Pitchfork

by Nicole Scarano

  “Move,” Hades commanded her overwhelmed senses. Her voice released a ripple effect through her extremities, and bending her knees, she raced over the grass as fast as her thighs would carry her. In a few moments, Hades reached the edge and without slowing, stepped off. Her body plummeted, twisting midair, and Hades shot out a hand to grasp the side of the mountain. Her fingers dug deep into the dirt to slow her fall until her feet slammed into a ledge. Zeus’ ledge, his secret only she knew of. The smoke and mist clouded the small ridge, obscuring it from view and rendering all who sought its refuge invisible.

  Hades let out a desperate exhale, a breath she had not even known she was holding, and suddenly weak, she sunk to the rock. Her back collapsed against the mountain, struggling not to tremble, but fear, pain, and desperation ate at her muscles. All she could do was shake as tears overflowed her eyes.

  Hades was not sure how long she sat there, but eventually the tears dried, and her body stilled. She shifted with a releasing sigh and crumbled forward to her hands and knees. She crawled with dejected fatigue to the edge and breathed deep the pungent air. Far below her perch, earth rested under the impenetrable ceiling of clouds, and as Hades stared into the thick smog of the Old One’s ever-present destruction, her soul called out.

  The Olympians crowded the throne room. Their terrified bodies huddled together while the beasts of the Underworld stood watch. After the Old Ones had knocked at Hell’s gates, all who sought refuge in the land of the dead had forgone the comforts of private bedrooms in favor of sleeping collectively on the floor of the vast throne room. Alkaios crouched in the far corner of the chamber shrouded in darkness, the flickering light of the torches casting dark shadows on his solitary figure. Keres and Hydra sat with Ioanna and her triplets on a makeshift bed near the thrones. Charon had forced his wife to take their children to the fortress where they would be protected, while he stayed behind on the boathouse far from Zeus’ reach. Ioanna had protested at first, but her husband’s insistence had been unwavering. Their daughters’ lives were too precious to be without protection, for at least here among the Olympians, the three greats stood between the infants and any intruders.

  The room was somber. No one dared to speak in tones above a whisper. Weapons were gripped in hands or placed close within reach, and for the first time since the gods sought refuge in the Underworld, no one recoiled when Kerberos or Chimera padded past.

  It was impossible to tell the time of day, caged in the darkness, but by the exhaustion wafting throughout the throne room, it was well into the night. Few slept. Most sat, backs to the walls; hands clutching their neighbor’s; eyes refusing to rest. The only ones sleeping peacefully were Ioanna’s triplets, cradled protectively in Keres’, Hydra’s, and their mother’s arms.

  Hydra shifted uncomfortably, careful not to wake the babe resting with innocent peace. Her body felt wrong. At first, she had assumed it was because of the hard floor and the cramping of her muscles due to the child she held, but the longer she sat, the more restless she became. Hydra transferred her weight yet again and released a puff of air from grimaced lips which caught Ioanna’s attention.

  “Do you want me to take her?” Ioanna whispered as she moved the infant in her arms to her elbow, making space for her sister.

  “I am all right. Just uncomfortable.”

  “If you need a break, I can….” But Ioanna’s words were cut off by a sharp cry from Hydra. The crowd of gods and immortals shifted, looking to Hydra, whose face was flushed like a painful sunburn.

  “Perhaps you should take her,” Hydra panted, standing and walking the few steps to Ioanna. She bent and gently placed the babe in her mother’s arms and stepped back as soon as she relinquished the child. Sweat beaded on her brow, a visible shine against her burning skin.

  “Are you all right?” Keres studied the flashing white-blue eyes of her friend.

  Hydra opened her mouth to respond, but instead of words, a harsh cry escaped.

  “Hydra?” From the darkness, Alkaios emerged in long strides with concern thundering his steps, but Hydra’s only response was a bellow bursting from her lungs. The whole room collectively jerked back as the woman of snakes began to convulse, her cries those of a body in pain. Alkaios rushed to Hydra and seized her shoulders, and at his touch, Hydra’ snake-slit eyes flashed him a plea for help. Alkaios’ sight ran over her body in a frantic search for what ailed her but found nothing, yet her voice continued to echo off the towering walls.

  Within seconds Zeus and Poseidon were at her side, gripping their weapons.

  “What is happening?” Zeus called above her cries.

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Alkaios,” Keres interrupted, her strong tone piercing the chaos. The king of the Underworld shot his eyes to her, and Keres nodded toward Hydra’s arm. Alkaios seized the god-killer’s elbow and pulled her forearm out in front of him. There, writhing beneath Hydra’s skin, was an engorged vein. It heaved and swayed confined in her flesh, and as he watched, it grew thick, rising like a mountain from her wrist.

  Just when Alkaios feared it could grow no farther, the vein tore open, and a small black snake shot into existence. Its bloody slickness slapped to the floor with a wet thud while its tongue flicked in an enraged hiss. Zeus and Poseidon jumped backward, giving the snake a wide berth. They knew of these creatures, the punishers of Tartarus. They could not leave the Winding Staircase of Tartarus, yet Hades had unleashed them by binding them to the body of a shade cursed to suffer eternity in torture. These snakes were venomous to all, and they were what made Hydra the third god-killer of the Underworld.

  Hydra collapsed, brow damp and breathing heavy. Alkaios clutched her to his chest, staring at the slowly growing serpent on the ground. Its whip-like tail painted streaks of Hydra’s blood on the floor like a gory work of art.

  “I did not release him,” Hydra panted. “Something pulled him from me.”

  As if in answer to her declaration, black tendrils of smoke began to ebb and flow around the snake. The weaving tentacles engulfed its still growing body, and with a flash of its forked tongue, the animal vanished, the bloody stain on the floor all that was left of the monster.

  “It was Hades,” Hydra gasped, eyes wide with terror. “She pulled him from me, and I could not stop her.”

  Hades knelt on the edge of Zeus’ hidden ledge, her blood-crusted palms pressed into the sharp rock. Her face peered patiently down the mountainside. The ashen clouds obstructed her vision, yet she waited, hovering over endless air motionless. If any eyes were to land on her, her rigidness would appear as nothing more than a protruding boulder.

  The mountain stood sedentary, but far below the clouds’ cover, a whisper of movement slithered its way through the vegetation. The higher it climbed, the larger it grew until its mass broke through the ash and surged toward Hades. Its onyx scales writhed over the rock as it reached Hades’ outstretched fingers. Its tongue shot out to taste the air as it slid its large head over her skin. A menacing hiss escaped its mouth, and the snake twisted its solid form about her wrist. Snaking up his queen, weaving around her flesh until he intertwined her limbs, his head reared back so that his slit eyes could bore into hers. His tongue flicked out again, and then with a reverent dip of his head, the black scales pressed against Hades’ forehead.

  XXVII

  “Are you all right?” Keres brushed Hydra’s hair back from her damp forehead with tender concern.

  “What is she doing with it?” Hydra ignored her friend. “Why would she pull the snake from me?”

  “Are you sure it was Hades?” Zeus asked, stepping forward while maintaining a wary distance.

  “There is no other who could rip a serpent from my veins.”

  Zeus opened his mouth to speak, but the crowd was shocked into silence when the air exploded. The tentacles of inky smoke permeated the throne room, and with a thud, the snake’s immense body appeared from the blackness and plummeted to the floor. He was enormous compared to the small bloody s
nake that had torn free from Hydra moments before, and rearing as if to strike, his scaled body rose to half a man’s height.

  Zeus leapt back, but he barely made it a single step before the snake threw himself at his mother. The hiss that wrenched from the serpent’s throat pierced the ears of all who watched as he shot through the air. Hydra scarcely had time to register the attack before he was at her breast, body hurtling toward her heart. A cry of alarm escaped her lips as Hydra braced for impact, but just as his scales collided with her skin, the snake turned to smoke and seeped into her flesh.

  For a moment, the throne room was silent as all stared at Hydra’s chest. All traces of the once venomous monster were gone, and Hydra stumbled on unsteady legs, the force of the dissolving snake knocking her off balance. Her alarmed eyes glanced from Keres’ to Alkaios before they clenched shut, and a grimace marred her face. She remained frozen in place; teeth gritted in discomfort; breath heavy and shallow. For long seconds no one moved as Hydra shifted, uncomfortable in her own skin.

  Then as suddenly as the snake’s attack, her features softened and her eyes shot open, disbelief painted on her beautiful face.

  “It’s Hades.” Hope colored Hydra’s voice. “Our Hades,” she continued when Alkaios raised his eyebrows. “She is awake.”

  “What do you mean awake?” Zeus asked.

  “The fog of insanity has lifted. She remembers us, recalls who she really is. If she tried to tell us herself, we would have barred her entrance, which is why she pulled the snake from me. Hades lured him onto Olympus, tasking him with carrying a message. She wants to return home and make things right.”

  “How is this possible?” Alkaios asked as hope surged through him and threatened to overflow from his skin.

  “Your son,” Hydra stepped closer to her king. “Hades felt him within her. He reminded her of who she is, and she wishes to come here. She will arrive in the dead of night while the Old Ones lie sleeping and will wait to see if we allow her entrance. It is our decision to grant her safe passage to our realm or not, and Hades will respect our judgment.”

  “Of course, she is welcome!” Alkaios barely allowed Hydra’s words to complete.

  “Wait!” Zeus interrupted, the suspicious voice of reason. “This could be a trap. How much easier would our destruction be if we greeted the bringer of death with open arms? I do not think we should allow her entrance. It could be a ploy.”

  “Hades is not lying,” Hydra argued vehemently. “I can feel the truth. My snake touched her skin, and when he rejoined my flesh, there was no malice within him.”

  “Hades was born from a race of gods that far exceed our power,” Zeus said, closing in menacingly on Hydra. How he missed the days of old, when defiance of his words would be crushed under his heel, but here on unfamiliar ground, these monsters held both his and his people’s safety in their palms. “Do you think she could not mask her true intentions?”

  “This is my wife we are talking about,” Alkaios interjected, but neither Hydra nor Zeus batted an eyelid at him.

  “You forget, Zeus,” Hydra challenged, spitting his name into the air with irreverence, “that the snakes within my veins were birthed in Tartarus, poisonous enough to mute even your heart. I doubt their ancient evil could be so easily tricked.”

  “I still do not...”

  “Stop!” Ioanna screamed, cutting Zeus off mid-sentence. The crowd flinched at the slight woman’s outburst. The infants in her arms expanded their lungs and unleashed their tiny hellish fury, and by the rage coloring Zeus’ face, those children were the only things keeping him from lashing out at this Underworlder.

  “Just stop!” Ioanna placed herself between the arguers. “This division between us will be our downfall!” Zeus parted his lips to interrupt, but the mother only glowered at him before turning her attention to the crowd. “Hades at one time or another has helped each of us. Hydra, Keres, and I owe her everything for the lives that were returned to us. She saved Alkaios’ soul from being shredded, and from what we understand of the Old Ones and the Touch of the Gods, she delivered every last one of you from a path of insanity with her sacrifice of power. And if that was not enough, Hades opened the Underworld to you as shelter. Yes, Alkaios is now the Olympian god of death, but we all know who truly rules here. Do you think for one second you would be allowed to live if Hades had not ensured Kerberos, Chimera, or the Styx itself leave you in peace? All in this room owe her our lives, some more than most, and I am one of them. We owe her this, to believe her when she says she comes to put things right. It was her son that woke her, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, that a mother would do anything for her child. If Hades swears on the life within that she is awake, then we will let her return home.”

  Not another word was uttered on the subject, much to the surprise of many, but the small mother who none of the Olympians had ever seen before had put an end to the arguing. So here they lingered, the darkest hours of the night creeping by as if they were allowing a snail to win a race. All were tired, yet not a single person slept, save the triplets whose little fists curled in slumber. Silence hovered over their shoulders, oppressive and ominous as they waited to see if Hades’ return would be the trap that destroyed them.

  And then the air shifted. A palpable shimmer rippled through it, and in wisps of smoke, Hades appeared. The tentacles began to dissipate, all the while clawing at her blood-crusted flesh, and a wave of absolute power crashed through the chamber. Her disheveled, violent appearance sent a jolt of alarm through the hearts of all who huddled in the throne room, and both Zeus and Poseidon stood with weapons at the ready.

  For a moment, no one moved as the smoke diluted, and then with tentative movements, Alkaios broke from the crowd. His eyes pleaded with hope, and at the sight of him, Hades burst into tears. She bolted forward, heels pounding the ground in an urgent rhythm as she launched herself at her husband. Alkaios wanted nothing more than to race to her, but her feet carried her on a collision course with breathless speed, and so he braced himself for impact. In a flash Hades was upon him, her chest slamming his, and her arms were around his neck in a heartbeat like a boa constrictor about its prey. Alkaios enveloped her body in his powerful embrace and stumbled to regain his footing. Hades’ strength had doubled, and the blow nearly stripped him of his breath, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered. Only the perfection of this, woman solid and warm in his arms.

  Alkaios’ strength held her feet dangling above the ground as Hades clung to him. Her violent sobs erupted on his neck as she buried her face against his skin, and the warmth of her tears spread over his throat and down his chest. His breath hitched despite his determination not to collapse into emotions before this judgmental audience. She smelled like rotted flesh and looked even worse, but she was his Hades. Alkaios could tell by the way her eyes shone and how her body felt pressed against his that this was his most beloved wife.

  After an eternity passed between them in a single moment, Hades peeled her arms and chest from his, and Alkaios lowered her to the floor. She smiled softly, tears running anew, but his thumbs brushed them from her filthy cheeks in a heartbreakingly tender gesture.

  “I am sorry,” Hades whispered, but Alkaios hushed her with a needy kiss against her lips. He kissed her deep and long as tears ran down her cheeks and onto his. He could barely bring himself to release her, but he knew here among this anxious crowd he had to, and so he pulled back still holding her beautiful face.

  And then Keres, Hydra, and Ioanna were upon them, clutching one another as if Hades had resurrected from the dead. Sobs from all four women flowed freely as they hugged. None of them ever thought this reunion could be more than a reverie. Their fingers clutched their returned queen, needing to feel her warmth, to assure themselves that her kind and gentle caresses were not a cruel nightmare. All the while, Alkaios welded his palm to Hades’ back and refused to part his skin from hers for fear that if he did, she would disappear.

  After long heart-aching moments, Hades ext
racted herself from the loving arms of her family and turned to the crowd of gods, face streaked by tears and filth. To the surprise of all, she smiled and reached out to seize Zeus’ palm. Zeus stood shocked still as Hades grasped it and watched with dazed confusion as she stretched her free hand out to Poseidon. Both brothers exchanged a wary glance before Poseidon folded it in his. His brother’s action released Zeus’ petrified muscles, and he curled his fist around Hades’ expectant fingers. Warmth radiated from her dirty skin, but it was the sincerity in her eyes that thawed the barrier of ice surrounding his soul. Brightness glowed in her irises, masking a deep-rooted fear that lurked in hiding, but they were beautiful. Zeus had not seen Hades look at him with such genuine happiness in years, and his grip tightened involuntarily around hers.

  “I did not think I would see any of you again,” Hades’ voice hitched. “Not like this. Not where I remembered all of you.” She dropped Zeus’ hand when she saw Hera’s displeased scowl and with a small squeeze, relinquished Poseidon’s in favor of grasping her husband’s. She drew it close and pressed it flush against her still flat stomach. “Can you feel him?” she asked hopefully. “He is barely there… but there all the same.”

  Alkaios hovered, broad palm flattened against her womb for a long moment before he lifted his fingers to her chin. His eyes shone with pure joy as he tilted Hades’ face up and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “I feel him,” Alkaios whispered. “Is this possible? Could our son return you from the brink of madness?”

  “It did for her ancestors,” Medusa answered. Her lingering figure weaved through the sea of bodies until she stood before Hades. “I did not consider this a possibility, but the innocence of an unborn child returned her forefather to his senses. Perhaps it is possible that the pure life within you, Hades, is strong enough to bring you back from the oblivion.”