The Eighth Arrow

by J. Augustine Wetta

  “Sorry.”

  “Not a problem. Alls I had to do was take ’im behind the knees. A little trick you taught me.” Ajax laughed—was still laughing, in fact, when Charon stepped forward, pushing him to the side with his oar.

  Instinctively, I reached for my sword, but the old demon dropped to his knees and lay his oar at my feet. “Odysseus, Son of Laertes, the Ferryman of the Acheron is at your service.”

  I was baffled. “Lord Charon, rise.”

  He stood and smiled. There was a great, ugly scar on his bony chest. “The Lord of the Acheron owes you a debt,” he said. “If only this lake were not frozen, my oar would be of greater service. But,” he added, retrieving it from the ice, “I can use this for more than rowing.”

  “Yes,” I said, “I remember.”

  A voice spoke from behind him: “Let us save our nostalgia for another time.” It was Chiron, accompanied by Nessos. Both carried long bows and had donned shirts of shining mail. Each bore a pair of quivers at his hips. “The Centaurs are eager for war.”

  “And thanks to you, the Harpies as well,” added Nessos.

  It was all so much to take in, and so sudden, that I could do little more than gasp. The Greeks made up only a small contingent of the army, which must have comprised a thousand different nations and races—men of every size, shape, and color. There were dark pygmies no taller than my waist with intricately painted faces and tiny bows, pale men in magnificent armor of woven leather, men of Trojan blood who marched in tight ranks and carried square shields. There were men with skin as black as night, bearing no armor at all but long, leather shields and javelins as light as leaves. They stomped their feet and shook their spears, and as they marched, their voices rang a dirge, deep as death itself. Indeed, the army raised such a din now that the groans of Hades himself were drowned out. And overhead, the Harpies circled, not screeching but singing. They picked up the melody of the dark warriors. As I looked on, one of them ducked from the sky and dropped to the ice before me.

  “Odysseus, Son of Laertes,” said the Harpy. “The Daughters of Echidna sing for you.”

  I looked blankly at the creature, too shocked to answer. There was something familiar about her. She held in her hand a broken arrow. But surely this was not the monster I had healed by the banks of the Phlegethon. She was . . . not beautiful exactly, but her feathers shown like oiled ebony, and her white hair lay in shining braids. A tunic of woven gold hung from her shoulders, and as she stretched her wings, a scent of pine and mint swept over me. Her blue eyes, adorned with paint in the fashion of an Eastern princess, shone like the sea of Ithaca. I smiled.

  “And Odysseus,” she added, returning my smile. “We bring tidings from an old friend.”

  With that, she lowered her wings. Seated upon her back, holding a bloodred arrow in her hands, was my wife.

  I said nothing, my arms limp at my sides. Surely I was dreaming or dead or both.

  “Come now,” said Penelope, “is that any way to greet your wife?”

  A young man, bearing the shield of my father’s house, helped her down. When my eyes met his, he removed his helmet.

  “Telemachos!” I gasped. The air filled with stars for a moment, and Ajax had to hold me up.

  “Father,” he answered, bowing his head.

  “Son, I bear the title unworthily.”

  He nodded.

  “Time for reunions later,” said Chiron. “For now, we have a great enemy to fight. Where is Diomedes?”

  For all my joy at seeing so many friends, my heart sank. “We separated back at the valley of thieves.”

  Chiron shook his head. Nessos pawed the ice.

  “Just as well,” muttered Penelope, “I never liked him anyway.”

  “Penelope!” I exclaimed.

  She shrugged. “He was bad company. Impetuous and boastful.”

  “What is past is past,” declared Chiron. “The loss of a friend is a sad affair, but we will lose more before the day is done. The armies of Limbo await their general.”

  I looked past him at the sea of pikes. Banners fluttered and popped in the icy wind. In the distance, the giants now stood like siege towers, arms folded. And there I spotted Geryon and the two-headed Orthos, panting by his side. It thrilled my heart to see such a force. Surely there was no host, no fortress in Heaven or on Earth that could resist it. And they needed a general.

  “Chiron,” I gasped, “how did you do it?”

  “It was not I, Son of Laertes,” he answered. “You showed us the way.”

  “But the winged devils, the horned devils, the serpents, the Furies, the Minotaur . . . how did you get past them all?”

  “Devils?” he said. “We saw not a soul the entire way here. I assumed that was your doing.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Then where did they all go?”

  “Who cares?” said Ajax. “We’re here. They aren’t. Let’s kill this three-faced ice licker and get out.”

  “Son of Telemon,” I said, “that ‘ice licker’—whatever that means—is Hades.”

  Ajax laughed aloud. “That? Hades? Naw.”

  “Look at him!”

  “Been looking at him.”

  “Then surely you’ve noticed how big he is.”

  “Kind of small for a god.”

  Charon and Nessos nodded. I looked up at Hades again. Each of his arms was the length of Antaeos. His hairy chest was as broad as two plowed fields. Bloody foam dripped from his jaws. His eyes glimmered in their sockets like six black jewels.

  “That there isn’t a god,” continued Ajax. “That’s just a monster.”

  Dumb as he was, Ajax did have a way of putting things in perspective. Hades was big, but he wasn’t limitless. And that did give me hope. If he was finite, then he was vulnerable. I nodded to my friends and stepped forward to address the Lord of the Underworld. “Hades,” I shouted, “can we not come to terms? I fear there will be great suffering for us all if we cannot reach an accord.”

  The giant smiled. “For me? Suffering for me? How could you possibly add to my suffering?”

  “I have an army now.”

  The smile faded from Hades’ face, and all six eyes narrowed. “You have sown disloyalty among my subjects, Odysseus. You will be punished for that. Let me assure you that the grief you have known will be nothing compared to what awaits you now.” He drew a long breath and turned his eyes on my army. “Dismiss this rabble, and I may yet show mercy to your family.”

  I looked back over my shoulder at my wife and son. Send them back? How could I? “No,” I said, “I have the army. I set the terms.”

  The giant’s loathsome smile returned. “Is that so? And do you suppose that I, Hades, Lord of the Nine Circles of Hell, am unable to muster an army of my own?” He leered at me and swept his wings back. The mist behind him dissolved.

  And that was when I understood how bleak our situation really was.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE ENEMY

  MY OWN MAGNIFICENT ARMY suddenly seemed rather small. With the fog cleared, I could see all the way up the walls of Lake Cocytus, across the rings of Malebolge to the sands of the burning desert; and over all that distance, the earth crawled with soldiers. Pikes swayed like wheat in the wind. They were an ocean of iron. The front lines were packed in tight, silent ranks. Their shields were black as tar, and their faces hid in deep shadow beneath their visors; about them on every side, breathing clouds of foul vapor into the icy air, were horned devils, wolves, Cyclopes, imps, giants, Furies, Gorgons, and any number of misshapen, malevolent beings. On their left flank stood the Minotaur himself, pawing the ice in his fury. Overhead, the air swarmed with winged demons brandishing their long hooked blades. The Harpies hissed at them and screeched. Fear rippled through our ranks like a cold wind. Then, when the enemy host arrived within bowshot of us, they stopped.

  Ajax had his lip sucked so far in, he looked as though he had swallowed his chin. Argos worked his way between his legs and bared his fangs, grow
ling.

  “What are they waiting for?” whispered Telemachos.

  As though in answer, Hades laughed. “Royal Odysseus, Great Strategist, the army of the Underworld awaits your pleasure. As your generous host, I offer you the courtesy of the first strike.” He smiled. “Do take your time. Consult with your friends. Strategize. Or perhaps you would prefer to surrender now and save yourself the indignity of a rout. Let me assure you, though, it is no trouble at all.” He laughed again. I’d never heard such a joyless laugh. “I lie. A rout would be a terrible disappointment after watching you work so hard to get here. I would prefer not to have it over too quickly.”

  I turned away from him, groaning. “Now what do we do?”

  “Oi,” said Ajax, “you know what I always say. When in doubt, hit somebody.”

  Chiron scratched his beard. “That isn’t much of a strategy.”

  “We must focus on Hades,” said Penelope. “Crush the snake’s head, and its body will wither.” (O Zeo, I love that woman!)

  Chiron and Nessos nodded.

  “You could shoot him in the back,” offered Charon.

  I looked at him and smiled weakly. “Sorry for that.”

  “Not at all. Not at all,” he said, touching the scar on his chest. “It was a clever bit of work.”

  “We have plenty of arrows,” said Chiron, “but we would need to find a way to get behind him. And even then, it would take a special sort of weapon to penetrate all that fur.”

  Penelope held out the arrow I had given her.

  Chiron’s jaw dropped. “By the great god of heaven, where did you find that?”

  “A gift,” she said, and winked at me.

  “Whoever gave you that must hold you in very high esteem. A god made that, or I am a donkey’s brother. Yes, that would serve the purpose.”

  “It’s sharp,” I added, “but look at it. It’s meant only for ceremony. The pressure of a bowstring would break it.”

  Chiron took the weapon reverently from Penelope and turned it between two fingers. “You are quite wrong,” he said. “This is an exceptional piece. And you can be certain it was forged for battle. But one must know how to use such a weapon.”

  “I got an idea,” said Ajax.

  We all looked at him in surprise.

  Charon raised his bushy eyebrows. “Speak, Son of Telemon.”

  “I’ll run up and stab him with it.”

  I groaned.

  “What?” said Ajax, looking a little hurt. “If ya can’t shoot it, just use that there arrow like a knife.”

  “Think, Ajax. How would you even get close enough? Hades would know you were coming before you even started.”

  “I’ll stab him in the back, then.”

  I groaned again.

  Chiron put his hand on my shoulder. “Do not dismiss your friend so quickly.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “Ajax is hardly built for stealth—and Hades has six eyes. How could he ever get close enough? Aiki! It’s hard enough to sneak up on someone with two eyes. And what’s more, Proteus is standing right next to him. Trust me on this; I know what I’m talking about. I’m as sneaky as they get.”

  “That is exactly it,” said Chiron. Nessos and Charon nodded.

  I frowned. “What am I missing here?”

  “Perhaps if there were a distraction large enough . . . ,” said Charon.

  “Like a big fight,” said Ajax.

  Then it hit me. “So we attack them. And while they’re focused on the fighting, Ajax sneaks up on the giant and stabs him with my arrow?”

  “No,” said Chiron, “you do.”

  Penelope gasped.

  I nodded. “It’s as good a plan as any.”

  Penelope cast desperate eyes around the circle. “How will he get away?”

  No one answered.

  “How will he get away after he stabs him?”

  “I’ll do it,” said Nessos. “I’m faster.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Charon. “I’m stronger.”

  “It was my idea,” grumbled Ajax.

  But they knew as well as I did—indeed, Penelope knew it too—that I was the man for the job. No one on Earth, no one under the Earth, was better fit for a work like this. I looked at my wife. Despite her grief, she nodded. “Do what you must.”

  I turned back to my comrades. “Friends, I do not question your valor, but when it comes to craftiness and deception, there is no man alive more gifted than I.”

  Penelope hid her face.

  “So it is settled,” I said, looking out over our army. All this time, the enemy had stood silently awaiting our attack. “Nessos, you stand with the archers in the second line. Try to keep those winged devils at a distance. Charon, lead the spearmen. Ajax, take the left flank. I’ll pretend to lead the right. But I’ll hang back from the fighting as I always have. When I see that Hades is distracted, I’ll make my move.”

  “Do it quickly,” said Chiron. “We will not be able to hold out for long.”

  “To be sure,” I answered. “Every man to his place, then. And may the gods—may the god of the four-letter name—guide your spears.”

  There were embraces all around, and one by one, the various members of our little council marched out among the ranks until all that remained were Telemachos, Penelope, and me. She still had her back to us, but when she turned, there was an iron look in her eyes.

  “Penelope—” I said.

  “You don’t need to explain,” she answered. “This army needs its general. And”—she slung a quiver over her shoulder—“it cannot spare a single pair of fighting arms.”

  “But—”

  “I can be handy with a bow.”

  “I never should have taught you to shoot.”

  “And I never should have taught you to cook, but it’s too late for regrets.”

  I heard Telemachos snicker. “You,” I said, “will be guarding our flank.”

  The grin fell from his face, and I saw his mother’s obstinacy in his eyes. “No,” he answered, “I will be fighting beside my father.”

  I looked to Penelope, but she rolled her eyes.

  “Was I ever the head of this household?”

  “No,” she and Telemachos answered in unison. Then Penelope took my bow out of my hands and climbed on the Harpy’s back. “You won’t be needing this,” she said, “so I’ll use it.”

  I gasped, “The nerve!”

  She smiled and winked at me. “We’ll talk it over once the battle is done.”

  “At least let me string the bow for you,” I exclaimed.

  “I know the trick,” she answered.

  “Well, then”—I threw my hands in the air—“go with god.”

  “Odysseus,” she said with a smile, “come back with your shield, or come back on it.” Then she winked again and whispered to the Harpy, and together they mounted the air. I thought my heart would push right out of my chest.

  I nodded to my son, and together we strode to the right flank, where long rows of leather-clad swordsmen waited, silent and grim. I looked across the no-man’s-land at our foe. Their breath rose in quiet wisps from beneath their helmets and mingled in a cloud over their heads. Even their hands and faces were painted black. But their blades glittered—their blades and their eyes.

  As I looked on, one soldier stepped forward from their ranks. He wore Greek armor, painted black like the others’, but on his helm he had inscribed a red, five-pointed star. There was another symbol, also red, emblazoned on his shield. The symbol had been painted over, and from where I stood, I could not make it out. I watched him draw his blade as he walked, and felt that there was something oddly familiar about him—his stride, perhaps, or the way he bore his shield. Or perhaps it was the way he held his shoulders, punching his chest out as he walked. He stopped about twenty paces from our ranks and stood perfectly still, glaring out at our spearmen from the deep shadow of his visor. A well-aimed arrow might easily have taken him down, but he seemed utterly unafraid. He turned his head s
lowly, right to left, scanning our ranks, until at length our eyes met.

  Then, of course, I recognized him. The obscured symbol on his shield was a red tau. The armor had been won on the beach of Troy. The man was Diomedes. I felt sick, and I must have started to faint, for I found that Telemachos had dropped his shield to support me.

  There was a soft hiss of laughter from Hades. His voice rang out over our heads. “You recognize my general, then,” he said.

  I couldn’t answer.

  “Allow me to make a proposal. Let us settle this war in the manner of your ancestors. You pick a champion from among your ranks. I’ll pick one from mine. The champions will fight to the death. The victor shall have his way.”

  I still couldn’t answer. I felt as though the air had been forcibly driven from my lungs.

  “Shall I choose first? Very well. I elect as my champion . . . the Sacker of Thebes, Thief of the Palladium, Stormer of Troy. I choose the great-hearted Son of Tydeus, Diomedes.”

  At his name, a shudder passed through the ranks of our Greek warriors. Not one among them was unfamiliar with that name. I heard cries from the Harpies overhead. It wasn’t so much fear, I think, as it was a sense of loss that swept our ranks. For if one so honorable, so guileless as Diomedes were to fall under Hades’ spell, what hope had we?

  A shout from the left flank broke our silence: Ajax trundled forward, thumping his shield with his fist. “Stand aside, boys; I’ll take care of this quick.”

  Then another shout from among the spearmen, and out stepped Charon, swinging his oar. Then Nessos stepped forward. I heard the voice of Antaeos boom from across the distance, “Make way. I’ll crush that dwarf like a grape.”

  But when I stepped forward, they all stopped in their tracks. Only Chiron objected, and I silenced him with a glance. “My fight,” I said, and no one offered an objection. No one knew Diomedes like I did. I wasn’t the most skilled fighter on the field, but I was, without doubt, the cleverest; and it would take cunning to defeat the Son of Tydeus.

  I heard Hades laugh. “Delicious!” he cried. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. So much for three thousand years of friendship.” He clapped his great claws and sniggered. “Proteus, you may oversee the duel.”