Desperate Remedies

Part I.

In all ways, traversing the landscape of the Island of Lost Hope had been pleasant. Birds sang and chirped in the plush forest as they sat high up in trees or flitted about overhead, and animals small and large made much sound as they scampered through the underbrush. It was soothing to hear the joy and liveliness. Other things, too, contributed to the serenity, like the scent of the air—an alloy of pine and sweet flowers with undertones of damp soil, rotting wood, and the smell of the sea. And the fair weather on this afternoon only heightened the sense of ecstasy. The cool breeze brushed comfortingly across exposed skin, and every once in a while, when the sun slipped through the gaps of the cloud-dappled sky, a pleasing warmth would take its brief turn, chasing away any chill that had begun to settle. Back and forth it went in perfect harmony as they walked. Of course, all ordinary things—the warmth of the sun, refreshing winds, even the beautiful intricacies of a tree one would normally find unremarkable—suddenly became profoundly cherished when one prepared to face death.

“The trail is narrower here, and the uphill grows steeper,” Laralynn’s sweet voice announced from her perch atop the gelding. “We should be nearing the highest point on the island.”

Caedmyn removed his hand from the gelding’s neck and began to snap his fingers. Grayscale images of his surroundings formed in his head as he walked. With each snap, all became visible for a brief moment. Even without his sight, he found his way as surefootedly as a seasoned ranger.

“Stop here,” Laralynn commanded. “I see it. Just ahead there is a narrow path down the cliffside into a chasm. At the end of that chasm lies the temple, just as the stories claimed.”

Caedmyn exhaled deeply. “How far is the walk to the temple?”

“One hour, give or take. It is a good way off still.”

“For you, it is close enough,” Caedmyn stated definitively. “You will go no closer, even if I should never return.”

“You will return,” she snapped heatedly. “I will not leave without you.”

“If I do not return by nightfall,” Caedmyn continued as if the girl had not spoken, “you will return to the ship and set sail.”

“I will not,” Laralynn said defiantly.

“You will.”

“Is it so important to you that you must risk your life?” Her emotions had begun to strangle her voice. “Why, when I can be your eyes?”

“One day not so far off, you will build a life of your own, and I will be but a storybook of memories you will tell to your children. I will not remain a burden to you forever.”

“You will never be a burden to me! Don’t be so—”

“My sight was unjustly stolen from me!” Caedmyn roared. “And I have the opportunity here and now to take it back!” He felt suddenly ashamed at his outburst, for it was not at her that he was angry.

Laralynn dismounted from the gelding and threw her arms around him. She had grown so much, he realized.

“It is your life that hangs in the balance,” Laralynn whimpered quietly. “And if you do not return…” her voice trailed off as it began to quiver. She tried to stifle her sobs as she pressed her face against his body. “I will be all alone again,” she cried, weeping openly now. “I will be an orphan again...”

“This is something I must do, my sweetling.” Caedmyn returned her embrace and stroked her silken hair. “This is my destiny. My fate has already been carved into the heavens. It cannot now be ignored.” He gently pushed her away so that she could see his face. “And besides, you have blossomed into an extraordinary young lady who is kind and virtuous and strong. Whether I am here or not, you will never be alone again. Of that I am certain.” He kissed her forehead gingerly and beamed a small smile before he turned away.

Caedmyn the Blind Hero raised his arm in goodbye as he set off down the trail, leaving the sobbing girl behind. He snapped his fingers time and again as he walked, the sound painting pictures of the world around him. As he descended the narrow pathway into the rocky chasm, he banished his emotions, and all thoughts of Laralynn. He hardened his heart and mind, casting them in steel. There would be no room for any thought but those of dealing death to Titania the Mad and taking her head. Then, with her head in hand, he would return to the Oracle, and his sight would be restored. These thoughts, and these alone, consumed his mind.

Part II.

A sinister aura leaked from the temple as stoutly as the stench of a thousand rotting corpses. It was no wonder that as he approached that forsaken place carved into the mountainside that all signs of life had disappeared. It was the kind of aura that would have driven panic and terror into even the fiercest of battle-hardened men. But Caedmyn was no mere soldier. He did not slow a step as he strode past the massive fluted columns and through the gaping, doorless entryway that stood as tall as ten men. It was only when he had entered the colossal antechamber that he slowed to a halt and ceased his snapping. He turned his head and searched for even the smallest sound but heard only the faint howling of the wind.

Again, he began to snap his fingers.

The room was shaped as a simple cube, with a second floor—accessed by the wide stairway at the opposite end—that wrapped around the space like a great gallery. Whether limestone, marble, or alabaster, each surface within the temple was hard, and the sound of his snapping fingers echoed eerily. If ever there had been tapestries or curtains or paintings on canvas, they had long since rotted away. It was a dreary, solemn place.

Throughout the room stood a scattering of statues. These were not sculptures crafted by man, Caedmyn knew, but the remains of those who had lost their lives to the vile gorgon who haunted this wretched place. There were men and women, old and young. The weapons and dress, and their postures and the expressions of their faces, varied greatly from one to the next. Many of the statues had been broken, their missing parts in fragments strewn about the floor at their feet. Some stood without heads, others had lost hands or arms, and others yet had no upper body at all. Caedmyn said a silent prayer for those many who had fallen prey to the gorgon’s gaze before he continued forward. Sweat had begun to bead on his brow, and his pulse had noticeably quickened. Somewhere in this god-forsaken place a monster lie in wait.

A loud, wailing moan sailed through the temple.

Part III.

Titania, her womanly upper body resting upon the blue-scaled serpentine coil that had taken the place of her legs and hips, wept sorrowfully before the statue of her goddess. She cried into her hands and emitted loud, sorrowful moans as she prayed. For all her desperation, though, her pleading prayers went unanswered, just as they had for ages long past. Truly, there seemed no remedy but death. But she did not want to die. So, atop her prayers she wept in constant mourning and self-pity. It was the only small comfort she had found, weeping, for it was only then that they were lulled into sleep.

Though they had been a part of her for centuries beyond count, the serpents that protruded from her head frightened her. She never touched them nor let her hands linger near them for fear that they would turn on her and strike her with their deadly fangs. She hated them. The way they hissed when she was angry. The way they felt as they slithered and brushed against each other. Yet, they were as much a part of her as her eyes and hands and the revolting deformation of her lower body.

The serpents grew restless and began to lick the air with their forked tongues, then they became violent, ferociously hissing and snapping. The movements of their lean bodies, and the sounds of their scaled skin harshly brushing against one another, sent shivers down Titania’s spine. Her blazing orange eyes snapped open. She screamed in rage as she snatched up the longsword from the stone floor at her side and squeezed the shagreen hilt as if to break it.

It was always when they came that she felt the greatest pain—the most intense suffering within her breast. Why didn’t they leave her alone? Why did they come for her, one after another? Their very presence flaunted the humanity that had been stripped from her like the guts torn from a freshly caught fish being prepared for supper.

Titania slithered through the maze of corridors toward the antechamber, her fury ushering her forward with the speed of a hungry wolf in chase of its prey. She dragged the heavy longsword at her side as she went, the steel screeching and emitting a trail of sparks as it skittered across the stone.

Hidden behind her rageful, face-twisting scowl, her unending sorrow continued to squeeze tears from her eyes.

Part IV.

Caedmyn had only reached the top of the antechamber’s stairs when he heard the terrifying scream. It reverberated through the temple, its high-pitched shriek filled with an amalgamation of passions he could not place. The sounds that followed—the rustling movement that drew ever closer, and a terrible sound like steel against a grindstone—made his skin crawl. His heart began to pound. He took the shield from his back and secured it on his arm, then a metallic ring resounded through the antechamber as he drew his sword from its scabbard. He began scraping the sword against his shield in short, quick bursts that illuminated the room—as he pictured it in his mind—in tones of gray.

When the beast finally appeared at the end of the long hallway, it did not slow but continued moving toward him with reckless abandon. Caedmyn gritted his teeth and held his sword at the ready, now sawing at his shield as if he played some stringed instrument with a bow. The gorgon moved so quickly the image was a blur, but he could picture a body like a snake from the waist down, and the upper body of a woman. Its hair, bound in thick coils, writhed and twisted. No, it was not hair, he realized. From the beast’s head jutted serpents. What a grotesque creature. The thought of carrying that head with him on a long journey almost made him sick. But this was no time to dwell on such trivial matters.

In moments, she was upon him, and their swords met in a harsh clang. The strength of the gorgon’s blow sent him staggering backwards. He struck at the beast time and again, but each time his strikes were parried a riposte came with such force that the attacks stung his leather-padded sword-hand nearly to numbness or ripped painfully at the muscles of the arm that bore his shield.

“Villain!” the gorgon screamed as they traded blows. “Murderous filth! Loathsome fool!”

No matter how gracefully he parried or pirouetted, nor how skillfully and precisely he struck, the fearsome gorgon outmatched him. He had become so embroiled in battle—so desperate to keep pace with his enemy—that he had not noticed he neared the stairs. Knocked off keel by a particularly heavy blow, a lightning-fast swipe of the beast’s tail—which he had thus far managed block with his shield or narrowly dodge—caught him square in the chest. The cool stone stairs greeted him unkindly as he landed awkwardly halfway down and tumbled the rest of the way to the first floor of the antechamber. Somewhere along the way, the bone-rattling impacts had ripped his sword from his hand.

Before he could regain his feet and leap for where he had heard his sword come to rest, the beast was upon him. The gorgon reached out with a clawed hand and snatched his sword arm by the wrist, gripping it with such force that he thought it might snap. He felt himself being lifted into the air until his feet no longer touched the ground. Then cold steel touched his throat. His shield slipped from his arm and clattered loudly as it struck the floor.

Part V.

Titania stared at the handsome, blonde-haired man who dangled before her, into the white eyes that saw nothing. He was the first who had not turned to stone. The first to ever be defeated in battle yet still live. At first, the sight of him sickened her and only made angrier, for he embodied everything she both coveted and despised. Everything she would never have again. Only her curiosity kept her from removing the man’s head.

The serpents began to settle as her mood changed. Her battle-rage faded—if only slightly—as she studied this man who smelled of lavender and lemongrass and sweat. Who was he and why had he come? Never before had she been able to converse with those who sought to slay her.

“Before I cut your throat, you vile cur, you will tell me why you have come to this place,” she hissed. “What have I done to you to deserve such ire?”

The man gritted his teeth and looked away but did not struggle. He seemed conflicted. She half-expected a string of harsh words followed by a blast of saliva, and with that it would end. What else did she hope for? Why did she bother speaking to this man at all?

She was surprised when the man began to speak, his deep voice calm and steady.

“I came for your head.” The man spoke the words plainly. “For your head, my sight—which was unjustly taken from me by the gods—will be restored. The Oracle told it so, bring to me Titania’s head and that which you have lost will be returned.”

“Pitiful fool,” Titania replied, the usual sharpness gone from her voice.

Titania relaxed her grip. She lowered her sword then let it fall to the ground. With her hand she caressed the man’s cheek.

“We are like two black ships crashing together in the night,” she said with a softness that she herself did not recognize. “Both cursed. Both suffering. Yet whilst you lost only your sight, I have lost everything but my bleeding heart, cursed by the god I love to hemorrhage for all eternity. Still, I cannot hate you. Even I see myself as a monster. What reason have you or others to see me as anything else.”

She could not stop the tears that welled in her eyes and spilled down the light blue skin of her cheeks. She released the man, letting him crumple to his hands and knees, and fled up the stairs. At the top she paused and looked over her shoulder.

“Leave this place and never return. I will not be so merciful again.”

Part VI.

As the sound of the gorgon’s slithering body faded away, Caedmyn pounded his balled fist to the floor and cursed. His mind raced as he worked through his confusion and intrigue. He had been so quick to take up this quest, to hunt down this being he had considered nothing but some monster to be thoughtlessly purged. Loathsome fool, indeed. How much had this Titania suffered because of those like him? His shame wetted his cheeks. Perhaps it is I who is the monster.

Caedmyn climbed to his feet, ignoring the many pains that ignited throughout his battered body. He clinched his fists.

“Titania!” he screamed.

He would not leave. Not yet. When she did not come, he shouted her name again, louder this time.

It was a long while before the gorgon appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Come to me,” he called, his head bowed. “Please,” he added bashfully when she did not move. “I play no game or trick. I have given your heart but another wound to bear, and I will not leave until I have settled my debt to you.”

To his surprise, she approached him with her slithering gait, though she moved slowly and cautiously.

“I was so desperate to regain the thing I had lost,” he said when she came to a halt just short of where he stood, “that I lost much more in the wanting, and for that I will be forever ashamed. I have not much to offer, but I offer you this gift, from my heart to yours.”

He snapped his fingers, and an image of her face formed in his mind. He was surprised to find beauty there. With a pounding heart, he stepped forward, took her cheeks in his hands, and pressed his lips to hers.

In that moment, a curious thing began to happen. It was as if time itself slowed almost to stillness. Those cold lips that pressed against his grew warm. The sounds of the restless serpents faded. The oppressive aura dissipated. Soft, warm hands touched his face and neck.

The body that pressed against him and embraced him was that of a woman.

Caedmyn held the young woman as she wept. He feared that if he let her go she would collapse under the weight of her emotions. He couldn’t say how long they stood there, him in silent awe, and she sobbing in her relief and disbelief.

“Perhaps it is time you take me to this Oracle of yours,” Titania said finally through trembling lips. “For I am still Titania, and my head is yours forevermore.”