by Diana Tyler
“My name is Hector. And I look different because they’re gods.”
“And you are not?”
He shook his head.
Eione’s bottom lip protruded as her eyebrows rose in pity. “That’s too bad.”
He tried not to show how her words stung him. His mind replayed all the races he’d lost, all the insults the rival runners, even his own teammates, had hurled at him; the looks of disappointment his father had tried unsuccessfully to hide. He’d felt like this all his life: inadequate, inferior, invisible. Not until his win against Gino had he actually felt like his life mattered. And when Ares had shown up and taught him about his doma, he was sure he’d be the most famous Asher of all. How stupid and selfish he’d been, too blinded by his own wounded ego to see that he was being used, manipulated from the start.
If he were destined to die at the hands of the gods, he resolved, he would die fighting, not begging for his life. At least, that’s what he wished was his attitude. The truth was, he’d been intimidated time and again by Ares and Zeus. Every time he’d spoken up or acted out against them, they’d pinned him more firmly beneath their thumbs, using threats and fear to bend him to their will.
But all that changed when he prayed to Duna in those fleeting seconds before Ares dunked his head into the Lethe. Help me, had been his last thought before his memories rushed out of him, disappearing in the wide river’s current. The next thing he knew, he was being sped out of Hades, given a servant’s tunic, and told by Ares to hand over the dýnami.
“You’ll use it when I tell you,” Ares had said.
Hector hadn’t had a clue what the dýnami was for and Ares had to reach into Hector’s pocket himself to retrieve it.
Athena had been right. He’d been effectively lobotomized, turned into a detached, emotionless robot whose sole purpose was to take orders and keep quiet. He couldn’t help but wonder if Eione was like he had been before he realized he was just a cog in Zeus’ globe-dominating machine. Did she also feel like a disappointment, constantly trying to prove herself but always failing? Was her decision to help the pantheon an attempt to achieve greatness or earn a better reputation?
“We must go now.” Athena’s icy hand on his arm jolted him, tearing his gaze from the bench. “Hector, are you all right?”
He nodded and glanced at Eione, who was swaying to the lilting tune of Dionysus’ lyre. “Will she always be like this, or will you heal her when all this is done?”
“If I’m around to heal her, then I will.”
It was then that Hector saw Athena for the brave, freethinking goddess she was. Ares, for all his vaunting and strength and impressive armor, was a lackey just like Hector. By his own admission, Ares was doing all of this to win favor with the gods after doing who knew what to vex them in ages past. The only thing Ares cared about was being accepted, and he would do anything and kill anyone to achieve that. Athena, on the other hand, was Zeus’ favorite child and yet here she was, risking everything to help the mortals, and for what?
“Follow me,” Athena said. She exhaled as if extinguishing candles on a birthday cake and blew the bronze doors open.
The other gods, too immersed in their drinking and merrymaking, didn’t so much as look up as the three of them sped swiftly out of the citadel. Athena wasn’t known as the most intelligent goddess for nothing; her family had no idea they’d just been betrayed.
They traveled in a cloud like Ares’, swooping and weaving through the high-walled fortress until they were a safe distance from Olympus and could sail smoothly over the plains.
“Where are we going?” Hector asked Athena for the fifth time in half an hour, and there was still no answer.
Eione couldn’t care less where they were going. Her head was sticking out of the cloud and she was giggling like a child on its first amusement-park ride. Another half-hour later, the walls inside the cloud began to thicken and the air got hotter. Athena pulled Eione back inside the cloud and commanded her to sit still.
Neither Athena nor Eione seemed to be sweating like Hector, and then he remembered that both were cold by nature. It would probably take the flames of Tartarus or the Phlegethon River to make them perspire.
“You’re taking us to Hades, aren’t you?” he said to Athena, his heart pounding in his chest as beads of sweat dripped down his back. He would’ve ripped off the linen tunic had he not been naked beneath.
“Deeper,” Athena replied.
He jumped at his own reflection flashing in the back of her helmet. “Tartarus?”
When Ares had taken him into Hades, Hector had only seen the Fields of Asphodel, the sector reserved for souls who had not chosen to follow Duna and yet were not evil enough to be consigned to the abyss. Tartarus, Hector knew, he would not survive.
“You know I’ll die in there, right?” Despite Athena’s orders to Eione, he peeked out of the cloud. He’d rather jump out than set foot in a place that would incinerate him in minutes. But it was too dark to see even his own hand waving in front of his face. For all he knew, he could leap and land smack dab in the center of the fiery Phlegethon.
“Do you want a harpy to snatch you by your toes?” Athena reached back and gripped the nape of his neck, pulling him to safety. A bone-chilling shriek blared outside the cloud. “Use the dýnami,” she told him. “It’ll protect you from the fire.”
“I don’t have it. Ares made me give it to—”
Still facing the front of the cloud, Athena threw the dýnami over her shoulder. It landed softly between Hector’s bare feet. “My brother notices nothing when he’s drunk.”
“And what’s he going to do when he realizes it’s gone?”
“The same thing he’ll do when he realizes you’re gone. I told Zeus I’d show you to your quarters before supervising Eione’s meeting with Nereus.”
Hector ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “So that will buy us, what, an hour maybe?”
“Don’t fret over things you can’t change, Hector. The time we have is the time we have.”
Eione made a sound of utter disgust, and covered her nose against the awful stench of sulfur pervading the cloud. Hector did the same.
“The dýnami, Hector,” Athena shouted. “We’re getting close.”
Hector gripped the dýnami in his hand, feeling it buzz and vibrate as it had the first time he’d held it. He closed his eyes and did as he had in the Lethe: prayed. Duna, if you can hear me down here, please let this thing protect me. I don’t want to die.
The heat disappeared in an instant and his temperature normalized. He wasn’t sweating anymore. The suffocating humidity was gone, or was at least unnoticeable.
“Your skin.” Eione was pointing at his arm, her naïve eyes wide and glittering with delight.
Hector looked down and saw a goopy, sludge-like substance adhering to his body like a thick coat of paint. It had already covered his arms and was now crawling across his legs and up his neck. He could feel it curling around his ears, even creeping up his nostrils. He hoped it would quash the rotten smell of the Underworld.
“What is this stuff?” he asked Athena.
She turned to him, neither amused nor alarmed by his appearance. “You’ll have to ask the All-Powerful.”
The cloud landed on a rocky outcrop with a jarring thud and began to disintegrate. Red magma gushed along endless miles of cliff faces that stretched up to Petros’s mantle. A blazing river was flowing furiously between two narrow strands of black scorched rock. There was not a soul in sight; it was as though they were buried in the current.
“It’s beautiful,” Eione said, clapping her hands at the sight, twirling around to take it all in.
Hector thought it might have seemed beautiful to him as well, if he hadn’t known what lava could do to a person. Ignorance really was bliss.
CHAPTER THIRTY
HECATONCHIRES
Make a bridge, Hector.” Athena towered above Hector, her cool gaze sweeping over the smoldering scene.
“
Can’t you make a bridge?” He had seen her create a goblet out of nothing, not to mention restore his memory, so surely she could make something as simple and straightforward as a bridge.
“Our powers don’t operate here in Tartarus. Don’t you think we would’ve escaped a long time ago if they did?”
Hector shrugged. “I’ll try.” He stepped forward and stretched his hands out over the river. He doubted it made any difference how he positioned his arms, but he did feel more powerful this way.
Bridge, he thought. Wood—no, stone. He laughed with amazement as a stone foundation materialized at his feet, followed by another on the charred sliver of shore on the opposite side.
“Good.” Athena’s red lips were pulled ever so slightly into a smile. “Keep going.”
Hector gripped the dýnami, feeling its heat pulse and pound like a heartbeat in his hand. Seconds later, a perfect bridge began to take shape, ancient-looking like the ones he’d seen in history books, replete with a corbel arch in its center. When he was sure it was done, he lowered his hands and tried not to grin like a fool; Eione was already smiling enough for the both of them.
“That was amazing,” Eione said. “Can I do that?”
“Not yet.” Hector was unable to suppress his pity for her. He was tempted to tell her that she possessed the power to fly through the air and breathe underwater, but he knew Athena would disapprove. As far as Athena was concerned, Eione was dangerous and untrustworthy no matter what state of mind she was in.
Athena nudged him with the pommel of her sword. “Don’t give her false hope.” Then she stepped onto the bridge and, without hesitation, strode across it.
Eione followed hastily, like a duckling after its mother, stopping every few steps to marvel at the magma raging in protest against the walls.
“Keep going, Eione,” Hector yelled, afraid she might wander over to the side and dive in. He rushed to catch up and then led her by the hand the rest of the way. “Don’t go near the magma. It’ll burn you.”
“What is burn?” Eione asked. Athena pinched the skin of Eione’s elbow, and she yelped and jerked her arm. “Ouch!”
“Burn is like that,” said Athena. “Only much, much worse. Keep your hands to yourself. Do you understand?”
Eione nodded and stepped closer to Hector, frowning at the flames she’d been so enthralled by. “What was that?” She stopped suddenly, her hands jumping to Hector’s sides. He could feel her cold breath through his tunic.
Athena halted and took off her helmet. She cupped her ear to listen. “The Hecatonchires.”
“Do I even want to know what they are?” Hector was sure he could see the hairs on her neck standing on end.
“Do they burn?” Eione said.
And then Hector heard it: a roar, a scream, and a high-pitched howl that all blended into a horrific cacophony.
Athena, sensing his trepidation, turned to him and laid a firm hand on his shoulder. “You can defeat them,” she said. “They have fifty heads and a hundred hands each. All you have to do is use the speed of your ancestor and my sword.” She drew her sword and placed it in his hands.
At first he needed both hands to hold it, and even then it was still heavy, but after a few minutes the dýnami took over, just as it had with Ares’ spear. It felt as light as a twig.
“Put the dýnami in your satchel,” Athena said. “You can’t risk dropping it.”
Hector untied the leather sack on his belt and secured the dýnami inside. “I’ve never used a sword before. I think you’d better—”
The monsters screamed again, the force of their voices curling the magma waves, sending them dangerously close to the paltry strip of rock the three stood upon. Eione huddled closer to the other two, her wide eyes terrified as she stared at the red-hot current creeping toward her feet.
“Look, Hector.” Athena pointed at the bridge. “You built a bridge without moving a muscle. You’re holding my sword with ease. You must have faith that you can defeat the hundred-handed ones. It’s our only way to…”
She hesitated, then dropped her hand from Hector’s shoulder and looked at Eione. “Stay close to me. Don’t run. As you can see, the fire has a mind of its own.”
As if waiting for its cue, a plume of lava shot up like a geyser behind them, hissing like a snake as the bright flames sprayed the air. Half a dozen such eruptions popped up on either side of it, each one spinning counterclockwise, upsetting the river below.
“We have to go,” Athena yelled.
Hector knew it wouldn’t do any good to object now. The river knew they were trespassing, and even the cliffs were starting to rumble. He could feel adrenaline surging through his system. In any other high-stakes scenario he would have the choice between fight and flight, but he knew only one of those options was available now. He gripped the sword and ran toward the cries of the Hecatonchires.
“Cut off their heads first, Hector,” Athena shouted.
Her voice seemed far away, and then he realized that his legs and arms were nothing but amorphous blurs of movement. He was moving at superhuman speed and couldn’t feel a thing, not even the slightest cramp in his lungs or burning tightness in his thighs. I wish Dad could see me now.
He slowed when he saw them, three ferocious creatures as tall as the oaks in the Folóï Forest. Fifty heads protruded from the pasty trunk of each body, gnashing their wolf-like teeth when they weren’t unleashing that ear-splitting noise. A hundred arms, dripping with sweat and bulging with muscles, jutted out from each beast’s sides and swung like branches in a summer storm.
Hector had no doubt that just one of those hands could crush his skull with a single squeeze. On the bright side, they didn’t have swords—and he just remembered that he did.
He glanced down at the satchel on his hip and prayed silently for it to stay there. He still had no idea why Athena wanted these ugly dudes dead, let alone why she’d brought them here, but she’d won his trust a long time ago. He couldn’t back down now. Do it, Hector.
The giants were looking straight at him; one hundred and fifty heads grinning as saliva dribbled down their chins. Not only were they bloodthirsty, he thought, but they looked hungry, too.
The center giant possessed a larger head than the others, which rested in the exact center of his chest. The head was also less crazed-looking. The giant opened his mouth to speak, and the other heads turned to watch.
“A mortal? How marvelous.” His eyes flashed red, and all the other eyes followed suit. “We have killed and roasted the immortals for sport, but they have the pesky habit of springing back to life.”
All the heads chortled in unison, though the sound was more akin to wailing than laughter.
“You’re lucky, my friend. The prisoners here beg for death,” the giant said, gesturing to a looming basalt gate behind him. “If they were mortal, they would only suffer once. But we have turned immortality into a curse for them—we break their bones and burn their flesh from them whenever our hands grow restless. And as you might imagine, such occasions are frequent in these putrid depths.”
Hector pushed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and drove his heels into the hot, hard ground. Everything in him was urging him to run away, everything but the dýnami, the heat of which he could feel radiating against his hipbone.
Their heads, go for their heads.
Hector knew which head to go for first. Maybe if he silenced the giant who had spoken, the others would become disoriented, or at least confused. He needed any advantage he could get.
“Won’t you introduce yourself?” the Hecatonchire said. “I am Briareous the Strong. These two”—his hands pointed left and right—“are my brothers, Kottos the Fighter and Gyges the Curved.”
“Curved?” Hector said. “The other names are pretty cool, but curved?”
Gyges turned ninety degrees, exposing his ribs. They were grotesquely concave, as if a huge chunk had been taken out of him. A long lurid scar traveled from his pelvis all the way up to his armp
it.
“It’s not his original name,” said Briareous. “That was forgotten after the incident of which we do not speak, although when we speak his name or see his side, we do remember it.”
Hector gave his best over-confident smile, although he felt like a hamster standing up to elephants. “So he almost got his ass kicked, right?”
Briareous smiled, exposing razor-sharp teeth and swollen gums the color of moldy bread. “You should’ve seen the dolt who opposed us. It took nearly a week for life to return to him. But then again, mortals’ spirits are as weak as their wine.”
Mortals’ spirits. So whoever had fought them had been mortal, too. And maybe a rogue Asher like him.
Kottos signed something to Briareous with one of his gargantuan arms.
“My brother insists you are an Asher,” said Briareous.
All fifty heads on Gyges’ body snarled. The ichor boiled beneath the scar that ran down his side. He looked ready to exact his vengeance.
Hector took a deep breath and leaned forward. It was now or never.
Just like before, he couldn’t feel his legs sprinting or his arms pumping at his sides. As if he were running across flat pavement, he scaled Briareous’s body easily and continued racing around it, zigzagging up and down, whipping the giant into a frenzy. Briareous bellowed and jumped forward and backward, sweeping his arms up and down his chest and shoulders, shaking himself like a wet dog. One flick and Hector would fall fifty feet.
But Hector didn’t fall. Although his body was moving fast, his eyes saw everything unraveling in slow motion. When he was sure that Briareous was sufficiently dizzy and disoriented, Hector raced to the top of the centermost head and dragged the blade across its neck.
The head dropped like a ripe coconut.
Hector looked away before he could see it split open on the ground. He was too shocked to realize that Athena’s sword had slid from his hand and was now clattering beside Briareous’s stumbling feet. The giant was starting to sway. The eyes on all the other heads were rolled back in their sockets. In seconds, Briareous would go down like a rotten tree.