Agrai's Nest was a fog-covered boundary.
The return stone burned with phantom heat within her dimension, begging to be used. But she had given it a thought. If she could manage in some way to impress Demeter today, and if she was fast about it, she could still return to the nest.
There was the other massive concern about her disguise failing. Days sat between the time her appearance first flickered and last night. Surely, fate wouldn't be so cruel as to make her disguise fail in so short an interval.
Even though it felt futile, Medusa tried again. Clotho.
Silence. Not the slightest shift in the air.
Please, enough with the joke. I'm freaking out here.
More silence.
Arm tightening around her helmet, Medusa bit the inside of her lip.
It's fine.
Her focus shifted to the imposing brass door ahead, taking in the intricate carvings of trees, twisting vines and large twin lizards.
It's fine.
The sound of the crowd seeped in. Chorus of chants. Beating drums. Medusa’s guts twisted.
It has to be fine.
“Stand in a line next to the door,” the instructor said in a bored voice. When they did as she said, she nodded. “Now we wait.”
Medusa resisted the urge to shift her weight from one foot to the other. Or tug at the neck of her tunic. Her heart wouldn't stop beating in her throat.
“Hey.”
Medusa flinched and glanced behind.
Hoxha's eyes remained fixed on the instructor as she whispered, “Do you think the red god would be in attendance? I heard he’s quite handsome. True?”
This again? Medusa sighed internally. Since it was revealed that Ares was her backer, girls with fantasies in their eyes approach her, asking silly questions about the red god. Having a crush was understandable, but having one on Ares was nothing short of unhinged. The two times she met the deity, she had been too eaten with terror to notice his face.
“I don’t know,” Medusa answered and hoped it ended there.
Hoxha snorted, her serpentine features sharpening as she regarded Medusa from the corner of her eyes. “How is that possible? You’ve never met him?”
Medusa said nothing. She hardly cared if Ares would be in attendance; what mattered the most was Demeter. Rico had spent a few days with Medusa, but with the goddess? A month! Would Rico cave? Did he even remember her? She’d do it. Expend all that needed to be expended to show that thieving goddess she wasn't weak.
“So, is he coming?” Hoxha pressed.
“I don’t know,” Medusa repeated as gently as she could manage.
Hoxha clicked her tongue and muttered something about Medusa being a gatekeeper.
The muted voice of the herald filtered past the door. He worked the crowd like an expert fiddler, saying phrases and having them shout excited responses. This continued for a while, causing the buzzing energy of excitement to climb and climb at an electric pace that soon lessened her anxiety.
I should relax. Though she was yet to notice any pattern that triggered her appearance flickering, not being sprung tight with worry was a better approach to something beyond her control.
The instructor spoke at last. “Listen.”
She waited until she had their full attention.
“When the herald calls your name, you will walk out,” she gestured at the door, “and approach the high table. There you will see Demeter seated at its centre. Hermes attended in open form. He is seated at her right.”
“Open form?” Medusa blurted.
The instructor frowned but gave no answer.
“He showed up with his real face,” Hoxha whispered.
So she’d be seeing what Hermes looks like? Her curiosity doubled, crushing some of her anxiety.
“Give your first bow to our mother, then Hermes, before offering a single bow to deities with false faces sitting to the left and right. Do you follow?”
“Yes.” They answered in unison.
“We also have instructors from the other three schools. They will be seated at the end of the table.” The instructor’s features hardened. “Your bows should not be as deep. Though their school may be older than ours, we are not inferior to them. Demeter is our mother, a general who bows to Zeus alone. Remember that with pride.
“Your seats have also been provided a step below the high table. Before you sit, face the crowd and wave in greeting. Any questions?”
When they remained silent, she nodded and faced the door.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Medusa blew a breath and flexed her fingers, listening as the herald continued in the background. Then she caught it; the announcement of appearance had begun.
“We were curious. We came. We waited. And now,” the herald paused. Silence followed. “Lift your eyes, look upon our goddess as she receives our finest.”
The crowd went wild with cheers. Medusa’s heart thundered in her chest. Was this excitement, fear or anxiety? She couldn't tell.
“The blinding stars of Drys Valon. The pride of your houses.”
Hoxha laughed, seeming to bask in the crazed call of the crowd. The rest remained silent.
“Are you ready?” The herald dragged the question.
“YES,” the crowd thundered.
“Calling Arcas of the Manticores.”
Loud cheers erupted, the sound blasting in as the door swung open. Arcas walked out, gait confident and brisk.
“Hoxha of the Hydras!”
Wearing a self-assured grin, she sashayed into the wild shouts of the crowd.
“Moschos of the Chimeras.”
The solemn-faced boy put on a bright smile and jogged out.
“Finally, May of the Dogs!”
Gripping her helmet tightly between her arm and torso, Medusa walked into the light. The cheer was thunderous in her ears, and for a brief moment, she glanced towards the section where the call was louder. Large red flags bearing a fire-breathing hound, waving, hooting and shrill whistles. She nearly laughed, but contained herself. It felt good. Having the dogs cheer for her ground her anxiety to dust.
Facing ahead, she approached the goddess with long strides, then faltered when she noticed it.
At her feet. A cage. Rico was asleep on a bed of soft fur. How was he asleep amidst this thunderous noise?
Forcing her feet forward, she pressed on, seeing nothing but the goddess. Fighting to contain the surge of anger and wild temptation raging in her.
She clenched her fists instead, stopped before the goddess and offered a bow.
“I greet the goddess.”
“May.”
Straightening, Medusa met the goddess’ gaze. That spark of enjoyment in red-rimmed eyes and the knowing smile on her lips. The frigid doll she met at their first meeting had not returned. Perhaps she was still under the effect of the weird elixir.
“Do well,” she said in a soft voice.
Giving another stiff bow, Medusa forced a thankful reply.
Next was Hermes. Curly blond locks, unimpressed amber eyes, very luxurious cotton chiton with complex weaving of golden threads across its seams. A ringed finger tapped absently against his temple.
She offered a bow. He waved her off.
Moving on, she offered a subtle bow as she passed the instructors. One of them stood out, not just for his towering height but for the intensity of his stare, like he knew something she didn't.
He flashed a smile as she passed by. Silver canines.
Tearing her gaze away, Medusa unclenched her teeth as she made her way to her seat. She loosened her shoulders, only realising how badly she had tensed up since spotting Rico.
Reaching her seat with her mood significantly soured, she waved at the crowd. Again, the section where the dogs sat erupted with louder cheers, some even screaming her name. This time, she gave in and chuckled.
From there, the show commenced. Giant stalks burst from the earth, their buds forming and unfurling to reveal large, vibrant flowers. Flocks of colourful birds flying in synchronised formations. Fire-spitting giant salamanders and their handlers. More drums. Strings. A dancing performance from a visiting troupe of blood carriers. Medusa watched, arrested as they manipulated silken strips of garments, moving them in impossible arcs that beat whatever she could achieve with her strophion.
Applause erupted after the performance, and the herald returned, standing on an elevated stone platform.
“Splendid displays. Worthy of the Month of the Lizard.” His expression grew reverent. “Now, we call on our mother to give her blessings.”
A hush fell.
From the corner of her eyes, Medusa observed the goddess’ approach. The full skirt of her white stola pooled around her feet as she glided forward. Vines and roots pushed through cracks and crevices, gathering and forming a platform that extended past the edge of the elevation.
Coming to a stop, she gazed at the crowd for a silent moment.
There was no halo. No false love in her eyes. The emotionless doll face had returned.
“The earth has blessed your fields.” Her voice, low and gentle, carried over the gathering in a soft echo. “A bountiful harvest awaits. Prosperity to all.”
That was all. The brevity of the blessing must have come as a surprise because the crowd remained silent, only erupting in applause when she turned to return to her seat.
Hermes whispered something in her ear as she sat. She threw back her head and laughed, the cheerful sound seeming to surprise all at the high table.
The herald, standing atop his elevated podium, raised both hands with a dramatic flair. “Visitors! Children of Drys Valon. Tell me, are you ready for the trials?”
The ground vibrated with their affirmative roar.
The herald laughed, then gave a graceful arm flourish in their direction. “Come, contenders.”
Hardened roots travelled from the elevation, curling and weaving a narrow staircase down.
They descended in the order they were called, with Medusa reaching the expansive spread of the arena platform last.
Judging from the displayed colours among the spectators, the houses were seated to her left and right, with outsiders lining the topmost slabs. Students from the other three schools sat adjacent to the high elevation.
“The contenders will choose a single weapon.”
Two stocky men, Medusa recognised as gymnasiarchs under Nestor, rolled in a large board holding a wide array of weapons.
A sword wasn’t an option, nor were daggers. She was yet to modify Athena's Dagger Method entirely; to display such skill here was suicide. That left a single choice.
Her eyes fell on the weapon, its design familiar and unfamiliar all at once. A bladed bow?
Beyond curious, she reached for the bow to the horror of the dogs. Judging from their collective groans. Well, sorry.
She tested the bow's weight as she took in its unique design. Wooden. Black, wickedly sharp blades were embedded at both ends of the weapon. At the centre, where the tip of her arrow would sit, was an indented demarcation.
Could it be? She tugged in opposite directions, attempting to pull it apart. Nothing.
Hmmm. She tried again, this time injecting aether. A click. Eyebrows climbing up, she twisted both sides in opposite directions for curiosity's sake and felt it.
It could come apart.
She bit the corner of her lips as she struggled not to show her delight. And the string could be unbraced. This… this was a genius design.
“Spread the awnings!”
Medusa looked up in time to witness what resembled a… she frowned. A spread of still water? A total of four overhangs rolled out, forming canopies that perfectly mirrored the arena below in zoomed size.
Judging from how everyone seemed unfazed, this must be a regular occurrence in colosseums.
Instead of gawking at the bizarre canopies, Medusa observed other contenders.
Arcas had chosen a sword, while Moschos had chosen twin axes. And Hoxha, a thorny whip? Medusa looked at the girl's face. She flashed a smirk as she clipped the coiled weapon to her belt.
“Gadflies. Kokopys. Maeras,” the herald said, his gaze sweeping over the murmuring crowd. “What do these beasts have in common?”
From her knowledge of beasts, Medusa couldn’t think of a single similarity. Gadflies were insect-type beasts, kokopys were an aberration of what monkeys should look like, and Mearas were ferocious, poison-fanged hounds.
“All three shall be active participants today.”
A collective gasp and burst of conversation.
“Hold your excitement.” The herald held up a hand, signalling for silence. “It gets even better. This time, a fourth beast will join.” Another dramatic pause. “Screechers.”
Medusa blanched, barely catching herself from taking an instinctive backwards step.
“And not just one screecher, but four, each holding the scent of our contenders.”
More murmurs erupted as Medusa tried but failed to keep memories from pressing. For all his loathing of beasts, Perseus had used that creature to hunt her on the day of her first death. Why now? Was this some joke? Was there some other cosmic being out there mocking her?
“The unruly students of Drys Valon know of this beast. A punishment given but with a stayed hand. But today… Today shall be different. These beasts shall run free within an ever-changing maze. The screechers will not stop seeking and seeking until they find their prey.”
Medusa's breath grew laboured. This… this is nothing. I've faced worse. It's nothing.
But it's something. Her rational side argued. Leave now.
If that beast finds her, something other than the secret of her real appearance will be exposed.
“This trial shall last for a horia. There are three ways to win. Kill the most beasts by the end of the game, defeat at least two contenders or kill a screecher.”
Two choices clubbed Medusa's mind. Vanish or fight.
Lifting her eyes, her gaze sought what sat next to Demeter’s feet. She couldn't see Rico clearly from a distance.
I should leave. I can come back later for him. I should use the return stone now. If the screecher finds me—
“Contenders, wear your helmets.”
Medusa absently pushed on the helmet even as her mind shuddered under the weight of choices. The helmet was snug around her skull and pressed against her ears, but not uncomfortably so. It helped mute the noise. Helped her think.
She slung the quiver strap across her shoulder. Only twelve arrows.
I should do this. I've faced worse.
You've faced worse? Really? Shot that countering voice. The screecher reacts to death’s stain on a soul. You've killed hundreds! If the beast finds you, you'd be exposed for the murderer you are.
I'd be fast. Medusa replied. It wouldn't find me. I'm very fast. I'd—
“May our mother guide you.”
The change bulldozed through Medusa’s indecisiveness.
They rose from nothing, high green hedges bearing writhing vines, spreading leaves and creaking roots.
Skreee!
Medusa whipped around, bow nocked and ready. Eyes focused on the sharp bend ahead.
That whinny note in the shriek, low for now, was a signal that the screecher had caught her scent and was closing in.
Deciding to trust her speed, Medusa guided aether to her feet and fled in the opposite direction.
I left a poll!
IF YOU WERE MEDUSA, WOULD YOU HAVE
