Pitchfork

by Nicole Scarano

  At her words, the Underworld fell suddenly and eerily silent. Both Ioanna and Charon stared frozen and wide-eyed at one another, their ears ringing with silence. Even their daughters swallowed their cries as if waiting with bated breath for the crashing at the gates to resume, but it did not. The quiet held, and the ground stilled. The Titan sidestepped his wife and rushed out to the dock. The Styx resumed its normal flow toward the blazing depths, and even the oppressive fog lifted infinitesimally.

  “What happened?” Ioanna asked hesitantly as she followed her husband out into the open. Charon’s head twisted and met her gaze before he turned back to the rushing water.

  “I believe,” he said haltingly, tone uncertain, “they have left.”

  “Why would they leave with such sudden haste when they gave such little effort?” Zeus asked Alkaios incredulously. His fist still gripped Kerberos’ spike. “They knocked at our threshold, but they failed to even attempt a crossing. Could the sight of the god-killer have deterred them so?”

  “No,” came Poseidon’s shaken voice. The god of the seas cautiously lifted his hand from Kerberos’s side and took a long step back from the beast. “This was a warning. They want us to know they have found us, and that they will come. They were sowing their last seeds of terror, showing us we have nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide. We are trapped prey, and the hunters are coming.”

  XXV

  The shores of the Styx had barely silenced when an onslaught of screamed prayers ripped through the Olympians’ minds. The fearful pleas of the dying washed over them in droves, begging the gods to save them from the massacre. The Old Ones had turned from Hell’s doorstep and unleashed their fury on the unprotected. Humanity was being snuffed out life by life, and the Olympians were helpless to stop the genocide. Their only consolation was the knowledge that the dead would be ferried to the Underworld where Elysium’s heavenly fields awaited them… but for how much longer? Once those deformed gods crossed the river and took for themselves the lives of every last god, what then would prevent the destruction of mankind’s final resting place? The Old Ones had reduced Mount Olympus to rubble and ash. How long would it take them to burn Elysium to a hollow skeleton?

  “I can’t,” Alkaios blurted, his panicked voice breaking the silence. “I can’t.” With eyes wild, he stumbled back from Kerberos as Zeus and Poseidon looked on with concerned expressions, but all he could force from his lips over and over was, “I can’t.” His body was shutting down, overwhelmed with panic and distress, and before anyone was able to stop him, he disappeared in tentacles of black inky smoke.

  Seconds later, Alkaios emerged on earth and watched as the once thriving city was swallowed whole by blood and fire. The screaming prayers flooded his mind, but the longer he stood there helpless to offer aid, the quieter they faded as death overtook their voices. His stomach churned with nausea as his feet stumbled forward. The horribly mutilated dead lay strewn carelessly in the streets. Bodies were ripped apart; limbs separated viciously from torsos; flesh gnawed to the bone. Alkaios gagged and covered his mouth with a calloused palm as he picked his way through the carnage. This was not just genocide, this was demonic. The Old Ones were not slaughtering for power but for pleasure, and it seemed as if killing was not enough for them. They had to mutilate and desecrate as well, lay waste so completely that only ash and bones remained

  Alkaios doubled over and clutched his knees fiercely as he sucked in acrid air. Hunched among the dead, his eyes clenched shut as he fought for control. His wife, the woman he loved more than himself, it was her hands that had helped to abolish these lives. Alkaios was no fool. He was well aware of the lives that had been destroyed at Hades’ hands, but they were never like this. Never so desecrated. All the souls Hades had ended in her short reign were granted eternal bliss in Elysium in return for their sacrifice, but staring at the disfigured corpses, he knew they would not be granted such amnesty when she reclaimed the Underworld. Their violent end on earth would only be the beginning of the terror these souls would endure; their eternity sacrificed to the mad gods.

  A sudden thud jerked Alkaios upright, and the sound of heavy footsteps drifted from behind him. Alkaios snapped his head around, searching for cover, but the footfalls carried the intruder too quickly for him to find refuge. Desperate for shelter, he dropped to the blood-soaked ground and seized the arm of a corpse, flinging it over his torso. Silently, Alkaios apologized to the soul as he further desecrated its flesh and shoved his fist into the gaping deathblow. Still warm blood oozed over his fingers, and Alkaios lifted them to his face and dragged them in rapid strokes down his skin just in time to force his body into death-like stillness.

  “We should have taken them,” came a haggard female voice. Alkaios recognized the sound of the three-eyed goddess and kept his eyes motionless in a death gaze. The old woman’s figure did not cross his eyesight, but a gargantuan shape filled his vision instead. It was all Alkaios could do not to flinch at the sight of the monstrous god. He had seen shadows of the Old Ones’ king, but as he passed, nothing prepared Alkaios for the shock. The horned god was hulking, unnaturally large. His muscular body supported a bull’s head, and deadly horns sprouted from his skull. Gore dripped from their peaks, displaying his recent kills. Watching this monstrosity pass sent alarm plunging through Alkaios’ gut. How could the likes of Zeus ever compete with such massive power?

  “In time,” came another feminine voice, this one beautiful and strong. “We do not have long to wait before our reunion solidifies our full potential. Then we will crush their skulls beneath our heels.”

  Pain ripped into Alkaios’ heart at his wife’s words. He stared blankly, his eyes glazed over as Hades sidled up to the horned god and shoved the old woman aside. The three-eyed god glowered at Hades, but the king merely stepped sideways to accommodate the dark beauty. Alkaios watched with horrifying realization that Hades had not only been welcomed into their ranks but was exalted. She had thrust aside the woman who seemed to be the king’s second and took her place with bloody resolve. This monster bent his ear to Hades’ tongue, and she had risen to rule her ancestors. In that moment, Alkaios knew all was lost. All hope that simmered in his chest vanished, evaporating in despair as his wife and the king strode past side-by-side as equals, both covered in the blood of their slaughters. Hades was truly gone, mind taken by the homicidal madness of her people.

  Alkaios’ breath froze in his lungs, and he lay among the death unable to breathe. His heart struggled within the confines of his chest, erratic in its heaving pain. As if she sensed his thundering organ, Hades turned and looked at the pile of bodies he had buried himself beneath. Her once beautiful eyes were glazed, and she stared at his almost lifeless form, their eyes meeting. Alkaios’ heart stopped, all functions of his body frozen in terror. She had seen him. Would he be the next flesh to be skewered upon those blood-soaked horns?

  For an excruciating moment, Hades held his gaze, but when Alkaios was sure his life was forfeit, she angled back to her new king and continued through the city streets, disappearing from sight. Her eyes bore no recognition, but how had she not sensed him? Even if Hades no longer remembered the love she cherished so dearly, would she not at least have recognized him as Olympian? Why walk away when she had the chance to rid the world of one of the three greats?

  Alkaios bolted upright; the body draped across him flung harshly to the ground. Hades had to have known he was there. Had she let him live? Allowed his survival? Perhaps she was not yet lost to him. Alkaios pulled himself to his feet. He had to follow them, to find and bring her home. He refused to accept this monster was all his wife would ever be.

  Alkaios turned and vaulted up the structure behind him. Using the roof as cover, he stalked them from above. Careful to avoid the caving structures and hungry flames, Alkaios leapt from building to building, tracking the blood-soaked woman he loved, but the hulking horned god never left her side. Alkaios stood no chance against this king, but if he could just get Hades alone, p
erhaps he could stop her.

  As if in response to his thoughts, a man flung open the door a house below and stumbled out, body painted in blood and soot. The mortal gulped the fresher air in relief, but it was short-lived. Without breaking stride, Hades hoisted the pitchfork and shoved it into the man’s chest, sealing his fate. Blood spat from his lips as the twin prongs ripped free of his flesh, and Alkaios flinched involuntarily at the remorseless expression his wife bore. Blood dripped down the bident’s shaft to her fingers, and yet Hades strode on, her glassy eyes harsh and soulless.

  Alkaios went numb as he stared at Hades step over the carnage to regain her place beside the monstrous bull. Alkaios took a deep breath, shooting his eyes ahead. The cacophony of death was growing closer. If he did not act now, a whole host of bloodthirsty gods would be upon them, and he would stand no chance. His body aimed for Hades’ form below. She was still marginally behind the king, and if Alkaios launched himself at her, he could drag her from here before the horned god stopped him. Alkaios offered up a desperate prayer, to whom he knew not, and vaulted into the air.

  He barely made it two inches from the roof, when an arm thudded firmly against his chest. With a grunt, Alkaios was thrown harshly to his back where a small hand clasped over his mouth. With agile speed, a light body climbed atop him and pinned him down, her breast flush against him, desperate to hide. Alkaios struggled beneath the encasing human cage, rage boiling at the disruption to his plan, but the wiry limbs imprisoned him.

  “Shhhhh!” came a sharp breath in his ear, and he stilled at the voice. Alkaios’ eyes shifted and found Keres’ face pushed into his neck. Her nose pressed against his skin, her panicked breathing washing hot over his flesh.

  “Let me go.” His whisper was demanding, but as Alkaios seized her wrists to cast her from him, a noise from streets below froze their struggle. The horned king’s voice rumbled over the raging fire and bloodshed, but the chaos garbled his words. Neither of them could make out what he said, although Keres was certain it was a response to Alkaios’ grunt. She shifted slightly to look Alkaios in the eyes and shook her head no in desperation. They both lay in unblinking silence, frozen in fear that the demonic god below would find them, but after an agonizingly long moment, the sounds of his thudding footsteps receded into the anarchy.

  The instant his steps disappeared, Alkaios shoved Keres harshly to the side and vaulted to his feet.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, anger lacing his deep voice.

  “Stopping you!”

  “Why? I almost had her. I could have brought her back!”

  “No, you did not! Do you really think you could have taken her? Especially with that… thing with her? Hades would have killed you, and where would we be then? You are no good to her dead.”

  “What does it matter if she kills me?” Alkaios’ lungs deflated in defeat. “We lost our opportunity to trap them, Olympus fell in minutes, and the Underworld is no longer a safe haven. In a matter of days, Hades will lead her ancestors to our gates, and they will not cease until the river flows red with our blood. We are living on borrowed time, so who cares if I die today trying to get her back? We are already dead.”

  “Do not say that,” Keres begged, despair oozing from her lips. “You cannot give up hope. Not you. There must be something we can yet do?”

  “Keres,” Alkaios said softly, taking her head in his palms and tilting her face upward. “You know Hades. If she stands against us, we have no chance. We are out of options and out of time. All we have left is to die with dignity when they come. I will not submit to their victory without a fight, and perhaps I might take a few of them with me, but your stopping me today has not saved my life, just prolonged it.” And with that, Alkaios turned from her, hands dropping from her cheeks. He walked to the edge of the roof and fell over the side, disappearing into the smoke.

  “Alkaios!” Keres’ voice wavered. “Alkaios!” she called as loud as she dared, but he did not answer, leaving her alone among the wreckage.

  XXVI

  The Old Ones had returned to the holy mountain, their lust for destruction satiated, and Hades strode through the ruins of Mount Olympus, the fallen stones of the once proud mountain crushed beneath her feet. The blood of the sacrificed bathed her skin, and she could feel it feeding her power. With each slaughtered soul, her blood pumped stronger within her veins. How much more so would it be when she cleaved the head of that great god of the Olympians from his neck? Hades craved the absolute power that would be hers once the Underworld ran red with the divine. It was only a matter of days now before the Old Ones reigned unopposed, supreme and almighty.

  Her body wandered through the charred streets, feet guiding her path as if of their own volition. They twisted and turned through the carcasses of buildings until her journey came to an unexpected rest before a closed door. Hades’ eyes marveled at the miraculously un-burnt wood, and a flash of recognition jolted through her brain. Without even realizing it, she was at the door, palm flush against the timber’s grain. An overwhelming urge to see what lay on the other side forced her hand, and she pushed, flinging it wide.

  Dust floated through the air and into her nostrils as Hades stepped over the threshold, and as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, a miraculously unblemished curtain hanging from the large window fluttered into her line of sight. Hades’ eyes snapped to it, and that is when it happened. A sharp knife of a spasm ripped through her body emanating from her womb, spidering out through her limbs. Hades screamed and bent over, clutching her stomach as she gasped for breath. Her lungs heaved, sucking in gulps of air as she stood doubled over. The pain barely had time to pass before a second assault burned through her like scalding needles coursing through her arteries. Hades clawed at her stomach and gritted her teeth to stifle a scream. Tears burst into her eyes, and sweat beaded on her brow as she sobbed. The corners of the room began to fade, her vision blurring, and yet the suffering continued. Wave after wave it washed over her, her womb cramping in agony, but the pain ravaging her was nothing compared to the last jolt that seared through her bones like molten metal, absent of mercy. Unable to swallow her screams, Hades’ voice cried out in torment as her fingers clutched her abdomen, and without warning, the world went black; her form crashing brutally to the floor.

  Hades jerked awake as if Zeus’ lighting had electrocuted her. Alarm crushing her chest like the heel of an enemy, she tried to sit, but the aching in her head forced her back down. Hades clenched her eyes shut and breathed heavily until the pain passed, and when the ache was nothing more than a dull thud, she slowly peeled her eyelids back and looked around, realization hitting her. She was sprawled on the floor in her old room on Olympus, the window that Zeus used to stand at just before her.

  Hades lifted a palm, grasping the familiar bed, and pulled herself into a sitting position. A wave of nausea washed over her, and she lowered her head to the side of the dusty mattress to rest until it passed. How she had ended up on the floor she had no idea, nor why it felt as if someone had bashed in her skull, but she had to get up and find out what was going on. And so, with extraordinary effort, Hades pushed herself to her feet. Unconsciously, her fingers rested on her belly, holding her son’s life beneath her fingertips. He was still too small to make a difference in her size, but she could discern his tiny life starting.

  With a gasp, Hades’ hand flew to her mouth, a broad smile spreading over her lips. She could feel him. Since learning she was carrying Alkaios’ son, Hades had yet to sense the child within. She had accepted Medusa at her word, but now… now Hades knew. Joy spread through her heart and tears sprung to her eyes. Her fingers fluttered over her belly, and a small laugh whispered past her tongue. Alkaios, she had to tell him.

  Hades rushed for the door when her gaze collided with the carcass of Olympus just beyond the window, and she froze, surveying the smoking ruins. An involuntary gasp burst from her mouth, and she dropped to the ground, pressing herself against the wall beneath the windowsill as i
f she could hide from the truth outside this room. It all came flooding back like a cresting swell of Poseidon’s angered storms, horror replacing the joy she had moments ago. Hades remembered the bloodshed inflicted by her own hands… hands that were still painted red with the blood of the innocent. She recalled the evil of the Old Ones and her betrayal of the people she loved. She had been consumed by her ancestors, placed in a position of power in their ranks, and bile rose up her throat at the thought of what they yet planned.

  Bending until her palms rested on the ground, Hades crawled toward the exit. She had to get out of here, had to warn Alkaios. She did not know how, but she would not let her family perish at her own hands.

  Hades reached the door and inhaled a steadying breath. She composed her features into a vile mask and flung her body out into the street. An Old One intoxicated with bloodlust crawled on all fours past the swinging door, canines exposed in a vicious growl at the startling intrusion to his prowl. Hades’ first instinct was to recoil from his blood-drenched mouth, but she willed her face to remain impassive. Her ancestors believed her to be one of them, and she could not show weakness. It was her only chance at survival, so Hades turned terrifyingly cold eyes on the deformed god and bared her teeth. The Old One cowered in fear, and Hades calmly walked past him, darkness seeping from her skin. Despite the whispers of dread goading her ears, she drifted slowly until her steps bore her around the corner, but the instant the caved in hallways concealed her from any prying eyes, she bolted into a run, unable to control her uneasiness.

  Hades ran through the city, using the smoke and debris as a shield until she came to the once rolling and lush fields. Her vision scanned the surrounding area with panicked speed, but not another soul was to be seen, only the wreckage of a beautiful home she had once cherished. Anxiety seized her brain and paralyzed her muscles, but there was no time for consuming weakness. If she stayed here, welded to this ashen field, she would never leave. The fear would entomb her.