Lyre

by Helen Harper

  Making sure he didn’t stray from the well worn path, Oz picked his way deeper inside. From time to time, he caught flickering images in his periphery vision but, whenever he tried to look at them directly, they slid away into nothingness. He battened down the temptation to run – after all, he might need to conserve his strength – and simply continued walking.

  He didn’t seem to have gone very far when he spotted something up ahead. Frowning, he stared at it until it made sense. It was a long section of rope, snaking up and down a vast area for as far as his eyes could see. It reminded him of the queues set up outside Orpheus’s concerts although there didn’t appear to be anyone queueing up here. He focused ahead so that he wasn’t staring directly at the empty lines. When he caught the flickers again, he understood what was going on. Oz left the path.

  With only being able to see the waiting souls out of the corner of his eye, it was difficult to judge where to start. He entered the first section of rope and gingerly stepped forward. It wasn’t until he felt a brush of ice against his skin that he stopped, rocking backwards.

  ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

  If the invisible soul in front of him heard his apology, it didn’t react. Oz licked his lips and tried to relax. It was possible he could be in for a long wait. He strained his ears. He couldn’t hear anything; the entire place was as silent as a graveyard. Then he smiled humourlessly. Of course it was. A frisson of cold ran down his spine and he realised he was no longer the last person in the line. Unsure whether that was a good thing or not, he shuffled forward but he barely made it an inch before he felt the cold touch on his face again. Sandwiched in between the two frigid souls, and unable to so much as sway in either direction without touching them, he simply clenched and unclenched his fists, over and over again. I’m coming, Yuri, he thought silently, just hang on.

  *

  Thirty minutes later, he’d had enough. He’d managed to move forward in the line by about three metres but he was shivering uncontrollably from coming into repeated contact with the souls on either side and, considering he couldn’t see the end of the roped lines, he currently estimated it could take him weeks to get anywhere. Oz simply wasn’t about to wait that long.

  ‘So, guys,’ he said conversationally, ‘or girls. I’m going to leave you behind and skip the queue. I know it’s bad but you’ve got the rest of eternity stretching out in front of you. It’s not like you have anything better to do with your time. I don’t quite have that luxury.’

  Unsurprisingly, there was no response. None that he heard anyway. Oz shrugged, ignoring the trickle of guilt he felt at what was such a typically un-British action, and ducked underneath the rope to rejoin the path. He took a few tentative steps forward. Nothing barred his way. With his skin already warming back up again, he shot an apologetic glance towards the ropes and started walking. For a long time, he avoided looking again at the lines but when it occurred to him that Yuri’s soul might well be somewhere there, he found he couldn’t stop anxiously scanning them. It was a futile effort; he couldn’t make out any shapes enough to recognise their facial features, even when he used the very edge of his vision. He couldn’t prevent himself though. At least, if nothing else, when he’d been moving for what had to already have been twenty minutes and there was still no end in sight to the ropes, he knew he’d made the right decision to leave the queue. He’d just have to hope that whoever – or whatever – was up ahead thought the same.

  In fact, it was at least three hours before anything changed. Despite a brisk, steady pace, Oz had been starting to think he was stuck in a bizarre time loop that was never going to end when he finally realised that the surrounding blue light was changing. It was no longer simply blue; there was a tinge of green. Hoping that green might mean the same down here as it did in the real world, he felt his heart rate quicken. And when the silence was finally broken by the soft sound of lapping water, he knew he really was getting somewhere.

  Moving faster, he kept his senses alert. Medusa had warned him that the Underworld contained all manner of danger designed to keep the living out. So far the only danger had been from slight hypothermia and monotony but that didn’t mean he was about to discard her words. He told himself to stay calm and that there was probably a long way still to go. For good measure, he reached into the backpack he was carrying and pulled out a bottle of water, taking a swig to wet his tongue while he paused and tried not to get overly excited. Then he kept going, breathing in sharply when he spied a figure standing at the far end of the vast cavern.

  Oz swung his head from side to side, attempting to determine if what he was seeing was another soul. Whoever it was, however, they seemed too substantial to be anything similar to what he’d already come across. When he got closer and worked out that the waiting figure was a man, he sent a quick prayer of gratitude to Medusa. This could only be Charon, which meant he was approaching the Styx and the actual Underworld rather than simply the waiting room.

  Raising a hand in greeting, Oz called out. ‘Hello!’ Charon folded his arms. Oz got closer and did his best to smile. ‘Sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I shouldn’t have skipped the queue but I thought it might take a long time and I figured they can afford to wait longer than I can.’

  The boatman sniffed. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that. They don’t care.’

  Oz looked him over. He was wearing a very tattered t-shirt with The Grateful Dead emblazoned across its front. ‘You like music?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Not really,’ Charon dead-panned. ‘This was a gift. I wouldn’t wear it but I don’t get many opportunities to hang out in shopping malls. This is a twenty four hour gig. There’s not any time off.’

  Unsure how to respond, Oz attempted to appear sympathetic. ‘That’s too bad.’

  ‘You’re a musician?’

  ‘I have a band.’

  ‘Fabulous.’ He said it in a tone that conveyed the exact opposite. ‘Why aren’t you with them instead of here?’

  ‘I…’

  Charon interrupted. ‘Let me guess. Your wife or girlfriend or lover or child has died. You’re here because you think you can bring them back.’

  Oz brightened and nodded. ‘Yes. Her name is…’

  ‘Please. I really don’t care. You’re wasting your time.’

  ‘No,’ Oz said quietly. ‘I’m not.’

  Charon tutted. ‘Did you hear the part I said about no days off? I’ve been here since time began. I’ve seen it all. And what I’ve never ever seen is someone pass through the gates to the Underworld and return safely with the person they love. It ain’t gonna happen. You should give up now.’

  Oz met his eyes, hoping he’d be able to see the determination there. ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

  ‘No,’ Charon said. ‘There’s not. You lifers are all the same.’

  Oz had a pretty good idea what a ‘lifer’ was. Trying not to let Charon’s words get to him – after all he’d already been well warned as to the likelihood of failure – he straightened his shoulders. ‘I want to cross the Styx,’ he said with a touch of defiance.

  Charon sighed. ‘Show me the money then.’

  Oz dug into his pocket and drew out the coin Medusa had given him. The boatman took it, biting down on its edge then magicking it away. Then he gestured towards a small boat that looked as if it had seen better days. Oz stared doubtfully at the dark depths of the river. As if sensing his presence, the surface rippled and a long scaled body appeared before sinking soundlessly down again. Oz took a step backwards.

  ‘You can still change your mind.’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  He steadied himself on the boat’s edge and clambered in, feeling awkward and clumsy. The wooden planks creaked menacingly and the vessel shifted under his weight. The water on either side was black and viscous, more like oil in fact than water. Oz kept his hands well away from the boat’s edges as Charon joined him, sitting himself in the centre and starting to row.

  The need to break the silen
ce overwhelmed him. ‘You must be quite strong if you’ve been rowing for all eternity,’ he commented.

  Sniffing, Charon rowed faster although Oz caught sight of a tiny smile playing around his lips. Despite his own desperate situation, he felt a flicker of sympathy. He may have been engulfed in misery but he didn’t have a monopoly on it.

  Regardless of the long queue of souls waiting to make this very same journey, it took very little time to cross the inky waters of the Styx. It wasn’t long before Oz was disembarking, shakily gripping the edge of the wooden pier to avoid tipping into the river as he did so. Charon immediately grunted, making an impatient move to return to the opposite bank.

  ‘Wait!’ Oz pulled off his backpack and started rooting around. Quickly finding what he was looking for, he took out a baseball cap, one of the many merchandise items linked to Orpheus, and tossed it to the boatmen.

  Charon caught it deftly, then frowned as if confused.

  ‘It’s a gift,’ Oz explained. ‘As you don’t have time to go shopping.’ Belatedly, he realised the gesture may actually be insulting. The Styx’s gatekeeper hardly had cause to require a hat to keep the sun off his face. For all Oz knew, he’d never even seen the sun.

  Charon’s face, however, broke out in a wreath of unexpected smiles. He rammed the cap onto his head, adjusting it before looking back up. ‘How does it look?’

  ‘Great,’ Oz lied. ‘You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to though.’

  ‘It’s wonderful.’ The boatman was clearly touched. He doffed the tip in gratitude. ‘Cerberus is through that door. It won’t be easy getting past him. You can…’

  Oz shook his head. ‘It’s okay. I have a plan.’

  ‘Then good luck.’ The sentiment was sincere.

  Watching as he rowed his way back across, it occurred to Oz what a difference small gestures could make. Because of the busy schedule that Orpheus followed, he’d not been able to create any time for charity work. He made himself a promise that, when he returned with Yuri, he’d do more to make a difference in the world. It might not help Charon but it could still help others. With his first genuinely positive thought in days, Oz turned his back on the Styx. It was time to face the dog.

  He had been hoping that Cerberus would be asleep, allowing him to simply tiptoe past. He wasn’t that lucky, however. The three-headed beast was glaring at him as soon as he approached it in the next cavern. The gate he required was behind it - and it appeared firmly closed. Oz kept well back, eyeing the dog as it returned the favour. He’d already faced Medusa with her halo of snakes, and he’d seen the truth of Pan’s body for himself. But despite the forewarning he’d received about Cerberus, he was still taken aback by not only its size but also its shape. Oz glanced from head to head to head. Each one was identical, with glowing red eyes, long snout and vicious looking fangs. The dog’s body was huge, covered in dark fur and rippling with bunched muscles. Even if the danger Cerberus posed hadn’t already been impressed upon him, he’d have been well aware of it.

  The first head snarled, revealing a bright red tongue and a cavernous mouth.

  ‘Good doggie,’ Oz said softly. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect to the one he’d intended. Now all three heads were snapping and snarling in his direction. Judging by the angle of its hindquarters, Cerberus was getting ready to pounce.

  Oz took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The he launched into song. ‘’Dogs are a man’s best friend. Woof, woof, woof! Dogs are a means to an end!’

  Each head growled. Cerberus’s far right leg pawed at the ground, lethal looking claws scratching against the solid surface. Oz swallowed.

  ‘Not Loho Boys fans then,’ he murmured. ‘When in doubt go with the classics.’

  Wasting no more time, he switched tactics, beginning to click his teeth and hum a different tune. He beat out a rhythm on his jean clad thighs, doing what he could to ignore the looming danger right in front of him. ‘’Hey dog! Hey funky dog! Woof!’’ he sang, swinging his head from side to side and avoiding looking any of the heads in the eyes. ‘’You can bark to me! Woof! You can come to me! Loneliness ain’t my friend when you’re by my side!’

  The middle head was affected first. He barked, the sound reverberating around the otherwise empty cavern. His buddy on the left glanced towards him and blinked while the dog-head on the right stopped snarling and let out a small whine. Oz didn’t let up. Feeling bolder now that Cerberus appeared less likely to pounce on him and rip his body apart, his voice grew. He started snapping his fingers, allowing the melody to take over. When he spotted Cerberus’s tail wagging in time to the beat, he knew he was winning.

  Oz started dancing, shuffling his feet first one way then the other. He clapped his hands in the air and twisted. Cerberus watched him carefully but the dog’s earlier malevolence had vanished. In its place was an odd kind of doggie glee. Without trying to appear too obvious, Oz kept the beat up but started moving closer and closer to the gate. He danced round one side of the dog, then the other. He wasn’t entirely stupid though; he still kept his distance from all three sets of dangerously sharp teeth.

  Attempting to lull the beast into a false sense of security he maneuvered himself round its hindquarters so he was directly in front of the door itself. He spotted a large bolt securing it shut but made no move towards it. Instead Oz simply kept singing, raising his voice and speeding up the beat. Cerberus awkwardly twisted round to face him, tail still wagging. Three vast drooling tongues lolled from each head. The reek from their individual breaths was almost overpowering. Oz spun round again, heading in the opposite direction. Cerberus followed.

  This time, when he made it back to the door again, he reached up to grab the bolt while keeping a close eye on the dog. Although the bolt wouldn’t budge, he timed it perfectly, raising his other hand in the air as if to signify he was merely performing another dance move, rather than sneak into the real depths of the Underworld. Then, when he was sure all six eyes were facing him, he switched direction, jiving to his left. He reached the end of the song but simply started up again from the first verse. He also made sure that he increased the tempo. Oz danced faster and faster until he was almost sprinting round the vast body of Cerberus. The dog continued to mirror his movements, albeit several steps behind. Steam was beginning to rise from its necks and each head was panting hard. Oz kept pushing, picking up speed until, finally, when he was starting to think that his own legs and breath would give out long before the dog’s, Cerberus got its own legs twisted up and keeled over, crashing with a heavy thump to the ground. The head in the middle tried to encourage its companions to get back up but they were having none of it. Both lay their chins down, their eyelids drooping in exhaustion. Unable to fight any longer, the middle head did the same.

  Tamping down the desire to let out a whoop, Oz carried on singing and dancing. He spun back to the door, grabbing the bolt yet again. Cerberus was too tired to turn round but Oz knew that he needed to keep up the pretense or the beast might find a sudden new spurt of energy. Therefore, as he struggled to yank the bolt across, his voice grew even louder. A tiny part of his brain registered that the acoustics in this cavern were really rather astounding. If nothing else, they helped mask the sound of the rusty bolt grating as he gave it one last mighty tug and it slid free. Two sets of ears pricked up at the sound, but Cerberus wasn’t suspicious enough to turn round. Oz shifted his weight and opened the massive door just enough to squeeze his body through. He was half-expecting the beast to react and swing towards him with snapping jaws but, by the time he was safely on the other side, it was far too late. Breathing heavily and overwhelmed with relief, Oz sank to the ground, pushing the door shut again behind him. He’d made it past the gatekeeper and, once he’d recovered full use of his legs, he reckoned he’d be able to cope with whatever else was thrown at him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE UNDERWORLD, 2014

  It didn’t take a genius to work out that he was no longer in a simple caver
n. When Oz recovered enough to stand, and look at his surroundings, his stomach dropped. The scene was vast. Craggy rocks and black mountains lay in the distance to his right, several of them illuminated by dangerous looking fires and rivers of glowing molten lava. Leading up to the mountains were dark fields. Many had figures toiling in them, some of whom were so far away they were nothing more than little specks. If he turned to his left, there was an impossibly long valley. At its far end there was a faint sheen of gold that seemed to ripple and twist. Oz nodded to himself. Neither Medusa nor Sibyl had been able to tell him much about what to expect once he’d passed Cerberus but they did mention that in one direction would be Tartarus, where those souls who were destined to suffer would be found, and in the other would be the Elysium Fields, the golden heavens. Oz wanted neither of those places, however. His goal was to seek out Hades. He could feel an alluring tug towards the soft light of Elysium but he forced himself to look away and focus on the path in front of him instead. If Tartarus was to the right, Elysium to the left, and Cerberus behind him, then there was only one way to choose in order to proceed. Drawing in a deep breath, Oz began to walk.

  He’d been expecting the air to be foul and rank. It was true that there was no breeze and that the atmosphere was still but it felt neither oppressive nor rotten. Considering the now visible souls he passed, each one in various stages of degradation, that fact was surprising. Oz was forced to avert his eyes from many of them. The skeletons, who’d clearly been here for the longest, weren’t particularly bad; it was the others who had flesh hanging off their bones who turned his stomach. None of them seemed to be in pain and they all appeared as if they had tasks to do. One long line shuffled out in the direction of Tartarus, oddly reminiscent of slaves shackled to each other with heavy chains. Nothing was holding these souls in place, however, other than the monotony of their situation.