Serpent and Stone

Chapter 7

I grimaced at the mess he'd made of things as I stepped over the clutter. Shattered pieces of pottery, shards of glass, and loose papers were strewn about the floor, making it difficult to help him step around them. I guided him as best I could, vowing to arrange things properly as soon as I was able. 

I led him to the edge of the bed against the cavern wall. He frowned, reaching out blindly until he grabbed hold of the edge, and carefully sat down on it.

His soldier's clothes, a leather skirt and linen tunic, were badly torn and covered with blood and dirt. His copper hair curled just slightly at the tips, hanging just above his ears. His pale, unseeing eyes were blue. But not the color of the sea or sky- this was something brighter than either of those, like a freshly bloomed hyacinth. Those eyes never seemed to focus directly on my face, but he tried to look in my general direction.

Before I could think of what to say to begin, he broke the silence first.

"I didn't know there were any people living on this island," he said. My blood turned to ice. The snakes in my hair swung from side to side nervously.

I inhaled deeply, forcing myself to relax my tension. I knew how to spin a story. I could do this.

"I'm the only one who lives here," I answered. It wasn't a lie at least. I rushed to follow with a question, taking to focus off of myself. "That's why I was so surprised to come across two armies engaged in battle on my little island."

I'd spoken wisely. At the mention of the battle, he immediately perked up with interest.

"And how did the battle end?"

"I'm no soldier, but it seemed like the armies retreated to their ships when neither side could gain the upper hand. They're both gone by now."

He let silence fill up between us for a moment as he slowly understood the meaning of what I had said. They'd gone and left him behind.

"I was injured," he said. His hand flew to the bandages on his chest, as if by instinct.

I nodded, then remembered he couldn't see and spoke aloud. "Yes. After the battle was over, I found you on the battlefield with serious wounds. I brought you back here to save you."

His brow furrowed. "The oranges," he murmured as if speaking to himself. "That was you?"

I nodded. "Yes."

I waited for the words of appreciation and gratitude to come pouring out of him, for him to grovel at my feet for saving his life. I would be lying if I said I didn't crave his praise and thanks, the verbal proof of my good deed.

"There were no other injured soldiers besides me?" he asked. No, demanded. His tone was critical. "Did you not look for any others?"

I frowned, both disappointed and ashamed that I had been denied his gratitude. "I'm sure that there were no others alive," I replied. "I would have done my best to help anyone who had a chance of survival." I continued before he had a chance to ask another aggressive question. "What's your name?"

He visibly hesitated.

"I just saved your life and brought you into my home despite the fact that you are a total stranger," I said heatedly, irritation at last getting the better of me. "If it weren't for me, you would be wandering through the fields of Asphodel right now. Don't you think you owe me an answer to the question?"

"Names have power," he replied, undaunted. "In the hands of witches and monsters, a name can be a dangerous tool."

I tensed automatically at the mention of monsters, but after looking into his stubborn gaze I felt assured that he did not truly suspect that I was Medusa. It was merely caution, honed into him from his past experiences. I told myself that it was understandable to be wary of danger as he was, but my patience was running thin. I couldn't stand such disrespect when all I had wanted was to do something worthy of praise.