Pitchfork

by Nicole Scarano

  “How long do I have?” Hades asked. “Is this moment only a reprieve from their insanity, or am I fully myself?”

  “I could not tell you,” Medusa said apologetically. “We are in uncharted territory. Your ancestors did not have time on their side. The Old Ones slaughtered your father shortly after he sealed them in their realm, and they insured his death was final. Your mother was cast to earth where she became mortal in her separation from their dimension, as were all of her descendants until you. I have no answers, but I will say this,” she hastily added when she saw the panic creeping through Hades’ and Alkaios’ eyes. “Your forefather performed the Touch of the Gods with his own hands, while you have not. Your madness was brought on by proximity, not as a punishment for your personal transgressions. You have never shredded a soul. In fact, you saved one when you gave your husband your Olympian power. I never considered this a possibility. I am no god, just a guardian, and am not all knowing, but your spirit is not tainted like theirs. Their evil is not within you, only surrounding you.”

  “So there is no way to know if I am truly delivered or if this is merely a remission?”

  “Only time will tell,” Medusa answered truthfully.

  “Then we best make the most of the time we have,” Hades said, turning from Medusa to the Olympians filling the throne room. “I am here to help. I cannot undo the evil I have unleashed, but I can help bring it to an end. We cannot kill them. They have grown far too strong for that. Not even with my aid could we put them all down, but I still think we can trap them. Any day now they intend to storm the Underworld. We cannot withstand that siege forever, and they must never cross this river.”

  “We tried that,” Zeus interjected. “Athena almost lost her head.”

  “On Medusa’s mountain, yes. They expect that, but I believe with my power, we can hold them in place until our portal opens to drag them back whence they came. They trust me. I can draw them out and deliver them into our ambush.”

  “You drew them out last time,” Zeus said, “but not all came. We have to trap every one of them, especially that horned king of theirs. You say they trust you, but the question is, does he trust you?”

  “Yes.” Hades’ eyes shifted uncomfortably from Zeus to Alkaios. “The horned god… his name is Minotaur, and I can bend his will.” She paused and took a deep breath, steadying herself before uttering her next words. “He is my uncle.”

  “What?” Zeus, Alkaios, and Poseidon blurted at the same time. Keres’ and Hydra’s lips fell open, while Ioanna blinked rapidly as if an eyelash had violated her eye. Olympians and immortals alike burst into murmurs of surprise as they stared in confusion at the dark queen.

  “The three-eyed hag, the woman who prophesied their second coming, she is the king’s mother, but she also had a younger son… my father, the Old One who sealed the door with his dying bloodshed,” Hades said softly. “They were once what Zeus and Poseidon are now, one a king and one a great. Minotaur ruled the realm of the Old Ones with an iron fist, but my father believed he was far too mighty to serve in his older brother’s shadow. He left his brethren, creating for himself a new kingdom, a place that served and answered only to him.” Hades paused and looked to Alkaios. The look in her eyes made him want to reach out and silence her. He did not wish to hear this confession. “My father was the first god of death,” and at her words, the entire room went silent.

  “We originally believed I opened the door to the Underworld because the universe saw me as a fit and just ruler. Medusa claimed I broke the seal because I was the last of the Old Ones, a race of gods whose power was unrivaled. Of course, the seal bent to me. That is not why,” Hades said, turning and walking toward the thrones. Suddenly exhausted she had to sit, but instead of climbing to her throne, she sank to the topmost step and looked out at all who listened. Unwilling to be parted from her, Alkaios followed and settled his large frame next to hers.

  “In the days when they reigned supreme, Minotaur was the king of the living.” Hades reached out and grasped her husband’s hand for support. “My father, the lord of death. The Alpha and the Omega. Because of my grandmother’s prophecy, the Old Ones were never genuinely dead. They only slept in death until I found the pitchfork and woke them, returning them to their glory. All save my father. Despite being her son, she made sure he would never rise again. Of all of them, he is the only one truly to have perished, hence why the pitchfork passed down to me as well as his power. I took his place, the Old Ones’ god of death. When I saved Alkaios, I gave him the Olympian within me, the part Zeus bestowed when he banished me here. That is why he is king of the Underworld, but I kept my father’s reign over the Underworld and the dead. At my core, it is who I am.”

  “The Omega?” Medusa croaked. “That was who cast his pregnant wife from their realm?”

  “You did not know it was him?” Hades asked, eyebrows raised.

  “No! The Omega was hardly ever seen. He was feared almost as much as Minotaur and spent most of his time… here.” She gestured to her surroundings and then in rushed movements, bowed low with reverent grace. “Your majesty.”

  “There is no need for that,” Hades said, appalled that Medusa was bowing.

  “Yes, there is.” Medusa remained bent with respect. “You are the new Omega, the end and completion of life, and all Gorgons serve the Old Ones. I could not stand by what they became, but I can serve you, Omega. You are the second coming of death, and I swear my allegiance to you.”

  “Thank you,” Hades said with a soft smile. “We will need your skills setting this trap.”

  “So that is why I always see you at his side?” Alkaios asked as his mind struggled to process the words escaping his wife’s lips. “I went to earth, foolishly to retrieve you, and saw you push past your ancient grandmother to take your place next to the horned… Minotaur. You are second only to him?”

  “As my father once was, I am now.”

  The room suddenly vibrated with a growl of three heads, severing all conversations. Hades bolted to her feet as her eyes searched for the owner of that rumbling voice and found Kerberos’ hulking frame blocking the room’s entrance. He had not been here when she first arrived, and she had feared he had chosen to patrol the Underworld rather than gaze upon her, yet here he stood, spiked back raised in menace.

  Mother and dog locked gazes, tension and power radiating from their bodies, and when Hades could no longer contain herself, her feet pushed her from the floor, charging for the three-headed god-killer. As fast as Zeus’ lightning, Hades was across the stone and with little consideration to her knees, fell before him. Eyes bursting with fresh tears, she seized Kerberos’ massive neck, and her face burrowed into his warm hide where his comforting scent filled her nostrils. Her embrace threatened to strangle him it was so fierce. For a moment, Kerberos froze stiff, unsure of how to react, but after a long minute, he lowered his middle head until it rested on her hair. He wrapped his side heads around Hades to reciprocate her affection, his leathery body enveloping her.

  “My darling,” Hades sobbed against his throat, her tears dampening his hide. She remained on her knees and held him in a fervent hug, and finally, when she felt she could not breathe from his smothering embrace, she withdrew. Her fingers tentatively reached up and cupped Kerberos’s middle head, and the beast rested his monstrous face lovingly against his mother. Peace flooded his veins, an impressive sight to behold. The hound of Hell consumed by forgiving love.

  “My darling, I am so sorry,” Hades whispered as Alkaios settled behind them. “You know he was not born with three heads,” she said to her husband. “In the days of the first gods, he was not one hellhound but three brothers; the oldest being the largest and the most ferocious. They were my father’s, raised by his hands from pups. They helped him guard the Underworld, for in the beginning none of this was here. Tartarus and Elysium have always been. Since the Universe began, there was a heaven and a hell, but the Underworld… my father created its terrain. As the lord of death, h
e wanted his own kingdom to rule, a place of his own far beyond the reach of his brother. He resented Minotaur’s control, and so he built for himself a new domain, a home surrounding Tartarus and Elysium. He refused entrance to all save his wife, which is why his weapon was a pitchfork. It originally was something else, but he reshaped it in honor of her, of my mother. The two of them dwelled here with absolute dominion over the afterlife, but Minotaur grew angry with his brother for creating a realm of vast power. He tried to take it, but the Omega was prepared. He sealed his world from the earth with the River Styx. My father stood at the mouth of the river and slit his wrists. Blood flowed from his veins, birthing the poison waters, and all who touch the blood of the god of death would die. Only the dead can pass through the Styx. To this day, the Minotaur cannot break through his brother’s defenses, which is why they so desperately need me, blood of my father’s blood. The Omega created this all, and the three hellhounds defended it for him. Hounds bred to kill the divine. The largest hound guarded the Winding Staircase of Tartarus, the second watched over the River Styx, and the third at the gates of Elysium. They were loyal and fierce, but nothing could protect them from the madness the Old Ones cursed themselves with. Once obsessed with the Touch of the Gods, my father turned crazed and volatile. In a fit of rage, he lashed out at the beasts he loved most. He attacked the smaller dogs without mercy and tore their heads from their bodies. He was so enraged, he dragged their decapitated skulls to Tartarus, where he planned to murder the last. The fear and sorrow in the third’s expression woke him from his madness, though, and he was ashamed of his actions. Overcome with guilt, he vowed to his final monstrosity of a dog that he would put things right, and so he grafted the two severed necks onto the living dog’s body, creating a three-headed god-killer.” Hades’ fingers whispered over Kerberos’s scarred skin as meaning dawned on all who listened, but she never took her eyes from his devilish stare soft with love. “But Kerberos, the largest of the three, eventually grew too strong and violent, and the Omega chained him above the staircase where he remained until I set him free.”

  Hades fell silent and gripped one of Kerberos’ spines. He braced her as her cramping legs pushed to a stand, and she turned to find every eye filled with shocked horror. Both Keres’ and Hydra’s hands clutched their mouths as their eyes brimmed with tears. Even Alkaios was shaken, and after a steadying breath, he stepped forward and placed a palm on the dog’s skull. Kerberos, sensing the importance of this occasion, remained motionless. He accepted Alkaios’ touch without his normal aggression as he pressed his middle head against Hades’ stomach. The god-killer understood that in this moment his life had come full circle. For, in the beginning, the cruelty of the first god of death had nearly destroyed him. That day, he was chained above the rotting shades, his soul condemned to shrivel and rot until he was no better than the deformed monster he called master. But now standing here, witnessed by a host of Olympians, he was freed by the kindness of the new gods of the afterlife. Fierce loyalty burned in Kerberos’ heart for the dark queen who had become his world, a love that could not be severed. And because of Hades, his devotion extended to the King of the Underworld. Loyalty he would kill for, and if required, die for.

  XXVIII

  While all marveled at the truth of Hades’ origins, one Olympian found his feet fleeing the throne room. Quiet as to not alert any to his escape, Hephaestus crept from the fortress as fast and as silently as his crippled legs would carry him. He was shocked by Hades’ ancestry, but a single part of her story caught his attention so thoroughly that the rest of her words were lost on him… the water of the poisoned River Styx was fatal to the gods of old. Those monsters of absolute power were unstoppable by all, yet the water, bled of a trusted brother, could end even that monstrous horned god, Minotaur.

  The moment that fact burrowed into his brain like a worm escaping the paralyzing sun, Hephaestus could not halt the turning wheels of his thoughts. An elusive idea whispered through his mind, half-formed and unattainable, yet it was there somewhere deep like the faint wisps of a dying fire. All he knew as he hobbled unattended out of the fortress and into the Underworld was that he had to sample the water. Hephaestus imbued many powers into his holy metalwork and carried a blessed vial on his belt at all times for such a time as this; such a time when that which must be contained was greater than his blacksmith’s palms could withstand.

  Bursting through the fog, his feet sunk into the murky sand as Hephaestus bent over the current, vial in hand, but before he plunged it through the river’s surface, a hiss broke through the mist. Frozen by fear, Hephaestus slowly twisted his head, remembering Hades’ warning never to venture into the Underworld alone. In his desperate haste, all he could think about was the nagging of a solution brewing in the depths of his mind, casting all caution to the wind. The warning came rushing back tenfold now though, and the blacksmith of the gods crouched suspended over the water as a dark shape took form in the ominous fog.

  Through the mist, the fury staggered, her stringy hair, blank stare, and gnashing fangs sending icy terror through his veins. Hephaestus had heard of these women, curses of vengeance, and knew that the long claws on her hands were meant for the sole purpose of cleaving flesh from bone.

  “Please?” he begged softly, voice drifting over the Styx’s steady current. “Please let me have this, and I will leave.” Hephaestus gestured at his still empty vial.

  The fury looked at him with hollow eyes and then glanced to the water and back. Her limping gait did not slow as she pulled her deformed legs along, claws beginning to stretch forward in bloody hunger.

  “Please,” Hephaestus pleaded. “This might help us.” At that, the fury halted with a jolting pitch. Her thin arms dropped limply to her sides, and the smith seized her hesitation and plunged the vial into the river. Despite his best attempts to keep the poison waters from his skin, a small droplet dribbled onto his thumb as he corked the glass. The scream of agony that ripped from his lips shook the air, and the startled fury screamed, voice shrill and deafening. She launched at the blacksmith, but Hephaestus had what he came for and was gone from the Underworld and back in his forge before the hellish creature was upon him.

  “If we draw them out into the open, we will not risk the Underworld, and using the blood runes, we can create a portal to their realm,” Hades said, sitting on her throne, Alkaios beside her. Kerberos lay a guardian at their feet, and Chimera sat between the gods of the dead, his knotted mane tangled in Hades’ fingers. “We pick the place, somewhere visible so they cannot ambush you, and the moment they set foot within our enchantments, they will be shoved behind that once sealed door. But I will not be the bait this time, you will. They crave Olympian deaths and refuse to rest until they are the only remaining deities. If the Old Ones discover you on earth, unprotected by my father’s domain, they will seize the opportunity, and I shall encourage them.”

  “I do not like this,” Alkaios interjected. “I do not want you going back to Olympus. If they recognize you have returned to your true self, they will try to kill you.”

  “What choice do we have?” Hades asked. “This is our best chance. If I return, the reincarnation of the Omega, Minotaur will have no reason to suspect a trap. He believes we both crave death to befall the Olympians. If I am there beside him, I can whisper our desires in his ear. His stroked ego will not allow you to go unchallenged.”

  “With such almighty power, they still might ignore our beckoning.” Zeus leaned on his thigh as his foot rested on the steps to the thrones.

  “That is why you need me to return to Olympus. I will plant ideas of triumph and glory in Minotaur’s head. Like overgrown weeds, I will crowd out all other thoughts until only my words consume his mind.”

  “It is our only option,” Medusa interjected from her perch on the stairs. Keres, Hydra, and Ioanna sat beside her all nodding their agreement. “If she can convince Minotaur to take the bait, it could be our last real chance at survival.”

  “We do
it Hades’ way,” Zeus said decidedly. “But we must find the perfect advantage.”

  “Then it is settled,” Hades said before Alkaios protested. “Choose a place and mark it with the blood runes with haste. When you are ready, send word, and I will deliver them to you.” She stood then, her toes extracting themselves from beneath Kerberos’ comforting yet oppressive weight. “I must return before I am found missing.” Hades turned to Alkaios, palm outstretched. Her husband captured it, and she pulled him into her arms and held him with all the strength her body possessed. Hades clung to Alkaios for a long moment; chest pressed against his, fingers clutching at his warm skin. She could not bear to tear herself free, and so she released her power while encircled in his embrace. The inky black tentacles twisted around them, weaving in and out until she was obscured in darkness. When it cleared, Hades was gone, and Alkaios’ limbs fell empty to his sides.

  “I would not get your hopes up,” Zeus said bitterly into the echoing silence. Seeing Hades in Alkaios’ arms sent stinging pangs of jealousy through his heart. Hera was little comfort to his loss of Hades, and the canyon in his soul tore ever wider at the sight of love not intended for him. “She remembers who she is now, but we know not how long this will last. We may not be able to save Hades. We may yet have to lock her up.”

  “Alkaios,” Ioanna’s voice interrupted. Alkaios’ gaze shifted to her, relieved for the reprieve. He was seconds away from launching himself at Zeus. Consequences be damned, if Zeus did not return to the mountain soon, Alkaios would kill him.

  “You are needed at the river,” Ioanna continued with a look he recognized as Charon requesting his presence.