shaft possessively.
It’s the sickle,
I thought,
bewitching him!
Remembering how the weapon’s mere touch had made me giddy, I realized that it could do much worse to Perseus. He, being mortal, lacked the strength of mind that comes with divinity. What if it made him mad? Zeus would never forgive me.
“Don’t get too attached to that thing,” I said sharply. “It belongs to Ares. He’ll want it back.”
There’s an understatement,
I thought.
“I won’t.” He sounded sincere. But I resolved to watch him very closely.
ELEVEN
Perseus set to practicing, and Athena’s shield became an oval flame, flickering in the noonday sun. I watched him for signs of mental imbalance, but if the sickle was doing anything, it seemed to be boosting his strength and skill. Before long he was handling both weapons with ease.
Meanwhile, Medusa was curled up in a cool, dark corner of her cave, asleep against the afternoon heat. Athena, who took a fitful, vengeful interest in Medusa’s habits, had told me this herself, saying it would be the perfect time to attack. I decided to follow her advice.
“Perseus!” I beckoned. “Let’s go in.” I held out my winged sandals. “Put these on. They’ll help you, too.” Stammering thanks, he laid down the sickle and knelt to tie on the sandals.
A wicked impulse seized me. I grabbed the sickle and swung it over his head, close enough to cut his short hair even shorter. He yelped, clutching at his pate, which now boasted a large, angry pink bald spot.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, not sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to hit you.”
He rubbed his head, looking stricken.
That will teach
you to be rude to an Immortal,
I thought. Then I softened. I am not a grudge-bearing god. “Stand up and try them,” I said, indicating the sandals.
He hastened to obey. After lacing them up quickly, he took a few short steps in my direction. They lifted him a hand’s breadth above the ground and his face went slack with delight.
“Jump,” I said, and he did, whooping like a loon when he shot into the air.
“Quiet!” I waved him down. “She’s asleep! Now keep silent and practice with everything—the shield, the sickle, and the sandals.” As I handed back the sickle, I had a lovely burst of inspiration. “By the way,” I said, “you should know that the sickle was made for the gods. Its touch is slow poison to mortals.” It was one of my better lies, and he blanched.
“You . . . you didn’t tell me that before.”
“Slipped my mind.” I shrugged.
“What about the sandals?” He couldn’t hide the alarm in his voice.
“They won’t hurt you. But the sickle . . .” I shook my head warningly. It worked; he took hold of the thing as warily as if it were an angry viper, all traces of possessiveness gone.
“Now show me what you can do,” I said. “And hurry. We should attack while she’s napping. I hear she’s especially nasty when she wakes.”
As we walked to the cave a few minutes later, I said, “Don’t look at her face even after she’s dead. It will still have the power to kill.”
“Athena told me that,” Perseus replied, averting his eyes from the hapless creatures Medusa had already turned to stone. There were many: men drawing swords, nocking bows, and brandishing spears; a cluster of ragged children; a pack of dogs, caught in mid-snarl; two ancient women carrying market baskets; and a trio of buzzards. All were rain-streaked. Some were mossy, which gave them the look of neglected temple statuary. It was a chilling display.
Inside the cave the air was cool and foul-smelling, the floor littered with bones. As Perseus and I picked our way through them, I wondered about Medusa’s diet. From the size of the bones, she was eating mice, rats, and the occasional rabbit. But what about her hair? Did the snakes eat, too? And if so, did Medusa feed them? What a repugnant task that would be! The gloom of the place seemed to encourage such grisly speculation.
Or perhaps I