Coils

by Barbara Ann Wright

  Before Cressida could say anything, Agamemnon captured her hand and kissed it, something he’d probably picked up since he’d died. He gave her a wink, and before she could pull away politely, he stared at her with wide eyes. “You’re alive!”

  Arachne sidled closer, looking her up and down. Pandora reached up as if to touch Cressida’s hair, but Cressida slid away from all of them. “Um, sorry. I don’t like to be pawed until we’ve been introduced.”

  Arachne laughed, and Pandora nodded as if she could relate.

  Agamemnon put a hand on his chest. “Agamemnon, of the house of Atreus, commander of the Greek armies at Troy, at your service.”

  “She didn’t say that pawing was definitely on even after the introductions, Pops,” Arachne said. He puffed up as if to rebuke her, but she held a hand in his face and turned to Cressida. “What’s a living person doing down here? Haven’t seen one of you in ages.” They watched her closely, Pandora with her head cocked as if Cressida was a novelty.

  “I’m searching for my missing aunt. She’s, um, a guest of Hecate’s.” Cressida didn’t want to say prisoner, didn’t want to get into it. She felt a further twinge of guilt for trying to force her aunt from the Underworld, but June couldn’t be thinking clearly. She’d never abandon her family. It had to be Hecate’s magical influence. “Hecate wants a sword to…pay for her staying here. Like a bill.” She tried a smile and hoped it looked convincing.

  “Tough break.” Arachne jabbed a thumb at her own chest. “Well, with me around, you don’t have to worry about not getting your sword. I’m what you might call a retrieval expert.”

  “You’re a thief,” Pandora said.

  Arachne snorted. “Why are you even here? Does Hecate need someone to do this?” She mimed opening a box and then looking surprised and horrified at what she’d done.

  Pandora turned away. “You’re an idiot as well as a thief.”

  Before they could fall to bickering, Agamemnon tried something that started with, “Ladies, ladies—”

  Arachne spun to face him. “We don’t need any advice from the fat calf.”

  His face screwed up as if he knew he should be insulted but wasn’t exactly sure why. “A…what?”

  “You’ve got no skills to speak of, so you must be the bait,” Pandora said.

  Agamemnon turned several shades of purple. “How dare—”

  “Didn’t he lead an army?” Cressida asked.

  Agamemnon pointed at her. “I certainly did, and Troy fell, if you’ll recall.”

  “How much history do you know?” Pandora asked Cressida. “Just Homer? Were any of the good ideas ever Agamemnon’s?”

  While he sputtered after an answer, Cressida thought about it and couldn’t come up with anything. He’d fought at Troy, but Achilles was mentioned more in the battles, and Agamemnon had nearly caused him to back out of the war. The wooden horse had been Odysseus’s idea. Even during The Odyssey, Agamemnon had already been in Asphodel because he’d died such an inglorious death at the hand of his wife and his wife’s lover.

  Medusa came down the steps into the craggy yard, and Cressida ran to meet her. “What happened? She didn’t punish you, did she?”

  Medusa tilted her head, smiling. “Were you worried for me?”

  “Well, you didn’t ask for any of this.”

  “Not for them, at least.” She stared at the others, mouth twisted. She had a roll of leather in her hand, a belt, Cressida realized, with a scabbard hanging from it.

  Cressida leaned close. “Do you think they’ll make trouble?”

  “Well, Hecate was right about Tartarus being safer with allies. If things go sideways, at least the horrors trapped down there will have more to focus on than just the two of us.”

  “Are we doing this or what?” Arachne called.

  “Let’s go.” Medusa glared at the three newcomers as they walked, keeping Cressida by her side. “If we keep our minds on the job, we should get out all right.”

  “Why doesn’t Hecate get the harpe herself?” Cressida asked softly. “Is it a matter of pride? A goddess can’t run her own errands?”

  “It’s more than that,” Medusa said softly. “Cronos knew that his sword was one of the few weapons that could actually kill him, so he had it enchanted so it couldn’t be wielded by a god or a Titan. Little did he know that Zeus would create humans.”

  Another thing that couldn’t possibly be true if a person was going to believe in science. “So, Zeus created humans in order to have someone around who could kill his father?”

  Medusa gave her a grin. “I guess you have Cronos to thank for putting ideas in his son’s head.”

  “Does the human who wields the harpe have to be alive?”

  “Oh yes. Any spirit would be rendered into a shade by that sword.” Her voice got a bit wistful, and Cressida wondered if she was thinking of her sisters.

  Still, if a dead person couldn’t wield it and neither could a god… “But doesn’t that mean that whatever Hecate wants the harpe for, I’ll have to do it for her?” Or maybe she was going to get poor, lovestruck June to do her dirty work.

  Medusa shook her head. “She gave me a scabbard and said to tell you to keep the harpe sheathed. I guess even she doesn’t know what it might do.” She handed over the belt, and Cressida strapped it around her waist, though she felt a bit silly carrying around an empty scabbard.

  “What are you two mumbling about?” Arachne called. “If there’s more to the plan, we kind of need to know.”

  “Just contemplating the future,” Medusa said. “Have any of you ever been to Tartarus?”

  “I have,” Pandora said, “long ago.” She didn’t elaborate, and Cressida wondered if she’d gone there because she’d been punished and had since been released, or if she’d just visited. Maybe there was some kind of release program, only it didn’t let anyone proceed higher than Asphodel.

  “Care to elaborate?” Arachne said.

  Pandora shrugged. “It’s dangerous. Hecate was right to send a group.”

  Agamemnon frowned as if he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be at Hecate’s service anymore.

  Medusa smiled wider. “Safety in numbers.” She winked at Cressida, who tried to smile back, but her imagination was running loose with all the things they would find in Tartarus, guards or traps. She glanced at the others and couldn’t help the nasty little thought that she didn’t have to be the fastest in the group, just the second slowest. It was probably what the others were thinking, too, though if she was the only one who could wield the harpe, they’d have to make sure she got out alive.

  It still wasn’t very comforting. She didn’t want to see anyone die. No worries, her inner jerk said. They’re already dead!

  Everyone fell quiet as they trooped to the nearest elevator, Medusa staring down any passersby who paid them too much mind. Sometimes, all she had to do was return one curious look with another, an air of quiet menace by the queen of staring contests. Other times, she hissed softly, as if mimicking a cat or a snake, but it did the job. No one gave them any trouble, and quite a few curious onlookers hurried away as if suddenly remembering they’d left the oven on.

  In the quiet elevator, Agamemnon cleared his throat. “So, unless I’ve lost my ability to interpret faces, you haven’t been alive long, have you?” He looked Cressida up and down. “Twenty years or so?”

  “Too young for you, Pops,” Arachne said.

  Agamemnon ignored her. “Don’t you hate it when people can’t seem to butt out of others’ conversations?”

  Arachne snorted. Cressida tried to give Agamemnon a kindly, yet off-putting smile. “I’m twenty-four. I’m also a lesbian, in case you were wondering.”

  “Ah.” He turned to regard the wall.

  Arachne quirked an eyebrow, mouth twisted in a wry grin. Pandora pushed her glasses up her nose. “Many of the people in the Underworld are bi or pansexual,” she said.

  “Good to know,” Cressida said. “But I’m firmly on my side of the
fence.”

  Agamemnon shrugged as if there were other fish in the sea. “I expect you’re in a rush to get home to a special lady?”

  She fought the urge to sigh. It was like having a conversation with an over-inquisitive yet well-meaning uncle. “I would like to get my aunt and go, yes.” She snuck a peek at Medusa. Well, maybe not right away. It had been a long time since she’d had a special lady, lover or good friend. Her studies had always been more important, and besides, June never seemed to need anyone. Until now.

  “Did your aunt come here searching for anyone or anything in particular?” Pandora asked.

  “No, she…” But Cressida wasn’t entirely sure. “She’s an explorer. She, um, she likes a challenge.”

  Agamemnon sniffed. “Exploration doesn’t get anyone anything but trouble. Ask Odysseus.”

  “Because you can’t,” Arachne said. “Because he’s in the Elysian Fields, and you’re stuck with us.”

  “I heard Odysseus moved on.” Pandora stared wistfully into the middle distance. “Got reincarnated, managed to attain the Elysian Fields three times, and moved on to the Isles of the Blessed.”

  Agamemnon sighed and shared in her wistful stare at nothing. Arachne rolled her eyes as if she couldn’t be bothered, but Medusa stiffened as if someone had pulled her strings taut.

  “They’re the only newcomers we ever get down here anymore,” Pandora said.

  After a slow look at all of them, Cressida asked, “Newcomers?”

  “Well, there’s the occasional pagan who still practices the old ways, but other than them, the only new souls are those who are reincarnated from the Elysian Fields. Then when they die, they come back to the Underworld, but we don’t get any others.” Her head tilted. “And I suppose the reincarnated ones aren’t really new.”

  “I remember reading that,” Cressida said. “When a soul goes to the Elysian Fields, it can choose reincarnation or to spend eternity there.”

  “Oh yes,” Agamemnon said. “Everyone knows about the Elysian Fields, and all the wonderful things they get to do there.” His voice took on a high-pitched, mocking tinge. “The sun is always shining, and it’s teatime all day long. Bastards.”

  Arachne elbowed Cressida in the ribs. “In case you hadn’t noticed by the clothing, he thinks about the past a lot. It makes some people bitter.”

  “Shut up,” Agamemnon said over his shoulder.

  Pandora cleared her throat. “Those who are reincarnated have some of their old soul intact, enough to realize what they have to do to make it into the Elysian Fields, and if they do it three times…”

  “The Isles of the Blessed, right,” Cressida said. “Right next door to the Olympians.”

  “And then they’re untouchable.” Medusa leaned against the side of the car and stared hard at the wall as if she could petrify it.

  “Couldn’t they move down to the Fields again if they wanted to?” Cressida asked.

  “Nope,” Arachne said. “And they wouldn’t want to even if they could.” She took out a knife and started cutting her fingernails like random foolish badasses occasionally did in movies. “People in the Elysian Fields, they know there are other layers to the Underworld, but people in the Isles of the Blessed?” She shrugged. “They don’t even realize there is anywhere else. At least, that’s the rumor.”

  “The living can’t go there,” Medusa said. “No one can unless they’re sent by the gods.”

  “But the gods can go there, right?” There were gods, she realized as she spoke the words. The Greek gods were real. She’d just met one. She had to lean on the wall as the thought reached her knees.

  “Well, the gods are Blessed adjacent,” Pandora said. “I’ve heard most people who live in the Isles are allowed to move back and forth to Mount Olympus freely.”

  “Mount Olympus?” Cressida laughed and heard the crazy tinge in it. She covered her mouth, trying to make the sound into a cough, but it kept bubbling, wanting to turn her into a madwoman, and why not? The whole place was crazy. She might as well join in.

  “It’s not a physical place that the living can go,” Agamemnon said. “Never was, really. It exists outside of time, like here.”

  “How do you know all this?” Cressida asked. “If you’ve never been, and no one ever comes back, how do you know? How…” She’d been about to ask how any of it was real, but how could they answer that when they were part of it?

  “Everyone knows,” Agamemnon said.

  Cressida sputtered a laugh again and tried to contain it before she spat on everyone. “Oh, everyone knows? It could be a terrible place, absolutely bonkers. No one who knows anything about the Underworld would ever expect this.”

  As if on cue, the elevator halted, and the doors slid open to reveal a satyr walking by wearing a plastic suit, neon green, with transparent patches that moved across it as he walked.

  “So,” Cressida said, “what if the Isles of the Blessed have taken on their own life, too, apart from beliefs? What if it’s absolutely dreadful there, and all the gods who lived adjacent to it are dead?”

  They stared at her far too long, taking her past the squirming stage to the point where she was ready to walk away, right over the edge of the platform if necessary. The elevator doors started to close, but Medusa stuck her hand out, keeping them open.

  Finally, Arachne burst out laughing, making everyone jump. “Oh, that would be fab!”

  Pandora shook her head, mouth turned down in distaste. Medusa wore a little smile.

  “Take that back,” Agamemnon said. He pointed a shaky finger in Cressida’s direction. “Dead gods? Heroes left to wander somewhere dreadful? Take it back, young lady, take it back now!”

  “Easy, Pops,” Arachne said.

  He took a menacing step in Cressida’s direction.

  Medusa stepped in front of him with one smooth motion. “Calm down.”

  “I will if she takes it back.”

  Behind them, the door started to shut again, and Arachne wedged her foot inside. “Come on, Pops!”

  “I was only saying—” Cressida started.

  He slashed a hand through the air. “What is said can never be unsaid.”

  “Then why would it matter if I took it back?”

  “Don’t you dare use logic on me, young lady!”

  Medusa lifted her hands. “Let’s agree that anyone can be wrong here. None of us knows for certain what goes on in the Isles or on Mount Olympus. Okay?”

  “Fine,” Cressida said. Agamemnon was nearly shaking, and she supposed she should have known that someone who still dressed in a military uniform thousands of years old wouldn’t appreciate having his worldviews challenged. Or maybe he was the only one who got to talk shit about the heroes in the Elysian Fields or the Isles of the Blessed, and he wouldn’t stand it from anyone else. “I’m probably wrong.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Probably?”

  “What do you care, anyway?” Arachne asked. “You can’t make it there, Pops; none of us can. There are no second chances here.”

  “That doesn’t matter one jot.” He huffed away, stomping down the platform to street level, moodily staring anywhere but back at them.

  They followed slowly, Cressida keeping Medusa in front of her. Pandora leaned close to Cressida again. “Most of his friends are either in the Elysian Fields or the Isles of the Blessed. They were his comrades in arms.” She shook her head sadly. “Can you imagine being the general of an army, a name of legend, but most of your troops went to paradise while you’re stuck here? He probably wishes he’d died in battle. Even Hector, the greatest warrior of Troy, got to go to the Elysian Fields, and his side lost.”

  Yeah, that would rankle. And people like Arachne probably gave him no end of shit. Cressida sighed. There was nothing she could do for Agamemnon, but at least his problems gave her something to think about besides the fact that gods and goddesses existed and that she would soon be going to Tartarus on an errand for one of them.

  They’d traveled to
another edge of the city, though there was no fence, no group of hungry ghosts. Instead, a massive cliff loomed in front of them, similar to the one Cerberus had poked his snouts out of. Cressida wondered if the Meadows of Asphodel were surrounded by cliffs, but when she turned to look behind them, the shade fog was too dense to see through. Skyscrapers jutted into it like knives, flashing neon lights breaking through in bursts of pink, blue, and green lightning. The elevator cables crisscrossed it like spider webs, and the occasional car would race through gaps in the fog before disappearing again. Even near the cliffs, the fog stretched high above, disguising the sky, if there even was one, but the ambient gray light had to be coming from somewhere. Maybe the shades gave off light when they were all packed together.

  The cliff wall continued well into the fog, and Cressida wondered if it ended, if there was a top somewhere up there, or if someone could climb up forever. Maybe like Hecate’s palace, it would depend on what the climber expected to find.

  A massive dark spot marred the wall like the eye of Jupiter, a giant cave, the entrance to Tartarus. At least it was big. She’d feared crawling through dark spaces or worse, that she’d be stuck in an elevator for hours as it traveled down and down, with nothing to do but pick random fights with her companions.

  As she looked from the cave to the land before it, she spotted a lone train car sitting on a track that led into the well of blackness. Her spirits perked up a little. Maybe they could catch a ride.

  “We might have to do some finessing,” Medusa said.

  Agamemnon felt around his belt as if looking for a purse. “I don’t think I have any change.”

  Not a train car, Cressida noticed as they came closer. It looked more like a trolley or a cable car, but it lacked the electrical wires. A green roof hung over rows of wooden benches, and the breeze whistled through glassless windows. No one waited for a ride. No restless shades floated down to twine about the car. Cressida supposed Tartarus wasn’t very popular as a family fun spot.