The Twelve Labors of Nick

by Amy Wolf

“Buzz buzz?” Nick asked, not sure where the god was going with this.

  “For Charon,” said Hades, “to ferry you over the Styx.”

  “Thanks,” Nick said. “You know, you’re not half bad.”

  “As you are half a man.”

  “Ha?” asked Nick.

  “Speaking of which,” said Hades, “you must take your human form. My realm is not for beasts.”

  Nick nodded and changed, fastening on his armor.

  “I wish you luck,” said Hades, like a sad uncle at a funeral. “Just remember: when you need them most, the gods will not forsake you. So the rules of this last Labor is that there are no rules.”

  “Oh,” said Nick. He hadn’t expected this.

  “Which way to Charon?” asked Helen.

  “Take a left by the three burning fires, then a right when the sulphur gets strong.”

  “Cool,” said Nick, grabbing Helen’s arm.

  “That was close,” she told him as they came to the three fires. “The last thing I want is to rule here.”

  Nick nodded, sweltering in the heat. Now, he could hear screams—much worse than the Mares’.

  “The Furies,” Helen whispered. “They torment the damned.”

  “I suggest we avoid them,” said Nick.

  “Agreed.”

  In Hades

  Trying to ignore the screams, the two of them stepped between fires until the smell of sulphur sickened them. Nick covered his face with his hands, gesturing to the right. He couldn’t even speak until the putrid air cleared.

  “What,” he coughed to Helen, “is Tartarus, exactly?”

  “It’s a place worse than Hades,” she said, “where those who’ve angered the gods suffer unspeakable torment.”

  “Sounds like working in Hollywood.”

  “It is also a force.”

  “Huh?”

  “A primal one, like Night and Time. We don’t know how, but it came along after Chaos.”

  Nick shuddered.

  “Sounds awful.”

  With that, they trudged on. What Nick saw were yet more fires, a general aura of gloom, and a figure in a black robe who looked precisely like . . . Death. It stood in a small wooden boat holding a giant paddle. Beneath the hull was not water but a river of fire.

  Nick gathered his courage and went up to the boatman.

  “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

  He reached for the coin Hades gave him, then handed it over. A skeletal hand emerged from one billowing sleeve. After it snatched the gold, Charon tested it with his teeth.

  “Get in,” he half-whispered.

  Nick did, nodding to four poor souls huddled close in the prow.

  “C’mon, Helen,” he called, and, as she started to join him, Charon put out an arm. Oh no! How could Hades forget to give them a second coin? Was this some kind of scheme for him to keep her with him?

  “Here,” Nick said, tossing Helen Hades’ hat. Once she put it on, she totally disappeared. “Are you here?” Nick asked softly, glancing around the boat. When he felt a press on his arm, all his muscles untensed.

  Once Charon had a full load, he set his paddle into the River Styx. As flames crackled beneath them, Nick saw chilling sights all around: solitary, robed figures; gazing down at the ground, their color a washed-out grey and their forms nearly see-through. There were still more small burning fires, plus the horrible sounds of souls being whipped by Furies. Note to self, thought Nick: Try not to end up here!

  He wished he could talk to Helen but that would blow her cover. Instead, he turned to Charon.

  “So,” Nick said, “which way to Tartarus?”

  The boatman pulled out his oar and forcefully pointed it down.

  “It’s far?”

  Charon’s hood moved up and down.

  “No shortcuts?”

  The black-robed figure shook with silent laughter.

  “Okay, thanks,” said Nick. “You’ve been great.”

  He managed to hold it together until he heard the wailing. It came from behind a wide blaze, and was so scary—the cries of souls in anguish—that he had to stop up his ears. Hades was, no doubt, the worst place he’d been to so far.

  Nick wanted to ask for a refund, but Charon halted his boat at the shore of an endless grey field. He gestured for all to get out. Nick did, then started to worry.

  “Helen?” he whispered, watching Charon shove off.

  “Here.”

  Now Nick saw her, Hades’ hat in one hand.

  “Better keep that,” he told her. “It could come in handy.”

  “I figured.”

  Nick looked around this sad field.

  “Do you have any idea where we are?”

  “The Plain of the Dead,” said Helen, “from which there is no return.”

  “Well,” Nick said, “we’re not dead, so maybe the rules are different.”

  “Maybe,” said Helen, but she didn’t look too convinced. “We need to leave it. Somehow, make our way down.”

  “How?” Nick asked. “Should we anger the gods?”

  Helen shuddered.

  “No.”

  Nick looked ahead and saw a wall of floating ghosts. Unlike their reputation, they didn’t make a peep.

  “Maybe I can scare them,” he said, “into telling us where to go.”

  “We’re already there,” said Helen. “Please be careful. They are not used to the living.”

  “I’m not sure if that includes me.”

  Nick walked up to a woman who thankfully stood on the ground. Like many around her, she was staring down.

  “Hey,” Nick said. “I know this is kind of wack, but we’re trying to get to Tartarus. Would you know the way?”

  The woman raised her head and pointed down.

  “But, how—?” She tore off through the air. “Uh, thanks.” He walked back to Helen. “I think she hated me.”

  “I think.” said Helen, “we should look for a slope.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  Nick was all out of ideas.

  Helen just stood there thinking, then looked back at the Styx.

  “Do you think,” she asked, “that the river heads down?”

  “Hmm,” Nick answered. “Who knows? But even if it does, we can’t swim through fire.”

  “No, no,” said Helen, shaking her head. “We need a boat like Charon’s.”

  Nick snorted.

  “Maybe Hades has a marina.” Helen gave him a look. “Although,” said Nick, “I know that at Disneyland’s Pirates, they keep extra boats just in case.”

  “Hmm,” said Helen. “I wonder if . . .”

  “Charon has a spare?” Nick finished. “I mean, if his springs a leak, he’ll roast.”

  Their eyes met.

  “Let’s walk by the Styx,” said Helen. “See if we can find something.”

  They stuck close to the river, but that wasn’t easy when the whole thing flamed. Nick wiped sweat from his face. He almost missed Poseidon . . . and his kingdom of cool water.

  After what seemed like days, Nick felt like he’d lost five pounds—in water weight alone. He was tired, he was cranky, and he needed a drink—of water.

  “This isn’t working,” Nick said, wanting to back off. “Who’s the fool who thought of it?”

  “You.”

  “Maybe we should go back. I mean, away from the flames.”

  “Good idea.”

  The two of them put some distance between them and the Styx. It was like going from a sauna directly into a steam room.

  “I know seniors like heat,” said Nick. “That’s why they’re in Arizona. But the dead?”

  “They don’t have a choice, “Helen answered. “Unless they end up in the Fields.”

  “I wish,” said Nick, “we’d end up in a pool.”

  Still, they slogged on, the dead who weren’t floating shuffling past like zombies. Nick was starting to feel like he’d just run the 800: about a million times. As he opened his mouth to say, “You kno
w, my idea stinks,” he spotted a small enclosure with one of those flat tented roofs.

  Sweating his way over, he took a peek inside. Yes! His Pirates theory was right. The tent sheltered two boats, both of which matched Charon’s.

  “I knew it,” said Nick. “Even in Hell, things break.”

  “Let’s roll it into the wa-flames,” Helen said, grabbing the prow.

  Nick leapt to assist, his jacked torso helping. Finally, they poised the boat on the bank of the River Styx.

  “Let’s hope it’s like Charon’s,” said Nick. “In other words, fireproof.”

  “Right.” Helen said. “You hold the back while I get in.”

  All went according to plan until Nick took a running leap and landed face-first in the back.

  “Ouch,” he said, rising and rubbing his cheek. “This thing have a paddle?” He looked over the rows of benches.

  “No,” said Helen, “but I don’t think it matters. The current is taking us.”

  She was right: the craft moved forward on a cushion of flame.

  “I finally have my own boat,” Nick said. “But I was thinking more yacht—not a dingy in Hell.”

  “At least we’re leaving the Plain,” said Helen, and—thank Hades!—they were. Its greyness receded as they bumped down the river.

  “What do we look for?” Nick asked, taking a seat on a bench. “Some kind of lava waterfall?”

  “Let’s hope not,” said Helen. “If we’re lucky, the river will slope and lead us to Mýthos’ core.”

  “That’s luck?” Nick asked.

  From the prow, Helen shook her head, but that’s the last he saw of her. She was now slanting down at an insane angle!

  “Hold on,” he heard her cry. “I think we found your waterfall!”

  Nick grabbed both sides of the boat as it tilted ninety degrees. He had never been river rafting, and didn’t want to start now. He heard himself yelling as they plunged into darkness only lit by the Styx.

  “Help,” he said, ashamed of his screams while Helen endured in silence. Man, those Titans were tough. “Make it stop,” Nick whispered after an unknown time which promised to last forever. He had the urge to whimper but thought that would be unmanly.

  His stomach was now in his knees and his arms hurt from hanging on. If he’d had the strength to call for Athena, he would have in a hot second.

  “Will it ever end?” he cried out.

  “It has to,” he heard Helen shout. “When we reach the center!”

  Still, they went on, Nick’s half of the boat now airborne until he could barely stand it. Should he just let go? he wondered. Say to heck with Typhon and hope that the gods stepped in? Can’t, he thought, that still leaves my dad. And Helen. Thinking of them gave him a flicker of hope, which, from his current position—hunched down in a hurtling boat—seemed like the light of the world.

  “I think it’s ending!” yelled Helen. “There’s no more flames, just—”

  Darkness.

  They both flew from the boat as they came to the end of the “waterfall,” hitting not fire but air. At first, Nick somersaulted, then found a way to right himself.

  “Oof.” After what felt like miles, Nick hit something solid, but it was the color of coal and scraped his entire body. “Helen,” he called, “you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said from wherever she’d landed.

  “Ow!”

  Nick realized the “coal” was pitch black sand and it was burning his face. He got up with a groan, shifting his weight from sandal to sandal so he wouldn’t get scorched. Helen, walking over, was pretty much doing the same.

  “Is this it?” Nick asked. “Are we really in Tartarus?”

  They both heard anguished screams.

  A Place Worse Than Hades

  Putting physical safety first, the two of them stepped off hot sand. Nick helped Helen onto a boulder, where they both looked Tartarus over.

  Nick saw that compared to here, Hades was Hera’s Garden. Though there were no lit fires, rocks glowed with an inner flame. The rest of the place was so bleak it looked like a photo of Mars. Nick, who by now was used to heat, felt he was breathing in straight-up fire. Tartarus would’ve been grim based on scenery alone, but of course there were “residents,” and, in the eyes of the gods, they were the worst of the worst.

  The first guy Nick saw looked familiar: he was dressed in ragged robes and rolling a boulder uphill. As he struggled, the rock grew heavier, and insisted on rolling back down. Nick got to him before Helen.

  “Excuse me, Mr. uh . . . Sisyphus,” Nick said. On this dead rock world, his words were strangely muffled. “I take it you angered a god?”

  Sisyphus, who’d slid to the bottom of the hill, unleashed a sigh of despair.

  “Yes,” he answered, his voice barely a croak. “I claimed . . . I was cleverer than than Zeus. My arrogance matched only his desire to punish.”

  “Whoa,” said Nick, feeling sorry for the poor guy. “I wish we could help. I hate to change the subject, but we’re here to find Typhon. Any idea where he is?”

  Sisyphus shook his head no.

  “But if you find Ixion,” he said, “you might have better luck.”

  “Where’s he?” Nick asked.

  “Look up,” said Sisyphus, straining against the boulder. “And listen for the sound of screams.”

  For a moment, Nick and Helen just stood there, dwarfed by massive rock walls which ascended without end. Tartarus had no real color; it was either black or beige: even Sisyphus looked washed out. Despite its vast space, Nick felt trapped by the many grottoes.

  “We should—” he said to Helen, but was cut off by moans and the flutter of wind.

  They both looked up to see a nightmarish sight: a man, nearly naked, strapped by all four limbs to a flying, rotating wheel. What was worse, his straps were made of snakes, and, when the wheel flamed, the man cried out in anguish.

  “Whoa,” Nick breathed. “He must have done something fierce.”

  “You cannot imagine,” groaned the man as his wheel dipped overhead. “For I am Ixion, the king who murdered his father-in-law. Yet, Zeus took pity on me and invited me to a banquet, where, I’m afraid, I tried to seduce his wife.” His head fell onto his breast as he barely croaked out the rest. “Zeus sees all. He flung me into Tartarus and consigned me to this.”

  Nick made a mental note: Never get on Zeus’ bad side.

  “I’m sorry—” he began.

  “As am I,” said Ixion. “Did you know, son of Chiron, that I fathered your kind?”

  Nick just stood there staring.

  “On Olympus, Zeus sent me a cloud in the form of Hera, and I confess I-I had my way with her. Our son mated with mares and created the race of centaurs.”

  Nick stared up at Ixion: so this guy started it all. No wonder centaurs drank!

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Nick said as the wheel spurted flame, bringing forth more screams. He decided he’d better be quick. “Uh, we’re looking for Typhon. Know where he is?”

  “Everywhere,” groaned Ixion, “for he is as big as Mount Olympus. His coils lie under the island of Pithecusae—"

  “My mom’s there!’ cried Helen.

  “—his body in the depths of the sea, and his hundred dragon heads . . . here.” Ixion shuddered in his bonds. “You do not wish to seek him,” he croaked. “He is far worse than Cronos, who swallowed his own children; and Zeus, who punishes me.” Ixion shrieked in anguish as the snakes began to strike. “Go back, son of Chiron. You do not belong here—go!”

  Nick eyed him with doubt. Of course, Ixion suffered, but he was a killer who’d put the moves on Hera. Granted, being tied to a flaming wheel was a little over the top, but then, so were the gods.

  “Where are his heads?” Nick asked. He was determined to find them.

  “Listen,” Ixion whispered, writhing in his living bonds. “Do you hear it—the hissing? It never stops!”

  His Wheel of Torment rose, revolving as it spat fire.
>
  “Heed me,” cried the Father of Centaurs. “Tartarus is not for the living!”

  His head dropped back as he flew toward some glowing rocks.

  “One thing’s for sure,” Nick told Helen. “You don’t want to mess with Zeus. That guy makes the God of Vengeance look as sweet as my Ya-Ya.”

  Helen clutched his arm.

  “I thought my own curse cruel,” she said, “but that . . .” She looked up. “That is just inhuman.”

  “I think that’s the point,” said Nick. “It’s a warning. To us all.” She shuddered. “Do you think,” Nick asked, “that Ixion is, uh, all there? I don’t hear any hissing—do you?”

  “Sometimes, I hear it,” said a voice.

  They both turned to see a man standing in water beneath a fruit tree. Each time he bent to drink, the water receded from his lips; and, when he tried to eat, the tree’s branches snapped up.

  “More torture,” Nick whispered. “I seriously hate this place.”

  “You’re supposed to,” said the man. He gave them a nod. “My name is Tartarus.”

  “Isn’t that where we are?” Nick asked.

  “It’s a long story. Sometimes,” said Tartarus, as if lost in a dream, “I hear the banging and hissing. And the sound of roars.”

  “From where?” asked Helen.

  Tartarus raised an arm, pointing toward a maze of grottoes. “Go east,” he said. “That’s where the Titans are.”

  “Thanks,” Nick said, watching the guy try to drink. Zeus . . . again? He didn’t want to know.

  “Let’s go,” said Helen, leading the way. After jumping over black sand, they tramped on—and on—through a series of caves, each of which looked the same. At last, they came to one way bigger than the others. “Shhh,” Helen warned, as their sandals hit hard black ash.

  “Now what?” Nick asked. Helen shrugged helplessly as he surveyed rock walls. “I think—” he started, but then they both jumped back.

  There was a deafening rrrr-oar.

  Nick stepped in front of Helen, quickly notching his bow. After that, he heard growling, and a swell of roars so fierce he was almost knocked off his feet. Had that guy Verne been right? Were there actually dinosaurs at the center of the world?

  “OF COURSE NOT!” rumbled a voice. “TRY TO GET WITH THE TIMES!”