Pitchfork

by Nicole Scarano

  “I have spent lifetimes ensuring all think me merely a myth,” Medusa answered. “My eyes,” she added when she noticed the queen staring at them in disbelief, “they are not a curse but a weapon, a blessing. I control my power, enabling it only when I choose.”

  “So, the rumors about you hold no merit?” Hades asked. She was struggling to reconcile the tales her mortal parents had told her while she was a child with the exotic and ferocious creature before her. She had lived among the gods, was the mother of god-killers, and yet shock rippled through her veins that the story her human father had once told to elicit good behavior was here in the flesh.

  “None,” Medusa answered. “I needed to keep two generations of gods at bay, but I also needed you to know of me. I could have hidden without a trace, but one day you had to find me, and so the myths were born.”

  “Who are you, that you convinced the most powerful of men into believing a lie?”

  “That is a long story, my dear,” Medusa said, turning to walk off into the darkness. “Come, I must show you, and it is best I start at the beginning.” She disappeared into a black hallway without a backward glance, and shoving down her surprise, Hades unglued her feet from the tiles and followed Medusa into the depths.

  “At the dawn of time, the first gods were born,” Medusa started. “The Titans were not the first. The originals came before them. Their race was unnamed for they were the beginning, and unlike those who followed, the Old Ones’ power was absolute. Divine power like theirs has never been seen since, nor will it likely ever be again. Unlike their successors, these Old Ones did not reside in the realm of earth. Olympus and the Titan fortress are connected to the land of the living, but the Old Ones dwelled in another dimension. They accessed earth through an ancient door, but they had no direct contact, nor were they restricted by a need for devoted prayer. Their power was theirs alone, and prayer held no concern. Therefore, they lived wholly detached from their subjects. Not needing love, worship, or even fear, the Old Ones were free to behave as they saw fit, and humanity was destined to live or die by their hands with no rhyme or reason. Some were cruel, and some were benevolent. Their moods dictated their whims, and mankind could do nothing to prevent it, but when you do not require mortals or their devotion why bless them?”

  Medusa navigated the labyrinth with memorized ease, and when they happened upon a fork in the corridor, her lithe fingers swept across Hades’ spine in guidance.

  “Some of the first were kind,” she continued as they descended into the coolness. “A few even took lovers among the humans. Their offspring were not demi-gods, though, their divinity far too aggressive for mortality to resist. A child birthed of a human-god union was born fully god, adding to their ranks. For centuries, an uneasy peace held, but one day the Old Ones’ King found himself drawn to a mortal’s wife, and he claimed her for himself. The mortal, a man previously blessed by godly favor, was so enraged he blasphemed the gods. Screaming his rage, the foulness of his tongue spread throughout the land like a plague, but the King did not allow this heresy to go unpunished. It was his birthright to take what he wanted, and this blasphemy was unforgivable. Death was too merciful a punishment for the afterlife awaited all mortals. This man had to be made an example of. So, the King gathered his brethren, and together they created the Touch of the Gods.”

  Hades sucked in a sharp breath and halted in her tracks.

  “A curse you are well acquainted with,” Medusa said with a soft smile as she gestured for the wide-eyed Hades to follow. “A curse so powerful that it requires all or at least most of the gods to perform it. One touch shreds the victims’ souls. No afterlife, no eternity. They cease to exist. The King cursed that mortal with the Touch, erasing him from the face of the earth. Proud with their show of absolute sovereignty, the Old Ones were unaware of the cost owed for introducing this punishment. If used too often, the Touch of the Gods destroys the sanity of the users and gruesomely mutates their flesh, but as it was the Touch’s birth, the King knew not the floodgate he had released. Evil is all-consuming. Its use creates intense cravings. It wants to be unleashed again, and a battle of wills must always be fought to keep it in check. Zeus should be thankful your sacrifice of power halted the Touch he gave your husband. The price of craving the dark insanity he would have had to pay would be eternal.”

  Medusa paused and turned her slitted eyes to Hades, but when the queen merely watched her with wary caution, she continued. “The Old Ones were content for a time, but the appetite was always there, lurking in the shadows. At first, they used it sparingly on the wicked and the sinners, but as the decades passed, the craving multiplied. Each time they fed it, the yearning reared its monstrous head until resistance was impossible. They began to use the Touch of the Gods at their every whim, and no mortal was safe. Mankind took to hiding, hoping without hope they would be spared the gods’ insanity, yet their madness only increased. By the end, the gods had become so crazed they no longer resembled themselves. The evil in their souls manifested visually in their bodies, morphing them into monstrosities. Heads of beasts atop bodies of animals, eyes grown together, massive horns sprouting from their heads. Such cruelty could no longer be hidden within, and their forms became the outward appearance of their inner depravity. They grew hideously deformed, pale shadows of a once perfect beauty, and their hysteria drove them to turn on each other. On that fateful day, the Old Ones’ home collapsed into war. A massacre broke out, not to end until all were slaughtered.”

  “My dreams?” Hades interrupted with a hint of questioning lacing her voice. “They are not dreams, are they? The blood in the hallways? The horns casting shadows? I am seeing the past.”

  “Yes,” Medusa answered. “You are remembering their downfall. The day the first gods went extinct. But before they perished, a god and his pregnant wife were awakened from their insanity. The babe in her womb was in turmoil because of the anguish, and its kicking woke its mother. The babe’s innocence saved its parents’ sanity. They knew they had to protect their unborn child from certain death, but the father’s wounds were fatal. He would not survive. So, he dragged his wife through the carnage and cast both her and his weapon to earth. Slamming the ancient door to their dimension shut, he sealed it with his blood, locking them away forever. He died against it, his blood spilling over his seal to confine them to their deadly eternity, for his blood seal could only be broken by the life that ran through his veins. The moment the door closed, his wife became mortal, but she had more pressing issues, for as her body crashed to the ground, her labor began. She birthed a human daughter alone in the dirt, the weapon long lost to her and her children in the fall. Behind the door, though, the King’s mother saw the infant as a way for their kind to endure. With her dying blood, she carved a prophecy into the stone. ‘When the last of our kind reunites with the last weapon, the Old Ones will rise again to rule’.”

  “The first have come,” Hades said, color draining from her face. “The first have come, and they seek the last…” she trailed off looking at the pitchfork. “This is it… the weapon he cast out?”

  “It is.”

  “So that makes me…”

  “The last.” Medusa finished for her. “I have been watching over your bloodline since the beginning. Always a daughter, always an only child, and always raven-haired… until you. You were born with red hair. The blood of your father. It was you the king’s mother prophesied about. I knew the moment I saw your hair you would find the pitchfork and wake the Old Ones. You are the first reincarnated.”

  “I am an Old One?” Hades whispered, unable to move.

  “Yes. You are one of the originals, the most powerful of them all. How else do you think you broke the seal of the Underworld? No Titan or Olympian could, but you did. There is a reason the Underworld still bows to you, why the beasts answer to you. It is the same reason the pitchfork remains loyal. You gave your husband your power, but there is more to you than that sliver of Olympian deity Zeus transferred to you. Wh
en you found that pitchfork the Old One within awoke, and it grows in strength every day.”

  “Her prophecy foretold that when I reunited with the weapon, they would wake. Have they?” Hades asked.

  “Yes,” Medusa said gravely. “The moment you took hold of it, they awoke in their realm. The stronger you grow, the stronger they become and vice versa. It is why you are not all-powerful yet. They are not at full strength and will never be… unless that is opened.” Medusa gestured as they rounded a corner, and there it, stood solemn and alone in the darkness at the end of the hall. A massive door carved with the same symbols the Oracle had etched in blood beckoned to Hades like a long-forgotten memory. She drifted through the light barren corridor toward it. An unseen pull forced her feet, and unable to stop herself, she pressed a palm against its cool smoothness. A violent jolt of energy and longing shot through her body at the contact, and Hades jerked backward like a child stung by an angered bee.

  “The door to their dimension,” Medusa said. “If opened, their power will return in full. If that happens, the world stands no chance.”

  “Is that why I feel I am going insane? Am I inheriting their madness?”

  “I am afraid so,” Medusa answered with a hesitant sigh. “And it will only worsen as you grow stronger.”

  “My father? Will he break the seal?”

  “I fear he has most likely been destroyed,” Medusa said, voice low and sorrowful. “His mind was freed from insanity, and I believe he would have refused to grant them freedom from his eternal prison. He also relinquished his hold on the pitchfork, bequeathing it to his heir. A god’s weapon is his direct channel to his power, and by passing it on to you, his divinity is forfeit. His soul and power are reincarnated within you, and if his resurrection were possible, they would have spilled your father’s blood again in an attempt to open this gate. It will not work. It must be broken by his hand.” Medusa drifted off. She fell silent in the darkness, and Hades turned to gaze upon the beautiful beast. Uneasiness lingered in Medusa’s eyes, and Hades stared at the slits for a long moment before the realization hit her, caving in her chest.

  “It can only be opened by his blood… and by his hand,” Hades said. “As his descendant and heir, I possess both. That is why the madness is overtaking me. The prophecy… she cursed me with their insanity so I might one day break the seal?”

  “And that can never happen,” Medusa said firmly, confirming Hades’ horrifying realization. “I allowed you passage to tell you your truth, but next time I will turn you to stone. It is my sacred duty to protect this door, even from you.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Hades’ head swam.

  “I was there,” she answered. “I am a Gorgon, the last of my kind. We were an ancient race of women, charged with protecting this door. My sisters tried to stop the bloodshed that fateful day, but they all perished. I would have too, except your father tasked me to stand watch for all eternity. When he sealed that gateway those symbols were not there, but when all fell silent inside, they burned into the stone. I read what the king’s mother had prophesied. Your father had sacrificed his life to save his unborn daughter, but through this prophecy, her reincarnation would return to open the door, and it would fall upon my head to kill the last great god that walks this earth.”

  IX

  Hades stumbled backward until her spine pressed against the cool wall and sank to the floor. With a deep exhale she lowered her head between her knees, white-knuckling the pitchfork. Her chest constricted, fighting the gulps of air she forced into them. Panic pricked her skin with razor needles, and her clenched eyes were the only things slowing the spinning room. The two women remained silent together in the shadows, letting time slip past unchecked.

  “So, if I open that door, I destroy the world?” Hades asked, her voice soft in the darkness as she broke the silence. She forced her gaze to meet Medusa’s and watched as the Gorgon nodded with somber confirmation. “And I am truly one of them?”

  “The last of the greatest,” Medusa answered.

  “How is one supposed to react to this?” Hades hauled herself to her feet, eyes glazed over. “I need air,” she muttered, wandering down the corridor retracing their steps.

  “I have called off the witches,” Medusa said to her back. “Call your husband. I must speak to him.”

  “I do not know how to respond to this,” Alkaios said, perched atop ancient debris. He rubbed his mouth with a large hand and let out an uneven breath, shifting his gaze from Medusa to the temple’s entrance where Hades sprawled on the steps. Her spine leaned against Kerberos and Chimera, their muscled bodies a throne around her. Medusa had just concluded a shortened version of what she had told Hades, and Alkaios felt the air rip from his chest. He understood now why Hades had exited the temple with all the color drained from her cheeks, her sickened expression distracting him from the myth in flesh that awaited him.

  “I always knew that woman was extraordinary,” Alkaios said, turning his eyes back to the Gorgon. “The greatest of us all… how am I supposed to contain that?”

  “By any means necessary,” Medusa answered as she perched beside him on the debris. The tiny green snakes gently writhed in their braid. Their forked tongues flicked from their mouth to taste Alkaios’ scent on the breeze. “If you do not keep her from here, I will be forced to turn her to stone. I cannot allow her to open that door.”

  “And you think you are strong enough to stop her?” he asked, gesturing to the welts on her skin from Hades’ brutality.

  “I have to be,” Medusa whispered, voice grave. “Because if you cannot keep her from me, I am the last hope this world has.”

  “That pitchfork came from the gods before us,” Charon said, rubbing his head in disbelief. “I cannot believe my assumption from when Hades found it on your farm was right. Gods only pass their weapons on to their children…” He trailed off, the gravity of his words unbelievable. Charon looked around the room to his wife, Keres, and Hydra who each cradled one of his daughters before he shifted his gaze to Alkaios. The god-killers flanked their king, and despite Charon’s aversion to the beasts being this close to his infants, Alkaios had insisted for this meeting.

  “How is Hades taking this?” Ioanna asked.

  “I do not know,” Alkaios sighed, his eyes heavy and body slumped. “She has said little, although I can guess. How does one swallow that kind of shock? The last descendant of the most powerful gods this universe has ever seen. A descendant of madness whose single growing desire is to unleash them, an action that will destroy us all. It is a burden Hades will bear for all eternity… one that will only grow worse.”

  “How do we help her?” Ioanna asked softly, and Alkaios raised his eyes to hers, a tortured pain spread across his handsome features. He held her eyes for a long while before answering.

  “We keep her from Medusa’s temple.”

  Ioanna tilted her head in response. “You mean for us to trap her?” she muttered in horror. “You want us to watch her and prevent her from leaving the Underworld? How could you expect that of us? How can you expect us to keep Hades prisoner in the realm she rules?”

  “What choice do I have?” Alkaios bolted from his slouched position against the wall with such force Ioanna jumped. The child cradled in her arms burst into a distressed wail, and Charon almost imperceptibly shifted his weight to block his wife. When Alkaios saw his friend move, he shifted backward horrified by his own aggression. “Ioanna, what choice do we have? If she opens that door, we all could die. We cannot let that happen. The name of Hades may mean the god of death, but I will not put that on her. I will not condemn her to the fate of living up to her name, and if Medusa tells the truth, Hades’ madness will only grow. If she breaks that seal and joins them, I lose her.” Alkaios choked, combating the tears threatening his eyes, and the room fell silent as he struggled to regain composure.

  “Medusa might not be right,” Ioanna said. “Until this morning she was only a myth. Who knows if she can be tr
usted?”

  “She tells the truth,” Keres interjected when the king did not speak. “Hades’ nightmares are visions of the past, of what Medusa has explained. Hades believes her.”

  “I will lose her,” Alkaios finally whispered, “if she opens that door. She will be fully Old One. Their insanity and blood lust will be her own. Her love for us will vanish, and Hades will seek nothing but our deaths. If it comes to that, then I will lose my life because I cannot raise a hand against her. I would rather die than kill her… even if she becomes a monster.” Alkaios broke off and buried his eyes in his palm, his lips contorted into a grimace.

  “Ahhhh!” he screamed, startling the group, and slammed his fist brutally against the wall, cracking the wood. The whole room froze. Even the babes knew to be silent. No one moved, save the wall as the living timber knit itself back together.

  “So please, do what you must to keep her here,” Alkaios choked. “Do whatever is necessary to save my wife.”

  Alkaios ran a rough palm over his hair, exhaustion descending over him in a debilitating wave. He felt drained as he strode through the ever-changing terrain of the Underworld. He wanted life to return to normal, where his wife was the strong woman he loved, free in her own realm. How could he bring himself to imprison the cornerstone of his life and power, the woman who saved him?

  A sudden sound of retching jerked him from his thoughts. Alkaios bolted forward to find Hades hunched over in the great doorway to the fortress. She was gagging and heaving over the dirt, oblivious to her approaching husband.

  “Hades?” Alkaios cast the pitchfork against the wall with irreverent haste. She jumped at his voice and whipped her head around. Her startled eyes softened when they met his, and Hades wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before rising on unsteady feet.