Standing in the prow at the very front of the ship, Lopex peered at his sheepskin map. “This is no grove,” he muttered. He broke off as he saw me watching. “Find something to do, boy, or by the gods I’ll find it for you!”
I dropped down the ladder into the hold to fetch oil for the bow fire pot, although it didn’t need it. The olive oil was stored in a clay pithos in the bow, and as I reached in with the dipper, Kassander came up behind me. “Alexi, we need to talk.”
“Stay away from me, Greek,” I grunted, putting the lid back on the pithos and heading for the ladder. Kassander was a Greek traitor, hiding out from his countrymen as a Trojan slave.
“Alexi, I know you don’t trust me,” he said quietly, “but the Greeks are going to get home to Ithaca sooner or later. When that happens, we’ll both die. Ury will kill you, and the Greeks—” his voice dropped even further, although we were speaking Anatolean, the language of Troy “—they’ll figure out who I am. We need a plan.”
I stopped halfway up the ladder. “You’re a liar. Why should I believe anything you say? Get away from me, Arkadios,” I added, spitting out his Greek name like a curse.
His eyebrows rose. “Not that name!” he whispered urgently. “You know what they’ll do if they hear it!” I shrugged and continued up the ladder as though I didn’t care, but it wasn’t true. I wanted to believe him, especially what he had told me about my sister Mela, but I didn’t dare.
As I emerged on deck, Lopex was ordering the men to circle the lake, his big hands gripping the rail as he peered at the shore. Whatever he was looking for, he couldn’t find it, and after a couple of circuits, he had the ship stop in the centre, the bow facing the cliff face. The men leaned on their oars to hold them out of the water, muttering to one another at their benches. I rested against the rail and looked out at the trees. Was it my imagination, or were those dead limbs reaching for us?
There was a sudden draft, and something appeared at the corner of my eye. I turned to look but there was only the cliff face, and I turned back. A moment later it was there again, like a whisper I couldn’t quite hear, hovering at the very edge of my vision. I spun to look once more, but again there was only the rock wall.
I glanced toward the Greeks. Had anyone else seen it? They were talking quietly on their rowing benches, facing the other way. Lopex was studying his sheepskin chart, his back to the rail. The navigator and the steersman were having a quiet conversation at the stern. Nobody was looking this way.
There it was a third time, a cold draft on my back. This time I turned slowly, forcing my gaze to fix on the trees to starboard. The draft was now at my side, as though it was coming directly out of the rock face. Struggling not to turn, I studied the rock as well as I could from the corner of my eye.
At the very edge of my vision, something was opening at the base of the cliff wall, like a huge eye—or a mouth. Startled, I turned to look but it was gone, vanished as if it had never been. A shiver ran down my back.
“What are you looking at, boy?” Silent as ever, Lopex had crossed from the port rail and was standing beside me, staring out at the trees. I kept silent.
His fingers grabbed my arm painfully. “If you’re hiding something, by Athene I’ll make you wish you hadn’t. What is it?” he growled. I bit my lip and said nothing.
He dropped my arm, then looked into my face and said carefully, “I should have known. A nothos like you has no place among men. Get below with the other slaves.”
Stung, I pointed. “I saw something. Over there.” Kopros. How had he made me do that?
He stared impatiently at the rock face for a moment. “Don’t lie to me, boy. There’s nothing there.”
I glared back. “I’m not lying!” I snapped, tensing automatically to dodge a blow, but he just waited, fists on his hips. I glanced around and pointed to a tree on the shore, half concealed by the drifting mist. “Look there. Don’t look at the rock face. Just at the edge of your vision. No, don’t turn your head. Watch for something to appear in the cliff.”
He might have been proud and bad tempered, but he was quick. After a moment his bushy eyebrows shot up. “By the gods!” His voice sounded awed. “Just where it should be. Big enough to sail into!” His brow furrowed as he turned toward me. “Why shouldn’t I look at it?”
I hesitated. “I think it’s only visible if nobody’s looking.”
He turned to face the rock, and blinked as it vanished, then turned back to face the tree again. After a moment, the slight draft resumed. He nodded to himself. “The question is, which is real?”
I hadn’t thought of that. He climbed down into the hold and returned with his bow. Stringing it in a single casual motion, he fitted an arrow and let fly. It cracked against the rock face to tumble down into the water. His jaw tightened.
“That’s it, then. The cave is the illusion. The rock face is real.”
So that’s what I was seeing, a cave. I frowned for a moment. What about the draft? And why— “That’s not right,” I blurted. “Who would create an illusion we can’t even see?”
He squinted at me. “Mind the tongue, boy. And talk sense.”
I swallowed. “What I mean is—if the gods wanted to destroy us, wouldn’t they make the cave the illusion, and hide the cliff? That way we’d row right into the rock face.”
“You saw my arrow, boy. That rock is no illusion.”
“But what about the draft?” I licked my dry lips. “The cave and the cliff, I think they’re both real. But the cave is only real when nobody’s watching.”
Lopex looked at me thoughtfully. “You might have something there, boy. Can you prove it?”
I paused. “Line up another arrow for the cave, then close your eyes and shoot. The arrow should go into the cave if you’re not looking.”
He shook his head. “I have to see it myself.” He paused. “I hear you have a good arm, boy. Can you get something into the cave mouth without looking?”
“I think so.” My throwing arm had been trained by countless squirrel and seagull hunts back in Troy.
“Stay here.” He dropped into the hold and emerged a moment later with a goblet and a rag. I recognized the embossed lion-and-owl insignia on the side. It had been looted from the palace at Troy. Well, King Priam wouldn’t be needing it now.
He handed it to me. “Wrap this and light it, then throw it into the cave. I’ll look to the side and watch where it goes. Don’t light it until I say.”
He turned to face the men behind us, still sitting on their benches, their backs to us. A few had turned and were watching us idly. “Men!” he said loudly. “Look to the shore!” He pointed astern, at the shore on the far side from the rock face. “Over there is the portal we seek. A gold drinking cup to the first man who sees it!”
Their heads whipped around to peer through the mist at the twisting trees on the shoreline, and he turned quickly back to me. “Throw it, boy, before they look back.”
I bent to light the bundle in the bow fire pot, then stood up and stared at the tree off to starboard. After a moment, I could make out the black mouth again at the very edge of my vision. Could I do this without looking? Gripping the rail with my left hand, I lined up as best I could, and threw the bundle hard to the side.
At the far corner of my eye, the flaming bundle fluttered toward the cave mouth and vanished into the blackness inside.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Drawing the Shades
THE CAVE WALLS WERE smooth and round, like the lair of some huge earthworm. A pale grey light came from all around, giving the fabric of our tunics a strange glow. We weren’t even rowing—as the bow of the Pelagios had penetrated the cave, the waters of the lake had begun to draw back into the tunnel, swallowing us with it down a throat barely wide enough for the ship. Our steersman was straining at his steering blade to keep us away from the walls as the oily current drew us further in.
The black water beneath us was as smooth as ever, but the ship was gradually tilting downward, picking
up speed until we shot out into what looked like a small underground lake, no more than two arrow flights across. Our momentum carried us past chariot-sized lumps of what looked like half-chewed meat, until we crunched to a halt on the gloomy shore opposite.
Lopex’s voice cut through the nervous mutters. “We’re here. Ury, we’ll need picks, shovels, white barley, a full wineskin . . .” His voice faded as he headed down the ladder and into the hold.
They hadn’t been ordered to, but most of the men were buckling on their sword harnesses. Not for the first time, I wished I had one too. Just where had he brought us?
The men had the same question, nervous anger growing in their voices as we assembled on the pebbly shore. At Lopex’s command, they had brought out a strange collection, including torches, both fire pots, several tarred faggots of green wood, and strangest of all, the pure white ewe and the black ram that we had loaded at Circe’s island.
“Is it not obvious?” Speaking from the bow railing of the Pelagios, Lopex overrode their grumbles. “We have descended to where no living man born of woman has ever been: the land of the dead. We are in the underworld realm of Lord Hades himself.”
Dismay flickered through the knot of men.
“Hades? You’ve brought us to Hades?”
“Hera’s holy halter, what were you thinking?”
“Sweet gods, how will we get out? Great Zeus, please help us!”
I could see why Lopex hadn’t said so before. The men would have sliced him up in a heartbeat. Even now, his chances looked poor. Fear turning to anger, the men were reaching for their weapons.
Lopex spoke again. “Heroes of Troy!” His commanding tone quelled them for an instant and his voice thrust into the gap. “You are under a curse!”
He had their attention now. The men stared up at him, wide-eyed.
“It was the sorcerer Circe, by whose art this was revealed to me.” A mutter ran through the men. “Yes, a curse. For your part in destroying the city of Troy, you are all fated to die. The gods who could not save Troy are determined to vanquish you, the victors.” He paused, permitting the men’s frightened clamour to build for a few moments before speaking again.
“But Circe revealed as well how you can avoid your fate. On your behalf I will undertake it. Alone, I must speak to the shade of the seer Tiresias. Only he has the knowledge to stay the curse.”
His voice rose over their clamour once more. “I speak the truth. This is the only way home. And the story of this adventure will make your legs welcome under any table, or in any bed, beneath the eye of Helios.” He left them no time to think. “Now follow me.”
Climbing lightly down the boarding net, he headed up the beach into the dead, colourless land beyond. After a moment of indecision, the men followed in a tight knot. I trailed behind, holding a bronze-bladed shovel before me like a weapon. Lopex himself was tugging the two sheep along by their halters, the ewe shining eerily white in the strange cave light.
The beach gave way to a sticky moss that smothered the rock beneath, glowing with a pale light that turned black where the men had trodden. In the gloom around me, wispy shapes writhed and twisted at the corner of my vision, retreating when I turned to look. Hades. A cold shiver ran down my spine. Those writhing shapes—were any of them people we once knew? The men bunched tighter as we continued inland.
“Halt!” Lopex had stopped, holding a lit torch over his head like a beacon. “This is the place.” A wide, black river lay before us, oozing past between steep banks of smooth clay. Lopex scraped two marks a man’s height apart in the moss above the bank. “Those of you with shovels, I need a trench between these two points. Do not let the river touch your skin.”
I shuffled forward reluctantly and began to dig alongside the others, but the clay beneath the moss was too hard for me to penetrate. The other diggers were throwing their clods into the river where they vanished beneath the oily surface without a ripple.
An elbow took me hard in the back and left me scrambling for balance. I lost my footing and slipped over the lip of the bank, my heels gouging ruts in the slick clay slope as I slid toward the water. I turned to grab at the bank but the glowing moss tore out in loose clumps.
A hand reached down and grabbed me under the armpit. “Fall not, into that river.” Pharos’s deep voice rumbled near my ear as he lifted me one-handed back onto the turf. He plucked the shovel from my grasp and took over my digging.
I glanced around to spot Ury glowering at me nearby, his black eyes full of hate, and backed away nervously until I bumped into a boulder. That had been no accident. I’d never understood why Ury hated me so much. I had been mouthy with him a few times, but his hatred came from something deeper. Looking at the dark water he had nearly pushed me into, I felt my legs grow weak and sank onto the boulder. Kassander was right about one thing. Someday, Ury was going to kill me.
With Pharos’s help, the short trench was complete, and Lopex filled it with wine, then slit the throats of both sheep and drained their blood into it, carefully avoiding the spatter. I glanced over at a shout from one of the soldiers. The dead land around us was suddenly crawling, swarming with . . . a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Wraiths.
Cold candle flames guttering in an unseen breeze, the dead souls of the underworld twisted and drifted over the barren ground. Something was drawing them to us. The Greeks automatically formed a tight circle, their backs to the trench, swords waving anxiously as the wraiths pressed in on them from all sides. Shadowy forms slipped past me on the rock mound, heading for the men around the trench.
Too frightened to move, I huddled where I was, but the wraiths were ignoring me, drifting toward the fresh blood. Nearby, Lopex stood up with a bundle of freshly-lit pitch torches and caught sight of the swords. “Put those away,” he barked. “You think you can cut a wraith? Torches of green, living wood are what they fear. Now keep them from the trench. This offering is for one alone.” As he came past he caught sight of me perched on the boulder and stared wordlessly for a moment before handing me a torch. The shades shrank back beyond the circle of light as he handed out the others.
My stomach had knotted itself into a fist. I wanted to get up and join the soldiers but didn’t trust my legs. Just beyond the circle of torchlight, thousands of shades flickered and sighed, pressing in wherever the torchlight faltered. If those torches failed . . .
“Tiresias!” Lopex’s voice boomed out through the gloom. “Show yourself! Drink your fill at the blood sacrifice we have prepared, for you alone!”
One of the wraiths detached itself from the flickers beyond the firelight and writhed closer. Lopex waved the torches off to let it approach. The men moved aside hastily as it drifted toward them. Above the trench, it stopped, twisting in the rising fumes of hot blood and wine.
I watched, amazed. As the wispy thing basked in the scent above the trench, it began to solidify. One moment I could see the dull glint of Adelphos’s sword through it; the next, I could not. I rubbed my eyes. The wraith was gone, and a frail, pale old man with pure white skin, hair, and long cloak was standing knee-deep in the trench where it had been.
“Tiresias of Thebes!” If Lopex was nervous, it didn’t show. He strode forward and reached down to take its arm. “I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, destroyer of Troy. I have crossed the seas with one goal: to venture into Hades to seek the advice of the great Theban sage Tiresias, whose fame as a seer is undiminished even by death.”
I grunted. Our misfortunes hadn’t soured his tongue any. As they walked past my seat on the boulder, I caught a little of their conversation. Tiresias’s high-pitched voice crackled as he spoke.
“. . . yes, yes.” I heard his impatient grumble as he shuffled past, Lopex’s firm grip on his arm. “And I’ll bet you think daisies grow out of my gloutos too, don’t you, sonny? You young sprouts are all the same, all honey tongue and hurry. Well, make it quick, I’m a busy man. And that wine you used, what was it, vinegar? It makes my skin itch. I knew the man you call y
our father, I’ll be seeing him again soon enough. He wouldn’t be shoving an old man along like this, I can tell you . . .” His crackle faded as they moved off.
I looked up in dismay as the hissing greenwood torch in my hand guttered and went out. The tarred tip had been consumed, the wood too green to burn on its own. Over by the trench, the Greeks had stood aside now that Lopex had accomplished his goal. Wraiths were converging from all directions. I recoiled as one of the drifting wisps paused before me. It seemed to be struggling to hold a shape. The shape of a man. No, a boy. I peered at what might have been a face. From the writhing half-lips came a whisper like wind through bulrushes.
“Alexi, my friend,” came a half-imagined sigh. “Is it really you?”
I froze. “Elpenor? Pen?”
Did it nod? The lips parted again, but I couldn’t make out the words. The sorrowful almost-face contorted in an intense effort and its voice became clear for an instant. “Bury me. Bury my body.”
His wraith whispered something more but the sounds were indistinct, as if the effort had exhausted it. I glanced over at the trench, where hungry ghosts were flowing over and under one another like coiling snakes, basking in the fumes. My gut knotting, I blew on my smouldering torch and coaxed a reluctant flame from it, then slipped off the boulder.
Gesturing for Pen’s wraith to follow, I headed for the trench, holding the flickering torch before me like a sword. The wraiths drifted apart, and Elpenor’s ghost slipped almost apologetically between them to stop above the trench. As he hovered above it, he seemed to thicken and solidify. One moment I was looking through an insubstantial wisp, and the next at the white form of Elpenor, still clad in the chiton he had been wearing when I found his body. He stepped out gingerly, his body and clothing still pale white, somehow untouched by the bloody mixture in the trench.
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