Serpents Song – Story by Laurie B Spellman

A cursed dire wolf and a wandering bard weave love, sorrow, and survival beneath a Gorgon’s shadow.

In Serpents Song by Laurie B Spellman, the last dire wolf is bound to a barefoot bard whose voice sways kingdoms, until the curse of the Gorgon changes their fate.

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Under a blue moon, Elira finds me half-dead—more bone than beast. "You are Thorne. Pricked by bramble and briar." She wraps me in her cloak and becomes my warden, raising me from a pup.

The last dire wolf. Immortal. Not because I chose to live—because I was never allowed to die.

A barefoot bard, Elira spins songs of love, sorrow, and starlight. For a dozen moon years, we drift between kingdoms, her voice opening castle gates and quieting battlefields. We enchant the proud and cradle the broken—before the curse of the Gorgon.

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The sky weeps as Elira sings the song that dooms her. It is not a tempest but a quiet downpour soaking her golden curls. Lyrics rise through the forest, recollecting those condemned by the gods. Her song beckons the Medusa. Birds vanish, creatures flee, and even the rain forgets to fall, yet she hears.

“I mean no harm,” Elira says, shielding her eyes. “Only remembrance.”

Her voice coils like the snakes upon her head. “Athena painted me in terror and called it justice.”

“Then let me paint you in truth,” Elira offers.

I lunge forward, growling, fur bristling, ready to tear flesh from godskin. But the world slows, the way stars blink out before dawn. Medusa lifts the black veil, her eyes connecting with Elira's image. The transformation is not instant—that is the cruelty.

The scent of Elira’s fear hits first—salt and lavender crushed underfoot. I skid toward her, slowed by my paws slipping in the mud. Her eyelashes crystallize as she glances down at me, lips frozen mid-breath. Her soft curves harden—a sculpture of beauty and truth. Marble catches the dying light, and still, she is looking at me.

I howl, but no sound comes. Heartbeats thunder in my ribs as panting breaths become unbearable. I would gladly leap into a god’s throat to protect her, but I cannot stop it.

She is stone.

"Silence and immortality prick like briar, wrapping your name in a Vigil Of Thorne.” Medusa hisses this as a warning—or perhaps a bitter truth.

I remain at Elira's feet while moss climbs her shoulders and birds weave nests in her hair.

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A hundred moon years have cycled since Elira’s voice turned silent. My charcoal coat has faded to weathered silver, its tips gone white. Wisdom came while time slipped away, crushed by bitterness and sorrow. The dragons are dust in the wind, the trees hollow—yet, I remain a fading song the world no longer remembers.

He falls in a whisper, floating from the heavens. Kael, the gods call him—their angel cherub. He lands softly on silver gossamer wings, eyes blazing with purpose. Elira is still frozen beneath the archaic curse, awaiting eternal salvation. Lifting his holy lute, he strikes the chords. Celestial fire ignites it, and the serpent song soars, awakening her lost soul.

Snow falls gently on my muzzle. Elira stirs, her song humming in the wind. The statue rumbles, stones fracturing like bones, and blue eyes flicker open as the setting sun warms ashen skin. Quartz crystals tumble from her lashes and features, revealing her beauty as she shudders a breath.

Her lips crack with a fragile whisper. “Thorne.”

Magic lingers in a violet haze, drifting low like a sorcerer's breath from the sky. The trees scream first. Leaves twist. Roots pull back. Then come the wraiths, the children of Medusa’s wrath. They are shadows with teeth, born from the stare that turned Elira to stone.

Kael steps between Elira and the storm, gripping the lute like a sword. He becomes her shield, her song, her savior. A wraith rips through his chest, and the lute hits the earth with a broken note. He collapses, angel feathers bleeding liquid light, burning into stardust.

I attack the shadows, fighting time—fighting loss until the last wraith evaporates. I stagger to Elira, where she kneels beside Kael, lying in the snow-covered grass. With her hand on his slackened face, she wails in agony that cuts deeper than my wounds.

“He woke me with the serpent’s song I once sang,” she murmurs, patting the earth. “And you, Thorne—you stayed. Ever loyal. Always near.”

My wounds steam in the frostiness as her warm hand caresses my neck. She leans weakly against me, and I close my eyes, wanting rest. Elira sings a lullaby as I whimper, exhausted, pawing through the darkness for a mother I barely remember.

She dies before sunrise with her hand on my muzzle and a whispered promise: “I will find you again.”

I believe her.

No fanfare. No magic. No gods to carry her. I claw wet earth and rocks until my paws hit the roots of the Nytheral Bloom—the tree that flowers only when fate chooses to remember. Beneath its boughs, where her song lingers, I lay them to eternal rest; first Elira, then Kael.

I howl at the moon until my heart shatters and the stars turn their faces away.

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At sunrise, the wind shifts. I smell her at first, then hear the rake of scales against rocks. With piercing yellow eyes veiled in black, Medusa appears—untouched by time. The snakes upon her head lay quietly sleeping. She raises a hand in supplication.

“Elira was the only bard who ever sang of me with compassion, and I turned her to stone.” Medusa drops beside Elira’s cairn and runs her fingers across the stones.

“I believed binding you in the Vigil of Thorne was justice. Her eternal guardian. A beast to bear the burden that I could not.”

I lower my muzzle. “And now?”

“Regret, it was a cruelty like the one done to me. Your watch is over, Thorne.”

She pulls her veil away. Her stare melds with mine in mourning and repentance, the curse wrapped like serpents around her neck. I am immune to her petrifying gaze now. As the curse lifts, so does the weight I have carried for a hundred years.

Let the gods keep watch now.

Elira is waiting and I follow her song.

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✍️ About the Authors

Laurie B. Spellman writes romance, thrillers, and magical realism with heart and humor. Her work appears in KissMet, Micromance, NYCM & Writing Battle. She also leads Ultimate Face Cosmetics.

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