by J. P. Rice
Artoise De La Croix had been assigned my guardian angel. The tall, bald Frenchman was a soul with substance. That meant he could feel the pleasures of the flesh, which carried a lot of weight with him. He watched my life in real time and could jump in if I got in too much trouble.
“And your other guide is right there,” Cernunnos said, pointing to an open area of the cave.
I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. When my eyelids opened back up, a hellhound was standing in the area Cernunnos had been pointing to.
The God of the Wild said, “This is a shadow hellhound named Darkwing.”
I moved closer and circled around the huge, panting animal. “But he or she doesn’t have wings.”
The Gods looked at each other, snickering. They were laughing at me. Gods or not, Mike Merlino didn’t take kindly to people laughing at him. The warm feeling around my heart began to turn into flames of anger. I leaned down and petted the back of her neck and then right behind her ears.
Before I could get too pissed, Blodeuwedd spoke in her soothing tone, “She does not right now. However, she can disappear into the darkness as if she is being carried away by a magical set of wings. She should prove valuable to your effort.”
I didn’t get the fucking joke.
“Thank you.” The hellhound made me more confident about the trip, but would she listen to me? Or how would she know when to help me? As if the hound was reading my mind, she licked my face and barked.
The Dagda spoke from behind me, “You will have one more person keeping an eye on you, uh, from a distance I should say.”
My eyes and forehead wrinkled in confusion as I turned around to face the God of Power.
The Dagda said, “The Morrigan will be lurking as she always is. Albeit, this will be from a much closer proximity. She just needs to remain close in case she has to claim something you’ve left behind.”
The Morrigan commented from the corner of the room. “In the world of souls, yours is prime real estate, my friend.”
It was creepy to hear the Goddess of Death call me friend. I’d rather she didn’t even know who I was. The Morrigan had helped me before in supernatural fights. She’d given me the assistance of her beloved black crows to defeat a two-hundred-year-old warlock.
But you never wanted the Goddess of Death standing close to you.
Blodeuwedd led me into another cave with a dark corridor. We wound around the bowels of the mountain and entered a small room with two giant ice blocks in the center of the torch lit room. Blodeuwedd left and the grandfatherly Dian Cecht entered the room with two assistants whom I didn’t recognize.
The old, gentle looking God of Healing said, “Micheal. Good to see you again. Are you ready for this experience?”
“I guess so,” I stated flatly.
Dian Cecht pointed at the two blocks of ice, sending a silent signal to his assistants. “Don’t sound too enthused, young man.”
I looked at him apologetically.
He said, “Don’t worry. I know there is a lot going on inside that cranium there. This will be the easy part. All you have to do is lie on this block of ice here. We’ve cut it to your exact body measurements so it should fit right over you.”
I walked up to the ice block on the right and slid into the mold, which was fit perfectly to my body. His assistants lifted up the other block and gently placed it over the top of my body. I could still breathe. A hole had been cut in the ice from the piece placed over my nostrils.
The chill danced up my spine and I wanted to shake but the ice block kept my body completely still. My breathing and blood flow slowed. I could feel my organs threatening to shut down. Everything started to grind to a halt. My thoughts were in slow motion until they came to a stop.
Would my soul escape my body? Would I make it to hell and get Cerberus’s tooth? Or would I die right here in the middle of a block of ice?
Chapter 4
After traveling for hours down a dark, steep and winding slope, Artoise and I got into Charon’s boat, which was docked on the River Styx. Artoise handed him two coins and the guide stared at them intently. Seemingly satisfied, he stuffed them into the folds of his black cloak and I heard them clank against some other coins.
I felt strange wearing burgundy robes and sandals, but apparently that was the attire for hell. Reaching inside the robes, I rubbed the little pocket and felt the object inside. I couldn’t lose that.
The ferryman pulled the oar out of the water and reached back like a baseball player. I lifted my left arm in front of my face in reaction. Instead of attacking me, Artoise swung the oar forward and beat back two people in togas attempting to get into the boat. Charon reversed is grip, jabbed one man in the gut and used the leverage to push us out on the river.
The water was black like oil with a shine on top that reflected the dull moonlight. Looking around the river, there were floating bodies that were on fire. They were paddling above the surface and seemed to be searching for something.
Artoise asked Charon, “How are you doing?”
The skinny ferryman with wrinkled gray skin pulled the hood of his cloak back and tilted his head to the side. “How am I doing? How am I doing, he asks?”
Artoise inched away from Charon and spoke defensively, “Just a question. I didn’t mean anything malicious.”
Charon used the oar to spear a flaming body reaching for the boat. “I’ve been under the earth’s surface for thousands of years. I take the people’s souls to hell and then I take the noble souls back across the Styx so they can return to the earth. And all the while, here I am. Stuck in constant darkness on this little piece of shit boat. So yes, I loathe my job.”
We hadn’t really asked about the job specifically, but okay. I commented, “Yeah, they could at least give you an outboard motor or something.”
Charon looked at me, nodding. He stopped paddling and let the current take us. “Right? Thank you. I’ve been saying that for years. Hades doesn’t respect me or my work.”
“Why don’t you just leave?” Artoise asked as if it was a revolutionary thought that had never crossed the ferryman’s mind over the last millennia.
Charon used his sleeve to wipe off his sweat covered face. “Hades would track me down and do unspeakable things to me before finally killing me. He is a Greek God, you know.”
I knew some Gods. I knew life could be a lot shorter if you crossed them too. Considering Hades was the God of the Underworld, he was the last deity you wanted to cross. But Charon’s job sounded like it sucked.
“We are familiar with his stature,” Artoise spoke for both of us. “Sorry about your luck.”
Charon let out an awkward laugh. “Luck? Luck? There is no such thing. Part of my responsibilities include notifying souls who enter our underworld of the rules.”
“Rules? I didn’t know there were rules in Hell.” I peered out over the water and saw Darkwing’s head bobbing above the dark waters, keeping pace with the canoe.
Charon said, “Now you do. And listen closely because I don’t repeat myself.”
“Okay,” said Artoise, and I just nodded.
He announced, “There are eight circles of Hell.”
Artoise interrupted him, “Eight? Dante Alighieri would say otherwise.”
“Dante, Dante, Dante. I’m so sick of hearing his name invoked down here.” He spat out into the waters. “His writing is fiction. Pure and simple. Never forget that. Now, if I may?”
I said, “Please proceed.”
Charon fought off another flaming body who’d gotten too close to the boat. “There are eight layers of Hell. You will be stopped at every level and you will have to prove your worthiness of the next level. If your sins are enough in value, you will plunge to the next level of Hell. Pass all the tests and you might just get to meet Hades.”
Artoise commented, “That doesn’t sound like a reward.”
Charon took a few deep breaths, exhaling audibly. “Stop interrupting me or I will turn
this boat around right now. Don’t tempt me to do it. I’ll send you right back to earth.”
“Yes, sir,” said Artoise. He saluted Charon for some reason.
Charon seemed to appreciate the sign of respect. He puffed his chest out and spoke in a deeper throat, “That’s more like it. If you are deemed unworthy of the next level, you will be trapped on your current level until you can convince the gatekeeper otherwise. Some souls have been trapped on the same levels for thousands of years.”
I wanted to ask a few questions, but thought better of it.
Charon went on, “I can see that both your souls still have human substance. If you should die here, wherever that may be, get comfortable because you will be here until the end of eternity. Some of the foolish souls still believe that they are going to be sent to heaven someday. Fools. You can be rejected too. Some souls aren’t ready for death and some souls aren’t worthy of Hell.”
Sounded so weird to hear the phrase ‘worthy of Hell.’ I almost didn’t want to pass the tests because that would mean I was a terrible person. I didn’t want to be worthy of Hell. And could someone be worthy of heaven and hell? People could be half good and half evil. Was there a proper mix?
Charon kept paddling with his enormous oar, swatting away flaming hands trying to get into the boat and pushing us closer to the place in which nobody wanted to end up.
“Where exactly is Cerberus?” I asked, getting down to business.
Charon peered up at the dark sky as he continued to paddle. “He can be anywhere from the first level to all the way down to number eight.”
Maybe I could get lucky and he would be near the entrance. With my luck, I’d be foolish to bank on that. Plan B, huh? My reckless nature screamed at me to just run through every level, laying everything to waste as I went.
However, if I died, I would be trapped in hell forever. Most of the other times I’d almost died in the past, I had been performing a noble task. I’d thought if I’d died during an act like that, I’d surely gain entry into heaven. This situation was cut and dried. Die here and I wouldn’t leave here.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad around here. Or perhaps you just had to get used to it. That line of thinking instantly dissolved as I looked at the flaming bodies floating on Styx and a shrill song of pain came from the entrance of the mountain in the distance ahead.
The river veered to the right and the opening in the mountain disappeared. A rich green landscape appeared with a white castle on top of a small hill. Seven golden gates had been built in front of the main entrance. Not what I’d expected in hell.
“Purgatorio,” Charon enunciated, stressing every syllable.
I waited for him to continue, but he left it at that. The people walked around like zombies, looking up at the dark sky. This had to be limbo. Most people thought this was the first circle of hell, so I understood the eight levels now.
The people were gaunt and looked sickly with red patches all over their exposed arms, legs and faces. A herd had gathered around the first gate in front of the castle. The desperate souls were trying to gain entry, but the gate never opened.
“That is limbo.” Charon pointed with his oar as he continued speaking, “There are Socrates, Aristotle, Homer and Ovid.”
I loved those writers and philosophers. They didn’t seem morally reprehensible. “Why would they be cast into limbo?”
Charon’s twiggy arm stuck out of his cloak as he started to paddle again. For someone who spent all day, every day on physical activity, he was a serious beanpole. He shrugged his shoulders and spoke rhetorically, “Who knows? Pissed off their Gods? Made Hades angry? Lost a bet? It’s hard to say.”
Artoise asked, “So they are there forever?”
Charon explained, “No. The Gods can come down and take anyone from limbo to heaven. They can also send the souls back down to limbo if they so choose. These souls couldn’t gain entry into hell, but they were also rejected by the heavens.”
“Why are they so skinny and gross looking?” the words just sprang from my mouth without thinking.
An evil smile developed on Charon’s thin lips. “Food is scarce in limbo. They are constantly searching for food or a way to get out of here. Forever restless.”
The river turned left and a hundred yards later, bent to the right. We neared the confluence of Styx and Acheron and the rapids picked up. I could hear wild screaming and yelling in the distance. We plunged over a small waterfall and the front of the boat dipped into the water.
I grabbed onto the sides to avoid being thrown in as we moved into a fog sitting on the water. Artoise clung to my robes with both his hands. The boat rocked back and forth, Artoise threatening to drag me into the funky water. Charon shifted his weight to compensate for Artoise and the boat finally straightened. Artoise released his grip and I let out a sigh of relief.
Our boat headed straight toward the venomous opening in the mountain. As we neared the entrance, the feral cries died down and then stopped. Words had been carved above the cave entrance. I squinted through the fog to read them.
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
Well, Dante had that part right.
We entered the watery canal lit by torches hanging from the walls. As we continued, the waterway widened, and flat banks of land appeared on each side of the water. We floated on for about two minutes before a shadowy figure appeared.
Charon used the paddle as a rudder to force the boat to the right, causing it to coast to a stop right in front of a demonic creature in a rocking chair. The hybrid human and octopus had long gray hair, wore a crown crafted from seaweed and silver filigree atop his head. He fingered his voluminous beard as he stared at me with glowing yellow eyes.
Below the waist, he had the anatomy of an octopus, tentacles slithering around and helping him rock rhythmically in the chair. He smiled, but the evilness of his yellow eyes and lack of teeth in his mouth didn’t make me feel at home.
“What have we here?” the crowned man asked in a welcoming tone.
Charon spoke in a deeper voice, “King Minos, we have two souls seeking to gain entry.”
“Who dareth seek passage?” Minos asked, smiling and leaning forward in his rocking chair.
“These two souls right here,” Charon announced as he pointed at Artoise and me.
His yellow eyes landed on me. He looked me down and up. Down and up. It was making me uncomfortable as I wasn’t sure what he was inspecting. His eyes steadied on my face. “Your tongue. Stick it out.”
Not sure what he wanted to see, I slowly stuck out my tongue and a ray of sunshine sprang from my mouth.
His yellow eyes widened and his silver hair and beard absorbed the gold glow coming from my mouth. “The coin. This one has it.” He moved his attention to Artoise who was sweating like a whore in church.
Minos eyeballed my guardian angel in the same creepy manner he had used on me. After the lengthy inspection, he said, “Let me see your tongue.”
Artoise stuck out his long skinny tongue and a silver coin appeared on it. Minos announced, “This one may pass as well.” He sounded disappointed, as if he wanted someone to stay and hang out with him.
Charon bowed his head. “A great thank you, King Minos.”
Minos nodded as he rocked in his chair. Charon used the oar to dig out our docked boat and get it back on the water. As soon as we were outside earshot of Minos, Charon said, “The old man is losing it. He used to determine what level of hell each soul would go to. Now we do it on a level to level basis. There is no grand judgment anymore.”
We continued down the dark canal and a big open area came into view. Charon guided the boat up to a wooden dock with a group of beings sitting around drinking.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing at the people.
“That is the bar,” Charon said, pointing for clarification. “These souls have gained entry, but haven’t started their quest in hell. Some prefer to calm the nerves before entering.”
I peeked ove
r and noticed Artoise staring at the bar, basically salivating. Ignoring him, I asked, “Where do we enter?”
Charon pointed to a small, dark opening in the wall near the end of the bar. “Right there. Have a drink or two if you would like. Or start your journey now. This will be the last time we see each other. Unless you somehow make it out of here. Best of luck.”
We disembarked and had officially landed in hell. Charon buried the oar into the water and shoved off again. His boat looped around the bar and I assumed it took him back to Styx. The bar, if you could call it that, was dingy, grungy and nothing more than some chairs and tables.
The bar itself had been set up on a long rectangular table. Unmarked bottles and small barrels of wine covered the top of the table. It wasn’t very appealing.
I turned to Artoise to see if he was ready to begin our perilous journey, and his tongue was hanging out of his mouth. He wasn’t quite drooling. Yet.
It gave me an idea. I wasn’t too fired up about coming here with Artoise anyway. He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy you wanted to go into battle with. His best attribute as my guardian angel was that he could stop time when he visited me on earth.
Without that power, I couldn’t see what use he would serve on this trip. If anything, he would probably slow me down because I’d be constantly worrying about him.
As he stared with wide eyes at the colonnade of booze bottles, I said, “You know, if you just wanted to stay here while I go inside, that would be all right.”
He shook his head and waved his hands in front of his chest. “I can’t do that. You might need me down there. The Gods sent me to help you. If they find out I left you at the entrance, they’ll never let me return to earth.”
I knew he just needed a touch of encouragement. A little push. “I’m not going to tell them anything about you that will cast you in a bad light. You came here with me, and I know you didn’t want to. This stuff isn’t exactly your forte.”
He looked back and forth, a spark running through his eyes. “But you don’t have your magic down here. Are you sure you aren’t going to need me?”