by Cassie Day
He tilts his head. His nose lengthens to a sharp beak-like shape. It stops growing. The skin darkens, then hardens. Then it truly is a beak.
I watch, knowing curiosity shines in my dark eyes.
I blink once. Charon loses his beak. A pair of twisting horns sprout from his head. They curl over the top curve of each ear, separating strands of dark hair.
“The judges determine where a soul goes.”
I lean forward. “And where do souls go?”
His shoulders tense. His gaze sharpens.
I asked too much. My stomach roils. Seconds tick by.
I swear the left corner of his mouth twitches but it’s gone too quickly to be sure. Quick enough I’m not sure if I imagined it.
My stomach settles. Nausea remains. Perhaps I’m like some of the fishermen, unable to stomach a moving vessel. I grimace at the comparison.
“There are five sections,” he says. “Tartarus is for the wicked, those who’ve done horrible wrongs. Elysium is for the distinguished, those who performed great deeds in their lifetime. In Elysium, the Isles of the Blessed wait for those distinguished souls who choose to be reborn. Then there’s Asphodel Meadows, where most souls go, for those who did no great right or wrong.”
While my mind sorts the information in confusing fits and starts, the boat gradually stops. Immediately, the souls stand, awaiting the bridge to shore.
There’s nothing more than a tiny island where an intricate temple awaits, built of massive columns and marbled stone. The roof comes to a menacing point.
The bridge folds outwards. Each soul shuffles forward.
There are no doors to the building. Nothing to open. There’s only a gaping entrance where doors should be. Yet light glows from within the depths, a beacon for the souls to follow.
One by one, they tread onto the island.
One soul remains. The child beside me, his hands gripped tight in his lap and his gaze trained on the beckoning light. A dart of pity pierces my heart. He is so young to be dead. So alone.
“You must go,” Charon says, voice breaking from its monotone mold. It softens even as it deepens. He kneels in front of the child. “All children go to Asphodel Meadows. You’ll be at peace there until your family joins you.”
“I know. But I’m afraid.” The boy’s voice is smoke-thin.
Charon offers a hand, his claws withdrawn.
The child grabs his hand. They leave together, soul and ferryman, over the bridge and onto the island. Charon leads the boy inside the building to the beckoning light. To the waiting judges.
An inkling of respect takes root in my heart. There are so many souls he’s responsible for, yet he takes time to guide a child to the afterlife.
When he returns, it’s only him and I left on the boat.
“Is he terrifying?” I ask when the silence stretches too long. “Hades, I mean.”
Charon shakes his head. A glimmer of a smile quirks one corner of his mouth. “Not quite. You’ll be better off fearing Queen Persephone, I think.”
Nodding, I take in the blue-green river below.
Time passes along with the river.
The boat slows. I glance up. Instead of the empty shores we’ve already passed, this stretch contains a massive palace reaching into the night canopy above. Pillars line the entranceway, leading to wooden doors so large I wonder how they open at all. The exterior stone is pure black.
A man waits on the entranceway road. While the bridge folds outward to thunk onto the shore, he waves. The longer I stare, the more he becomes see-through. He’s a soul after all.
Blinking, I rub my eyes. When I open them, he is solid again.
“Well, come on,” he yells with an imperious sweep of one hand.
Charon snorts. “Impatient as always, aren’t you?”
I glance between them. Charon’s blank face and the man’s grumpy countenance are an odd contrast.
Standing, I bow as much as I’m able. “Thank you, Charon.”
He sighs. Breath ruffles my hair. “No need for that. This is my job.”
With a wavering smile, I stand out of my bow. “Yet you were kind enough to impart knowledge.”
When he ducks his head to hide the twitching corner of his mouth, I continue. “Thank you. Truly.”
He glances at me through his lashes. Heart stuttering, I try not to squirm beneath his stare. Yet my hands twitch at my sides.
The man waiting onshore sighs, impatient.
Charon clears his throat. “You’re welcome. Now remember: Hades doesn’t pull tricks. He isn’t the one to fear.”
Hades. Not King Hades. I sense a story and open my mouth to ask. The man groans, tapping his foot against the road.
With a huff, I stride off the boat. I glance back halfway to the palace doors.
Charon’s already in the distance. He glances over his shoulder and nods. Then he’s gone beyond a twist on the river Styx.
Chapter 11
“COME ON, COME ON,” the man says. His hand hovers near my elbow but he doesn’t touch. “We haven’t got all day.”
He pauses with a rueful twist to his mouth. “Well, all night, possibly. It’s a bit hard to tell down here. I’m sure the king and queen know but I gave up guessing ages ago.”
I follow in his wake when he skitters up the sloped walkway.
“But I’m sure you can’t tell. The living never truly grasp it, I think. Though I’ve only met Orpheus.” He freezes in front of the doors. “Do you suppose you’ll keep guessing?”
Nearly plowing into his back, I stumble to a stop. “I’m sorry?”
He sighs. Mumbles children before continuing on in a louder voice. “Will you guess if it’s day or night during your stay here?”
“I suppose.” Then the rest of his words hit. “Stay? I only came to bargain with Hades. I won’t be here long enough to guess.”
He squints. “You must stay. Hades doesn’t have time to grant an immediate audience, living or otherwise, especially not with all the dead flowing in from the famine.”
When I continue to stare at him, face blank, he sighs. “You truly thought you’d be granted an audience with the king and queen so soon?”
Face flaming hot, I nod. My voice rasps. “How long will I wait?
Shrugging, he gestures to the doors. They swing open from no force other than the movement of his hands. The edge of one clips his nose. Instead of shattering the bone, it passes through with no resistance. His nose simply dissolves into mist, then solidifies again.
He strides in without a glance back. “It’s hard to say. Time is hard to track when most of us can’t guess if it’s day or night, after all. But you’ll realize this soon enough.”
Shoulders tense, I follow. I force my teeth to loosen from gnashing against each other. “I must be granted an audience soon.”
Sickness doesn’t care if I’m waiting for an audience. I have a matter of weeks, at most three months, before I succumb. And I would have to trek to the sea. I’d be forced to rest and waste more time than I already have.
Yet he doesn’t know I’m a siren. I open my mouth to tell him. Doubt creeps in. Everything I say will be reported to Hades and Persephone. Anything they do won’t be questioned—including slaughtering a siren.
Besides, there’s strength in my song. Perhaps the gods fall under its spell the same as any mortal. When I’m granted my audience, I’ll have a trick to play if they deny my request for a bargain.
He sighs. “You’ll be seen whenever you’re seen.”
He turns into a dark hallway lit by torches secured to the sleek walls. The torches flicker but when I walk too close, there’s no trace of heat. All at once, my irritation vanishes.
Shivering, I move back to the center of the hall. The black stone closes in like a cave. The weight of being surrounded on all sides settles on my shoulders.
I hunch forward, arms crossed, and force my feet to continue at a quick pace. Being left alone in these halls, wandering for eternity—the mere thou
ght closes my throat. I struggle to breathe.
Turn after turn, he leads me into the depths of the palace. I struggle to track the turns. Left, right, right, left, right, right—I shiver. The order jumbles.
I swallow the bile pooling in my mouth. A throbbing ache courses through my legs. Pressure builds behind my eyes from squinting into the near-darkness.
Another turn. The black stone continues. Halfway through, it fades to a heavy gray. Another turn; a lighter shade of gray. With each turn, a lighter color. With each turn, my breath slows. The weight of the darkness eases.
When the halls are stark white, I sag in relief. The torchlight flickers merrily in the open space. I lean closer, hoping to warm my chilled skin. The torch gives off a steady heat. Sighing, I cup my hands near the open flame.
“Keep up!” he shouts from the other end of the hall.
I chase after him, catching up around another corner. “Where are we going?”
“You’re giving me a headache.” He pauses, looking at the walls. “You’ll need somewhere to stay while waiting, of course. The king and queen are quite courteous to guests and wouldn’t want you wandering off to cause trouble, besides.”
When he turns back around, I roll my eyes.
“Here we are!” he says.
He approaches what I assumed was another section of bare wall. Yet when I look closer, doors made of the same alabaster stone sit flush in the walls. Some short, others tall, and each with a unique carving. We stop in front of one with a winding eel carved deep into the stone. Its mouth gapes open, needle-teeth on display.
How did he guess I’m from the Akri Sea?
“I suppose the eel-room will have to do, young lady,” he says. “The two others with prettier carvings are occupied.”
I exhale. He has no clue after all.
He knocks. Waits a beat. Then touches his fingertips to the stone. The door glides open on silent hinges.
A table, chairs, even a bed. I stumble inside.
Each surface is decorated with great swaths of shining cobalt fabric and tassels of rich purple. The low bed is piled high with a hulking mattress and blankets. Fabric enshrouds the head of the bed, casting half into shadow. The fabric itself is covered by gleaming sea creatures embroidered with gold thread.
The ceiling and walls are a simple white. I step closer to the center of the room. On the ceiling above, a painting covers the stone with color. A group of eels chasing each other in a circle. Their shining wet skin, their eyes staring with beady darkness—exact copies of the eels beneath the Akri.
“Enjoy your stay,” he says. The door seals shut with a snick behind him.
I pace the room, lifting cushions and checking the few drawers, but find nothing of interest. Finally, I plop onto the bed. Fall asleep between one blink and the next. The golden sea creatures follow me into my dreams.
When I wake, I can’t guess how long I slept without the sun or moon as my guide.
Knocks resound on the door moments after I wake. I open it to a cluster of women with trays of steaming food nestled in their arms. The food is better than anything I’ve smelled before. I’m salivating before they even hand off the trays.
They leave with sharp nods I barely notice from where I sit at a table, already chewing a flakey mouthful of cooked fish.
There are stories warning not to eat fruit from this realm. Stories of how Hades tricked his queen, Persephone, into staying for half the year by giving her a pomegranate grown from his orchard. There’s no sweet-smelling fruit on these trays. If Hades intends to trick me into staying, he’s doing a terrible job.
Besides, I can’t resist the heaps of food. My stomach growls, clenching around nothing besides the bite I swallowed. I’ve eaten little this past year due to the famine.
The more I eat, the hungrier I become. But eventually, the food is enough. My stomach is fit to burst when another knock bangs against the door. Between bites of meat dripping grease down my chin, I yell a come in.
The door doesn’t budge. Sighing, I wipe my face on the nearest bit of fabric: the tablecloth. The grease stains the lush fabric but at least it’s no longer on my face. With a swig of water from a nearby jug, I stand.
There’s a groove on one side of the door for me to grip, thankfully. I grasp it, pulling lightly. The door glides open. Instead of women bearing food, a man waits.
His height stretches far above my own, his legs long beneath loose pants. A belt of shining gold cinches his ivory tunic at his wide waist. I catch my reflection in it, all dark hair and pointed chin, before my stare moves upward.
Broad shoulders freckled by the sun, a beard of golden wheat hair, and eyes the shade of a cloudless summer sky—relentless blue. Calculating.
I gulp. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, refusing to budge.
“Hello,” he says. No, booms. His voice echoes through my room.
A sigh from behind him. I glance around one of his freckled shoulders, glimpsing a curling mop of pale hair. Another man around my age, his arms crossed and one sandal tapping against the stone. His sandals have wings. Precisely detailed, feathered, and flapping wings.
The shoulders shift.
I glance back at the bigger man, brows raised. My tongue loosens from the roof of my mouth but my voice still wavers. “Yes?”
His brows furrow. I wave my hands to say get on with it. His brows lower further, sketching lines across his forehead.
“You’re quite rude,” he says. Again, booming.
I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off a headache. “And you’re quite loud.”
He reels back like I reached out and slapped him. Then clears his throat while his eyes gleam. I’m instantly on edge. “Let’s start over. I’m Zeus. What’s your name, beautiful?”
Zeus. The god-king ruling from his palace in Athansi.
The king of gods and mortals alike is standing in my doorway. I probably have grease smudged somewhere on my face and he’s calling me lovely.
I squint at him, backing away. Stories of his seductions are legendary. Notorious, even. And I’m not about to become his next conquest, not even if he transforms into someone quieter.
But either I show respect or risk punishment. I grit my teeth and bow.
“There we go,” he says. “I knew you could be polite if only given the right motivation.”
I clench my teeth to keep from spitting in his smug face. Then force my mouth into a bland smile.
He glances into my room, chuckling. “They gave you the eel room? How unfortunate.”
I could sing him away. Such an act risks knowledge of me being more than a mortal getting back to Hades. Would my song even work on the king of gods?
“Why are you here?” With a wince, I add, “My king.”
His gaze snaps back to me. I straighten, head rising to meet his calculating stare.
“I heard a mortal girl was seeking an audience with Hades,” he says. Amusement colors his tone. “As if my brooding brother knows what to do with such a lovely young thing.”
His fingers trap my chin. Smooth, sun-bronzed fingers turn my head right, then left. With a hum, he lets go. He traces the lines of my dress with a sharp stare.
His seduction is legendary. But would he use force?
The wording of the stories return—how he pursued the women however necessary. As a swan, a bull, and a cascade of gold. Anything to take, take, take.
I back away. One step. Then two. The fish in my stomach roils, threatening to spew forth, and burns at the back of my throat. I keep my gaze on his feet. They stay set on the threshold without venturing beyond.
He sighs. “Such a skittish thing. Relax; I’ve had my fill of that.”
“Father,” the man behind him drones, all boredom. “Hades will be expecting you about now.”
Zeus groans. “Of course. He’s always so punctual. Doesn’t he know how to have any fun?”
Silence. Neither I or the other man speak.
“Of course he doesn’t. He�
��s too busy working.”
I glance up. The other man raises a brow as if to say see what I deal with?
I don’t smile. Instead, I narrow my eyes before returning them to the floor. I don’t dare do anything else, not even breathe too loudly. Darkness slinks into the corners of my vision.
“I better get on with it,” Zeus says. “He’ll have his undergarments in a twist if I’m too late.”
He turns, strutting down the hall. I watch his back. He doesn’t stop, not once, and disappears around a turn in moments. When he’s gone, I sigh, the tightness around my chest loosening.
“He has that effect on people,” the other man says.
Shoulders jumping, I stumble back. I forgot about him.
He bows. “My apologies. I’m Hermes, messenger of the two realms.”
With a nod, I bow. “I’m Agathe.”
He grins. “Forgive my father, he can be a bit—”
He pauses to wobble his hand in the air between us. Then opens his mouth before closing it again.
“Horrible?” I freeze when the implication of insulting his father and king sinks in completely.
He snaps his fingers, pointing one at me. “You got it! That’s the word I was thinking of.”
I smile despite myself, shoulders relaxing for the first time since Zeus appeared at my door.
Hermes reaches into the folds of his short tunic, the picture of seriousness despite the smile lingering at his mouth. He rummages for a moment, then comes out with a tiny scroll. “Aha!”
He clears his throat, unrolling it. Shadows of dark ink are visible through the thin paper. “The goddess Nyx requests a meeting in Tartarus as soon as you are able.”
The scroll vanishes in a poof of acrid smoke. Waving the smoke from my face, I cough out a response. “A message for me?”
He nods, backing away. He lifts off the stone, hovering in place with his flapping sandal wings. “Yes, she addressed it to Agathe of the Akri Sea.”
His stare darts to where Zeus disappeared moments ago. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must track my father down before he does too much damage between Hades and himself.”
He bends into one more bow, lightning-quick, then his wings bear him down the hall. “Good luck!”