I jerk awake as my cheek slips from where it rested against the palm of my hand. I’d been lulled to sleep from the sheer boredom of pouring through Uncle Monty’s haphazard notes, under the gentle rocking motion of the boat.
I’m not even sure why I’m here, except that I’d received a letter from Monty, posted just a few days before he disappeared, instructing me to look through his journals if he didn’t return. His notes had seemed so preposterous but, at the same time, I was utterly intrigued. It became a mystery I couldn’t let go.
Uncle Monty’s letter claimed he’d located the chain of islands where Sarpedon, home of the Gorgons, sisters of Medusa, is located. The sensible side of me insists this is a myth. My more curious side is fascinated by Monty’s findings. His notes are so thorough, and well researched, that even my sensible side starts to believe.
So, I’ve sailed west from Gibraltar into the Atlantic Sea, where they’d reportedly found Monty’s empty boat. Now I’ve come to a dead end. I have no idea where he went from here. All I’ve found thus far is open ocean, though a low sea fret hangs over it that never burns away in the heat of the sun.
I pick up a journal and thrust it into the pile of discarded notes. A piece of paper flutters out, which I ignore until I notice the large red circle around some text with the words Sarpedon, Stheno and Euryale scrawled next to it. I read:
At wax of summer’s moon before the morning sun crests the horizon,
Follow the shrieking cry of the Harpy through the mists of time and space.
Thence will you come to Sarpedon, home of beings most monstrous
Tarry not overlong, or remain forever to harken to the Siren’s song.
This is it, the information I’ve been missing. Somewhere out there, amid the misty fret, is the island I seek. I can only hope that Uncle Monty will still be there, although whatever else I find will be a completely different story.