The third witch became suddenly thoughtful. "Perhaps one way."
The second faced her in confusion. "Sister, you have become senile as well as blind."
"Not I." She sniffed disdainfully and dismissed the remark. "You all talk of mortal men and mortal weapons. A mortal man may destroy with the assistance of immortal powers. That route is even more dangerous in its subtle fashion than the Kraken itself. The Kraken can be avoided. Once engaged, the way I have in mind can be instantly fatal."
"Tell me this way," Perseus urged her.
"Give me the eye and I'll tell you."
"Sly witch, do not think you can bargain with me. This is no marketplace. I will fight the Kraken with or without your advice."
"Then you will die," said the third witch coldly.
"And you three will live in blackness for eternity."
"Very well," she sighed. "It requires the head of Medusa, the Gorgon."
"Of course, of course!" exclaimed the first witch excitedly. "Yes, that might accomplish your end, boy. One look from the head of Medusa, be she dead or alive, will turn any living thing into stone, no matter how huge or powerful it may be."
"And her blood is a weapon as well. A deadly venom. She has two ways to kill," added the third witch.
"Yes, yes, the head of Medusa could overcome the Kraken," agreed the second.
"A Titan against a Gorgon," cackled the third witch. Her sisters joined in a coarse laughter which Perseus found utterly revolting.
"Ah, but first you must win Medusa's head, bold boy of the nasty caution," the first warned him.
"She's not going to give it to you," put in the second, laughing harder than ever.
"As a present!" the third concluded mockingly.
The first witch continued to admonish her intent listener, shaking a warning finger.
"Medusa's as difficult and dangerous in a fight as a dozen Krakens. Not as strong, it's true, but she has no need of strength. And she's far quicker. Are you quick of eye, boy?" More ghastly laughter from the other sisters. "You'll need more than quick wits to defeat Medusa."
"You'll not find her so easy to trick as we harmless old women," chuckled the second witch.
"It's your only chance if you mean to go against the Kraken," the third assured him. Then she frowned and asked, "Why do you intend to risk such a confrontation?"
"To save a city and the woman I love."
"Pfagh!" The second witch spat to one side, yellow phlegm spotting the floor. "How foolish you are, young man. There are many cities and many women you could conquer without having to battle a Titan."
"Don't waste your time, Sister," the third witch advised. "Mark that sweet-sour aroma that swirls about him. The boy's in love."
"Then not only does he lack the quick wits he'll need," observed the first witch, "he has no wits left at all!" Her cackle was brief and her tone turned serious again.
"Now give us back our eye, boy. We have answered your question."
"Yes, give it back." The third witch held out eager fingers ending in claws.
"I've not yet finished with my question. If, even after death, the face of Medusa can turn any onlooker to stone, what of her blood? Does it retain its potency?"
"Yes, yes. Deadly as when alive, until the last drop has dried."
"Then if I gain her head, how am I to handle it without getting the blood on me?"
"Poisonous and corrosive it stays," said the first witch, "and would burn through any container. No bottle or flask could restrain that blood. But you have touched the eye—our eye. Are you by chance wearing anything the color of blood, anything of red?"
"My cloak happens to be red."
"Good. That should do you . . . if you get that far. Just as the eye has the power to give us sight, so the caress you give it will make your red cloak proof against the Gorgon's blood. I declare this so, by the powers of Hades and the eye. Wrap a portion of your cloak completely around the crystal and hold it still for a moment."
Perseus followed the instructions. A slight warmth seemed to emanate from the eye, heating his hands through the folds of material. It grew almost too hot to hold, then abruptly cooled to nothing.
"I've done as you instructed," he told them. "It grew hot."
"Has it cooled now?"
Perseus opened the folds and carefully touched the crystal. "Yes, completely."
"Then you have your shield, foolish boy. You must not touch the blood yourself."
"We can help you no more. Give us back our eye."
Perseus turned to his companions and gave a prearranged signal. Thallo nodded in acknowledgment. With Bubo clicking away overhead, the soldiers hurried around the circumference of the chamber and headed gratefully for the gap which opened onto clean air and daylight.
Perseus found himself alone with the three witches. "You have told me the truth?"
"We swear it," said the first witch.
"By all the gods of Olympus," added the third.
"By all the powers of Hades," the second finished.
"We have spoken only the truth," the first witch declared empathically. "We have done as you asked, have answered your question. The rest remains for you to do, for we cannot help you in that. Seek Medusa . . ."
". . . on the Isle of the Dead, where the River Styx broadens into a lake and touches the world of the living, at the very fringes of the Underworld," the third instructed him.
"And now the eye. As we speak the truth, you must keep your part of the bargain. You are bound to return the eye to us now, lest all the curses of the Fates befall you."
"And when I give it back to you," he said quietly, "what will happen then, when you have your sight back?"
"Ah," murmured the first witch through a shrewd smile, "we will be able to see again. That's all."
"That's all?" Perseus nodding knowingly. "You will be able to see again? You'll also be able to see me, won't you? If I hand you the eye, will you not also try to take my hand with it?"
"Only in friendship," the first witch assured him demurely.
"Yes," added the second, "so that we might shake the hand of so worthy and clever an adversary."
"What else could we do?" asked the third. "Three poor old women?"
"You would take my hand, of that I'm certain. But not in friendship, I think. Most likely you'd take it all the way up to the shoulder, with the rest to follow later, over a hot, slow fire."
'You do us a great injustice, boy," said the first witch, her anger seeping through her grandmotherly manner. "In any case, you have agreed to the bargain we've struck. You must now give us back the eye." She held out eager claws.
"And so I will," Perseus said. "Here . . . catch!" And he tossed it toward them.
There was a tripartite shriek of rage and frustration. Stumbling into each other, the witches tried to catch the falling crystal. It fell between their weaving hands to land with a subdued clink among the bones and rotting leather and forgotten armor.
They bumped into one another, tripping in their haste to find their sight. Bones and skulls flew in all directions as they started digging through the garbage covering the floor. Perseus was forgotten.
"Where! Where is it?" they were shouting. "Where! I want it . . . it's my turn . . . give it to me!"
Still carefully staying out of reach, Perseus edged his way around the three harridans. Only when he'd finally succeeded in rejoining his companions outside the temple did he allow himself to relax.
Menas slapped him on the back, then looked distastefully back toward the noisome hole from which they'd emerged. "A foul place, Prince Perseus. I'd rather face a phalanx of Spartans than those three," he added, his expression emphasizing his words.
"We've gained what we came for," Perseus announced, breathing deeply of the fresh mountain air. "And also the enmity of the three Witches of Stygia. Let's begone from this place before they recover their eye. They might be able to see their way to some unknown revenge."
"I think not, sir." Thall
o considered the temple opening thoughtfully. "Once they set to arguing, I'll venture it takes them a dozen years to settle things."
Everyone laughed, glad of the joke.
"Maybe so, good Thallo," Perseus agreed with a smile, "but let's not stay here long enough to find out."
They started back down the mountain path, moving with care, the image of empty skulls and gnawed bones still fresh in their memories.
In that barren, forsaken country there was little that would burn. But like all soldiers, Thallo and his companions were no strangers to the ways of scavenging. Though tired from their ordeal in the temple and from the long, awkward descent down the cliff face, they still managed to locate enough brushwood and thornbush to fuel a comforting fire.
Now all were together again, well out of reach of any lingering animosity of the Stygian sisters. Their temple lay half a day's ride to the east. Nevertheless, Menas and the other officers were glad of the mountains that now lay between them and that abode of unwholesomeness.
The fire burned hot and fast before them. Castor and Solon lay against the warm rocks, chatting of the day's adventure and chewing the remnants of their supper. Thallo, Philos and Menas were curled up in their cloaks, already asleep and glad of it. Their comrades' conversation did not disturb them. Soldiers have the ability to sleep whenever the opportunity occurs.
Perseus and Andromeda had long since melted into each other's arms. Ammon dozed nearby. On a branch of a nearby tree—a live one, this time—the slightly tubby shape of Bubo the owl glowed rust red from the light of the flames his metal body reflected.
A soft neighing came from the horses. They were content despite the hard ride, having spent most of the morning at rest. Bubo joined them with a soft hoot, his metal owl eyes informing him that nothing stalked those seated or sleeping around the fire. Though no more than a tin dopplegänger, he took his assigned responsibilities seriously.
When not gazing into each other's eyes, Perseus and Andromeda stared solemnly into the fire. Each saw something different in the dancing flames.
Nearby, Ammon was not quite so content. He restlessly stirred the sand with a stick.
"The sands of time are running away like quicksilver, my young friends. Knowledge is useless without the time to employ it. Even Hercules did not have to rush from one labor to the next."
"You worry too much, old friend." Perseus smiled fondly at the tired playwright, whose beard shone silver by the fire.
"That's my way, boy. I suppose if I weren't such a worrier, I would never have become a writer. I'd have gone into a more respectable profession like goldsmithing or slave trading." He shrugged slightly. "But I do worry, and so I write."
"But you write comedies, good Ammon," Andromeda said and snuggled a little tighter against Perseus.
The poet grinned. "And the more I worry, the funnier my prose. I think that's the crux of comedy."
"This journey is no comedy." Perseus turned his gaze back to the fire. "According to Bubo, we'll be over these mountains sometime tomorrow." The owl hooted at the mention of his name.
"After that . . . the Isle of the Dead."
"Which is no comedy for sure!" Andromeda said bleakly.
"And then Medusa." Ammon looked skyward, remembering. "I wrote a play about her long ago. Many writers have been inspired to do so." The stick played with the sand.
"In my youth I was partial to tragedy. That was before experience taught me that life was quite tragic enough without having to spend all my time writing about it! I don't like to spend my time brooding, and writers of tragedies invariably reflect what they're writing about. No thank you, I'll stick to comedies."
"Medusa . . . forgive me, Ammon." Perseus looked embarrassed: "My formal education was somewhat neglected. She was a priestess of Aphrodite, I believe?"
"Not too neglected, my boy. You're right. She was a most beautiful woman, by all accounts. Beautiful enough to seduce a god, if she wanted to. She chose Poseidon.
"As it is told, they made love in the temple of Aphrodite, close by the altar itself, while Medusa laughed and joked and even taunted the goddess.
"It's said that Aphrodite is among the most tolerant and gentle of all the immortals, but this insult was too much even for her to forgive. So outraged was she that she transformed Medusa into a creature so hideous that one look from her would turn any living creature into stone." He grinned. "A perfect match for Calibos."
Andromeda looked earnestly at him. "Please. Even in jest, could we avoid mention of that name?" She shivered slightly, though the night was temperate.
Ah, you senile old fool, Ammon thought to himself. You have the manners and tact of a drunken elephant. That you who work with words should be so clumsy with them!
Andromeda had risen and walked away. Now Perseus hurried to join her, catching up with her just outside her tent.
"Ammon meant nothing, love. He was only trying to raise our spirits by distracting us from what lies ahead."
She turned, put her hands on his shoulders. "I know, he's a good person. It's just that anything that reminds me of Calibos . . ." She leaned against him and he held her close.
"Perseus, I'm so afraid for you."
"The Stygian Witches gave us no trouble."
"From what Thallo told me, you had time and space to maneuver. If you make a single mistake with Medusa you'll have no chance to correct it, no chance at all. And she's not a feeble old woman."
"How do you know that? No one's seen her and returned to say what she looks like."
She looked uncertainly at him, then broke into a delighted, girlish smile. "You're teasing me," she said, but the smile faded. "I wish there were another way."
"I wish there were also," he confessed to her. "But there isn't, or the witches would have said so. They swore by Olympus and Hades that this was the only chance we have of dealing with the Kraken.
"Thetis cannot alter or withdraw her pronouncement. This thing must continue to its end, like a ball of string unraveling. There's nothing we mortals can do save try to make the string end where we choose." He gently pushed her away.
"My love, tomorrow you must return to Joppa with Ammon."
"No. We've already gone through this, Perseus. I'm coming with you. To the end of the world, if need be. Or in this case, to the beginning of the underworld."
He looked resigned. "Then sleep now. We'll all have a good rest and ride after the sun is up."
She entered the tent ahead of him. As she stretched out, he knelt to kiss her. She let her eyes close.
"So little time together, darling," she whispered. "So little time . . ."
It was not difficult to ready the horses before daybreak. Supplies were silently packed and strapped on willing backs.
Ammon stood beside the dying, smoking fire and watched. Unperturbed at the prospect of being separated from their companions, the two untouched horses grazed peacefully nearby.
Perseus mounted his own steed, waved to Ammon. The poet nodded once and returned the salute. Joppa lay almost due south from their present position and he felt sure he could find the coast and a well-traveled road leading home. He was not especially sorry that Perseus had entrusted him with the princess's safe return. For all his voiced bravery he had no desire to visit the Isle of the Dead. His time to do that would come naturally and soon enough.
As for Medusa, one of Ammon's fondest dreams was that a bust of himself be placed in the theater outside Joppa; but he rather preferred it be fashioned by the normal arts of sculpture.
It seemed to Perseus as the morning wore on that he could hear the awakened princess sobbing, though he knew it had to be only his imagination.
He squinted at the sun. She would be awake by now, furious with Ammon for participating in the deception, distraught over the prospect of having to return to Joppa, and fearful for Perseus's safety.
First she would try to threaten and cajole Ammon into telling her the direction the riders had taken. Ammon would not tell her. Then she would
search for hoofprints, but the riders had taken care to cover their departure well, and though resourceful, the princess was no tracker.
At last she would pack up camp with the poet and start on the long way back to Joppa; tearful, perhaps angry still, but on her way to safety. That was all that concerned Perseus. The Isle of the Dead was no place for a live young woman.
It was also no place for a live young man, he knew, but it helped his state of mind, knowing that she was out of danger.
"I'll come back, Andromeda, prepared to deal with the Kraken, or Thetis, or anyone else god or mortal who tries to force us apart!"
He'd made the pledge in a whisper, but Thallo had sharp ears. "An admirable vow, sir. Nothing finer to dedicate oneself to than love. Far better than a fickle people or callous king. That's why we ride with you now, instead of returning with the princess."
"It would be safer for you."
The old warrior took no offense. "A soldier can die only once, and this seems a cause worth dying for. And if we survive, what a tale we'll have to tell! Not to mention the gratitude of Queen Cassiopeia. She'll double our pensions, at least."
But Perseus was not fooled by this mercenary appraisal.
Another two days brought them to a shoreline in a valley thick with fog. It was a fog that never rose, never dissipated, hanging just above the surface of the lake. Some said it was composed of the last breaths uttered by the living before they passed forever into the realm of the dead.
Unlike the abode of the Stygian Witches, however, this place produced no rotting miasma. The air was clean, crisp, and fresh with the ever-present fog. It was as sharp as death, that moist air. A casual traveler might breathe it and find nothing unusual to remark upon.
But it was special to the soldiers. They knew it well, having breathed of it on many occasions.
A small stream led them to the lake. It was flanked by tall reeds that shielded several dry rises. Perseus raised a hand as they neared a wide one and turned to Thallo.
"You understand your orders?"
The soldier nodded. "I'd prefer to go with you, sir, but I understand. Philo and I will wait for you until after dark. If you don't return—"
"If we don't return," Perseus finished for him, "it will mean that we've failed." His expression was unreadable. "Dead men travel in only one direction on the River Styx. At least if we fail we will not have far to travel to the land of the dead." He turned and studied the mournful fog.