By
@Holmishire.
Melas awoke, soaked to the core, on a bed of hard rock. Aching all over his body, he touched a shaking hand to his right shoulder and drew it back coated in blood.
Sitting up—and instantly regretting it as he let loose a cry of pain—Melas spared a moment to take in his surroundings.
The rock on which he'd fallen was a matte black, part of an outcropping five yards wide. This slab of rock was one of many sticking out of a similarly formed cliff-face. Stretching and curving for miles to either side, the boy thought he could see a distant wall of rock opposite him, through a vast haze of fog.
Looking to his left, he spied a massive waterfall, its roar beginning to sound in his ears as they adjusted to consciousness. Some ten yards up the raging water was another outcropping of rock, stained with blood.
I must have fallen from there, he pondered, pulling at his dripping clothes.
Feeling something jabbing at his back, he reached around, his hand grasping a rough, conical item tied by a string around his neck. Lifting it carefully over his head with his left hand—and yet still wincing as the movement strained his bleeding shoulder—he placed it on his lap to get a good look at it.
Set with a sturdy leather cap, it appeared to be a hollowed ram's horn. "The
cornucopia," he gasped.
He remembered.
The flapping of wings, the rush of wind, the sting of sweat and blood. Chased by a trio of harpies, he and his brother had flown out of the massive pit in the earth on the back of a pegasus. Their precious cargo, powerful items stolen from a weakened Gaia, would prove crucial to their success in the war against the gods. The
harpe, a sickle that castrated a titan and beheaded a gorgon. The stone tablet of
Ara, cut from the same alter that had marked the gods' defiance to the Titans. And the
cornucopia, which he now carried, containing an unlimited supply of ambrosia.
Uncorking the horn, he poured its contents over his shoulder. Biting back a scream as the ambrosia healed his flesh, Melas nevertheless felt euphoria as it entered his bloodstream. Had he drank it directly, the liquid would surely have driven him mad—but though distant, his partially divine heritage prevented the shock from killing him outright.
Rising with renewed vigour, Melas considered the direness of his situation. He and his brother had been under the protection of the two boreads, winged brothers of the North wind. He could only hope that after he had been thrown off by the harpies the other three had escaped the pit into the forests beyond. Judging by the fact that they had yet to retrieve him, they either assumed him dead, or the harpies were still at large, preventing them from returning by air. Knowing his brother, it was likely the latter.
That, or they were all dead.
Either way, he needed to find a way out of this pit. An immense cylindrical hole in the earth, Gaia rested in a deeper crevasse at the centre, reaching deep into the bowels of the earth. It was here that the entire war had started. Bearing a plague that stripped the gods of the their divine powers and immortality, Ouranos limped into his mother's arms—and from her it spread to the rest of the world. Ever greedy, humanity rose up to overthrow Mount Olympus's rule.
In the first battle, however, they faced a brutal shock: though the gods could now be killed, they still bore the strength of a thousand men—each.
With their very existence under threat, Zeus had but one one decree—the complete genocide of the human race.
Melas began to carefully descend the cliff-face. Going down was demoralizing, but the pit was
at least a mile deep. There was no way he'd be able to climb the whole way up. Thankfully, he knew cave systems and stairs existed that would take him to the top—he just didn't know where to find any of them.
Hours had passed since he'd awoken, and the only progress he'd made was in retrieving his sheathed sword, found at the base of the cliff. Now, all he could content himself with was walking the entire circular edge of the pit, scanning the black rock for an entrance—or at least some hint as to where he would find one.
The pervasive fog kept him on edge. From time to time, he could hear the shrill shrieks of the harpies as they flew above, guarding their home from intruders—it seemed they had abandoned their search for his companions. Unsurprisingly, for the surrounding forests were even more vast than the pit itself.
But what really kept his skin crawling was the unknown. He knew Gaia's pit was teeming with all sorts of vile creatures. He knew how to fight, but the monsters of old were far beyond his ability to kill, least of all with the short sword he wielded.
Give him a spear, and maybe he'd stand a chance.
A noise, to his right.
Melas ducked low to the ground, his sword drawn as he scanned the fog for movement. He thought he'd heard a distinctly reptilian hiss.
A slight figure strode out of the fog—humanoid and wrapped in a thick cloak. As it drew closer, he could make out a feminine figure beneath her robes.
"Come no closer!" he shouted, voice hoarse. "I'm armed."
She made no sign that she heard his threat, but drew slowly to a halt nevertheless. After a moment of silence, she pulled back her hood. What was revealed sent Melas reeling in fear: a soft, girlish face; yellow, scaley skin; and a dozen writhing snakes for hair.
He closed his eyes in a panic, but it took him only a moment's realization to remember a detail he'd missed—a blindfold, pulled tight over her eyes.
Looking again, he approached her with his blade pointed at her throat. "I know what you are,
gorgon. My great-grandfather slew one of your ilk—I can do the same."
Still, she offered no reaction. Once the blade was but inches from her skin, she gently gripped his shaking hand and pushed it down. "I can taste your fear, human. You need not fear me. I shall do you no harm."
Melas scowled, but restrained himself from making any threatening gestures. "Monsters are known to deceive their prey. Your wiles will do nothing for me."
"I was not always such a creature. It was not long ago that I was a goddess—a few centuries to a mortal." She graced him with a despondent smile, touching the edge of her blindfold—Melas tensed, ready to strike should she attempt to remove it. Her smile, weak already, wavered. Still, she continued. "Perseus could not kill me, times have changed. Now, I am just as mortal as you."
"Then why shouldn't I kill you now?"
"Because I need you."
Melas barked a brusque laugh. "Hardly a good defence." He raised his blade only for the gorgon to push it aside once more.
"I know how to get out of this pit, but I need you to do it."
Melas was visibly struggling with the idea, his grip on the sword less sure. A shriek of a harpy punctuated the silence, making him jump.
"Please," the gorgon murmured.
The boy's eyes set with determination. "Fine." He gestured towards the cliff-face, then realized the futility of such a motion. "Lead the way," he said instead.
They had been walking for quite some time, the gorgon slowly treading the circumference of the pit much as Melas had, but using her left hand instead of her eyes. Unable to bear the silence any longer, the boy opened his mouth to speak—
"My name is Euryale." Her voice was oddly soothing, but he was still startled by the interruption.
"How did you do that?"
"I could hear the change of your breath."
Melas thought that over. "Is that how you found me?"
"No." He thought he could hear a hint of self-satisfaction in her tone. "It is rare to find the stench of a human down here. You are fortunate I found you first."
"That has yet to be seen. Keep looking."
"I know where I'm going," she replied indignantly.
He chose not to respond.
After a couple more minutes, Euryale stopped, her hand resting in a straight groove in the cliff-face, difficult to distinguish amidst the natural edges of the black rock.
Melas looked closely at the groove. "Well?" he asked.
Euryale pointed up and a little to the right. "I need you to get me up there."
Her aim was off, but Melas could easily make out a large outcropping some distance up. "How?" he almost whined.
"By climbing. Do you have rope?"
He grunted in assent.
"Then pull me up when you get there." Sitting down on the dirt, she made herself comfortable for a long wait. "Good luck, human."
"Melas," he grumbled.
The barest hint of a smile edged her lips. "Good luck, Melas."
The climb was difficult, but the ambrosia's long-lasting effects gave him the strength to persevere. He had only fallen once, his quick reflexes saving him from shattering below by catching hold of the rock further down.
Drenched in chilling sweat, he pulled himself over the ledge and flopped onto his back, panting.
Almost four times larger than the outcropping he'd fallen to by the waterfall, it receded into the cliffside out of sight. Once he'd gathered his breath, he rose to investigate.
The recession stretched deep into the cliff, expanding into a dark cave.
Reluctant, he returned to the edge, planted himself behind some rocks for footholds, and threw the rope over the edge. He had tied a small stone to the end so that is would click against the cliff as it fell, allowing the gorgon to find it easily without her eyes.
After a few moments, the rope pulled taut. Heaving up the rope hand over hand, Melas found himself surprised at just how light she was.
Once her hands gripped the ledge, he went to her, grabbed her wrists, and thrust her up to join him.
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it." He grimaced. "Please."
Euryale approached the entrance, feeling the walls with her hands. The snakes on her head hissed as they reached out, tongues tasting the cold air emanating from inside. She reached a hand out behind her, not turning to face him. "Take my hand. I know the way."
Melas quickly searched his gear. "My torches broke when I fell—how will I see?"
"You won't. You'l just have to trust me."
Scoffing, he turned back to face the pit. As if to punctuate his thoughts, he heard the shriek of the harpies in the distance.
"Or, you could trust
them."
He took her hand.
Her hand was cold and delicate, encompassed by his own calloused mitt.
In the absence of light, Melas was left nearly alone with his thoughts, his only connection to the external environment their echoing stpes and the tiny grip of Euryale's hand.
Deprived of his sight, it took constant effort for him to remember that the creature leading him was a fallen goddess, a bloodthirsty monster cursed for her vanity—and
not a sweet young maiden, lost in the dangerous wilds as much as him.
A girl who couldn't see.
"Why the blindfold?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Couldn't you have made it up here without me with your eyes open?"
Euryale did not answer for some time. When she did, she spoke barely above a whisper. "I never had the ability to petrify others with my gaze, if that's what you're asking. That was my sister." She paused, and when she continued, it was with a voice somehow even quieter. "But that didn't prevent your kin from cutting them out when they found me."
Melas was left speechless.
"So, no, I did not don the blindfold for your sake."
A few hours of wandering through the cave systems, twisting and turning down innumerable ranches, Melas was decidedly lost. He was amazed that the gorgon knew such a complicated route by heart—and he considered the possibility that she
didn't.
His only reassurance was the confidence of her stride.
As they rounded another corner, still on their slow ascent, he caught sight of something—a feat in and of itself in this darkness. Asking her to stop for a moment, he knelt down to get a closer look.
"What is it?" she asked, standing over him.
In front of Melas was a lone piece of wood, light emanating from a substance on its surface. "Foxfire," he explained, a glowing fungus found on rotting wood." He began to collect some of it to help light the way, but Euryale tapped him on the shoulder.
"Don't bother, there will be more."
He wrapped up what little he had gathered then turned to take hold of her hand again. Euryale was looking ahead, he snakes lethargic and fearful, anxiety painted in broad strokes across her face.
"We enter the mines."
She had not lied.
This section of the caves was dominated by tunnels carefully carved from the stone, discarded support beams showing up frequently, their rotting cores bursting open with the soothing lime flow of the foxfire.
Euryale had given no explanation as to what about the mines made her so apprehensive, and every time her had tried to pry the information from her, she had abruptly shushed him, listening intently as she walked.
No longer needing to walk hand-in-hand with the gorgon, Melas distracted himself with his sword, swinging it through the air in complicated series of arcs and jabs, taking down imaginary foes.
Despite his skill, 'twould be a foolish sight to behold, were there anyone present to see it.
The two came upon a large chamber, teeming with foxfire. Scattered across the room were discarded carts, tools, and even a few long-dried bones—though no fully intact skeletons. Picking up what he assumed to be a bull's thigh-bone, he tossed it towards Euryale.
She caught it deftly without breaking stride, setting it on the floor silently. "We'll make camp here. Set up a fire, and I shall take first watch."
"Aye, whatever you say." Dropping his gear by one of the carts, he set about gathering the least rotten wood he could locate for burning.
As he explored the chamber, he found signs of violence. Carts knocked over, wooden beams broken in two, and most unnerving of all large claw marks on the rocky floor. With a quickly collected load, he returned to the site where he'd left Euryale.
While he was away, she had gone through his things, setting up his sleeping roll and tossing him a chunk of bread. Stuffing it into his mouth, he dropped the wood in the centre of the makeshift camp before fiddling with his fire-starting tools. "What happened to the miners working here?"
Her response was hesitant, but at least better than the nothing he'd received all day. "They were chased out, by hounds of basalt. Those who remained, died." She thought for a moment. "Those who fled, likely also died."
Melas felt a chill run down his spine. "And you didn't feel the need to
tell me about these hounds?"
"No." Her voice was low, almost sad. "I did not wish to worry you. Besides," she looked him in the eye, "most have already been slain."
"Humans don't just kill things, you know," he grumbled. "Things kill us too."
"I know." She smiled at him, despondently. "But we are dwindling. Humans will always make more of themselves."
Not if Zeus has his way. They mean to kill us
all, just like the Giants. Just like the Titans. Only
we won't come back." He spat on the rock. "All we did was balance the playing field. The plague was our chance at freedom."
Euryale looked away. "I am sorry, I did not mean to offend you. But you must know that every war has consequences. Many innocents have suffered for your arrogance." Melas opened his mouth to retort, but she silenced him with a raised finger. "I know, you wish only to protect your kin. Now sleep, I will watch over you."
The gorgon began to hum, and soon her voice seeped into his sore bones, lulling him to sleep. She guided him gently to his sleeping roll and tucked him in.
As his eyes shut, all he could hear was the crackling of the fire an the humming of her voice.
Silence.
As he rose groggily from where he'd slept, he heard nothing but silence.
Where the fire before had crackled humbly, giving off sweet warmth, now there lay only cold ashes. He looked around the camp for Euryale, but she was nowhere to be seen.
What he did find, however, was a trail of golden blood.
Drawing his sword, he followed the trail at a slow, deliberate pace, careful not to make a sound.
It lead him through and out of the main chamber, down a winding tunnel with only sparse sproutings of foxfire to light the way. Here, the damage he'd seen earlier, continued: the walls criss-crossed with deep gouges, the shattered wooden beams.
As the tunnel levelled off, Melas heard movement ahead—the sound of stone scraping against stone, and loud, infrequent barks.
His heart racing, he slipped into another illuminated chamber.
Smaller and more roughly-hewn than the last one, it was covered in pieces of shattered rock, and the scattered remains of numerous skeletons, many fully intact. Fox-fire coated the walls—in contrast to the relative darkness he'd grown used to, it felt light daylight, albeit lime-coloured.
In the centre of the chamber lay an immense hound, nearly two men tall and plenty thick. It's body was covered in a scaly rock-like shell, leaving only its belly exposed. For now, it slept, scraping the ground with its claws in troubled sleep, whining and barking on occasion.
And across from it lay Euryale.
Unwilling to leave her behind, he slowly edged his way around the beast until he was kneeling at her side.
Her frail body was bloody and battered, a thick gash stretching across her stomach. Her throat was torn open, oozing golden blood, and both her legs seemed crushed. Still, placing a hand over her chest, he could feel her heart beating. Had she not once been a goddess, she'd surely be dead. As things stood, she was not far off.
Unslinging the
cornucopia from his back, he tilted up her chin and poured some of its potent contents down her gullet. Shortly, she began to gurgle and choke, her flesh reforming around her throat. Next, he poured some onto the gash on her stomach, sealing it. As she started to regain consciousness, he hiked up her skirt and—generously applying the liquid to his hands, rubbed ambrosia into her legs.
Her eyes fluttering open, she looked at him. "The hound..." she mumbled, gesturing in its direction.
"Be quiet, everything's gonna be fine." He could feel the bones in her legs begin to reset under his touch.
Euryale stiffened, suddenly alert, and gripped his shoulder. "I'm going to scream," she stated, matter-of-factly.
"Don't be an idiot—"
"When I scream, you need to slit its throat."
"What?"
"Cover your ears."
He looked over at the hound. No longer was it lying on the ground. No longer was it whining in its sleep. No longer was it moving.
It stood still, staring straight at them with unblinking eyes.
"
Cover your ears."
"Wha—?"
Tearing his hands off her legs, she slapped them firmly on either side of his head.
And screamed.
The sound tore into his being, the vibrations in his bones almost tearing him apart. Never before had he felt pain so excruciating. Never before had he been so incapacitated.
She screamed for a good twenty second, then out of breath, stopped.
The ensuing relief left Melas feeling hollow, powerless. His ears still rang—still bled, too.
Opening his eyes, the world fuzzy around him, he saw the stone hound keeled over in pain, scratching at its ears with its claws.
Looking to his side, he saw his sword lying on the ground where he'd dropped it. He saw himself pick it up, but felt not his grip. He watched as he lurched towards the hound, not aware of his own wight. He brought his sword up, and ended it with a single downwards swipe.
The last he could make out before succumbing to the black was Euryale, leaning over him with the
cornucopia in hand, rocking him onto his side so she could get a better look at his ears.
He awoke, again, in their makeshift campsite, feeling none the worse for wear. Rolling onto his side, he saw the roaring fire, tenderly tended by Euryale.
She held out a slab of cooked meat, and he snatched it from her hand, ravenous. Just as he was about to take a bite, he reconsidered, and looked up at her. "Is this..."
"Yes."
"Are you
serious?"
"... Yes."
He pondered that for a moment. "How do you know its safe to eat?"
In response, she licked her lips and pointed to a small pile of bone, freshly charred and picked clean.
That being all the evidence he needed, he dug in. Once he had torn all the meat, he wiped a hand across his mouth to speak. "So, you..."
She raised a hand, silencing him. "My youngest sister had her eyes. I have my voice." She smiled at him. "Thankfully, my gift need not be lethal."
The two sat in silence, enjoying one another's company.
After the moment had drawn out long enough, she spoke. "When we leave this place—"
"No." Melas's face was suddenly grim—though inside, his emotions were in conflict. "I'm sorry Euryale. I am human, and you are not. Once I leave this cave... I will go my way. And you... you will yours."
Tears streamed down her cheeks, staining her blindfold, and yet she made not a sound.
It was not long before they set out again, leaving the fire to burn out on its own.
Once they had left the mines behind, there was very little to traverse before reaching the surface. After only a few more hours of walking, Melas saw the faint glow of light.
Instead of rushing out with joy, Melas lagged behind, allowing Euryale to take the lead again. He dared not admit it even to himself, but the coward in him hoped she would already be gone by the time he left the cave, should he walk slow enough.
What laid in wait, however, was a fate far more sinister. Standing stiff at the entrance, Euryale faced not empty air, but two men. The surviving boread, and Melas's own brother.
He looked to his brother, saw the insatiable hate in his eyes, a hate he reserved only for the gods.
He looked to the gorgon, tears sparkling in the starlight, slumped in quiet acceptance of defeat.
He knew could only choose one.
So Melas took his sword and plunged it through her gut, watching the blade burst out the other side. She leaned into him, her golden blood staining his clothes, her head falling to his shoulder. With pain coursing through her body, she wailed.
This wail, though it pierced his heart, was neither the paralyzing cry she'd used to defeat the hound, nor was it the enchanting song she'd used to hum him to sleep. This wail was naught but raw emotion, carrying over the dimly lit forest in testimony to a dying grief—and echoing into the pit below. When it ceased, she slumped to her knees, looking up to him.
All gods are monsters. He tore his blade free from her gut. He could not see behind her blindfold—and even if he could, he knew she had no eyes. But in that moment, he gaze bore into him.
All monsters must die. The gaze that bore into him as he raised the sword high above his head for a final swing was not one of rage, nor of sadness.
She is a god. She is a monster. She must
die. The gaze he felt was filled with forgiveness.
Just as he prepared himself to take her head, his lifelong companions rushing to his supposed aid, a shriek pierced the air.
The shriek of a harpy.
Summoned by her wail, they swept towards the four figures, ready to kill.
The fastest struck Melas square in the side, sending him sprawling towards his brother, his blade lost. Blood would soon be spilled.
It was not long before Euryale heard the screams and cries of battle, the three heroes of men facing off against the three winged sisters.
Her mind and body racked with pain, Euryale's only thoughts were of survival. Gripping her bleeding stomach with her left arm, she pulled herself back towards the caves, leaving a golden trail behind her.
Talons pierced her shoulder, and she groaned in pain as they tightened to grip her bone. Flipping her onto her back, the harpy grinned down at her.
Euryale, too weak to scream, could only wince at the voice that breathed down upon her.
Aello gently laid a talon on the gorgon's face and ever-so-slowly dragged it down her cheek, turning the claw into a blade of gold. "Poor little gorgon," she teased. "Trying to to escape her duty to the
earth-mother." She twisted her shoulder between her talons, the bone straining under the tremendous strength of the harpy. "Trying to escape her duty to the
gods." With an extra flick, the bones shattered, and Euryale moaned in agony. "The humans would never have taken you in." Her talons cut deep into her chest, reaching for her heart as he devilish grin reached from ear to ear. "
You—"
Aello was interrupted by a spearhead sprouting from her throat. She flopped her wings, confused, and then tumbled off the dying gorgon.
Melas limped away from the mingled corpses of his companions and the other two harpies. Bleeding from all over his body and breathing out of a single unpunctured lung, he could only manage three steps towards the gorgon before falling on his face, dead.
Tumbling from his grasp came the
cornucopia, rolling down the slope towards the caves' entrance, only to stop at Euryale's outstretched hand. Unfastening the cork, she brought the horn to her lips, and drank.
