Labyrint'ine
Gorgon's Eye
Warning! Although within the confines of Greek myth, adult/mature concepts and situations arise. Read at your own risk.
"Are we, as men, so easily prone to judgment that we might never see past the end of our nose?"
The desert wasteland came to an abrupt end.
It was too abrupt an end to be natural but who was he to tell? The thing in front of him seemed to sprout from the dry, cracked earth, twisting like vines in the densest of jungles. Renne crawled along the thing's edge, trying to understand what it was. His left hand trailed along its surface as he crawled as far as he could go with its length.
Having gone a few hundred yards, Renne stopped and turned around. It wasn't hard to deduce the size of this thing. So Renne crawled where logic dictated.
The silence was unnerving in here. The doorway he'd found led into a long hall with two passages. Renne chose the left-hand side and found himself twisting and winding through an impossible tangle. Renne found himself easily confused as the plant-like walls groaned, creaked and moved around him. Each turn lent itself to a new path and any time he tried to turn back, he met nothing but a wall.
He sat down and pulled out his plushie.
Renne hadn't heard of labyrinths before but was all too familiar with getting lost somewhere.
The child in him wept, foolishly wishing that this time, a hero could ride in and rescue him. He still wept after an hour but tucked his "Archie" under one arm and pressed on.
His eyes were dry after another twenty minutes and another reminder of Rhy'Din's distinct lack of heroes.
He crawled down twisted paths lined in the living, the dead and the petrified. Many times, the little creature attempted to scale these walls but to a futile end. Each time, he met the labyrinthine floor and couldn't figure out which way was up or down. Around him, the walls groaned like trees in an icy, winter wind. Below him, the decidedly sandy floor shifted as Sahara dunes.
It was only when Renne found himself thoroughly lost in this twisted place that he found its center open up to him. The path widened into a kind of bleak meadow of sand and above, a metallic-silvery sky that was never still.
The labyrinth's center seemed empty until he met a dais and tasted metallic water in his mouth. It tasted silver and somehow clean. The ground was a featureless ambergris, reminding him of the scent of dry bone. Renne crawled up onto the dais and felt Time undulate. It was a strange sensation; the silvery tang of Time in his mouth and its cool indifference wrapping around him like a shroud.
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She never wept.
For all her anger, bitter sorrow and shame, she never wept.
The woman almost prowled her stone citadel with neither company nor anything to occupy her time. All she could do was roam her citadel and remember all that she had lost. She was a woman and in this society, women were little more than property for the desires of uncaring, lecherous men.
Lecherous men and lecherous gods alike.
She wandered through the limestone colonnades, occasionally caressing the clean-cut pillars. Here, the wind forever blew and the sun never truly shone. Screened behind gray cloudcover, the maiden only saw the sun in her memories. Flowers did not grow here. The grass had long since died, turning into brittle amber skeletons.
Only the faces in her garden, she could gaze upon and imagine them speaking kindly to her. She imagined this when she closed her eyes to block out the contorted expressions of terror.
She only had her stone garden, of stone men and stone faces to look upon; to remind her that as a woman, she was just a body.
The maiden never felt the silvery touch upon her desolate haven of stone. She heard nothing, saw nothing yet she knew she was now not alone. A cynical part of her wondered which king sent which warrior out this time to try and make off with her life.
What she found, she didn't know how to explain.
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The ground beneath him, he knew, wasn't the demented labyrinth of seconds ago. It wasn't sand or dust. It was hard, infertile clay decorated in stone and carpeted with long-dead grass. Renne tasted the air and found an unusual scent. It was the gut-wrenching stench of something that had just died mingled with a heady, womanly fragrance. Renne was glad to be in control of his body, for fear the scent might sicken him right there.
You killed a Female. Remember?
The whispers in his head rambled on. He no longer tried to listen to them, to understand them. Renne shook his head and crawled carefully across the ground. When he met the first petrified statue, he became curious.
The second one heightened this curiosity.
The fifth had the proverbial hackles on his neck going up.
The tenth stopped him in his tracks.
Renne heard footsteps behind him and he turned to face toward the sound. The steps were slow, somewhat dainty yet stiff. And now, there was no doubt where that sickening scent was coming from. Idly, he wondered if it was a zombie until the scent proved it had a voice too.
It was an almost-lovely voice. In it, he heard years of sorrow, anger and bitter resentment. Renne decided to be polite and hold out his hand.
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She stared at the creature with eyes wide open.
It was perplexing; this damnable curse failed. Part of her quietly rejoiced at this unexpected freedom of laying eyes on another living being without harm. When the odd little thing offered its hand, she took it. She knew the Persians' way was to shake hands and she knew the Persians across the sea to the East wore strange things that weren't proper togas. Or tunics.
Neither of the two spoke.
When their hands clasped, Time laid itself upon the pair in its silver neutrality.
-She was gorgeous. Her dark, Grecian hair fell in waves down her soft-skinned back. Her face was like a masterpiece of only the gods themselves. She was the envy of Athenian women, the untouchable treasure of Athenian men. She was also off-limits.
She was a virginal priestess.
She spoke only to venerate the Goddess, to do as Athena might ask of her. Her life was here, at the temple. Her life was, proudly, untouched and pure in the Parthenon walls. Her name was a strong one, meaning "Protector" and her beauty was a soft one, the beauty of a woman. She had thought she was safe from all, but she was a mortal. And like all mortals, she could not predict the future. As a woman, she could prevent nothing.-
Their hands didn't release. The grip grew tighter, more than a handshake. The hands clung, like one could fall off of a cliff at any second.
-He was a god.
God of the sea and a man, he could have what he willed. He gazed from his oceanic domain into Athens but didn't stop the red of lust entering his eyes. Love's arrow missed him in favour of this lust. The god wanted this temple virgin, and as a god, he would have her.
She stood no chance against Poseidon. He did as he pleased, ravished her until her cries of despair silenced. The temple maiden's screams fell on deaf ears and she cursed the sea-god as he left her to Athene's wrath.
Athene was a patron of war. She did not see but the crime of her once-faithful priestess. She did not hear her acolyte's cries for help against a ruthless god with red in his eyes. The war-goddess only saw the desecration of her temple -- a virgin priestess tainted by the touch of lust. And as a woman, a mortal woman, the fault fell upon the broken priestess's shoulders.-
Renne didn't let go. He didn't dry the tears which fell onto his and the other's hand. He wept unashamedly.
-She was hideous. Snakes were her hair and her skin was shrunken, cracked. Fangs became her teeth and her tongue swelled. Tears no longer fell from black, swollen eyes, for she could no longer weep.
The once-proud and once-faithful priestess retreated, a pariah, to this barren land off the shores of Greece.
Medusa's gaze turned living men into stone and her face froze them with fear.-
When he did let go, he let the Gorgon gaze upon him as much as she wished to. He did not see her face and he was neither petty human nor petty god. Renne offered her a song, telling this strange, afflicted one his thoughts. They didn't speak the same language by tongue. They spoke the same language of love by touch and song. He no longer found her scent so repugnant. He wanted to hear her name.
"Is Rrrr-enne."
"Medusa."
When Time took him away again, he carried with him a token with her image.
