Stone Blind(39)

Medusa used to swim in the sea every day, and then she stopped. Some of the Nereids said it was Poseidon who drove her from the water, some say it was Athene. Cornered by one, cursed by the other. I think it was both. But even she stays by the sea, no matter what. Her sister reshaped the shoreline to please her, pushed Poseidon himself away. She doesn’t leave, but she hasn’t been out of the cave for a while. So she is still here, but you wouldn’t know it.

Now, where was I? Or rather, where were you? You’re at the furthest point you can sail to, where the ocean kisses the setting sun. It is beautiful and sad at once: it holds none of the promise that dawn brings, if you journey the opposite way. It is a place where things come to an end. Mortals don’t belong here: it makes them melancholy.

But perhaps you are stubborn. Or desperate. Perhaps you have some pressing reason that overwhelms the natural antipathy you feel at being in the wrong place.

And so instead of going back to where mortals belong, you’re following the narrow coils of the sea inland. It is not a journey you could make on foot: you would not survive the first part of it. It is a difficult and dangerous journey even by boat: every kind of peril would beset you. You really would be safer to take wing. And then you would arrive more swiftly at the place where the sea unfurls into one last large circle. There is an island in the middle of this final coil, and from the air you would not be able to tell which way the water flows. The island has never – at least not so far – been reached by any mortal creature. The narrow lick of sea guards it fiercely.

Even if you could find a way to be close enough to see it, you would not. Those sea coils shroud everything in a thick mist, no matter which wind is blowing or how hard Helios burns down. You would believe you had reached a miserable spot, this dismal lake where the sun never penetrates. You would wrap your cloak more tightly around your shoulders, and bow your head to walk into the wind. The relief you first felt – the land around it is arid and baked to a dark red – would soon disappear. You could not even slake your thirst because the only water you would find is briny and you would spit it out. You would hurry away from this place and vow never to return. You would follow the water back the way you had come.

And because you could not see the island, you would never be able to tell another soul that it was there. Its inhabitants remain uninterrupted by mortal men. Or at least they always had until now.





The Hesperides


No one was quite sure how many nymphs there were. Some said three, some believed four, and one enthusiast went as high as seven. But the disparities were easily explained: the Hesperides lived in an isolated spot, they did not travel and they never encouraged visitors. So most things that people repeated about them as certainty were not certain at all. Which was how Perseus had found himself at a loss for how to proceed, even with the Graiai’s advice drumming in his mind as he climbed to the top of their cliff. He had no idea if this was the right thing to do, or how his divine companions might find him again, or why they couldn’t just appear a little sooner, before he had scraped the skin from his hands clinging to the rock face and believing throughout the climb that he would fall into the crashing water, or smash onto the stone beneath him. But he could not stay where the Graiai could hear him, even if they could no longer see him or eat him. And clambering down towards the water seemed riskier – just – than climbing away from it.

When he finally reached the summit, his relief was immediately blown away by the gale which almost took him off his feet. He lay face down on the rock, holding on for his life. He had no idea how long he clung on, but it was more than enough time to believe he had been abandoned to this most desolate place for good.

‘What did they tell you?’ asked Hermes, when he and Athene arrived.

Perseus raised his head as far as he could without letting go of his rock.

‘Why are you lying down?’ Athene added. ‘Are you tired?’ She smiled at Hermes triumphantly, delighted to have learned something about mortals that she could share.

‘I am tired,’ Perseus said. ‘It was a long and difficult climb.’

‘Was it?’ asked Hermes.

‘Very. Also, Aeolus has set all the winds loose upon this rock, and I think if I stand up I will be blown into the ocean.’

‘You see?’ Athene was almost hopping with glee. ‘They talk about weather. They like it.’

‘I don’t like it,’ Perseus clarified, nervous as he was to contradict her. ‘I just don’t want to fall.’

‘I think I understand,’ said Hermes. ‘But you spoke to the Graiai? Before you lay down here?’

‘Yes, I spoke to the Graiai.’

‘And did you manage to learn anything from them?’ Hermes asked.

‘The Hesperides have what I need,’ Perseus replied.

‘Oh, the Hesperides!’ said Athene. ‘We should have thought of that.’

Hermes nodded thoughtfully, while Perseus tried to blink the wind-pricked tears from his eyes. ‘Yes,’ Hermes agreed. ‘We probably should have.’

‘Is there a reason why you didn’t?’ Perseus was trying to sound interested rather than critical, but his fingers were going numb and he was finding it difficult to hold on.

‘I don’t know,’ said Hermes.

‘Could we go there now?’ asked Perseus.