Myths of Immortality (The Sphinx Book 3)

by Wagner, Raye

  “And just beyond, Hades’s castle.” Thanatos pointed at the towering spires.

  It was breathtaking. The dark surface of the castle had been buffed to a glossy shine. The light from above was almost at full noon, although there wasn’t actually a sun in the sky. Hope closed her eyes, and the chirp of insects sang, confirming life existed in the Underworld.

  The sound of a river running, splashing over stones, tickled her senses. She opened her eyes and turned to Thanatos. “Which river is that?”

  He raised his brows. “It’s the Lethe.” Extending his hand to her, he asked, “Would you like to see it?”

  Athan felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, and he looked up from the faux wood grain to see Xan staring at him. The demigod raised his eyebrows, and Athan shrugged off the questions in Xan’s weighted gaze. They were questions Athan had no answers for.

  The three demigods were spread out in the wide room clearly meant for two patients. Dahlia lay across the empty bed, as if she were the patient meant to occupy it. Athan sat at the small table situated in the corner of the room. Xan had pulled the other plastic chair over by the bed next to his cousin, but his attention shifted from Athan to the patient in the bed next to them.

  Their patient was tall, and if his emaciated frame had been filled out, he would’ve been a massive man. He was probably several inches over six feet, and a thatch of black hair stuck out from the white gauze on the top of his head. His entire face was wrapped in gauze, as was his left arm, but his right arm was covered in tattoos of snakes, and a jaw of teeth peeked out from the sleeve of the hospital gown.

  According to the whiteboard on the wall, the patient’s name was Kal Mustonen.

  Athan stared at the patient and wondered how he’d gotten burned.

  “I’m going to go keep watch,” Dahlia said and then pointed to Athan. “You’re next, pretty boy, so maybe rest up.” She pushed Xan out of the chair and then dragged it outside the door and sat. “Let me know when it’s time to go.”

  Xan closed the door and started pacing the room.

  “Does it worry you?” Xan asked, stopping almost mid-stride to stare Athan down.

  Athan refused to be intimidated. He leaned back in the chair, putting his hands behind his head. “Does what worry me?”

  “What we’re going to lose?” Xan whispered.

  Athan glanced away. The thought had been nagging in the back of his mind ever since they’d left Myrine’s. But it didn’t matter. He steeled his heart. “Why don’t you tell me what’s worrying you? What is it that you fear losing?”

  “Lots of things. My cousin.” Xan nodded at the door. “I worry she won’t come back or that she won’t want to come back.” He cleared his throat. “And I don’t want to die.”

  “Then don’t come. Both of you can stay here.”

  Xan’s face hardened. “Do you hear yourself? Don’t come?” He crossed the small hospital room in two strides and poked Athan in the chest. “You need me. That’s what the oracle said.” Xan shook his head. “Don’t get fear confused with cowardice, Athan. I’m coming. I will do whatever is necessary to get her—”

  “Are you saying I won’t? You think I don’t care just as much as you do?” Athan’s anger simmered then boiled, and he clenched his hands, wanting so much to strike out. “Zeus and Hera! You should know—”

  “Stop it!” Dahlia poked her head in through the doorway, cutting off their argument.

  Silence fell except for the beeping heartbeat of the patient and the rattling of the respirator blowing air into the patient’s lungs to keep him alive.

  “You two have got to stop,” she snapped. “Put whatever it is behind you and focus. This isn’t the time for a bloody testosterone battle. Pull your heads out of your arses, both of you!”

  Dahlia’s gaze flitted back and forth between the two of them, her dark eyes swollen and red. “You need to work as a team, or there’s no way we’ll get her back.” She shook her head. “I am not going to lose anyone else. So stop being ridiculous.”

  Xan snorted.

  “Both of you,” Dahlia added.

  There was no way Athan was going to admit she was right. Every word she said was like a punch to the gut. Xan was strong and much better than Athan in a fight. And Xan’s ability to outthink an enemy was better than any other demigod. Enemies and fighting were both certainties where they were going.

  Xan had the decency to look abashed. His lips pulled up into a wry smile. “Sorry. You’re right.”

  Athan felt his entire world shift in that small, sterile room. There was no way he’d heard that right. He looked to Dahlia, who confirmed the impossible.

  “Of course I am, but that’s not the point.” She tugged on the loose curls around her shoulders. “You two need to get your stuff together. Neither one of you is everything we need.” She looked at Athan. “Are you even sure you’re up to going?”

  No. Way. “You’d never be able to get there without me.”

  She acknowledged the truth of his statement with a frown. “And it has to be now?”

  “It isn’t going to get easier, Dahl.” Xan sighed. “The longer we wait, the colder the trail will be.”

  Athan chuckled mirthlessly, and both of the other demigods stared at him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dahlia narrowed her eyes.

  “There is no trail.”

  The beeping seemed to slow, and the wheezing took a laborious turn.

  Athan didn’t like to acknowledge this part, even to himself. But it was only fair for both of them to fully understand all the risks. “Once we get there. . .” He thought about Charon, the river Acheron, the Fields of Asphodel, and the likelihood of having to deal with Hades. “I don’t know where she’ll be, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to track her there. I . . . I’ve never tracked anyone in the Underworld before.”

  “And you just now thought of telling us this?” Xan glared at Athan. “Now—?”

  “Stop!” Dahlia’s voice cut through the bickering. “Don’t you know what happens?”

  Xan stopped his death glare and looked at his cousin. “What happens when?”

  Dahlia’s shoulders sagged as if carrying an inexplicable weight. “Don’t you know what happens when two kids fight over something?”

  Xan bowed his head.

  Dahlia looked from Xan to Athan, scowling at them both as if they’d committed a heinous offence.

  Athan had never had a sibling or even a sibling-like relationship. Except briefly with Xan. But that hardly counted. She was making a big deal out of this.

  Xan lifted his head, his eyes full of pain. “No one gets it.”

  “What?” It was an arrow to Athan’s chest, and pain pulsed through him. He couldn’t mean . . .

  “When mortals fight over something amazing and there is a lot of ruckus”—Xan paused, looking at Athan as if to be sure he was following—“no one gets it. A god always takes it away; they swoop in and steal it. Like what happened with Helen of Troy.”

  Helen, daughter of Zeus, had been the most beautiful woman on Earth. Several men courted her, fought over her, and then an agreement was made. Of course, they hadn’t consulted Helen, and she ran off with Paris. Battle ensued to get her back for her husband, Menelaus, the king of Laconia. Paris was killed in battle, allegedly, but when all the dust settled, Helen was taken to Olympus. The gods claimed it was to prevent further war.

  Athan and Xan had talked about it years before, debating which god took her as consort. The gods were selfish like that.

  Athan’s stomach sank. They’d been there before. Years ago. With Isabel. No one got her. No, he corrected himself. Skia came, and she was now dead in the Underworld.

  Athan nodded. “I get it.” All the fight spilled away with the words. He wouldn’t fight with Xan. Not over Hope. All that mattered was getting her back. One glance at Xan and Athan knew he felt the same.

  “Good,” Dahlia whispered. “Whatever’s between you two stops now. You�
��re going to have to have each other’s backs. Once everyone is home safe, then you can unleash your testosterone and strut around like peacocks, okay?” Her anger had disappeared, and her voice was filled with something akin to resignation.

  It was so odd that Dahlia, daughter of the goddess of strife, had put an end to their dispute. Odder still was the shifting of her carriage. Dahlia always looked like vengeance was about to be unleashed. Pride usually exuded from her very being. But minute by minute, the warrior girl looked like a flower wilting.

  “Okay, Dahl, deal.” Xan held out his hand. “Truce?”

  Athan took a deep breath. The smell of decay filled his nostrils. Death was close. With no enthusiasm, but knowing the wisdom of Dahlia’s words, he put his hand in Xan’s and shook. “Truce.”

  Dahlia snorted, and a spark of her old fire flared. “Are we ready to go?”

  The beeping of the machine grew slower and slower. The wheezing breaths rattled with the impending inevitability.

  “Are you sure no one is going to pop in afore he crosses over?”

  Athan shook his head. He wasn’t sure. But it was extremely unlikely. And this was their best shot. “There was no next of kin listed.”

  The shadows in the corner shifted, the grays deepening into the inky murkiness of the Underworld.

  Silence. Then the startling ringing of an alarm. A small, white light on the wall flashed, and then over the speaker in the hall came a panicked voice announcing a code green.

  The darkness pulsed, and the rancid smell of the Underworld oozed from the shadows.

  Rushed footsteps outside passed by the door, but no one entered. There must be a more pressing emergency than this expected death.

  The smell intensified, even as the center of the shadow blackened. A tarry pitch spread, dripping its darkness into the void of a portal.

  “Oh, gods, that smell,” Dahlia muttered.

  Figures emerged from the shadows. Two and then three and then three more. But still more came. The unnatural sallowness of their skin announced the harbingers of death. The creatures were all sizes, wearing the telltale leer, and each one of them holding black blades of death.

  Athan froze. His heart, his thoughts, his hands all motionless as death moved toward him.

  They were outnumbered. It would be a massacre. Flashes of the pain he’d endured quickened his pulse. His hands, slick with sweat, fumbled to grip his own immortal blades. And even though his mind screamed at him to move, his body was frozen, his fight-or-flight overridden by sheer terror.

  Xan swore, and then suddenly he and Dahlia were in front, blocking the path of the Skia.

  Xan dodged and countered with the same practiced movements Athan had seen a hundred times. Only so much faster. Xan was a blur of fury, and he stabbed and punched and kicked without pause.

  Bursts of bright light indicated the death of a Skia, and Xan seemed to wield a sparkler. Dahlia moved beside him. She grunted and swore at the creatures as she struck with her blades.

  It was only seconds later that he heard the demigod son of Ares yell, and the silver blade with the ruby hilt was pulled from a shadow-demon’s chest. Light erupted from the gaping wound. Athan turned away.

  And faced a demon of his own. Athan stepped back, and the Skia opened his mouth in a rasping chuckle.

  With a deep breath, Athan brought his blades up and faced his attacker. He couldn’t fail, or Hope would die.

  The demon swung wildly as he advanced. Athan stepped back in an arc that brought him behind the Skia. Athan stabbed the creature in through the ribs and spun to meet the next one.

  This one, too, drove forward, his movements jerky and uncertain. Athan leaned back, dodging a swipe at his face, and then stepped in close to stab the demon in the stomach. He pulled the weapon out, and it released with a wet sucking sound, making Athan cringe.

  He turned to see Xan wiping his blades and Dahlia engaged with the last spawn of Hades. She blocked a jab with her forearm then shifted in toward the Skia. Her arm came back, and she pushed her dagger into the demon’s chest.

  She spun back and hissed with a shake of her arm.

  The golden hilt inscribed with Eris’s apple of discord stuck out from the monster’s chest. Light seeped around the sides of the blade.

  Metal clanged to the floor, followed seconds later by another.

  Hades’s minion opened his mouth in a silent scream as the light devoured him.

  “Bloody Hades,” Xan swore and pushed Dahlia over to Athan.

  Dahlia stooped down and grabbed her immortal weapon from the floor.

  The dark blades of the Skia faded until they, too, were no longer in the mortal realm.

  “A little heads-up would’ve been nice, Athan. Are there always so many?” Xan asked as he sheathed his knives.

  “I’ve never seen Skia when we escort the dead,” Athan responded. Was it because his father was with him, or was there something more?

  Xan shrugged, dismissing the matter as he stepped over to his cousin. “Are you all right?”

  Athan ignored them and turned to assess the rest of the room.

  There by the bed stood an apparition of a man. He was tall and solidly built. He wore slacks and a short-sleeve, button-down shirt. His left arm was badly scarred, as was his neck and the left side of his face. His left eye was cloudy, as if injured, but his right eye was so dark it was almost as black as his thick hair. He would’ve once been considered handsome, but the scarring had affected his angular features, making him pitiable. The front of his yellow shirt had three holes and was scorched on the ends. Shot and burned.

  The man blinked as if in disbelief as he stared at the three demigods, and his gaze shifted to the floor and back. Behind him lay the inert figure of his mortal body, now still in death.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Of course they’re dead,” Dahlia shot back. She examined her sleeve, pulling back the black stretchy fabric to expose her arm. With a frown, she yanked the sleeve down and turned to Athan. “You’ve really got to get yourself together. We can’t afford—”

  “No, the man . . .” Athan looked to the portal. The gaping blackness leading to the Underworld was slowly sinking in on itself. “Skata !”

  Grabbing Xan and Dahlia, he moved to the darkness.

  “What the Hades, Athan? Don’t run me into the wall!” Dahlia bounced off the portal. She put her hand out to steady herself, and it rested through the darkness on to the wall of the hospital room. “What’s wrong with you?”

  He had only seconds to figure it out, and his mind ran with the implications.

  “Come here.” He waved at the dead man’s soul.

  “Who are you talking to? Oh, oh! You can see him?” Dahlia pointed at the still body on the bed.

  The spirit hesitated, his glance darting from one demigod to the next.

  Athan reached out and grabbed the man’s arm, but he flinched and pulled away. Athan had grabbed the burned one. “Sorry,” he said to the man and pointed at his tattooed wrist. The man extended it, letting Athan grab hold. “Xan, Dahlia, come here.”

  Xan frowned. “I can’t even see what you’re holding. Am I supposed to touch him, too?”

  Athan had no idea. He’d always been with his father when he escorted the dead to the Underworld.

  “Just hold on to me.” He pulled the dead man and pushed him toward the portal. The man stumbled, clumsy in his movements. Perhaps there were more injuries his clothes were hiding.

  The man glanced back at his body, his mouth working in silent protest.

  Why would he want to go back? No one had been to see him in the week since he’d been admitted, according to the volunteers.

  Athan pulled and pushed, until the man’s leg was swallowed up in the blackness, followed by his torso.

  Dahlia slid her grip down Athan’s arm until she was holding his wrist, just above where he was grasping the dead’s arm.

  She inched forward with her foot, and her leg disappeared into the inky
darkness.

  “Shite.” Xan let go of Athan’s sleeve and stepped back. Emotions warred across his face, and then he moved forward, extending his hand to where his cousin was being sucked into the void.

  But his hand didn’t disappear; instead, there was a thunk as it rapped against the thin hospital wall.

  “I told you to hold on,” Athan said as he stepped toward the portal.

  Dahila passed through the veil, standing in the barren waste of the in-between.

  The man pulled against Athan’s grip.

  “Are you coming?” Athan wished Xan would accept defeat and stay behind. Dahlia was just about as tough as her cousin. Surely they weren’t both necessary.

  Xan gritted his teeth.

  “If you’re scared, you can stay behind. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” And Athan meant it. If Xan wasn’t fully engaged, it would be more dangerous for all of them.

  “You’d be daft not to have fear.” Xan grabbed Athan’s shoulder and shoved him forward. The two men stumbled through the portal and into the Underworld.

  The cool air hung heavy with the stench of rot. Dark mists shifted and scuttled over the firm, barren ground. Pale phosphorous light danced across the rocks. Desperate moaning carried on a slight breeze. The barren waste was washed in gray.

  “Bloody Hades.” Dahlia covered her nose. “Is it all like this?”

  “Where next?” Xan asked as he dropped Athan’s arm.

  Athan took a deep breath, letting the ache of the Underworld fill him. He pushed his mind past the crumbling decay surrounding them and searched for the lapping water from the river Acheron. A shriek from Tartarus splintered his concentration, but he’d felt the pull.

  “It’s this way.” He hesitated, fighting the despair in the mists, before blinking his eyes open.

  Dahlia stood next to Xan, rubbing her forearm through a split in the black fabric. Her wide eyes scuttled over their bleak surroundings.

  “Did you get cut?” Athan asked.

  Xan froze.

  “No. No. It didn’t break the skin. It’s fine.” The words spilled out, and her gaze darted between the two demigods. “I’m fine.”