Chapter XXX
XXX
In the weeks after, I come to familiarize myself with the nuances of Athena’s curse.
My sisters and I share the same affliction: snakes for hair and eyes that, when willed, turn bright yellow and transform anyone who looks at us into stone.
I learn to control that power as easily as any muscle in my body.
I try not to think about what could have been with Theo.
Other things have changed, too. My sisters and I are stronger, faster, than we’ve ever been.
Every one of my senses is heightened. I hear the flapping of gulls’ wings far overhead; I see the dorsal fins of dolphins many miles from the coast. I am still mortal—that, I understand—but it is different.
I am not helpless anymore. Some days, I walk the coastline, glaring at the water and daring Poseidon to come, daring him to step foot on this island again.
I am stronger now, I promise him. I will never be prey again.
—
I am weaving on the veranda when I see the ship in the distance.
It is small at first, a brown speck among the vast ocean waves. I soon make out sails, hear shouting.
Men are coming to our island.
We suspect it is a consequence of my parents’ absence, the dissolution of whatever ancient protections previously kept mortal men from finding this island. Now there is no question. Men are coming, and they’re coming fast.
“What should we do?” It’s Euryale who asks the question first. She stands next to me on the veranda, looking as worried as I feel. Only Stheno, reclined beside us, maintains her composure as she rises and gives the approaching ship only a fleeting look.
“We do the only thing we can,” she says calmly. “We welcome them.” She turns. “Gather what food we have in baskets and take them to the beach. Act modest and say nothing. Cover your heads, and let me take the lead.”
Euryale and I exchange looks, but we obey.
By the time the ship has dropped anchor off the coast, the three of us are standing on the shore waiting, food baskets surrounding us.
My heart pounds as ropes fly from the ship’s swollen sides; men begin to teem out of the vessel like ants and climb into the waiting rowboats.
I self-consciously pat my head wrap, and in answer, the snakes move among one another.
The feel of them sliding across my scalp is still new—not bad but not pleasant, either.
My stomach turns as the men and their boats draw nearer; the stench of ale and unwashed bodies fouls the air.
At last, the boats reach shore, and a man I assume is their leader climbs out.
He has dark, oily hair and swarthy skin that speaks to a life at sea.
His face is weather-beaten, and I’d guess him to be in his late forties or fifties.
He has a confident gait and seems unsurprised and undaunted by our presence there.
He walks up to Stheno, recognizing her as our leader, and addresses her without preamble.
“I am Linus of Argos,” he says in an imperious voice. “I demand to know the name of this island and the name of the man who rules it.”
As instructed, Euryale and I lower our heads slightly, performing demureness. In contrast, Stheno juts her chin so that her and Linus’s eyes are level.
“This island has no natural name.” She speaks softly, yet her voice still manages to carry across the beach, where the rest of the sailors wait. “Nor does it know any master.”
Linus frowns. “There is a palace, up on the crags.” He points. “My men saw it from the water.”
Stheno nods. “It was built by our father and mother many years ago, but they have both since perished. Only my sisters and I remain.”
Linus now looks truly bewildered. “Do you mean to tell me that the three of you live on this island alone? As free women, governing yourselves?”
Stheno’s smile is slight; it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yes.”
There is a distinct look to be found in a man who first glimpses the opportunity to exploit. Linus’s smile is coy and unsubtle as his eyes roam over my sisters and me with new assessment. My stomach clenches.
“I see,” he says warmly. Then, as though a decision has been made, he claps his hands and turns to his men.
“We will camp here for the night,” he announces. “Return to the ship and fetch our supplies.” He turns to Stheno. “Assuming this is pleasing to you?”
Stheno’s expression is one of perfect calm. “Of course.”
“Excellent.”
While he continues directing his men, Stheno turns to us. For once, I wish I could read her impassive face. As though she hears my thoughts, she winks, and her eyes seem to flash yellow for a moment. A reminder.
“Trust me,” she says in a low voice only Euryale and I can hear. “I have a plan. All will be well.”
—
I decide quickly that I dislike having men on our island.
They are loud, smelly, and litter the sand with their waste.
They grow increasingly sloppy the darker it gets, the longer they drink.
All the while, Euryale and I continue to serve them, carefully avoiding their reaching hands and lecherous eyes.
I try to hold on to what Stheno said: She has a plan.
But the later it gets, the uneasier I feel.
Finally, Linus stands, and the men quiet.
“For my three little island queens!” His words have become slurred in the hours since their landing, but his eyes are alight.
“I offer you gifts!” He gestures, and three sailors approach on unsteady feet, carrying chests.
They stop before us and each falls to one knee before they open the chests.
My breath catches. The chests are filled to the brim with treasure—bars of pure gold, diamonds, and raw uncut sapphires as big as my clenched fist. Against the firelight, they glitter so enticingly I’m tempted to begin sorting through them at once.
Stheno shoots Euryale and me subtle but clear warning looks before she stands.
“You flatter us,” she says breezily. “But what are these gifts for?”
Linus smiles. “They are tokens of celebration,” he says, “gifts to commemorate this most momentous occasion.”
Stheno’s brows rise. “And what occasion is that?”
“The birth of a new nation.” Linus throws his arms wide, as though proclaiming to the stars. “The birth of my new kingdom.”
“Your kingdom?” I don’t miss the new edge in Stheno’s voice. Several sailors apparently hear it, too, because they shift their eyes to her warily.
“It will be called Linusia,” says Linus, clearly oblivious to the new tension. “It will be a kingdom to rival the world’s greatest. Even Athens will not hold a candle to it.”
I’m watching my sister’s every move now. There’s no trace of anger on Stheno’s face, but a coldness emanates from her very being. Several of the sailors nearest to her shiver. She runs a hand carelessly along her head wrap, and something in my own bones hums.
“I’m afraid that, regardless of your gifts, you cannot do that.”
Linus laughs. “Cannot?”
She gestures. “This is our home. It belongs to us.”
“Cannot.” Linus shakes his head. When he looks at Stheno again, his expression resembles that of a father managing a particularly difficult child.
“And who are you to tell me what I cannot do?” He chortles.
“You’re just a woman.” His paternal facade drops in an instant, and I tense as he snatches Stheno by her upper arm, pulling her against him.
“Do you really think you have the power to stop me?”
“What I think,” Stheno says quietly, “is that I have more power than you could ever imagine.” She pulls off her head wrap, then Euryale and I follow suit. The men stare at us in naked terror, a collective scream rising from their throats.
“What? How—?” The words barely leave Linus’s mouth before my sister turns to him, her eyes now vivid and yellow.
He turns to stone with his mouth still open, his eyes caught between fear and confusion.
It is the final straw for the sailors; at once they begin to flee, some running for their ship while others lose all sense and scatter across the beach.
Stheno and Euryale stalk after them, but I remain frozen where I stand.
I look to Linus’s statue. He was alive seconds ago, and now he’s not.
“Meddy!” Stheno calls my name over her shoulder. “Come on!”
These men, Linus’s men, are not the ones who actually threatened us.
Only their leader spoke, and now he is dead.
From my scrolls and brief time spent among mortals, I understand vaguely that these are just lowly crewmen, no doubt paid a meager wage to manage the ship and do their captain’s bidding.
I understand that they are just men following orders, that it’s possible not all of them are cruel.
It’s even possible that some of them might be good men.
I stand there on the beach poised, split between diverging paths forward.
Deep down, I know that the choice to walk one of those paths is an irrevocable one, a choice I will not be able to come back from.
I watch as Stheno turns to glare at one of the ill-fortuned men.
He raises his hands a second too late, and suddenly where a man was, there is now only a statue forever frozen in terror.
I have seen death before, but this feels different.
I have never contemplated deliberately killing someone before.
“Meddy!”
I look up and find it’s Euryale who calls to me now.
Around her, men are still running, still screaming, but her gaze is fixed steadily on me.
Her eyes are yellow, too, lurid against the shore’s dark, rolling tides and the ink-black sky above.
In them I see a new ferocity, a new hardness.
I hear the words she once said to me under the haven of a willow tree.
Your voice and your truth will never hold weight unless you also learn to hold power.
I have been the youngest daughter of sea gods. I have been an acolyte, then a priestess of an Olympian. I was once the pawn and plaything of another. Never before have I held real power. Now, for the first time, I do. I once vowed that I would leave this island; now I make a new vow.
I will never be helpless again. I will never be powerless again.
I take up that new vow, armoring myself with it, as I start toward my sisters and my victims, my yellow eyes ablaze.
—
In the epics I pored over as a child, there were valiant tales of men who died on battlefields.
In those stories, death was presented as something poetic and beautiful.
I now understand that there is little that is beautiful about death—it is blunt and ugly.
I run among the retreating men as they head for the water.
It doesn’t take much to turn them to stone, just a brief glance.
Some of the men die still looking over their shoulders; others die with hands raised to cover their eyes a second too late.
When it is over, the beach is eerily quiet, save for the crackling of the sailors’ now-abandoned fire.
I turn to Stheno and Euryale. It’s strange to see them like this, standing serene amid a garden of statues.
“Are they all dead?” Euryale’s voice is soft.
“No,” says Stheno. She marches toward a body lying face down on the ground and kicks it over with her heel to reveal one of the sailors…
very much alive. He coils into a ball as my sister stands over him looking supremely bored.
She crouches down beside him, facing us, her eyes normal and brown once more.
It is impressive how easily she once again becomes gentle and placid.
The man’s trembling doubles as she cups his face in her hand.
His eyes are screwed shut. The snakes on my sister’s head are quiet, their many heads pointed directly at him.
“Shh.” She must be half this man’s age, but she speaks to him as though he were a frightened child. “There’s no need for all of that; I’m not going to kill you. I have a job for you.” She nods in the direction of the ship offshore. “You can’t manage a vessel that size alone, I presume?”
The man shakes his head.
“But you can use one of the rowboats, yes?”
The man mouths yes, but no sound comes out. Stheno nods, satisfied.
“Good. Then here are your instructions. Go. Tell men far and wide what you saw here. Tell them that this island belongs to my sisters and me, and that we take no prisoners. Tell them not to come here if they wish to live.”
The man nods fervently, then crashes toward one of the anchored rowboats. The three of us watch him until he is but a speck on the horizon and then gone entirely.
“What do we do now?” I ask softly.
Stheno turns to me and smiles. “We wait,” she murmurs. “And we pray they listen.”