by Tony Abbott
He grinned. “If you come back after work hours, you’ll stay here, which means bye-bye to your old lives. No one leaves after I go off duty. Five P.M.” Tipping his filthy hat once more, he waded among the tall reeds and disappeared.
“This is way scarier than the Runson house,” Jon muttered.
We started walking up a rising slope of coal black ground dotted with leafless dead trees. It took us a few minutes to get to the top, where we found ourselves overlooking an enormous arena. It stretched for miles end to end and contained benches filled with millions of hooded, silent figures, who sat stiff and unmoving.
I couldn’t believe it. “The dead,” I said. “So many of them …”
At the near end of the arena stood what looked like the back of a throne, twenty feet high.
“Someone’s big,” Jon said under his breath.
Syd gasped softly. “That must be Hades’ throne! The king of the Greek dead would have a huge throne. Oh, man …”
There was a long flight of stairs down to the throne. “This is for Dana, remember,” I said, setting my foot on the top step. But the moment I did — whoosh! — the stairs became a slide. We slammed onto our backs and shot all the way down the arena to the bottom.
The instant we landed, the giant throne swung around to us, and my heart stopped.
In the throne sat an enormous beast.
It was shaped like a man, but its skin was as red as a stop sign, and it wore gleaming bloodred armor from shoulders to feet. Its head was a mess of wild flaming horns twisting out of its skin like a thicket. Its eye sockets were as wide as dinner plates and as hollow as tunnels, except for white flames blazing in each.
And when it spoke, the air shook.
“Welcome to my Underworld!”
“ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF,” SAID THE GIANT red beast. “My name is Hades.”
We all knew who he was. We had heard about him from the Valkyries and read about him in Dana’s overstuffed book. We had probably known about him since we were small. Every mythology had a Death King, and Hades was a mighty one.
“You must be tired from your long and, no doubt, strange journey,” Hades said. “Take a rest. Here. By me.” He patted the arms of his giant throne. “Come, sit …”
At every word, mist rose from his mouth like breath in the winter. Only it wasn’t human breath. It was smoke, thick and gray and smelling of death.
“Why so standoffish?” he asked, his red armor gleaming.
We didn’t move. We were too scared.
But I managed to cough out a few words.
“She’s here,” I said. “Dana Runson.”
Hades slapped his knees and roared with laughter. “Getting right to the point!”
His laughter ended as suddenly as it began. His smile died. He stared from one to the other of us in terrifying silence.
Jon and Sydney took up their usual position behind me. I could hear them breathing. It felt good to have them that close.
I gripped the lyre tightly, and its strings pressed into my arms. I had no idea if it would work on Hades, as the legends said it had for Orpheus. I was no Orpheus. And that scared me even more. But we had no choice. We came for one reason.
“Dana Runson,” I said. “We want her back.”
This time, Hades put on a sad face. “And she’s here, you say? Well, that is too bad.” He paused to summon one of the hooded shapes. It drifted over to the throne, and Hades leaned down as it whispered into his ear. He listened, then waved the shape away. “Was this Dana Runson young? I know it hurts you humans when your friends die young.”
“She didn’t die,” Sydney said, staring up at Hades. “We’re pretty sure you took her.”
I was glad she said it, so I didn’t have to.
Hades’ eyes turned as black as the river we had just crossed. He allowed himself to look at the lyre for the first time. “I see you’ve got Orpheus’s old noisemaker. I won’t ask where you found it.”
“It’s the real one,” said Jon.
“Oh, I know it is,” said Hades. “Do you have any idea of the power it possesses?”
I swallowed. “We’re here, aren’t we?”
Hades’ eyes narrowed. “Except that it’s far easier to enter my Underworld than it is to leave it. In fact, in the whole history of my kingdom, only a few ever made the return journey. The entrances to the Underworld are many. The exits are few. You’ve been lucky enough to find an opening that is both. Yet, this is the Underworld. It’s like the name. Your friend has gone under. She’s lost to you.”
It felt like my heart was trying to beat its way up to my throat. “Dana isn’t lost. She was kidnapped. She shouldn’t be here —”
“Kidnapped!” Hades boomed, standing to his full terrifying height. “I run a tidy ship, little humans! If someone has fooled with the entrances and exits of my world, I shall discover it! If anyone has violated my laws, I shall take action!”
His words echoed around and around the arena. When they finally drifted away, Sydney raised her hand. “Sir, the Valkyries told us something was going on. And we saw a wolf. Fenrir —”
Grrr … grrrr … grrrrr. Several animals growled behind the giant throne.
Hades looked down suddenly and sat again. “Ooh, did the dogs hear a name they don’t like?” he said. “Hmm? Fenrir is not here, my little friends. Come out. Come out!”
A hideous, black-furred head emerged from the darkness behind the throne. It was the size of a garbage can. A second head swung out after it, its fur silver white. A third ugly head lolled between the first two, nearly furless, with swollen eyes, its red snout battered and scarred. The heads were connected.
“Cerberus,” Sydney whispered, tapping the cover of Dana’s book. “He’s in here, too. The three-headed dog. The lunch ladies said to look out for three, fifty, and a hundred. Could this be the three?”
Hades gave us a cold grin. “I call the poor middle one Anger, because the other two take his food. This makes him lean and hungry. Beware all three of them, but most of all beware Anger. He is slow to eat but quick to fight.”
I couldn’t believe I was standing in the Underworld, talking to Hades. I couldn’t believe I was standing in front of his three-headed dog.
I couldn’t believe I was standing.
Then I remembered Miss Hilda’s question. You fight for what’s right, don’t you?
“Dana,” I repeated. “We want to bring her home. We have to. Now.”
Hades looked directly at me with his flaming eyes. “If your friend was brought here illegally, I will know it soon. In the meantime, a little bargain …”
I remembered Dana’s words. Beware Hades’ bargains.
Hades rolled an object nearly as tall as himself from the shadows. It was an ancient hourglass. Black sand poured from the top into the bottom.
He tapped the glass and stared at me. I tried to hold his gaze. “I’ll let you take your friend back. But there are rules: You have to find her first. You have the lyre. It worked for Orpheus … more or less.” He looked off into the distance. “Your friend is not far, being held like all newcomers. There’s a plain. A big mud hill. A tower. You have an hour to find her. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
“So this is a test?” Jon said.
Hades’ eyes burned white. “Everything is a test! The question is, have you studied? Now go! GO! GO!”
Suddenly, the arena erupted with angry voices. “Go! Go!” chanted the millions of hooded figures all around us. Their voices roared louder and louder as their bony hands pointed beyond the arena.
Cerberus’s three heads growled at us and strained at their leashes while Hades summoned more hooded shapes to him, his face grim.
We had no choice.
Shadows fell over us like lead helmets as we entered the darkness behind Hades’ throne.
THE AIR BEYOND HADES’ ARENA WAS AS THICK AS smoke. It stunk like burning trash. We groped our way forward in near darkness.
But no matter how d
eep into the gloom we walked, we could still hear each grain of black sand falling into the bottom of the hourglass.
“How long do we have?” asked Jon.
“I don’t know,” I said. “All I know is that I don’t trust Hades. We need to hurry before he changes his mind.”
Finally, the smoke cleared a little, allowing us a view of black earth as far as the eye could see, dotted by burned tree stumps and black-water marshes. The smell didn’t let up.
Sydney pointed ahead. “Look.”
A strange, ragged-looking tower stood on a rise in the distance. It was made of dull brown metal streaked with green.
“That’s bronze,” said Sydney, “like my gong.”
Just in front of the bronze tower was a huge mound of dirt. It rose to a point at the top.
“I guess that’s the big mud thing Hades told us about,” said Jon. “It looks like a volcano.”
I tightened my grip on the lyre and felt my stomach flip-flop. “If Cerberus was three, we have to expect fifty and a hundred of something soon. Everyone ready?”
Step by step we crossed the plain, weaving around the soggy marshes, across the black ground, to the base of the dirt mound. It stood tall and silent and dark. We made our way completely around it, until the bronze tower loomed in front of us.
“That was surprisingly easy,” Syd whispered.
“Why are you whispering?” asked Jon.
“Because I’m scared —” She stopped.
We heard a sound. Like a shhh followed by a thud.
We turned around. A man stood next to the big mud hill, wearing a suit of gleaming black armor. But it wasn’t regular armor. It was rounded and knobby, like the shell of a giant insect. The man must have been eight feet tall, and his helmet was a great black bulb, with a narrow slit for an eyehole. On the center of his helmet was the letter M, blazing in red.
In his hands, he held an ax the size of me.
“And that’s what I’m scared of,” Sydney said, echoing what we all felt.
My fingers already ached from clutching the lyre, but I tightened my grip even more. “I saw that armor,” I said. “When Dana disappeared.”
Shhh … thud. A second man appeared.
“I think I know where this is heading,” Jon muttered, backing up.
Shhh … thud. Shhh … thud. Another and another appeared, sliding down from a hole at the top of the mud house. Before we knew it, the ground was covered with black-armored, ax-wielding warriors. When they stopped, I did a quick scan. “Fifty. There are fifty of them.”
“And the lunch ladies score again,” said Jon.
“At least there aren’t a hundred,” Sydney added, then she gasped. “Wait … M … M … big warriors … oh, no, no, no!” She flipped the pages of Dana’s book. “I bet those are the Myrmidons!”
Jon backed up. “The friendly Myrmidons?” he asked hopefully.
“They’re known as great warriors,” she said. “Huge. Fearless. They must be guarding the bronze tower from people like us.”
We watched, stunned, as the Myrmidons assembled into a wall of black armor in front of their mud house. Fifty strong, they stood at attention about twenty feet from us. Then they all stepped forward at once.
THUD. The ground shook.
“Owen,” said Sydney, “play something helpful. And loud!” She and Jon clapped their hands over their ears.
I slammed the lyre like an air guitar. Brannng! Notes twanged and echoed between the mud house and the bronze tower.
THUD! The Myrmidons advanced again like a single iron machine.
“They don’t hear it!” cried Jon. “Their helmets are too thick. Or their brains are. Let’s get into that tower!”
We turned and ran for the tower doors, then stopped short, almost plunging into a chasm that ran around the tower like a moat. The pit was too deep and wide to jump across.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Sydney said.
THUD! The Myrmidons advanced again.
“We’re trapped,” said Jon. “We’re going to die here. Dana will die here. It’s all over —”
“Shh!” said Sydney, her nose deep in Dana’s book. “There’s a story about a plague that took the lives of almost everyone in a kingdom. Seeing an army of black ants near an oak tree, the king asked Zeus for as many citizens as ants —”
“What does this have to do with us dying here?” Jon squeaked in a panic.
“Listen!” Syd said. “Zeus turned those black ants into warriors. The king called them Myrmidons, because myrmex means ‘ants’! Those warriors are ant men!”
“Ant men?” Jon said. He turned to face the giant, advancing warriors. “Get back to your dumb anthill!”
Typical Jon. But it gave me an idea.
THUD! Another step.
Even if the Myrmidons were deaf to the lyre, maybe their anthill wasn’t. As the black-armored men advanced yet again, I hit the strings one by one, hoping to find the right combination. The third string twanged oddly. Its sound coiled up over my head … and the giant mud house began to quiver behind the warriors. I kept plucking the string until a chunk of mud slid from the top and began to roll down. It picked up more mud on the way to the bottom. It grew bigger and bigger. Before long, it was bigger than the warriors.
“Incoming mud ball!” shouted Jon.
When the ball of mud reached the bottom of the hill, it crashed through the ranks of the Myrmidons from behind, scattering them like bowling pins. It kept rolling all the way toward the tower. Then it came upon the pit and stopped dead, lodged between the two sides.
“There’s our bridge!” I shouted.
As the warriors regrouped, the three of us clambered across the top of the mud ball to the base of the tower. With another twang of the lyre, I made the bronze doors fly open. We rushed inside.
“That lyre is the best weapon!” Jon said.
“Except” — Sydney pointed behind us — “they’re still coming.”
The Myrmidons reassembled and began climbing over the mud ball after us.
“Shut the doors!” Sydney cried out. But as soon as we slammed the heavy doors and lowered a massive bronze beam into place, iron fists shook the tower. An instant later, one of the door hinges popped and flew across the room.
“Jon, help me find something else to secure the doors!” said Sydney. “Owen, go! Find Dana!”
I turned. A narrow circular staircase coiled up from the center of the floor.
“Go!” yelled Jon.
I raced up the stairs as fast as I could. They led up and out to the roof of the tower. All around me were open ramparts. The sky was black overhead. In the very center of the tower roof was a prison made of frosted glass. My heart skipped.
Dana stood motionless behind the glass. My friend, Dana. Imprisoned in the Underworld. My hands shook, and my knees felt like jelly.
She was dressed in a silvery toga, and her eyes were closed as if she were asleep. Or as if she were …
“Dana?” I said. “Please … Dana …”
She didn’t answer. But someone else did.
“No one passes Argus, guardian of the newly arrived!”
A blubbery beast slithered out from behind the glass prison. It was the basic shape of a person, with massive arms and hands of pure muscle, but he was covered from head to feet with eyeballs. Without thinking, I knew there were a hundred eyes. The final piece of the Valkyries’ puzzle. The eyes rolled all over the place, until they focused on me.
My heart sank like the black sand in the hourglass. It was the monster and me. Only me. If I failed, would Dana be stuck here forever? Who would be next? Us?
“I’ve seen you before,” I said, backing slowly away from the beast. “When Dana was kidnapped —”
“I see you a hundredfold!” said Argus, sliding closer to me. The hole he talked from was lined with blubbery gums that dripped thick liquid. When Argus spoke, he blasted spit and disgusting breath. “Now, human, prepare to —”
“Ugly beast!
” I yelled. I dragged my fingernails across the lyre strings, and Argus laughed.
“Your harsh music merely tickles me!” he boomed. “My new Dark Master will not be crossed! Prepare to suffer our wrath, puny boy!”
Dark Master?
The many-eyed beast slid his way closer, belching and drooling. Backing up, I remembered the story of how Argus was defeated — not by strength but by being lulled to sleep by music.
I gently brushed the strings. Blummm … frummm …
“Sleep,” I said. “Sleep …”
“What? No! Master, come —” Argus cried, flailing his great big paws at me. But with a loud rush of foul air, his hundred eyes began to roll up into his blubbery flesh, one by one. Finally, all hundred eyes were closed.
Without a minute to waste, I turned around and slammed the lyre’s strings — hard. Dana’s glass prison shattered into a million crystals. She stood like a statue, frozen, dead. Her eyes were closed. Frost dusted her cheeks like glitter. For an instant, I thought I was too late. She was so pale, so cold.
I took her hand. “Dana, please wake up. We’re going to take you home —”
I heard the sound of bronze shattering below. A scream. Armored feet thudded across the floor. The stairs squealed with heavy steps. Then Sydney’s cry. “Owen! Owen —”
Dana’s eyelids fluttered.
“Dana?” I whispered.
She gulped a huge breath.
“Say something,” I said.
Her lips parted. “Owen … behind you!”
I spun around. A giant Myrmidon burst out onto the ramparts. With a single blow, he knocked me down and sent the lyre skidding across the tower floor.
I SLAMMED TO THE TOWER FLOOR HARD, ROLLED once, and grabbed the flying lyre before it tumbled to the ground below. Glancing up, I saw Sydney and Jon clambering out to the roof and throwing themselves at the giant Myrmidon. His legs were massive. It took both of them hanging on to a single knee to bring him down.
But down he went — like an anvil — into the sleeping lump of Argus. He bounced off the blubbery beast … and straight off the side of the tower. Argus woke with a high-pitched squeal and a belch. Great.