CHAPTER 8

Too late I realize that I have ventured into dangerous waters by voicing my suspicions. How can I explain these things to Medusa without revealing my identity as the goddess Athena? My father's parting warning before deposing me from deity immortal reverberates throughout my mind: You are not allowed to tell any mortal your identity. If you violate this settlement, your time as a mortal will increase.

I am more terrified of Zeus' wrath than I am of almost anything else. My father's anger, when incurred, could probably lay waste to both the earth and Olympus while causing great suffering to the one with whom he is most displeased.

Medusa is staring at me with raised eyebrows and I find myself vainly hoping that she has not taken my assertion seriously. This is not merely because I want to avoid a prolonged existence as a mortal but also out of fear for Medusa herself. We gods can be quite cruel in dealing with mortals unfortunate enough to witness our less-than-godly actions, especially those who try to stop us or reveal our feats to the world. I would hate for anything of the sort to happen to Medusa, whose friendship I greatly value.

"Why do you say it was a god?" Medusa asks, her voice bringing me back from the endless halls that are my thoughts. Much to my disappointment, I can see that she is taking my words seriously. Her green eyes are fixed on me with such intensity that I know she has closed off her mind to the world around her. It is clear to me that trying to pass off my words as mere idle speculation will not fool Medusa in the slightest. For a mortal, she possesses an-almost god-like sense of knowing when she is being lied to. So, I entertain the possibility of taking her into my confidence- in my own way of course, without violating my father's edict.

"Let us consider the fact that no one saw Karme` disappear from the ceremony. If she had been carried off by an ordinary man, would she not have screamed for help?"

Almost instantly, Medusa pounces upon a possible argument against the suggestion. "Karme`'s abductor might have spirited her away at knife-point. She would be unlikely to scream for help if she wanted to live, right?"

I shake my head, having already considered and discarded this option. I then reveal the other observations I had made earlier in the ceremonial hall (while dressing up said observations as logical assessments). By the time I finish my presentation, Medusa shows signs of arriving at the same deductible conclusions. "This is all very well," she says as a frown forms across her pretty mouth, "but what are we to do about all this? If we share our suspicions with the search parties, they will laugh at us and refuse to take us seriously. Worse yet, they might think this whole matter a practical joke and confine us to the house indefinitely."

Looking at my friend, I can see that infinite house confinement would be unbearable for her. Medusa relishes the unusual freedom that her mother's pregnancy has brought her. She likes her daily ventures out to the agora, even though these outings are carefully chaperoned by the slave Spiro. During my time with her, I have come to realize that Medusa's yearning for life extends beyond the walls of her father's house and the small world of strictly-female domesticity that occupies much of the average mortal woman's daily life.

"I am not sure that we can do anything about Karme`'s disappearance," I finally say. "But I agree with you, Medusa. We must do something."