The Medusa Stone

Chapter 32

“Deon, I have a question,” Helen said.

She accompanied him as he watered the plants of the house where she and Claire were kept. A multitude of different species of plants was hosted in the solarium of the house that served as a greenhouse. It was Greece, after all. The sunny days and temperate climate allowed for year-round growth.

“Certainly,” he answered kindly.

“I am not going to beat around the bush. We both know Claire, and I are going to die as soon as David gives you the Medusa stone,” she started, but her tongue abandoned her speech when he turned to face her. Deon’s expression was that of an angry god on in an ancient painting, between grace and fury.

“Who told you that?” he asked loudly. He seemed displeased with her assumption, to say the least.

“No-b-body told me that. I—,” she stammered.

“Do not make assumptions about me of my ways, woman!” he roared. “Do you take me for some wretched monster?”

Helen shook her head, fearful of his reaction. The man killed his own wife. Naturally she assumed he would not think twice to do away with her. His reaction bewildered her, and all she could do was watch his eyes blaze with insult and hope he would calm down.

Deon scoffed, disgusted. He walked on, spraying water on the beautiful greenery around them as he went.

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” she dared speak again, but this time, he ignored her. “Deon, I mistakenly thought I was going to die… because I am so afraid. Of course, I am thinking the worst,” she explained, choosing her words very carefully to appease him. Telling him, she was afraid was supposed to evoke sympathy or justify her assumption. Helen just hoped it would work on him.

Although he was smarter than to be fooled by common psychology, he tolerated her because she was his leverage on Purdue. Helen Barry was Deon’s key to the Medusa stone and indirectly, engaging Purdue would bring him Megalos and the Stheno. See, Deon Fidikos was a superb strategist, something that made him an invaluable asset to the Order of the Black Sun all these years. With the three stones, he hoped to complete the goals of the Order outlined in 1945 already. With his late wife’s treacherous lover in cahoots with the Medusa Stone Expedition, he was guaranteed of both stones finding their way to him. Imparting the news of Soula’s death on Purdue would surely coerce Costa Megalos to attempt to exact revenge on Fidikos, bringing with him the Stheno stone. And with Helen Barry here, Deon would force Dave Purdue to bring him the Medusa as well.

For these reasons, he treated Professor Helen Barry and her assistant with care and respect. Naturally he was going to kill Costa and Purdue, but as for Helen, she was too timid to challenge the power of the Order, even if she lived to tell.

Her assistant had gone mad, presumably. Whether her muteness was permanent was anyone’s guess, but it seemed to be the case. Claire’s inability to speak corresponded with an equal loss of movement. The young woman just stared into space and hardly moved anymore unless Helen coaxed her.

Finally, he sighed, “What did you want to ask me, Professor?”

Helen was not entirely deceitful in her quest for information about the stones. Much as she hated to admit it, she was curious as to how they worked. This curiosity she used to invoke kinship in Deon, yes, but for the most part, her inquiry was genuine.

“I don’t know if I seem insensitive to Soula or any others who have succumbed to the fate of the stones,” she said, “but I should like to know just how the stones work. I mean, turning someone to stone like Medusa did in mythology, at first sounds ludicrous. Yet, here we have seen that it is indeed possible. Admittedly, my intrigue with the science behind the myth is morbid.”

“Is it morbid to explore the raw impulses of power?” he asked in an even tone much tamer than before. “Is it morbid to inflict pain and subsequent death on living things if it promotes understanding of the mysteries of the universe? Is it morbid, my dear Professor Barry, to seek knowledge of the so-called darker subjects to shed light on them?”

She knew his questions were rhetorical, but still she wished she could get actual answers from him. His massive shoulders swayed as he stepped aside to show her something ahead, behind the cover of the lush foliage. “Does the quest for knowledge, for wisdom above all others, for elite intellect make us monsters? If my pursuit of perfection and knowledge makes me a monster in the frightened eyes of mankind, I will certainly, and gladly, consider myself a god.”

Deon allowed her to join him, but his muscular arm was protectively straightened out beside him to prevent her from passing him.

“Oh my God!” she uttered unintentionally. Her heart shuddered in her chest when she saw them. A small group of women sat on the flat stone laid floor, laughing and drinking wine. The scene was similar to the depictions of Hedonist practices, even orgies, of Classical artists. All the women were completely nude, drinking, their hair adorned with flowers. But they were not marble-skinned nymphs or small-breasted adolescents as Helen had seen in oil paintings and etchings. Most were plump, some even utterly unattractive, while others were quite beautiful, all exhibiting trickling droplets of blood on various parts of their bodies.

They smiled and talked, but their eyes were blind to Helen and Deon’s presence. What disturbed the professor most was that the gay, docile females were sitting in a pit of snakes. Oblivious to the snakebite wounds in their skins they talked and poured wine under the watching eyes of an enormous face sculpted in marble, filling the entire exterior wall of the sun room.

“Medusa!” Helen gasped.

The giant face of the infamous Gorgon adorned the wall, hewn in stone, her white, dead eyes bulging like those of a Japanese dragon while her small pout was twisted into a narcissistic smirk at the corners. From the borders of her cheeks and brow flowed an intricate network of serpents, twisting and coiling, some alert in attack. Even with eyes of dead stone, the monstrous leer of the mythological monster peered right into Helen’s soul.

“Please, can we go?” she implored. She risked touching the erratic master, softly taking his wrist as if seeking refuge.

“Of course, Professor,” he replied, and led her back into the solarium. “Are you sure you want to probe the power of the stone?”

Helen was still processing the positively disturbing vision she had seen, wondering what heinous experiment that was, being performed in the shadow of the marble Gorgon. But it was time to embrace the strange and terrifying world of the Order of the Black Sun or perish in madness. She had to suck it up.

“I still want to know how the stone works,” she replied, fighting to keep her voice even. “But…” she stopped to make it clear, “… not first hand, please.”

Deon threw his head back in laughter at her request. Helen even smiled at him, terrified as she was.

“Come. Let us sit down.” Laugh lines surrounded his warm dark eyes as his deep voice invited her. They sat down on a carved granite garden bench.

“How much do you know about science?” he asked. “You know, chemistry and light refraction — things of that sort.”

“I am not an expert, but I know a bit more than the average person,” she replied, opting to personalize her answer slightly. “I used to date a chemistry teacher from Leeds.”

Her attempt to appeal to him personally had no effect. Once more Deon ignored the psychology she employed, leaving her disarmed.

“Right, then you should have no problem grasping the exceedingly simple science behind what ancient Greeks thought to be evil magic. The stones are fashioned from Pentelic marble, which is the product of immense temperatures and pressure exerted on limestone, basically,” he explained. “Therefore, the marble can tolerate vast temperatures, you see? And to turn living tissue to stone… it is a complicated chemical process, too long to explain… but to do that the target needs to be subjected to unbelievable heat in a heartbeat! Excuse the pun.”

Helen chuckled nervously, amazed by his nonchalance, considering he did this to his own wife. She did her best to memorize the details of the process since she actually knew very little about geology or chemistry. He took a deep breath, formulating his description before continuing.

“Therefore, the heat generated during the ocular targeting can be directed successfully by the Pentelic marble, pure marble,” he said.

“Alright, I get it,” she said with intrigue. “But how is the heat generated? Surely a person producing that kind of heat would be incinerated?”

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “But that is the beauty of the science and physics the Nazi’s were aware of, that the world could not embrace! You see, there is magic even in the explainable! Whoever wields the Gorgon stones becomes impervious to the heat and takes on the mythological properties of the Gorgons, to an extent.”

“Wow! That is truly a marvel of nature, Deon. Wait, how…” she frowned, trying to figure it out, but Deon was elated that someone showed such interest in the subject. “I’m so sorry if I sound stupid, but where does the heat come from? It has to come from somewhere.”

“Vril,” he said, as if he was talking about bread or peanuts.

“Vril?” she asked.

“Vril energy,” he explained. “Vril energy is reputed to be generated by the black sun, a pure and inexhaustible energy source. Come see.”

Deon took Helen’s hand and led her inside the house to a locked study. Inside, the room was filled with books and drawings, scrolls and papyrus codex. Busts of Greek gods and paintings of philosophers gave the study a Classical feel, but behind Deon’s desk hung the frightening sigil of the Order, a banner with the black circle shooting out its rays of lightning. He pulled a book from the shelf. It had no cover or name but sported Masonic symbols on the spine. Without much searching, Deon found the section he wished to show Helen.

With a patient voice, he explained, “Albert Pike was a 33rd degree Mason, a genius with an acute understanding of the importance of the occult and alchemy in this instance. Here he is quoted here, explaining the power of the Vril Force.”

She read where his finger pointed.

There is in nature one most potent force, by means of which a single man, who could possess himself of it, and should know how to direct it, could revolutionize and change the face of the world.

Helen looked up at Deon.

“That is the power that runs through the wielder of the stone,” he affirmed. “It is a pure and ancient surge of immeasurable power, possessing the holder of the relic, coming out through the eyes to be directed by the stone onto the victim. But to own all three stones will enable the keeper to produce Vril energy at will, in mind and spirit, you see?”

Helen nodded zealously and smiled. “I have heard of Vril so many times, solely because of the name of Hitler’s secret organizations. Never could I dream that it was capable of superseding all energy we know.”

“In mythology Athena, goddess of wisdom gives Medusa the power to turn men to stone. In other words the ultimate power of knowledge bestowed upon a mortal woman the ability to wield Vril energy… and they call her monster,” he lamented. “Just as people like Purdue and his colleagues call us monsters in the present day.”

Deon was pleased. He had conveyed to Professor Barry not only justification for the measures employed by his people to obtain the stones but also impressed upon her something to consider, to understand in general. From now on, she would know that all matters were relative to the benchmark used for comparisons.