by Dan H Kind
Chapter 32
The Palace of Hades
The carriage touched down at the foot of the Titanic Peaks, and Team Myth and the Judge of the Dead jumped down onto the ash that covered the length and breadth of Hades.
Jack alternated between looking around at the desolate landscape and up at the towering mountains, their peaks lost in the swirling Hadean sky. “So where's this Unseen Palace?”
Stephone grinned and pointed towards the dark, hulking mountain before them. “Jack, stop trying to look, and look closer at that mountain.”
Jack took a deep breath. And when he stopped trying to look closer and truly looked closer, he saw it. The Unseen Palace was carved from the mountainside and blended into the peak like an optical illusion. Tall Doric columns and a massive black archway marked the entrance.
“So here we are,” said Rhadamanthus. “What now, geniuses?”
“I don't like this,” said Stephone. “There should be shades milling about all over the place, passing by on their way to Elysium.”
Jack noted with upraised eyebrows the general vacantness of the Palace frontage. “Perhaps they all had to use the bathroom at once. Or maybe they all got tired of hanging around this depressing Underworld and jaunted on ahead to the Blessed Isles.”
“Yeah, or perhaps we're expected,” said Tom.
Ominous silence greeted this statement.
Tom gave a start and looked around, wild-eyed. “He's here! Sid's here! This close, I can feel him! Follow me!” He grabbed Becky's hand and was off like a shot, tugging the flailing gal up the steps, underneath the archway, and into the Palace.
“Slow down, Tom!” called Jack. He turned to Stephone. “Come on, babe, let's go. I don't want those two to have to face any crazy evil dangers without our help. I know it's not very Trickster-like to want to walk into trouble, but I've grown attached to . . .” He trailed off and stared at Rhadamanthus.
The Judge of the Dead had been picking dirt from under his nails. He waggled a hand in dismissal when he noticed Jack's stare. “Run along, you two. I'll just wait here with the carriage until you return. Trust me, I won't run off.” He raised his bushy white eyebrows in straightforward, honest manner. “And if you can't trust a judge, who can you trust?”
“Oh, please, Rhadamanthus,” said Stephone. “Again, you're coming with us.”
The Judge's face fell. “Do I have to?"
“Yes,” said Stephone, her resolute tone ending the discussion.
The pink Hades light gleamed off the glassy rock walls of the Palace's entrance corridor, which was empty of beings. They soon reached an open courtyard hemmed in by high black walls and dotted with tall, spindly minarets. At the far end of the huge, open courtyard sat a pair of gleaming golden gates. Beyond them, a tunnel cut through the mountain. A soft silver-gold fog emanated from the tunnel's mouth.
Jack's jaw dropped upon sighting the unearthly haze—and at the choir of angels that burst into song inside his head.
“The Elysian Fields,” murmured Stephone. “Aren't they beautiful?”
The feeling the glorious mist imbued in Jack's soul made him want to cry out for joy, fall to his knees, and thank the heavens for heaven. Even though he could not see much of this ultimate paradise, he could feel it, over there, beyond the Titanic Peaks, waiting for him, as if it had been made just for him, and when he got there he could stay there forever and be happy for the rest of his days.
“It's . . . I've never seen or felt anything like it before,” he mumbled when his brain had rendezvoused with his vocal chords.
“The Fields transmit a feeling of blessedness to all who walk through them, or even glimpse them from afar. Actually strolling through that paradise, though, and swimming in its seas, why, the feeling is a thousandfold to what you're experiencing right now! Don't forget that I promised to take you there for a little R 'n R after this is over.” Her eyes locked onto Jack's. “I intend to keep that promise.”
When the stragglers reached the leaders, Tom was near foaming at the mouth to get a move on and rescue his brother.
“Sid's somewhere near the top of that tower,” said Tom. He pointed at the Palace's tallest minaret, which stretched up into the sky until it was lost to view in the turbulent gray clouds above.
Stephone peered upwards with a pained expression. “The top floor of the tower is Hades' Throne Room. And I've got a bad feeling we're being set up.”
Jack broke the somber silence. “Maybe we are, but do we have any choice but to go on and finish this thing out?” He smiled and grabbed Stephone's hand, kissing it in dramatic fashion. “You forget, my cute little queen, that I am a Trickster. Recently reacquainted with my powers, this is true—but Tricksters, as goes with the name, always have a trick or three up their sleeve. I don't know what they are, exactly, but that's okay. I can wing it.” One eyebrow cocked, he peered around at his companions. “And from what I've seen, you guys ain't exactly slouches.” He glanced at the Judge of the Dead. “And don't forget, we got us a hostage. His miserable hide probably won't bring much bargaining power, but at least we can use him as a shield against aerial attacks from the crazy King of the Dead guy.”
“We gotta rescue Sid,” said Tom.
“And time's a-wasting while we're sitting here debating,” added Becky.
“You're right,” said Stephone. “All of you. We must go forth, into the belly of the beast.”
The ground floor of the tower was an empty, open landing. They climbed the spiral staircase that hugged the edges of the tower's interior. No one spoke during the ascent; they simply watched the floor below grow farther and farther away.
After what seemed like ages but was probably only a few minutes Earth-time, the Throne Room of Hades lay through the nondescript trapdoor above them. Tom pushed upwards, and the door opened with a squeal, a groan, and a long sigh like the last breath of life.
Windows that stretched up to the high domed ceiling rested at the end of a hallway. Looking one way, Jack could see all the way to Tartarus and the burning Phlegethon. On the opposite side, the tantalizing glow of Elysium was just noticeable through a gap between the Titanic Peaks. He could see no more, because cases of Olde Eden Hoppy Heaven Ale filled the Throne Room, leaving only a narrow corridor. Two chairs, their backs to the trapdoor, stood halfway down one hallway.
They approached the chairs slowly, Becky covering their backs with a loaded slingshot.
Tom turned the corner and looked at the front side of the chairs, then jumped up and down in jubilation. “It's him! It's Sid! And Farmer John!”
But the pair wore slack-jawed expressions on their faces, and no recognition alighted in their open eyes at the sight of Team Myth. They remained mute and unmoving, drool hanging from their chins, staring past the companions into nothingness. Domed metallic hats rested on their heads, attached to the apexes of the vibrating chairs by thick black and blue electrical wires like something out of a low-budget sci-fi flick. A small LED control panel, blinking with green and red lights, adorned the side of each chair.
Tom would have pulled his brother from the chair had Stephone not raised a cautionary finger. “Wait a second,” she said. “Modern Chairs of Forgetfulness can be tricky.” She peered at the control panel on the side of Sid Sawyer's chair, muttering to herself.
Stephone pressed a button, and the LED panel flashed in green letters: ENTER PASSWORD FOR RELEASE OF PRISONER.
“Password, huh? Five characters, all letters.” She pondered for a moment, then typed H - A - D - E - S into the keypad. There was a long, negative-sounding beep, and the word INCORRECT flashed across the display in angry red letters. Then, scrolling by twice: TWO MORE ATTEMPTS.
“We've got two more shots at it. Any ideas?” asked Stephone.
“Do you know the password, Judge?” said Jack, poking Rhadamanthus in the ribs.
“No,” snapped the Judge, swatting at Jack's prodding finger. “The Unseen One does not tell me his personal codes.”
“Try D -
E - A - T - H,” said Tom.
“Death, huh? Why not?” Stephone typed it into the keypad, and they waited with bated breath for . . . the same depressing beep, which seemed to resonate longer this time.
INCORRECT blinked across the screen, then ONE MORE ATTEMPT, followed by, scrolling across at a crawl: IF INCORRECT, IRREVERSIBLE SHUTDOWN WILL COMMENCE.
“Irreversible shutdown?” said Jack. “What does that mean?”
Stephone's quick shake of the head said it all. “It means we've got one more try, and if we're wrong the Chair shuts down . . . with its occupant still hooked up to it.”
“What?!” yelled Tom. “What'll that do to him?”
“I don't know. I don't think it's ever happened before.”
“Well, we gotta get this thing right, then!”
“Mebbe we could try the next guess on Farmer John's Chair,” suggested cool-headed Becky.
The others nodded at the wise idea—all but one of them.
“Say, guys,” said Jack, sounding apologetic. “I don't think that last is gonna be possible, because this thing just started ticking down from 60 seconds.” He pointed at the flashing screen. “Now it's 56 . . . 55 . . . 54 . . . 53 . . .”
“What's the code, people, what's the code?!” cried Tom.
Jack brainstormed, attempting to unravel the mystery. What five-letter word would a god of death imprint as password on the hard-drive of his Chair of Forgetfulness? Hopefully it wasn't a random assortment of letters, or John and Sid were screwed.
“Twenty-five seconds,” said Becky. “Any ideas?”
Stephone snapped her fingers. “Maybe the Unseen One used his Roman name as the code, even though he hates it. But everybody knows that, so maybe it is the code because no one would expect it to be the code, if you get what I'm saying.”
“Try it!” yelled Tom. “We're down to ten seconds!”
Jack was closest the control panel, so he typed P - L - U - T - I into the keypad. Just as he was about to hit the ENTER button, he realized his mistake. “Oops,” he said with a smile and a shrug, and deleted the typo I and tapped the O button. He submitted their last guess a mere two seconds before IRREVERSIBLE SHUTDOWN commenced.
Jack gritted his teeth, anticipating something terrible—and the LED gave a ding that sounded most positive compared to the basketball-buzzer, game-ending sound of before.
“Big . . . big brother?” came an unsteady voice. “Is that . . . is it really you?”
Tom Sawyer cried out with joy. He jumped to his brother, pulled the headgear off Sid, and tossed it aside. “Yes, Sid, it's me! And I'm sorry I went and fouled everything up and got you mythnapped!”
Sid Sawyer groaned and shook his head to clear it.
“Can you ever forgive me, little brother?”
Sid's eyes cleared of grogginess, and he said, “There ain't nothin' to forgive. Everybody mucks up now and then.” He nudged Tom, who at first looked hurt, but then smiled when he looked at Sid and realized his brother was joking. “Shucks, I know I mucked up when I drank all those samples of ales and lagers and ciders. Sure, I may be over a hunnerd years old, but I can't take all that heavy drinking!”
Sid stood up with Tom's support and began to hobble around the Throne Room to get his legs back in working order.
“All right,” said Jack. “Let's get Farmer John out of that Chair of Forgetfulness and get the hell out of hell.”
“D'you think it's the same code?” asked Becky, peering at the other Chair.
“I don't know, but—”
“It is indeed the same,” interrupted a deep, dark voice that sliced into Team Myth's brains like a thought-killing knife. “But you shall not have the opportunity to input it.”
A cloud of smog billowed out of the cracks between cases of beer and filled the corridor, sucking the light, the air, the very hope from the atmosphere.
Jack hacked as the writhing blackness entered his lungs and contracted. With his eyes shut tight, he covered his mouth with his shirt and groped around in the soupy organic midnight. He bumbled and stumbled in the darkness, but encountered nothing. He could not speak, for the stinging fog had rendered his vocal chords useless. He tripped over something, fell to the ground, and lay on the floor in the fetal position, shivering in pain and cold—and then he felt something building inside of him.
Something Big. Something Strong. Something Powerful.
Laughter echoed off the walls of his mind. A billion variegated voices hooting and hollering with uncontrollable, insane mirth.
And then the voices were gone. And Jack Whiskey began to laugh.
A vacuum cleaner sound interspersed between heaving guffaws echoed across the room, and the smog grew thinner. Soon the entire fog-bank had been sucked down into the lungs of Jack Whiskey, lying on the floor holding his heaving belly and giggling like a madman locked in a padded room.
Shocked, everybody—including Hades, who had a strange-looking helmet under his arm and had been creeping up behind Stephone like the Bogeyman—stared at the Trickster.
Jack burped. Ebony fog shot into the air and disappeared like pipe smoke. “Stop right there, Hades!” he said between chuckles.
Tom and Becky snapped into action and leveled their slingshots at Hades, who dropped the helmet and raised his arms. The helmet rolled around a bit before settling into place against the wall of beer. Tom and Sid stared at it in wonder.
Hades wore flowing black robes. His bearded face was for the most part human, but his irises were as red as fresh blood, and his pupils and corneas as black as midnight. He grinned, and fangs extended down from his mouth. “All right. So you got me. What now?”
“Get away from him, Stephone!” yelled Tom Sawyer.
The Iron Queen obliged, coming to stand with her companions. They faced Hades with weapons drawn, grim expressions draped across their faces. Rhadamanthus slunk off towards the window, probably hoping to get out of the way of any unpleasantness.
Hades glared at Jack with a hard-to-read expression. “Most impressive, Trickster. Not many can dispel my Cloud of Darkness. I am a master of the darkest arts, and can crank out Clouds with the best of them. Bravo! Give yourself a pat on the back! The hero of the hour, you surely are!”
“Hey, bro, mocking sarcasm is my game,” said Jack gruffly. “Don't think you can just bust up in the joint and do it better than the master.”
Hades's eyes flashed with the promise of a painful afterlife. “Well, bro, no matter what game I am playing or who I'm playing with, I play for keeps. And trust me, I still have money on the table. Big money. And the stakes are apocalyptic.”
“Yeah, well, the table's turned on you a little bit as the night's worn on, don't you think? Like, you were up big at some point, but things went south pretty quick after that? Like, you left your poker face at home in your underwear drawer by the lube and the dildo you jackrabbit yourself with nightly?”
Team Myth could almost see the storm-clouds of fury amassing around Hades's head. But the King of the Dead said not a word, composed himself, and smiled in a manner most evil. Tom had been creeping forward, his slingshot leveled at Hades's eye, and he kicked the dropped helmet out of reach of the Lord of the Underworld.
“Ah, yes.” Hades watched the helmet skitter away with apathetic eyes. “My Helmet of Invisibility. It has come in handy these past few millenniums, but even more so in the last few days. I've been traveling with you the entire journey across my realm.”
“Helmet of Invisibility!” cried Sid. “No way!”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Tom. “Whaddya mean you been traveling with us the whole time?”
Hades cackled like a demented warlock. “I was the unseen companion on your journey. I had to summon my demon-horses when you hitched a ride on Cerberus—he would have known if I was on his back—but I caught up with you at the Courthouse. Quite a scene there in the Courtroom! I thought Tisiphone was sure to destroy you.” He motioned in Jack's direction. “And then this idiot almost saw me when I was
riding with you in Rhadamanthus's carriage.”
Upon mention of his name, the Judge of the Dead jumped into the midst of the companions. If Jack hadn't restrained him, Rhadamanthus probably would have run to Hades and thrown his arms around the evil god like a long-lost brother. “If you were at the Courthouse, then you know I did not betray you, my lord! As you must have witnessed, I remained ever faithful to—”
Hades snarled. “Shut your face, you sniveling wretch!” His eyes flashed with dark energy. He flicked his fingers, and purple lightning shot from his hands towards the ceiling, bathing the room with a brightness that seared the eyes, like looking at a supernova up close and personal.
Finally, the light sputtered and died out.
Half-blind, his skin tingling, knocked down onto his knees by the flare's power, Jack reached out for Stephone. Hades grinned, made a quick movement with his hands, and intoned: (STOP!)
And the River that was Time's trickling waters froze solid.