Snapped and torn branches in the trees; deep, sweeping gouges in the dirt trail and the occasional ditch indentation where a large animal had been dropped onto the ground. Medusa saw all of these, as the path left behind by her prey. She had proficient skill in hunting, but she needed none to track this beast, it had ploughed down the path like a drunken bear, leaving all manner of mess in its wake. So she could maintain a good distance between them, needing only to glance at the damage around her to remain on its tail.
Her target was a harpy. Flying creatures were often harder to track, but the reason this one was so easy to chase was because it was carrying a large animal in its claws; and the reason Medusa had chosen to chase this particular harpy was because that large animal was
her horse.
So, she had to chase on foot, each step splaying her vivid, red hair behind in a wild, unkempt swarm about her head. Despite the bow and quiver strung over her shoulder; the
xiphos, a short sword, at her belt & the bulk of her leather armour, she moved freely and swiftly. She would have looked graceful, all but for the cruel scowl on her face. For, she’d been bathing in a small lake that morning, when three harpies had tried to attack her. Her bow, as always, was close at hand so she made short work of two of them, but the third had snagged her horse. Not only did that leave her with little choice but to quickly dress and chase after it, but since the dead harpies had fallen into the pond and bloodied her bathwater, Medusa felt even dirtier than she had before the bath. She was having a bad day.
Medusa stopped a moment and took a knee by the disturbed ground. There was a splattering of blood on the dirt. She ran her fingers through it and felt that it was still wet and warm, she knew that she was getting close. She stood and continued to jog down the trail, which was leading to a small farming town, surrounded by large, ploughed fields and paddocks scattered with animals. At first, Medusa thought that the harpy would give the place a wide berth, away somewhere that it could feed in peace; yet, the trail of shredded dirt and wild splatters of blood lead her straight into the town. As she entered the place, she saw a group of people crowded in the middle of the road, some of them crying. The trail of blood lead right to them, so she slowed her pace to walk amongst them.
The buildings were simple, pale stone; the road was dirt and the people were tanned with toned muscles, Medusa walked into the very middle them, pushing past townsfolk to see what had gathered the crowd. When she reached the centre of the crowd, the sight made her sneer. Although she knew it unlikely, she had hoped that she could salvage the horse; but on the blood-dampened ground in front of her lay the shredded remains of her steed. It was covered in scratches and its stomach was torn open and ravaged, intestines spilled on the ground. It looked as though the horse was missing its liver and a kidney, and there was a mess of bile and loose strands of its shredded innards spilled on the dirt. Most disturbing of all, the horse was still, slowly, breathing. Medusa frowned with disgust. She drew her
xiphos sword and in one swift motion that made the people gasp, she put the poor beast out of its misery. Withdrawing the blade, she turned to the crowd
“Where did it go? Where’s the wretched fowl?!” she sneered through gritted teeth. The people looked too shocked and scared to answer, all of them backing away from the armed huntress.
“The nest, ma’m,” said one weary farmer in a sweat-soaked tunic, he sounded worn out. “please, stay your blade.”
Slowly and carefully, Medusa wiped her blade on the unsullied flank of her horse’s corpse and returned the
xiphos to her hip. She tried her hardest to look calm.
“I am Medusa the Gorgon. This was my horse, and I wish nothing more than to gut the fiend responsible for its death. Point me towards their nest, and I will slay them.”
“I suggest you don’t. There are too many of them,” said a tall man, stepping forward. The man wore a
chlamys, a loose cloak that hung from his shoulder, which he pulled it aside to show deep, claw-marks down his chest and leg which were still healing. “We tried to stop them, twelve of the strongest men of Metaxas went to fight. Only I and Anaxilaus survived.”
“You are merely men,” said Medusa. “Farmers and mothers, all of you; but, I am a huntress. I killed two of these creatures this morning, I am sure that I can do away with these.”
“You are here to save them?” asked one woman, her white
stolla - a draping dress - was torn and her face was streaked with tears. “Please, my daughter was taken. Can you help her?”
“Your child?” asked Medusa, confused.
“Yes, my Isias,” said the woman, crying, “Can you bring her back?”
“They took my son,” said another woman, “Eudorus.”
“My daughter Salpe.” said another. “and my son, Polybius.”
More of them stepped forward, offering more names and pleas for help. Medusa quickly founded herself surrounded by a swarm of bereaved parents, she stepped back.
“Wait... wait!” she yelled, holding up both hands. “What you ask is impossible. Why would any of you even think that your children are still alive?! They can’t come back.”
“No, I’ve seen them,” said the scarred man, with sincerity “They’re held captive within the canyons. Please, can you save our children? Can you save my daughter, Orianthe?”
“Why would they steal your children and leave your cows?” asked Medusa, more out of rhetorical disbelief than inquisition. “Why would they kill nine of you and spare the children?”
“They’re beasts of Hades,” said one man, “they enjoy our suffering.”
“No...” muttered Medusa, frowning in thought. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Please, please,” cried the mother with the torn dress. “Can’t you help us?”
Medusa frowned. If their words were more than mere false hope, and their children were truly alive, then this hunt would not be so easy. The Gorgon didn’t like dealing with children. Her life was one of danger, and when children became involved, they would too often die. They are always so fragile, better suited to be wrapped in wool and left at home than let out into the world. She sighed heavily.
“I can’t promise you anything...” said Medusa.
“I’ll give you anything to have her back,” pleaded the mother again.
“I said I
can’t promise anything!” Medusa repeated, raising her voice. She took a breath and gritted her teeth again. “
But... if your children are alive. Then I will keep them that way.”
“Oh, thank the gods,” said the woman. She moved to hug the Gorgon, but Medusa held her shoulder and kept her at arms length, although the woman still bowed her head in praise.
“For my trouble, I want a new horse,” Medusa said to the crowd, coldly.
“If you return my son, I’ll give you my best,” said one of the farmers. So, it was settled, Medusa the Gorgon was going hunting for harpies.
†
Medusa insisted upon going alone. Some of the men had offered to aid her in her quest but considering that their best men were scarred and that they’d already lost so many men to these monsters, she refused their help. It would only lead them to their pointless deaths; besides, she preferred to work alone. The villagers gave her directions to the harpies’ nest, and she set off immediately. Although the villagers wanted her to rest, prepare for battle and perhaps bathe properly, she was always ready to fight and she had all the tools she would need. More importantly, these stolen children worried her, and she didn’t want to waste time.
Although they had faces and could stand tall on two legs, harpies were not at all civilized, they were simple beasts. They had no need for hostages, and they preferred larger prey, because they hunted for meat and children offered less than the plentiful stock of a farming village. So, Medusa could not make head nor tail of these stolen children. At best, these children were a
snack to these creatures, but she had never known a harpy to keep its prey alive for very long, let alone the time it would take for a dozen men to travel through these canyons to their nest. Her only hope was that, for whatever reason, the harpies had not yet harmed the children; but it was like trusting lions with lambs.
The path to into the canyon was sheer and uneven, with green mosses and lichen growing over the ancient landscape. She ran, steadily, a rising rocky escarpment either side, slowly growing to tower over her as she entered into the canyon. The great divide was carved by nature a great crack between mountains. Moss seemed to envelop the surfaces within, like a parasitic skin, and the path down the very centre was a dry riverbed of smooth pebbles. Her heavy boots crunched the pebbles underfoot as she raced deeper into the great expanse, and the surrounding rock echoed sound back to her. The loose trail made it almost impossible to remain silent as she made her way to the nest, and the lichenous slopes either side were too treacherous to traverse. They would hear her coming before she was even close. Medusa unfastened the bow from her back, checked the tension of the string, then held it at the ready. If they did hear her coming, then she would see them overhead in this great, open space, and shoot them before they were even close.
She knew she was entering harpy territory when she saw the bones. Ribs, cracked femurs, beaks, shoulderblades, all left scattered about the edges of their nesting grounds, but from the smell and the splattered, black stains on the rocks, Medusa knew that these hadn’t been picked clean when the harpies had left them there. The birds didn’t need to eat much, but they were deciduous. They preferred the softer, inner organs, and in times of plenty would leave the gutted remains of their prey to die and rot on the rocks. They killed so many to feed so few, it was barbaric.
Medusa suddenly stopped still. She made no sound and waited for the echo to die. It sounded like a light, rhythmic wind, but it was echoing softly within the canyon walls.
Wingbeats. Medusa nocked an arrow. She whistled, high-pitched, a falcon-call that screeched throughout the expanse. She wanted the birds to know right where she was. To fly straight and give her an easy shot. No such luck.
A harpy landed on the edge of the escarpment to her left and peered at her. The creatures were as deadly as they were beautiful. They had long, fair hair; light, untanned skin; sleek, smooth curves all over their naked forms and their winged arms were a flawless, alabaster white. They looked almost like angels, but their hands and feet were toned with muscle and tipped with cruel, curved and wickedly sharp black claws; and Medusa knew, from experience, that they had devilish, sharp, little teeth.
Medusa quickly spun and loosed the arrow, it slid straight through the monster’s eye. The corpse crunched as its hollow bones cracked on the rocks and she spun and looked up to the see a pair of attackers, diving at her. She fired two arrows in quick succession. She caught one in the wing and the other in the shoulder, then rolled forward, out of the way. They were mere fleshwounds, but the two creatures were paralyzed by the power of Medusa’s bow. Their bodies fell limply to the riverbed, face-first, cracking their heads like eggs. Swiftly and clinically, Medusa ripped the arrows from the dead beasts. As she did, one of them shuddered violently, in pain, as it regained its movement. The creature had been brained on the rocks, it was no threat, so she turned and walked away. She left it to slowly die and rot on the rocks.
Deeper and deeper into the harpies’ nest, the piles of bones and discarded bodies grew. because the connecting tissues were not all rotted away, she began to recognize what they once were from their shapes; owl, sheep, wolf, deer, cow. She also began to smell the stinking corpses, but what truly turned her nose was the sight of shredded clothing, seeing it gave her the urge to kill something. Medusa whistled again, with her piercing falcon-cry. The beasts knew that she was in their territory, but she didn’t want them to think she was dead. The more scouts they sent out, the less she would have to face when they found their nest; and the more they’d have to concentrate on her, rather than the stolen children.
Another band of harpies flies into view, around a curve in the canyon. They were far away all flying together, so Medusa lines up an arrow, takes aim and fires. She hits one them in the forehead, and it goes tumbling down into the rocks below, but the other five harpies scatter left and right, out of view, behind the high walls. Medusa readied another arrow, but the harpies were still hidden from view. She started to step forward, slowly checking the sky above her for signs of the creatures. Two harpies appeared over the wall to the right, and dove at her. She leapt up at them and fired an arrow. It sliced through a harpy’s eye. Her feet were unsteady and she began to slip on the mossy rock, but the harpy flew towards her. Medusa swung her bow like a club. The heavy bow cracked into the harpy’s jaw, sending it sideways. Its claws raked across her armoured torso as it fell. Medusa turned to face three more attackers. She leapt off the rock wall at the nearest harpy, screaming like a brazen bull. She collided with the harpy in the air, and the weight of them both slammed the harpy against the rocks with a crack. Medusa pried the claws from her arms, and turned back to the fight, bleeding.
The other harpies doubled back, so Medusa dropped her bow and drew her
xiphos. One harpy flew around her with outstretched claws, and she sliced through its hand, spilling fingers and blood on the pebbles as it screamed and fell. Then, Medusa turned to the last creatures and sliced upwards through its face. It seemed to flip from the momentum before falling on its back with the splat of its skull contents. Slowly, Medusa turned to the harpy with the cut hand, it was fretting about, trying to fly and flicking blood everywhere as it tried to fly away, bleeding heavily. After a few seconds, the harpy began to slow, then it fell and passed out. It seemed almost cruel, but Medusa need only remember that the rest of the corpses were killed by these creatures, and she grimly bent down to pick up her bow.
“
Go away,” rasped a wicked voice. Medusa raised her blade and turned towards the harpy she’d smashed on the rocks. It looked as though its spine was broken, but the creature was still alive.
“You dare speak to me?” demanded Medusa. “You kidnapping, torturing, murderous beast!”
“
Don’t hurt... children...” the creature said, choking on its own, broken neck. Medusa stepped closer and pressed the sword to the creature’s exposed chest.
“If you have harmed any of our children, I will kill every single one of you.”
“
Hurt children... you die!” sneered the monster. Medusa slid her blade into its chest, and the harpy was silenced.
†
The nest wasn’t far now. Further down the canyon, the path turned sharply to the left, and up on the corner, there was a hollow in the wall. And the shape of the rockface looked like a howling wolf. From within its maw, a huge mass of twigs and branches covered the lower surface, decorated with ribs and sharpened bones. As she approached, Medusa whistled again, to draw the harpie out. However, she saw four, large harpies peek out from the nest and watch her approach. Medusa came within several metres, then stood her ground, underneath. The nest was up the mossy slope and three metres up the wall. And from their vantage point, four harpies peered down at her, suspiciously.
“Come and get me!” cried Medusa, swiping her sword in the air, making a sharp
whoosh with the tip of the blade. “What are you waiting for?!”
The harpies weren’t moving. It didn’t make any sense to the huntress. They were scavengers, and would attack on sight, killing on instinct even if they weren’t hungry. Yet, they sat and stared from their perch. Medusa used the opportunity to call for the children.
“My name is Medusa the Gorgon! I have come to rescue you; can you hear me!” she cried out. There was no response, and for a moment, she racked her brain trying to remember. “Isis?! Dorsus? ...Polybius! Is anyone alive?!
Orianthe!”
“Help us!” cried a small voice. One of the harpies turned and hissed at the child as it wandered deeper into the nest. Medusa heard them shriek and so aimed an arrow. Letting it loose, one of the harpies fell out of the nest, an arrow sticking out of its forehead. The remaining two hissed and shrieked at her, but they still didn’t leave their perch. One of the harpies picked up a jawbone and threw it at her. Medusa batted it away with her bow and aimed with another arrow, but now both of the harpies were throwing bones, twigs and pebbles at her. Medusa had to dodge a few, so as not to get clocked in the head with a rock or pelvic bone. It was too difficult to shoot with the harpies hiding in their nest, and it was incredibly annoying having things thrown at her, so she put the bow around her shoulder and raced up the mossy slope towards the canyon wall. The creatures stopped throwing things, as they couldn’t aim their shots. Medusa looked along the wall surface for a good handhold, so she could climb up. when one of the harpies reached down and grabbed her by the shoulder. Medusa grabbed right back, wrapping her fingers around its throat, but the harpy dragged her up the wall, into the nest.
Bones and branches scraped at her body as she was pulled through the nest padding and into the mouth of the hollow. There the other harpy grabbed at her legs and bit into her kneecap. Screaming in pain, Medusa elbowed back at the first harpy, then punched towards the biting fiend, breaking its nose. The harpy behind grabbed at her neck, and Medusa instinctively grabbed at the offending hand. She’d be dead if those claws cut across her neck, and she could already feel the pinpricks of it digging into her tender flesh. Medusa turned her head and bit into the harpy’s forearm. It recoiled and Medusa jumped to her feet. She drew her
xiphos and stared at the two harpies, with the third hidden in the darkness further back.
“Who wants to see Hades?” she snarled. The harpy with the broken nose struck first. The lunge was one of sound and fury, so Medusa rolled with it. As the creature dove, the huntress ducked and kicked up at the harpy’s stomach as it sailed overhead and was booted out of the nest. Medusa rolled back onto her feet and swiped with the sword, splitting the harpy’s torso. Screaming, the harpy swiped back with her claw, slashing Medusa’s arm. Swinging again, Medusa cleaved the harpy’s head from its shoulders. Then, she saw the children, still being kept in line by the third harpy and was about to run forward to grab its neck, when she went flying sideways.
Something tackled her and she was falling out of the nest, she caught a glimpse of the harpy with the broken nose, which had flown back to attack. With quick reflexes and a little luck, Medusa managed to grab the harpy’s ankle and felt her stomach drop as her feet swung down with gravity. The harpy shrieked and grabbed onto Medusa’s wrist with her clawed foot, and the Gorgon let out a scream of animalistic rage.Without thinking, she swung her sword upwards, slicing through the harpy’s upper thigh and femoral artery. The harpy dropped her and Medusa fell, with a splay of blood cascading behind her. As she fell to the ground, and crouched to dispel the impact, the blood splattered on top of her.Medusa quickly wiped some of the blood off her arms, hoping it hadn’t smeared into her own weeping wounds.
“Gods, “she groaned, spitting in disgust, “I hope these harpies don’t have herpes.” Medusa took in her surroundings and found herself on the other side of the nest, with the dying harpy behind her screaming in pain as it bled out. Wasting no time, she ran and leapt up the rock wall. She slipped slightly, then pulled herself up and grabbed ahold of a twisted branch that made up the nesting and hauled herself up. Standing up straight within the nest, she turned to see the last harpy, and what looked like more than twenty children huddled behind her, looking dirty, pitiful and terrified. The third harpy looked slightly different. A little older, sagging in a few more places and with longer hair, but still as vicious as ever. Medusa the Gorgon held up her bloodied sword.
“Just give me the children,” said Medusa, quietly, trying to remain calm. But through the dark, seeing the scratches and bitemarks on the children’s arms and faces, it wasn’t easy. All she wanted was for the harpy to move away from the children so she could kill it without the innocents getting hurt.
“
Our children!” hissed the elder harpy.
“There are no more of you left, here,” said Medusa. “You’re the last one.”
The harpy replied with a harsh screech. “
You can’t take them. They will starve!”
“Get away from them!” screamed Medusa. She stepped forward, and the harpy stepped back into the cave. But stepping into the darkness, Medusa saw something else amongst the children. At first, she had thought the dark shapes to be more children. But between the children were large, round objects, too smooth to be rock from the cave. They were large eggs. Medusa had never seen anything like them before, but they must have been harpy eggs. And those words suddenly sounded different in Medusa’s head:
Our children...
Medusa started to walk slowly backwards. And slowly lowered her sword. She knew two things, first of all, that no fury could compare to that of a mother protecting her child, so she dare not risk getting two close. She removed the bow from her shoulder and slowly, carefully, aimed an arrow at the elder harpy. Because she also knew the reason why the harpies had stolen the children, and it wasn’t for a playtime with their newborns. It was for feeding time. She loosed the arrow, and it shot right into the harpy’s heart. It wouldn’t kill her instantly, but the power of the bow meant that she would be paralyzed. The harpy fell back, and the children scattered so she didn’t fall on top of them. Instead, she landed on top of one of the eggs,with a sick crack, spilling gunk throughout the patch of nestled twigs.
“Come on then,” said Medusa, “let’s get you home.”
†
Because the nest was too high from the children to jump down from, Medusa knelt by the edge and, one at a time, she helped to lower the children down so they could drop only a metre or so. There were only twelve of them, but after seven of them, where safely on the ground, she called over the eighth, the youngest girl, but when she lowered her down, she started squealing.
“No! I don’t want to fall!” she cried.
“Let go,” ordered Medusa.
“No, I can’t! Pull me back up!” the girl screamed, more high pitched
“Don’t be foolish. You have to let go, so you can go home.”
The girl started crying, and Medusa was tired and had half a mind to flick her wrist and drop the girl, but instead she gritted her teeth.
“What’s your name?”
“Isias,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Right, Isias? Your mother is waiting for you. Back at Metaxas, all she wants is for you to come home. Do you want to see your mother?”
“Mhmm,” she murmured, nodding.
“Then let go, and you will.”
After a moment, Isias opened her eyes. Her grip began to loosen and she slid off Medusa’s arm, and landed on the rock below. She stumbled, but still stayed upright. Medusa turned and helped the next child down. he didn’t struggle in the least. But, as she lowered him down, she heard something behind her.
Crack. Medusa glanced behind her, and saw two of the eggs, wiggling.
Crack, crack-crack. All together, the eggs were hatching. The boy let go, and Medusa grabbed the next child.
“Quickly now,” she said. She lowered the boy down, and after dangling for a moment, he took a breath and dropped. “Alright, next.” Medusa turned to the last two children, a boy and a girl,but there was a frantic screeching sound, like bats deeper in the cave. The kids turned to it and quickly.
“What’s happening?” asked the boy, sounding scared. As he spoke, four of the eggs had hatched and little, baby harpies were peeling eggshell off themselves. They looked hideous. They looked nothing like the little cherubs one might expect, they were skinny and emaciated, like tiny, old men, with spots on their skin, covered in yolk, with thin strands of hair matted to their heads, feathers bundled up under their armpits and their eyes were shut tight, but bulging madly out of their heads. They sniffed at the air and bumped into one another blindly.
“Come on, quickly,” Medusa said, as quietly as she could. she grabbed the boy and lowered him down. He seemed eager to let go, fall on the ground and get away from the nest. More of the eggs began to crack and the others, still dripping with goo and covered in shards of shell, started to wander towards the light. As they did, the last girl started to whimper and whine out of fear, turning every blind eye towards them. To silence her, Medusa grabbed her close, putting a hand around her mouth. “You’ll be safe. Hold my arm.”
The girl did as she said, and Medusa lowered her down, but the girl’s frightened hands didn’t loosen her grip.
“Let go,” said Isias on the ground, “you can do it.”
The girl seemed to be shaking when one of the harpy hatchlings bit Medusa on the leg.
“GAHH!” screamed Medusa. She flinched, flicking the girl off her arm, sending her screaming to the ground. Medusa drew her sword and slapped the hatchling in the face with the flat edge, batting it away so she could stand, then she called down “Are you alright?”
“She’s okay!” said Isias.
Then something else bit Medusa’s leg. She swung the sword, cleaving the little thing in two, but then two more clambered up her other leg. They were crawling all over her. She couldn’t swing the sword into her own limbs, so she reached down and crushed one of their nubile skulls between her hands, but more of them used the chance to jump onto her shoulders.
“Get
OFF!” screamed the huntress, as she grabbed one by the leg and flung it into the stone wall with a
splat, but more of the hungry monsters were grabbing at her with needle-like claws and biting into her, and even more were hatching. Medusa unhooked her bow from her person and swung it at her own body like a club, but the critters were fast, smearing her own blood over her as they clambered around her limbs. In pain, and desperate to get the creatures off, Medusa pulled her arms through the bow and pulled it over her head, then down her body before stepping her legs through it. As she did, the hatchlings were scraped off her body and fell to the padded floor.
Then, with obvious contempt and malice, she began stomping on the little bastards with her heavy boots, with a disturbing yet satisfying wet
crunch every time. Then she took her sword, walked over to the unhatched eggs and with one swing, split the rest in half, spraying blood and yolk over the back wall of the cave.
Turning back, she walked to the edge of the nest and looked down at the children. They were all looking up at her, expectantly.
“Come on, children,” she said. “Let’s take you home...”
†
The parents and people of Metaxas were overjoyed when Medusa walked through the centre of town, with a crowd of children behind her. They ran forth and there was laughter and tears from everyone as they were reunited, and families hugged, despite the grime and muck on all of the children. Medusa merely went to the farmer that had promised her a horse, and asked him to pay his debt. After hugging his son a dozen more times, he finally left, and came back with a strong, brown mare with a saddle on its back. Medusa thanked the man and was about to mount it, when a small child called to her.
“Where are you going?” She turned to see which of them was calling to her, when a little girl tackled her leg, hugging it tight, despite the bite marks and blood all over it.
“I’m moving along,” said Medusa, recognizing her as the girl she’d accidentally dropped.
“We’re going to celebrate, you need to stay.”
Medusa frowned, but instead bit her tongue and crouched down to look her in the eye.
“I
don’t stay,” said Medusa. “I never stay.”
“But it’s for you. To thank you.”
Medusa looked into those pretty eyes, on the girl’s dirty but otherwise sweet face.
“That you’re alive is thanks enough,” said Medusa. She kissed the girl’s forehead, then mounted her new horse and rode off, without turning back.
