He stepped into the main hall of the castle, stopping briefly to gaze up at the solemn portrait of his father as a younger man; the picture dominated the entranceway. Telius had inherited Martus’s looks, which he was thankful for—a strong, square jaw, straight nose, dark hair and eyes—handsome, he supposed. Not that it mattered much, here . . . But it felt good to have taken after his father in looks as well as ambition. Telius liked feeling connected to Martus, and he was reminded of the strong physical bond each time he passed the portrait.
Telius turned down the long, winding corridor, walking through the soft and cold shadows that gathered low against each crumbling stone wall. Although the castle seemed small from the outside, it had been built to deceive; many of its passages tilted downward, ending in rooms that lay underground. This added to the outside appearance of a ruin; piles of broken stones lay atop a network of halls and rooms, but those passing wouldn’t know it. The chilled air smelled faintly of earth, mixed with lingering scents of incense and wax, and the chambers Telius passed were empty and darkly silent.
Finally, after more twists and turns and two sets of stairs, he arrived at the room where his father had spent much of his time, a room that Telius now practically lived in. He stepped through the stone doorway and went to a dark wooden desk set to one side. The room was empty except for the desk, a chair and several stacks of dusty books, some piled almost chest high. Across from where he sat down, a bare stone wall spanned the length of the room; the wall was deeply etched with strange symbols and words written in long dead languages. Telius could read most of it, and knew the darker rocks to be runes of protection and other kinds of barrier stones; it was a wall that could be opened, although it never had been, not since before his father’s time.
As a child, he had been afraid to visit this room alone; he had imagined that if he were very quiet, he could hear voices through the thick stones of that wall, shouts and cries, screams of misery and anguish. It was no secret that some souls could not rest in Hades, particularly those of evil men and women—they longed to be back among the living, as did the souls of saints. Redeeming themselves, he supposed. He’d pictured fires made out of shadows on the other side, and a heavy, foul stench like burning hair. Perhaps an aura of vain hope, woven through it all, an atmospheric overlay of dreams dead or dying, reaching out to take him in . . .
He knew better now; nothing came through the wall or went through it, not without the proper rituals. But he did know, as his father had, something that maybe no one else alive knew—that the Castle Bain, in spite of its decrepit appearance and modest means, was the only guard against what lay on the other side of the wall. There were other entrances to Hades, of course, but the wall of this very room was the only one that mortal man had any control over.
Which meant that Telius Bain was now its master—and someday, perhaps soon, he would find a way to make his father proud.
Telius flipped open a book and started to read.
Chapter 6
The shadows were already growing longer, the heat of the afternoon at its worst as Xena cinched up Argo’s saddle. Alesandra had given her a pitifully small sack of clothes to pack, only a few dresses and undergarments—and the tattered rag doll that had sat on her windowsill. Apparently Otus had made it for her, her only remembrance of the man.
The woodfolk had all gathered around to watch them leave, and as Xena swung the child up onto the saddle, Zetes stepped forward slowly.
“You’re a good girl, Alesandra,” he said quietly, and most of the others nodded along with him. “I know that Otus would be proud of you, and I hope that wherever you go, you find happiness.”
He smiled awkwardly and then nodded at Xena. “Gods be with you,” he said, and then stepped back.
Xena climbed up behind Alesandra and reached around for the reins, clucking her tongue at the horse. Gabrielle was still chatting away at Danaus, probably trying to get her fill of talk before their journey.
“Gabrielle,” she called, and the young woman tore herself away from the animated Danaus to join them, her cheeks flushed.
“Sorry,” Gabrielle muttered. Xena thought she talked too much sometimes, but it wasn’t often that she met up with people her own age. Not to mention cute people her own age . . .
Danaus smiled shyly at her, raising his hand to bid them farewell. Gabrielle waved in return, and Xena turned Argo back up the trail that had brought them here.
There were several cries of “Good luck” and “Safe journey” from the gathered assembly, although no one seemed particularly sad to see them go. Alesandra cast one look at the people over her shoulder and then turned to face the trail ahead, obviously glad to be going.
“Are you going to miss them?” Xena asked quietly.
Alesandra shrugged. “Zetes was nice to me, I guess. But no, not really—I didn’t belong there, somehow.”
Xena nodded. “I know what that’s like. When this is all over, we’ll find somewhere for you to belong.”
Alesandra grinned up at her, and Xena smiled back warmly. For all her power, Alesandra was still just a child, and assuming they all survived this prophecy, Xena would make sure that she found a home.
They backtracked to another offshoot of the trail and then found a rutted road that veered to the south; the path wasn’t in very good condition, but Argo was a smooth mount and at least they weren’t having to hack a path through the woods. The air was sweet with early summer smells, and the afternoon heat was slowly fading, dropping along with the molten sun as the afternoon prepared for evening.
Xena kept Argo in a slow walk, as the road was lined with berry bushes and Gabrielle wanted to gather enough for supper. Judging from the blue stains around her mouth, she was eating as many as she was collecting.
“Here,” she said brightly, giving Alesandra a handful of the dark but slightly sour berries. Though it was still too early in the season for them to be properly ripe, Alesandra accepted them with a smile.
Gabrielle was curious about the child, but wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, that she wanted to ask—or how to ask it, for that matter. Alesandra obviously hadn’t had many people eager to talk to her about the gift of second sight, and she might feel uncomfortable discussing it.
On the other hand, perhaps she needed to talk to someone about it—especially someone who had also experienced visions of the future. Well, almost visions; Gabrielle hadn’t ever had one that came true exactly as she’d seen it, but many events had involved similar elements . . .
And besides wanting to help the child, she liked Alesandra, and was glad for more company—Xena could be so silent at times; traveling with others was a good time to practice her own social skill . . .
After walking alongside Argo for a few minutes, Gabrielle finally blurted out, “You know, I’ve had some pretty strong visions myself.”
Alesandra’s eyes widened. “Really? You have the gift of prophecy?”
Gabrielle shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d say ‘gift’ exactly, but I’ve had a few dreams that were very real, you know? And right after those dreams, something always happened.”
Alesandra nodded excitedly. “Yes, it’s like that for me, too! You just know, right?”
Gabrielle frowned. “Um—yeah. I mean, no . . . know?”
Alesandra nodded again. “It’s kind of hard to explain—mostly, when I see the things I see, it’s not like a play that happens in front of me. I mean, I don’t see people running around and doing things. It’s more like . . . like a memory or something. It’s like how you know the sun rises, or that water comes from a lake or river. I just suddenly have this information in my head, and sometimes I see faces or things, but mostly it’s just this knowledge. I just know.”
Gabrielle bit at her lip, still frowning. “Really? For me, it’s more just like a regular old dream at night, except I have these strong feelings about things when I wake up. Like I’l
l feel that something good is going to happen, like that.”
“When was the last time you had such a dream?” Alesandra asked.
“Oh, just last night! I dreamed about— Oh, I must have dreamed about the castle!” Gabrielle looked to Xena, her eyes wide. Xena’s face was hard to read as usual, but she seemed interested in the conversation.
“Yeah, that must have been it! I dreamed that I was alone in a dark, stone room and there was a giant creature in there with me! It was terrifying, and I woke up thinking that we should be very careful, that something bad was waiting for us. Isn’t that right?”
Xena nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe it was a bit of prophecy.” Then she smiled teasingly at Gabrielle. “There’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”
Gabrielle scowled up at her but decided not to say anything; in truth, a lot of her dreams hadn’t turned out to be particularly visionary. Still, Xena didn’t have to be so smug about it.
Alesandra frowned. “Well, I didn’t see any . . . unusual creatures in my vision. Are you sure that’s what it was?”
Gabrielle shook her head. “I thought so, but I couldn’t see it. It definitely sounded like one.”
Alesandra thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “In the vision, I did sense a non-human presence, something that will play a part in the prophecy—but it was just a dog. The true creature, perhaps you saw it through your dream . . .”
Xena glanced down at the child in front of her, suddenly very curious. “What do you remember about this . . . dog?”
Alesandra craned her neck around to look at Xena. “Not much. It was big, but not bigger than a cow, I don’t think; it was like . . . a dog, but not a dog. The funny thing is, I thought there was something wrong with it, like it was deformed—like it had more than one face, somehow. But that’s silly, isn’t it? Anyway, that’s all I remember.”
Xena tightened her grip on Argo’s reins but was careful not to show her emotions. Was there any way . . . ?
“Alesandra,” she asked calmly, “how many faces would you say it had, if you had to choose a number?”
The child shrugged. “Three, I think. That’s why I thought I was wrong about— Xena, is everything all right?”
Xena had pulled the reins, bringing Argo to a stop. She dismounted, then reached up to help Alesandra off of the stilled horse.
“Here is as good a place as any to stop for the night,” she said, and offered both of her younger companions a smile. She looked around and saw that there was a decent grassy spot just off the road—and the growth of the low shrubs nearby meant that there was a pond close at hand. It actually was a good resting place, although that wasn’t why she had stopped . . .
“Xena?” Gabrielle seemed worried by the sudden decision to halt.
Xena sighed. “Let’s get a fire going, and I’ll see what I can find for supper. And then I’ll tell you what I know about Avernus.”
Xena smiled at them both again, but she couldn’t help the slight gnawing of apprehension in her gut at what Alesandra had said—for the child had just described Cerebrus, the three-headed dog that was supposed to guard the gates of Hades. And according to the legends, the ferocious creature was almost impossible to kill.
“When you first mentioned Avernus, I knew what we would probably be up against,” said Xena, “but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.”
They sat around the snapping fire, Gabrielle and Alesandra across from her, their dirtied dinner bowls stacked against a weathered tree stump. It was dark, only the barest glimmer of moon overhead, and the crackling flames did little to drive the night away from their camp. The shadows were deep, flickering limbs of blackness that seemed to play over every shape, changing and molding the rocks and trees into animate things.
Gabrielle shivered in spite of the fire’s warmth, hugging her knees to her chest as Xena continued, the warrior’s strong features softened by the dancing light.
“I have heard many things about Avernus, many wild stories that probably hold as much truth as a murderer’s heart. I don’t believe much of what I hear, since most people love to spin tall tales, adding details as they go along. But most rumors start with a grain of truth, however small—and the one thing that all of the stories agree on is that Avernus is a lake that stands on or near the entrance to Hades.”
Gabrielle’s mouth dropped open, and she felt her heart begin to hammer loudly in her chest. “Hades? Xena, you think Alesandra saw—”
“Cerebrus,” Xena finished, and nodded. “Yes. The three-headed dog that is said to guard the gates of Hades. I’ve heard that there are many gates, and I’ve also heard that there are only a few—but the one at Avernus has been whispered about more often than any other. As I said, I didn’t want to make any assumptions, just because Alesandra said Avernus—but the creature you described this afternoon, Alesandra . . . Cerebrus keeps the lost souls trapped in Hades from getting out, and intruders from getting in. Or so the stories say.”
Gabrielle’s mind was spinning. She had heard stories, too, about the dark world that was supposed to exist beneath the ground, but somehow hadn’t made the connection to Cerebrus earlier. As a child, she and her friends would make up tales about Hades to scare one another, whispering about winged monsters with red eyes and sharp teeth that snuck out to kidnap little kids—
“But I thought those were just stories,” she said out loud.
Xena shook her head slowly. “I’m sure many are. I’ve heard a thousand names for Hades and for the gods that are said to rule there—Pluto, Dis, Orcus, the Furies. Even Tantalus, the evil king who starved many of his people. Who can say which are true? I’m not prepared to give any of them credit . . . Hades is supposed to be where all souls go after death, good and bad.”
Xena paused, suddenly deep in memory. “I knew a man once, long ago, who claimed to have visited Avernus. He had been a mercenary, someone who is paid to fight—Nisus was his name, and he was one of the bravest men I’ve ever known. He was the type of man who laughed in the face of death, and bowed down to no one in battle. And yet after his journey to Avernus, he hung up his sword and became a holy man, saying that he hoped never to travel there again—and if it meant leading the life of a poor saint, he’d gladly give up his livelihood. He said that he’d suffered the most horrible nightmares while sleeping by the lake’s shore, visions of eternal suffering by loss of hope, souls crying out to redeem themselves—”
Alesandra, who had been still and silent, spoke softly. “Did this man actually go into Hades?” Her voice trembled with fear and her brown eyes were wide, almost panicked.
Xena suddenly realized that she had said too much. She shook her head, trying to find some reassurance for the frightened girl. She thought it was important for them to know what she did, but she hadn’t meant to scare Alesandra with her musings. For all of her power, Alesandra was still a child. “No. Nor did he find the entrance. I guess we’ll just have to stay awake while we’re there, won’t we?”
Xena grinned now, darting a meaningful glance at Gabrielle. Gabrielle took the hint, realizing that such frightening stories were too much for Alesandra. Especially after dark, with the shadows dancing, transforming the trees into strange creatures . . .
Gods, I’m scaring myself! Gabrielle shook off her nerves and also smiled at Alesandra.
“Pretty scary stuff, huh? Good thing we don’t have to get to sleep right away; we can talk about it more tomorrow, if we want. In the meanwhile, look what I’ve got.”
Gabrielle reached into her bag and pulled out a small sack of berries that she’d saved from earlier. Alesandra smiled slightly and reached for them.
“Have you ever heard the story of the beautiful princess Mallory and the time she found a golden locket that turned out to be enchanted?”
Alesandra shook her head, her eyes wide again, this time with curiosity. If she knew she was being shameless
ly distracted, she hid it well. Gabrielle started to tell the tale, glad to have such an eager audience. Besides, it had been her own favorite story when she was younger. And it had a happy ending, that had nothing to do with Hades or three-headed monsters or nightmares . . .
Xena stared thoughtfully into the fire, pleased that Gabrielle had changed the child’s focus—but Xena was still roaming the rooms of her past, remembering. The man who had ventured to Avernus, Nisus—she had fought alongside him, even respected him; not a man she would have chosen to face in battle, if given a choice. She had often found herself searching battlefields for his face, even in the midst of fighting—and she had been deeply shaken by the change in him when he’d returned from his journey, more shaken than she cared to admit. There had been a fear in his eyes that had never been there before, a shadow in his gaze that had almost frightened her with its sincerity. He had become a totally different man, and he hadn’t even seen the gate to Hades, let alone gone inside.
Xena watched the flames crackle, and was glad that she hadn’t told any of the other stories she had heard; Alesandra had been scared enough without knowing any more, especially the more believable accounts of Hades.
Because the one part of the story that never changed, no matter who told it, was that those who stepped inside the gate were never seen again. There had been myths spun of mortal souls gaining the living world again, but Xena thought that those stories were parables rather than truthful account.
No one left Hades; it was the one truth that Xena could believe, without doubt.
Chapter 7
Xena woke up at the first chilled touch of dawn, the air still heavy with the fading darkness. Her sleep, as usual, had been light but dreamless; although she had never thought to analyze it overmuch, it was as if her bloodied past were her only real nightmare, a horror far more potent than any dark dream . . .
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