by Carmen Kern
Darkness roared into Hades. He stood on a barren plain, squeezed out of the earth beside him. The sky had fallen and was starless, without light. For it had poured into the empty vessel of his god body. Lightning flashed above him, jolting him with supernatural voltage. Thunder rushed at him, rolling, surging through his veins until his heart pounded with it. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. His eyes snapped open, blazing with a new brand of god power, given from another world of living, breathing beings. It tasted of fresh-cut grass and smelled of pencil shavings…a far cry from the underlying stench of rotted flesh he was used to.
Someone yelled out, “He’s come to save us.”
Another shouted, “Hades fights with us.”
More voices joined in. Weapons and boots pounded the ground. Those who had fallen to their knees stood and raised their fists to the heavens.
Arle stared. “Well, this is a sight,” he said.
“You were right…this is a hell of a surprise.” Hades’s voice was deeper, more feral. “If you were looking to boost my battery, you succeeded.”
“That was my hope. We need a weapon, one that can rival the god of death. And you’re it.” Arle’s marble eyes reflected the light from Hades’s eyes.
Hades had grown, his god form emerging from his human body. The dirt and filth of his body faded. Some of the beings looked away, overcome by his perfection. The god of the Underworld looked down at Arle. “I’m impressed. You saw an opportunity to use a god to rally your troops, a risky plan, but you executed it brilliantly. But I’m not used to being used.”
Arle’s wooden throat swallowed visibly. He took a step back.
Reshawna walked out from the crowd and stood beside Arle. “He didn’t—”
Hades held up his tattooed hand, his skull ring grinning, the eyes now red with flames. “You were clear about your intentions, as I was about mine. So let’s go get Thanatos and bind his feathery ass.” His grin matched his ring.
Arle slumped with relief. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He turned to the crowd and raised his hands once more. “Thank you,” he shouted. Thank you all.”
The crowd grew silent.
“Each one of you has played an important role in this mission. In more ways than you know.” He spared a glance at Hades. “But it’s time. Those of you chosen to stay behind, thank you. Your part in this is appreciated. Now, let’s get moving. We’ve got some time to make up.”
Reshawna faced Hades. “Should I even ask how you feel?”
“You can ask. I feel like my god self, just more alive than usual.”
“I suppose I have to watch how I talk to you now. You know, with respect and all that.”
Hades crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Are you saying you found something to believe in?”
“Ha! I’m not a blind-faith person. You’ve got to prove yourself to me. Then we’ll talk.”
“My wife would like you. You have similar ideals.”
“So she’s a handful too?”
“You’ve no idea.” Hades moved out of the way of two characters carrying a large crate between them.
“I’ve got a few more patients to see before we leave,” Reshawna said. “I’ll be around if you need me.” She left them to check on the wounded.
The rest of the beings finished loading ammo. Some filled quivers with arrows, others clipped on grenades, filled bullet clips, sharpened knives and swords—the weapons were varied, some imagined and others true to life.
Arle took out his walkie-talkie and clicked it on and off, testing the batteries. “Hades,” he said. “You’ll ride with me in the truck. Take your pick of weapons. We’ve done our best to gather what we could, but I’m sure they won’t be of the quality you’re used to.” Arle lead him to the pickup truck they’d driven in on. “What we have is yours to use.”
“You’ve given me all I need.” Hades slid his bident from the lining of his jacket, warmed it in his hand, and with a vicious flick of his wrist, the shaft shot out, expanding six feet. The curved double blades were hooked at their ends, the edges in between filed sharp like a hydra’s fang, hungering for death.
NINETEEN
Phobetor dug his hands deep into his pockets while he watched sand pour through the hourglass. He’d always been fascinated with the way the grains fell and flowed over each other, almost like water, yet they were rough enough to scratch open skin.
After the mid of night, time was pliable, bendable. Within the constraints of a person’s mind, he could stretch time or condense it according to his needs. That was one thing the god of nightmares had learned at a young age. He had practiced on his brothers while they slept in the massive caves of the Underworld, prolonging their night terrors or jerking them awake as they dreamed of soft lips and supple breasts. Their thoughts were his playground, his schooling, and he learned his craft well.
In a small room, hidden from the rest of his living quarters, he moved the single bed across from the doorway. He wanted it to be the first thing Kay Te saw, that and his true face. He’d found the bed in a warehouse of discarded objects they had used in their storylines. In this bed, several characters had died horribly, messily. Most had been driven insane before they were killed. If Phobetor listened closely, he could still hear the characters’ screams.
He had set the hourglass on the small bedside table, beside a lamp that shone a sickly yellow light up toward the ceiling. The room was jaundiced. The walls shed their wallpaper. Water stains marked the popcorn ceiling and ran down the walls. It stank of bleach and sickness, the sickness of hundreds of diseases, some not heard of in any world other than the ones he and his brother had created.
Thanatos and Phobetor played games like most siblings did. Their favorite was called The Most Painful Way to Die. They would try and outdo each other, taking turns inventing excruciating tortures and prolonged illnesses. In this room, they tested their imaginations on certain characters, those who rebelled against them or had simply lost their way in a storyline that never got resolved.
Phobetor hadn’t been here in some time. He found he missed the mildewy scent of this room and the simplicity of earlier years with his brother, before they schemed against the gods. He sighed and turned his eyes back to the falling sand inside the glass. It wouldn’t be long now. Shedding his jacket, he tossed it over the back of a metal chair and sat on the edge of the bed.
It hadn’t taken much effort to find the muse. He searched for the brightest-colored thoughts. Most people dreamed in monotones, dull and muted, swirling stews that had cooked for too long. But there, in the core of Vancouver, silken threads of pinks, purples, and electric blues waved above the skyline, a beacon shining just for him.
“Gotcha,” he’d whispered.
Then he’d gently pulled at the threads, coaxing them in and down his dark hallway. He felt Kay Te’s fears hidden in the deep layers of her psyche, and he built rooms for them, bringing them to life. He left the doors open for her to see inside. Through the fibers of her dream, Phobetor could feel her heartbeat hammering like fists, quickening while he led her down the hall of her own fears until she stood before the door to his favorite room. The one prepared just for her.
Knock-knock. Phobetor opened the door with a thought. It creaked on rusted hinges, slowly opening. He waited until it had opened fully. “Welcome to your nightmare, Muse.”
Kay Te had stumbled inside as if invisible hands pushed her. The door slammed shut, loud and clattering like a jail cell. She was bright, even in her dreams. Her pink hair flowed down over her shoulders. Her eyes the green of seaweed, her body slight.
A bit of a pipsqueak really, Phobetor thought. “Come sit with me.” His long, thin fingers patted the dirty mattress beside him.
As in all nightmares, Kay Te was compelled to do what the god said. She lurched across the room and found herself perched beside him on the bed, staring into empty eye sockets, deep as an endless pit.
Phobetor smiled wide, his black
ened teeth like laser-cut gravestones.
Her neck tensed, and she tried to look away from his writhing skin but found she couldn’t.
“Do you like what I’ve done with the place?” He looked around with pride. “I designed this just for you.”
Kay Te twitched, her leg spasming with the strain of trying to run.
“Now, now, none of that.” Phobetor exposed his rotting teeth once again.
Her body froze.
“I demand a captive audience in my nightmares, and make no mistake, this is mine, not yours. You are only a guest here, despite the homey touches I’ve granted you. I find that using a person’s own fears, their regrets, or memories of tragic events, makes them feel more comfortable. It affords a wondrous buildup to the horrors I have waiting for them. This here is my world to control. This is my monologue, and you’ll not say a word until I’m done. Got it?”
The muse nodded because Phobetor willed it so. He leaned toward her, coming closer with his wiggling skin until his nose touched her neck. “I smell your fear. It tastes like marshmallows.” The god of nightmares licked his bloodless lips. “What a glorious treat.”
Gray water began to seep from under the door. It spread, running across the rotted baseboards until it filled the edges of the room.
Phobetor stood. His cloven hooves splashed in the rising water. “What a naughty sister you have… Erato, I believe. The muse of love poetry. Well, you know you can’t trust a poet. They’re much too obtuse, too abstract to know what they really think.” He paced in front of Kay Te, seemingly studying her face, but really, his ever-seeing eyes followed her threads of thought, down the dark stairs of her mind. “She was the sister that shoved you into the ocean that day, was she not?”
The god stopped in front of Kay Te. He towered over her, his black clothes whispering with black tongues and swarming with charred faces and red eyes. “And you, not able to swim. Do you remember sinking? Flailing? Taking in that deep breath of water, choking on it while it soaked your spongy lungs, and all the while you looked up at Apollo’s golden smile shining down through the murky layers.” Phobetor clapped, a thunderous sound that shook the room. The bed jumped along with the terror-filled muse.
He chuckled as her eyes dilated, the bluish-green lost in a large circle of black. “Flames, that sweet taste of fear! All I need is graham crackers and chocolate and I’ve got myself a s’morefest.”
Water poured down from the ceiling, soaking through the drywall, filling the glass light fixture. The water from below reached the muse’s shins and splashed around Phobetor’s furry legs as he paced the floor. “It wasn’t just Apollo’s sunny smile you saw. Your sister…her face peered over the edge of the sea wall to watch you sink. There was joy on her face, the kind she would write about in her next poem.” He stopped in front of Kay Te once more. “That is, until one of Poseidon’s water nymphs took you into her arms. You thought you were saved, and you were, but the god of water wasn’t the savior you thought he was. Gods never are.”
Boom! Water gushed through the back wall, breaking away the drywall, an endless stream pouring through. Kay Te stared straight ahead at the monstrous god, unable to turn away or blink or cry out, even while her mind screamed with helplessness.
Water oozed over the bed, running onto and over Kay Te’s body, soaking her clothes, small splashes lapped at her arms, and it rose and rose until she was submerged up to her elbows.
“I am blessed in my god calling. I pour my powers into creating these nightmarescapes, but am instantly filled up again from the fear, the sadness and terror…I reap it from every one of you, savoring every morsel. The other gods, they might never be filled up again. A real pity, isn’t it?” he snarled viciously.
“But where was I? Oh, yes, you…drowning.” He paused, fingering the threads in Kay Te’s mind, plucking them like a harp and eating each note that cried out. “You were spared that day, but not out of the kindness of Poseidon’s heart—although I’d argue he doesn’t have one. He wanted something from you in return. He made a deal, one you’ve told no one about.”
The pad from the metal chair floated by, bumping Kay Te’s shoulder. The rising water centimeters from her chin.
“No one seems to question the vibrant colors of his reefs, nor the blues and oranges decorating certain species of water life. But it was not always so, was it? The god of the sea had a vision for his realm, one of color and beauty. And you gave it to him, spending decades chained to your paintbrushes. Your life for the water realm of Poseidon’s dreams. Oh, I see it there, a hidden little oyster shell. Let me pry it open.” He licked his lips with a forked tongue. “Ah. A lovely, perfectly round pearl of hate.”
Water covered Kay Te’s nose. Her heart banged in her chest, demanding to be let out. Her splendid mind became saturated with the memory of that day and the row upon row of Poseidon’s needle-sharp teeth snapping at her like some great white.
“The day you finished your masterpiece, you disappeared from the world of the gods. Disappearing until at last, the god of the Underworld found you. My hunch is that you wanted to be found. At least a little bit. Hades. If he wasn’t the god of the Underworld, he would’ve made a helluva motivational speaker. It wouldn’t matter what his message was, the people would flock to him regardless. He has that way about him.” Phobetor reached under the water and cupped Kay Te’s face with both hands. He lifted her by her head, above the water.
“But that isn’t why I brought you here. I’ve got an offer for you. Your life is in peril once again. And in case you want to take this opportunity to just end it all, kind of a final middle finger to the dealings of the gods, think on this: Without me, Hades will never find his way out of our world. He will be lost to you, to Persephone, to all those other saps who love and worship him. This deal isn’t just for you, it’s for everyone you care about. Who knows, your actions may even save the world.”
Phobetor laughed and let go of Kay Te. He giggled while she sank under the water. “That sounded so dramatic, even to me! Save the world!” he shouted. The words echoed and faded along with his laughter. Rolling his empty eyes, he plunged his arms under the water to heave Kay Te to the surface once again. The bulb in the water-filled light fixture zapped and sparked, flickering on and off above them.
Limp and helpless to move, she looked up at Phobetor, her eyes swallowed in the blackness of her pupils. Her body vibrated from the cold water and the bang-bang of her heartbeat.
Phobetor pulled her close to his face, close enough to see the wiggling shapes rolling beneath the surface of his skin.
She shook even harder, nauseated by the god. There was a moment of dithering before a slow morphing of his face smoothed out his skin. His eyes filled with the blackest of black, his hair sprouted like seeds in fertile ground, his face and body shifted to that of the god of the Underworld, until it seemed that the god himself was holding the muse gently in his arms.
“Is this better?” The grating voice was all Phobetor. “Or maybe”—he paused—“this is more like it,” he said in the low growling voice of Hades.
The rushing water had stopped pouring into the room, the depth now up to the god’s chest. “Now…maybe we can do business without you dying of a heart attack. That is possible, you know. There’s a trick to waking people up at just the right time. No need to scare them to death. That is, unless my brother is called to take them. But in your case, I need you alive. And my brother is not to know of this.”
The monstrous god pressed his finger to Kay Te’s lips, his bone ring warm against her skin. “You may speak. But speak wisely.”
“Bastard.”
“Now, now. You’re smarter than that. Let me tell you what is going to happen. You can answer yes or no. Depending which way you answer, a series of events will happen. Some more pleasant than others. Do you understand?”
Her body wouldn’t stop shaking, but she still couldn’t move, nothing but her mouth. “Yes,” she whispered.
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br /> “You’ve been looking for a link from this world to ours. I can give you that link so you can save your god of the Underworld. I’m tired of running, of planning and writing and comic book characters. But I need something in return. Immunity. Thanatos can never learn of this deal. NEVER.”
The word rattled in Kay Te’s brain.
Phobetor continued. “That means I’m left alone to come and go from the Underworld, just as I always have. And Nyx and the rest of my family will not be held accountable for my brother’s actions—that means no retribution from the other gods—other than for Thanatos, of course. Do I make myself clear?”
Silence.
“I do hope you’ll say yes, but I’m more than willing to take you so deep into my nightmare that you’ll never find your way out.” He waited, but not for long.
“Yes.” Kay Te’s word came out like a breath of a wintery breeze.
“Good. Now, you might be wondering why I didn’t go to the gods directly. Easy answer, really. They would’ve smote me first and asked questions later. That’s why you’re here instead of one of them. I realize you don’t have the power to make deals in the name of the gods, but you make a damn good messenger. Even better than that incessantly cheerful Hermes. Better they shoot you than me. But I highly doubt that will happen. In fact, I’m counting on it. And I have no doubt that you will relay this message in an appropriate and convincing manner.”
Kay Te stared into the face that looked so much like Hades. She tried to move her fingers, her legs, anything, but her limbs floated like buoys in a calm current beside her.
“I have on my person, a key to an elevator to the world Thanatos created…think of it as a key to the penthouse suite, but in this case, the top floor is the Overworld. It’s your way in and out of the world we created. There’s only one stop. The doors will open outside of Thanatos’s private apartment.” The smell of burned wires grew stronger. The light fixture above gave one final flutter and went dark. The replica of Hades’s skull ring was the only source of light. Phobetor looked over his shoulder and shouted, “A little light in here!”