#charoixweek2019

“No helmet, noble one?” he couldn’t help but ask as he wrung his hands, nervous sweat running down his back, even though the day was mild.

“I think not, at least this time. I will need to hear...it is said that the creature is an accomplished archer. If I can not hear the arrows coming, then I will fail.”

But so many others have failed before, he wanted to say, but he held his tongue. He was, after all, and she was Chariot du Nord, a hero hailing from Celtia, far to the west and north, but already of great renown, and not just for her martial ability. It was even said that the blood of the god Apollo ran through her veins, for it was her singing of songs and telling of tales that she was most known for, drawing both high born and low born everywhere she traveled. It was a lucky man who got to see her perform...who other than the god of song and poems could be the ancestor of the hero who stood before him? The hero who now stood ready to face mortal peril, to go fight the Gorgon now residing in the hills.

Sighing heavily. “May you go with the grace of the gods, then.”

“An odd thing to say, Aetius...if it weren’t for the gods, she wouldn’t be a Gorgon.” With no other words and apparently no concern with the fact that she had just insulted the gods, she turned and started heading confidently up the hill, spear resting on her shoulder, the butt of it well ahead of her stride, sweeping and tapping across the path.

For Chariot, she truly did not want to be doing this, but Aetius had been right. Too many heroes and warriors had perished on the hill. Something had to be done. And so she made her way up into the perilous hills, fabric of her heavy skirt whispering against the skin of her thighs, breeze lifting the sweat away from her skin, her breath coming deep and easy as she traveled further and higher, the haft of her spear acting as her eyes, guiding her way. Birds sang merrily, and her ears caught the sound of wildiife in the woods and meadows off the worn road, most of them ignoring her as her spear tapped-tapped-tapped against the ground. But then...the sound of wildlife ceased, and birdsong diminished, and then vanished altogether, and her mouth formed a grim line. She was drawing near.

Crack went the shaft of her spear against something in the path, and she knew what it was, given what was was going to confront. She reversed her spear, stabbed its long blade in the ground, and took two steps forward, hand raised, only to touch stone. What could have been a wondrously made statue, her hand told her, if not for the expression of anguished terror her fingers ghosted over. The man had had enough time to realize what was happening before the curse claimed him. She said a small prayer for this warrior with no name, who would now stand silent vigil on this mountain path, a still warning for all passersby for what horror used to haunt these slopes.

Two careful steps back, hand finding the haft of her spear, retrieving the weapon, and she once more continued her way, more carefully now, each step deliberate and searching, making sure to pass as quietly as possible, sharp ears alert for any incoming arrow, any possible attack.

She would find many times many more statues on the way, most of them armed and armored as warriors, but also some peasants. Once a whole herd of sheep and their shepherd that took her some time to navigate past, for they blocked the road where it was narrow and steep. But she managed, and on she went.

Soon the air grew bitter and cold, the wind whistling from the high peaks ahead, a barely discernible moaning note that many others wouldn’t notice, but that she knew was from the wind cutting across the mouth of a cave. She had arrived.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and still her pounding heart. She squatted in the road, butt of the spear planted firmly against the ground, its shaft resting against her shoulder as she took some of the dirt from the road and rubbed her hands with it. Underneath the blindfold her eyes squeezed shut, and she took one more deep breath, steeling herself further. It was time.

Crossing into the cave immersed her into a bone deep chill, the warmth of the afternoon sun winking out, and she shivered slightly as she ventured deeper into the cavern. Her foot nudged a loose rock, and it clattered away, rolling down the decline, echoing loudly and strangely, and she tilted her head, biting her lip nervously as she tried to focus beyond the sounds of the rock still tumbling down.

There. A slight hissing, slithering rasp of scales against rock coming from deeper within, and she braced her feet. The Gorgon would see that she was blindfolded and know that the curse would not work on her, would see her spear and know that Chariot would have to draw close to injure her. The Gorgon would thus attack from a distance, with her-

A creak of bow limb, a distant thrum that was almost musical, and Chariot was crouching fluidly, bringing her shield up in enough time to catch the arrow fired at her on its broad face with a reverberating bang. “Hold!” she cried out. “I have come to speak first, and only fight if words fail us!”

There was a pause from further within the cave. “You come garbed for war and state you come to speak? How much the fool do you think I am?!”

Chariot shrugged her shield so that the other could see it. “The villagers expect to see a mighty hero go up to fight, not someone unarmed and unarmored. And without my shield, your arrow would have wounded or slain me. These are the truths laid before you. I would rather speak than fight.”

“And what fool would try to speak with a monster, with a Gorgon?!” the words were spat, a deeper hiss showing the anguish beneath their heat.

“I did not come to speak to the Gorgon. I came to speak with Croix Meridies, the craftswoman of Hephaestus, who drew the anger of the gods when she made a mechanical puzzle that not even wise Athena could solve.”

A shocked silence, then an odd sound, one that Chariot could not place...a sound of stretching and merging, the likes of which she had never heard before, and she had heard a great many things on her travels, things that many others had not. Then, to her immense surprise, she heard footsteps, slow and tentative and not having any of the bitter anger that the earlier sounds had had, and she warily stood, making sure the head of her spear was down and well away from the approaching person. “That...is a name I never expected to hear again.” The voice was soft, troubled, and Chariot frowned as she realized that she didn’t hear the hissing that had been so prevalent before. And there hadn’t been footsteps before. Had she changed somehow? “What words would you have with Croix Meridies?”

“Words of peace. I have come to remove the threat of the Gorgon, not kill the Gorgon. If we can come to an arrangement that you might find agreeable...”

This time the silence was thoughtful. Then, “...you speak boldly. If you came up from the village, then you surely must have seen the results of my curse. Have you no fear of it?” The voice was close now, almost close enough to touch, and if she struck now with the spear, she might be able to slay the Gorgon...but she had no desire to strike in her heart, and so her stance remained relaxed, at ease. Her ears told her Croix’s bow was not drawn, and she’d be able to react if the bow was drawn or if Croix charged with a melee weapon.

“See? No...I did not see them, but I did encounter them. And I have no fear of the curse you bear.” She tilted her head. “They said that your form is that of a great snake merged with a woman, and that your hair is made of serpents. How is it that I do not hear them?”

“My form can change, if I so will it and concentrate very hard. I appear as I was when I was a human. But the one thing that can never be removed is the curse. You did not answer my question. Do you not fear it?”

Chariot grinned. “No. And never will I fear it, for it will have no effect on me.”

Croix laughed, dark and low. “I have heard other brave fools make that same boast before, though generally before they try to kill me. One idiot even tried to bring a mirrored shield. I enjoyed killing that one.”

“But there is one thing that they did not have...they weren’t me.”

This laugh was almost delighted. “You are bold. Tell you what. If my curse does not effect you, as you boast it won’t, then I will go along with any ploy that you have to remove me from these hills.” A step, drawing closer, followed by another, and Chariot could almost feel the warmth from the other’s body in the cold air of the cave. “So tell me, hero, are you brave enough to test yourself against this terrible curse?”

Chariot stood tall. “If it means helping Croix Meridies, the craftswoman cursed by the gods, then always.”

The warmth of a hand mere inches from her face. “You will be the one that I will truly regret killing...”

Then fingers tugged at the blindfold, pulling it away from her face...but for Chariot, the impenetrable darkness did not change, even though she heard torches sputtering in the distance, and the mouth of the cave was close enough that sunlight spilling through should light this area. No, she saw nothing, just as she had seen nothing since she angered Hermes by not going along with one of his tricks. The gods, after all, were petty. And so, with her unseeing eyes, Croix’s curse had no effect on her.

The silence, however, seemed angry. “You tricked me.”

Chariot shook her head. “I did not. The blindfold is to hide my scarred eyes from the world, to hide my shame away. And it is the blindfold that will take you off this mountain.”

“So you expect me to be blind, like you?” The words were spat, and the echo of hissing seemed for a moment to sound, a threat of the form the Croix could return to.

“Only when there are others that may be stricken by the curse in your eyes. Croix...I have a home, secluded and away from others, with a small vinyard, an orchard, a workshop. Your hands can find good work again, work that might aid man once more. There is no need for you to stay on this hill, surrounded by silent death. Please, come with me!”

“You seem rather adamant about this. Why?”

“Because I, too, have been slighted by the gods. They took my sight so that I might not see the beauty in the world to tell tales of, but I refused to let that stop me. They may have cursed your eyes, but they did not take your hands. I offer you companionship, an end to the loneliness, a life worth living where no more heroes test themselves against your might.” She stretched out a hand. “What say you?”

There was a long moment of hesitation, and for a moment Chariot was afraid her offer would be refused, but then a hand clasped hers, and she smiled.

xxxXXXxxx

Aetius was still waiting by the road and would wait there until nightfall, as he had for all the other heroes and warriors that had gone up that hill. But then, the scuffle of feet on the path, and two figures emerged around the corner. Chariot, standing tall and proud, shield now slung across her back and her spear in front of her like a walking staff, tap-tap-tapping as she confidently strode along. At her side, however, was another woman, with pale skin and grey hair, Chariot’s blindfold across her eyes, and her gait was not so confident, stumbling and hesitant, her hands clutching Chariot’s arm for support. Aetius hadn’t expected to see Chariot ever again, and so it took him a moment to finally speak. “Noble one, it is good to see you again!” he called, and the other woman froze, her frame stiffening as her covered eyes turned towards him. “And with another...who is this?” he asked, confused. None of the local families spoke of a missing daughter matching the woman’s description.

“A disciple of Hephaestus, wrongfully imprisoned with the Gorgon, where she was to remain until the curse of the Gorgon was defeated,” Chariot answered smoothly, and he frowned slightly. Something about how she worded that...

“Her eyes?” he asked, more curious than suspicious, the suspicion did nip at him.

“How else could she have survived the Gorgon’s curse, then if she could not see the Gorgon’s eyes? Her curse wasn’t to die at the Gorgon’s hand, after all.”

Ah. This made sense. If she was blinded like Chariot was and still not used to it, it was only natural that she cover her eyes. It was just her luck that a hero such as Chariot was the one to rescue her. Chariot would be a good guide to her. “And the Gorgon is dead?”

“The Gorgon will never bother you again, this I so swear. The way through those hills is now clear, though you’ve much labor ahead of you. The remains of all those lost still need final rites now that the threat is gone.”

“Yes, of course. Will you be staying this evening? I’m sure there will be a feast.”

Chariot did not answer for a moment, instead lifting her head towards the sky, turning it until it was directly facing the sun, and she hummed thoughtfully. “No, I am eager to return home, and can make many miles ‘ere the sun sets. You have my traveling bag with provisions?”

“Yes, noble one, as you requested.” A gentle smile from her at his words, and she strode towards his voice, holding out her hand, and he passed her the bag with some hearty bread, cheese, salted meat, olives, and other food suited for the road. “I wish you safe travels, then,” he said.

Her grin grew wider, and she rested her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “Much thanks to you, Aetius, for your aid and guidance. May your fortune always be good.”

The last he saw of them was the two of them making their way down the main road, stepping more freely now that the way was smooth and maintained, and he hummed with satisfaction as he turned back towards the village. He had his own duties to see to.