6. The Gorgon Healer
The Gorgon Healer
Ianthe & Skaros
Ever since I’d set foot in Asphodelia, I’d met countless unusual monsters. Iaso had been by my side constantly, and she was a Medusa—a powerful form of gorgon.
Logic stated that meeting a second gorgon shouldn’t have fazed me. But there was something about the strange man in front of us that made my stomach clench with unease. Not his serpentine hair, not even his imposing size. Something else entirely.
Perhaps I wasn’t very different from the people in my village after all, in that I just had trouble dealing with someone ill. The man was obviously blind, though that hardly diminished the authority he commanded.
“Thank you,” I said, bowing slightly. The gesture might very well be pointless—he couldn’t see it—but I wasn’t going to ignore common courtesy. “I appreciate you receiving us. As I understand it, that’s quite rare.”
“That’s true,” Iaso said with a tiny smile. “Eryx rarely takes visitors. But he doesn’t mind the occasional exception.”
Eryx. So that was his name. And clearly, he and Iaso were on close terms.
“For you, Iaso, my doors are always open.” Eryx wiped his hands on a cloth lying on his worktable.
Despite the blindfold, he navigated the cluttered space without hesitation.
He tilted his head in my direction. “Besides, you bring a death-touched bride to my doorstep. I would never turn you away, Ianthe. Please, sit.”
He gestured to a padded bench near the center of the room. I let Iaso guide me to it. The stone beneath the cushion radiated a deep chill that seeped through my dress.
“I wasn’t there when you fell, but the snakes showed me what happened at the auction,” Eryx continued, turning away from the table. The serpents crowning his head shifted, and their crimson eyes fixed on me with unnerving focus.
“The snakes?” I asked before I could catch myself. “They help you see?”
I bit the inside of my cheek, instantly regretting the outburst. Pointing out his blindness bluntly had been tactless. He was doing me a favor. I should have kept my observations locked securely in my own mind.
“I’m sorry… That was rude.”
“That’s quite all right,” he replied warmly. “Your straightforwardness is refreshing, and I can’t blame you for your curiosity. Yes, Ianthe. The snakes see a lot. More, perhaps, than anyone here in Asphodelia, save the Moirae and Charon.”
Iaso crossed her arms over her chest, letting out a soft sound of amusement. “Braggart. You always did have more talent than me.”
“I wouldn’t say that, Sister. Maybe the Weave just knew that I’d need it.” Eryx tilted his head again, and his snakes moved with him. He took a few measured steps toward my bench. “Now, let me look at you a little more closely, Ianthe. I promise that my snakes don’t bite.”
Everything worth having has teeth.
Phix’s voice echoed unbidden in my memory, a reminder of the warning I’d received just before stepping onto the auction block. But I remained seated. I had lived with the Thorn-Sickness burrowing through my flesh for far too long to be deterred by a few bronze serpents.
Eryx stopped a mere breath away from my knees.
Instead of reaching out with his hands, he simply stood perfectly still while the snakes stretched outward.
They tested the air around my arms and chest, hovering only inches from my skin and flicking their forked tongues as they studied me in total silence.
A shiver ran down my spine, but not from fear. The serpents seemed to draw all warmth from the air. Wherever they moved, my skin tingled.
“Hmm…” Eryx murmured, his brow furrowing above the dark silk. “It’s an interesting problem. It looks like Korinos itself has crawled under your skin, child.”
I stared at him, unnerved by how quickly he had recognized the nature of my affliction. “Yes, my people used to say that, too. Is there actually any truth to it?”
“Not exactly.” He retreated a step, gesturing vaguely toward the crystal-lit shelves. “Nothing alive from Korinos can survive in Asphodelia, save the death-touched brides. This is something different. More insidious, perhaps. But every problem has a solution, even the most complex.”
He turned back to his worktable, his hands ghosting over a row of glass vials and smooth stone bowls. “In the meantime, tell me, Ianthe. How long has it been since you were pain-free?”
How long?
The question forced a lengthy pause, unearthing a truth I normally preferred to keep buried.
I tried to remember a day when my ribs hadn’t ached, when the simple act of drawing a breath hadn’t required bracing myself against the inevitable pressure of the vines.
Months had bled into years. The agony had become a constant companion, twisting its way into every facet of my existence.
I had forgotten what it felt like to be whole.
This morning had offered a brief respite. But the pain was still there, distant but lingering.
“A very long time,” I admitted, my voice dropping to a whisper.
“Then we start there.” Eryx reached for a small stone mortar. “I need time to study this condition properly. While I work, there is no reason for you to suffer needlessly. Iaso, pay attention to the measurements. You will need to maintain this regimen in the infirmary.”
Iaso stepped closer to the table, her own serpents leaning forward to observe.
“Three drops of water, straight from the Acheron, to numb the nerves,” Eryx instructed, his swift fingers uncorking a dark vial. “Crushed dead wood to bind the mixture. And a sliver of raw death crystal, ground to a fine dust. It will put the pain to sleep.”
He worked with an efficiency that defied his lack of sight. Within moments, he poured a pale liquid into a small glass flask, then walked back to my bench and offered it to me.
I drank it without a second thought. If there was even a fraction of a chance to simply rest, to exist for a single hour without the Sickness tearing at my marrow, I would take it.
I swallowed the draught.
It tasted like frost. A strange numbness bloomed instantly in my throat, spreading outward and sinking deep into my veins. The grinding ache evaporated.
The relief was so staggering it stole the breath from my lungs. For a fraction of a second, I felt entirely weightless.
Then, the true potency of the potion hit me. My eyelids fluttered as the tension I’d carried for years finally released its grip on my muscles. The sudden lack of sensation pulled me downward. I slumped sideways on the bench.
Iaso caught my shoulder, murmuring something reassuring, but her voice sounded as though it were filtering through deep water. I couldn’t form a reply. The potion pulled me under, and I surrendered to the dark.
She hasn’t come back.
For the entirety of the day, the healing chamber above me had remained vacant. Earlier this morning, the snake-woman had taken Ianthe away, and neither had returned.
I slithered beneath the floorboards, weaving my tendrils through the narrow gaps in the basalt. I expanded my awareness across the masonry, searching the surrounding space for her scent. There was nothing.
I knew every creak of this building. I knew the exact vibration of Ianthe’s hesitant footsteps. The frantic hum of the disease living beneath her skin was completely missing. I’d hated it so much before, but without it, the healing chamber felt hollow.
The death energy crawling through my vines spoke to me. “Patience,” it said. “She’ll be returned to you soon.”
I’d been patient when I’d tricked Aion into bringing me here. That approach had worked once. And so, I waited. If I didn’t, I risked being spotted and removed from the room. That could sever me from Ianthe forever.
The energy hadn’t lied to me. After an agonizing wait, a tremor vibrated through the stone.
Footsteps approached the door. These lacked the uneven tread of my mate. These were the armored boots of Weaveguards. The wooden door swung open, the hinges groaning in the quiet room.
Two guards marched inside. A dead-walker, and a white-furred one very much like Theron.
He carried Ianthe in his arms, holding her carefully against his chest. She lay completely limp, her head resting against his shoulder.
Her breathing was shallow and unnaturally even.
Panic spiked through me, a sharp jolt of pure instinct.
Had they harmed her? Had the sickness finally consumed her?
“Careful with her,” the snake-woman instructed, following closely behind them. “Set her down gently. The potion is potent. Her body needs the rest.”
The white-furred guard deposited Ianthe onto the bed. “Will she wake soon, Healer Iaso?” the dead-walker asked.
“Not for many hours. Eryx’s draught induces a deep slumber. You are dismissed. I need to prepare the next dose.”
The guards bowed and marched out of the room.
The door latched shut behind them. Iaso lingered by the bed for a moment, adjusting the blankets over Ianthe’s shoulders.
Her snakes let out a soft, fretful hiss.
Then the healer turned and walked into the adjoining chamber.
The scraping sound of a stone pestle grinding against a basalt bowl soon drifted through the open archway.
She was close. I had to be silent.
I slipped out from beneath the floor, keeping to the shadows cast by the bedframe. I slithered up the wooden post, tracing the familiar route I took every night to reach her.
When I slid beneath the blankets and brushed against her leg, I expected to taste the chaotic pulse of the parasite. I expected the disease I usually drank from her flesh.
I tasted nothing.
An impenetrable barrier coated her veins. The potion the snake-woman had mentioned was violently potent. It was like a wall of magical frost. It locked the frantic growth away, forcing the disease into a deep paralysis.
I probed the skin near Ianthe’s wrist, where the thorns pulsed closest to the surface. The barrier repelled my energy. The parasite was trapped safely under the potion’s influence, hoarding its strength in the dark.
I couldn’t reach it.
I needed to consume the sickness. I needed to clear it from her blood. But Ianthe was still so fragile. If I forced my death energy through the shield, the disease could awaken and retaliate. Or the clash of powers could outright shatter her body.
I pulled my vine back, retreating from her wrist. If her physical body was locked away, I needed to find a path the potion could not protect.
I shifted my form, thinning my main vine until it was delicate.
I crept upward, trailing across the curve of her shoulder and stopping near her face.
She lay impossibly peaceful in the dim light, entirely free from the grimace of pain that usually haunted her features.
Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm.
Slowly, I rested a single bloom against her temple, right where her pulse fluttered weakly beneath the skin.
I let my pure essence pool at the point of contact, sending a gentle current of death energy directly into her mind. I bypassed the physical realm entirely, sinking my consciousness into the quiet depths of her slumber.
The waking world faded away, replaced by the vast landscape of her thoughts. I reached for her dreams, waiting in the shadows to show her exactly who was keeping her safe.