by Eileen Glass
“I don’t want to do this,” he says, trembling.
“You’re doing well. I have you, Seph. I’m not letting you go.”
Well, that answers that then.
But for now, isn’t it a good thing?
Seph certainly doesn’t want to fall to his death. And also, didn’t he plan to leave his mother this summer anyway? To stay away for years so he could enter adulthood?
Not forever, of course, but a god has forever, so his departure could even be many mortal lifespans. And he was happy with that. He thought it was time to start his own life and stop being looked after like a toddler.
Seph is suddenly quite proud to be standing mostly on his own.
Well, it feels like it’s on his own, even if he has the support of a husband and a friend. Just like he always wanted.
“You are smiling. Are you discovering thrill-seeker tendencies about yourself?”
The god still sounds like this is a regular day, and not like they are careening perilously through the air at the height of a mountain.
“No! Fuck no!” Seph says back, speaking louder. Hades can only get away with talking so quietly because everything he says is directly in Seph’s ear. “I’m just feeling… So free is all!”
“I’m glad, my king.”
He kisses Seph’s neck. It would feel a lot better if they were on the ground and safe, and Seph is sure that he would like to do a lot more than that as well. Maybe they will take a picnic someday in one of the parks they passed over.
But maybe that would not be so good because Seph would quickly be trying to hide an erection under his unfortunately short chiton. He is not an exhibitionist.
“We’re going to descend now. You won’t like this part, so turn and face me.”
They exchange the reins again, the horses returning to their master’s hand, and Seph does as he asks.
“Can I just curl up on the floor?”
He’s only half joking.
“Hold onto my body. As tight as you wish. Look at me. Into my eyes.”
Seph thinks his eyes are more amazing for the dark sapphire earrings hanging from each lobe. The dark god’s gray irises do not catch color or light, but they seem less gray, less cruel, by the glimmering beauty around his face.
His jewels make him a man with desires. Whereas without them, he would seem like nothing. Unhuman and unfeeling.
“You are not falling, Seph. It is just sensations. Hold tight to me, and you are as safe as you are on the ground.”
He shifts the reins to one hand again and pets Seph’s back. But only briefly. They must be getting near the trees again, for Hades is soon looking out past him and his hands are busy controlling the horses. They neigh and snort and toss their heads occasionally. The blood pounds through Seph’s frayed nerves.
But he only focuses on his husband’s face and finds himself testing his newfound trust by letting his arms loosen, just a bit. Just enough to see if he will start to fall.
He doesn’t. And soon the trees are taller than him again.
Sixteen
The horses walk slowly through the black marsh, water splashing up around their hooves. The chariot wheels leave two treads rippling out through the water behind them. This is the most entrancing thing Seph has ever seen, and now, despite all the fear to get here, Seph is grateful to have such a unique husband and to be riding in a flying chariot.
The horses are technically still suspended in the air, but they are level on the water’s surface, reeds passing around them and scraping the underbelly of the chariot like grass. The only terrible thing about the Acheron Marsh so far is how dark it is. There is no sun, moon, or stars in the underworld like there are on Earth.
There is only one small light in the sky, which Hades tells him is the open gate other gods come through when they arrive here. It’s hard to find the blended barrier between the upperworld and the underworld if you are not dead, but a gate in the sky is plain to a god.
There are many tall trees here with giant outreaching branches, so Seph can’t see that light up above except in a few places.
“Are there any monsters here?” he asks because he has seen a thing move along the tree boughs or under the water several times now.
“Monsters, no. But there are many Earth creatures who the Goddess Styx looks after. The waters are bottomless, as far as I know, and Styx has filled them up with all manner of things. She loves aquatic creatures. She was one of the oceanic gods before Poseidon staked out his domain, you know.”
Seph did not know. His mother does not mention the very old gods much, who would have been her cousins or possibly her aunts and uncles. The family tree is twisted up beyond logic now. His mother’s siblings took their claims fresh, resetting the world and discarding many old things.
“There. Up ahead is the Field of Asphodel. It’s an island, actually, but also a giant meadow of a flower I made to grow like a weed.”
Seph had wandered away from Hades’s arms and his protective hold to gawk over the side and look at things. Now he returns his attention to the front and steps alongside his husband. It does not alarm him so much anymore to bump against Hades or brush past him. Hades sets an arm around Seph’s waist, and while this touch is still new, it’s starting to feel very natural.
“This is probably the most important part of my world here. It’s certainly the busiest. Look there! Hang on.” Hades snaps the reins lightly and the horses pick up the pace to a trot, splashing water everywhere. They pass several trees—he seems to be chasing a boat up ahead—and then he urges the horses into a gallop, only to pull them to a stop shortly after.
They cannot really stop, but they can walk slowly.
“It will catch up to us now. See the ferryman and the barge?”
“Barely.” The figure he points to is a skinny old man in dark loose robes, and every time he passes under the shadow of a tree he becomes invisible. Seph can only find him because the souls behind him on the barge are wispy white. But even they seem to vanish and shrink under every old tree.
“We cannot pass too closely. If they see us, we will scare them. But those are the new souls destined for Elysium. Only one barge comes every few days, when it is full. It takes a while for the barge to fill up and make it worth the journey. That is Irus, my ferryman who is unknown to the mortals of the world.”
“Ah, yes. I know of Charon.”
Hades might be the only god whose servants names are known by mortals. That is the significance he takes on their lives, as they wonder where they are going. Nobody can name one of his mother’s slaves, and very few can list all of Zeus’s consorts.
“Charon has the busiest job of all,” Hades says. “He is a man who does not rest, not even when he was alive. Now, look closely as they pass us. I will do my best to keep the horses still. See how they are deformed? And old. That man, holding his neck like that? Executed, perhaps. Or killed in battle.”
Another soul Hades does not mention is a young girl standing on a twisted leg. Another is an old man with sunken pockets in his face and a missing nose. Leprosy. Yet another has so many wounds and flesh missing that it looks like he was chewed on by animals. When he turns his face, a grisly skull makes half of his expression. His eye is in place, but large and round, the bulb exposed.
Only a third of the souls seem to simply be old and have nothing wrong with them. Even the old ones have bent backs, bent necks, and some of them cough with diseases. One is naked, and many of them only where a loincloth or a tattered gown.
“I love to see them when they come in,” Hades says, almost breathless. “I love to watch them heal and transform into their true, perfect selves. That is why all new souls live closest to the palace. When they are well-adjusted, they may choose to wander to less populated areas.”
The man with so much flesh missing bothers Seph. He can’t take his eyes off him! But what’s left of his face to make an expression is terrified as he looks in their direction through the trees.
�
�These are going to be your new children,” Seph says, understanding.
“Yes. They look ugly or old or maimed, but remember—these are the youngest and most innocent souls. They are the newborn babes here. And the long-lived citizens of Elysium take great happiness in looking after them. Myself included, though I am not involved directly, unless it is for a hunt. I have to keep my distance.”
“What about the souls who aren’t in graves?” Seph asks, knowing he might not like the answer. This might be another dark part of Hades’s rule in the underworld. Every mortal knows that Hades will not accept a soul without a grave, nor a soul without coins over his or her eyes. “And what about the coins? Is it true that souls have to pay the ferryman Charon?”
The barge passes on, and Hades guides the horse to walk in the opposite direction, continuing into the marsh.
“That is a combination of true and false. The coins over the eyes ritual was invented by greedy undertakers. Also, the eyes of the dead are unpleasant to look at, so it serves two things. The importance of burying or burning bodies and funeral rites, however—there’s some truth to that.
“You see, a soul is very attached to their body. They will try to stay with the corpse and sit with it for as long as they can. When a soul has a proper funeral, however, they are put at ease. The grieving of their loved ones is a comfort, and they’re likely to soon realize they need to move on. They will feel the call of the underworld. And they will begin their journey in time, before they’re consumed by the upperworld forces.
“But a soul without a funeral is like a lost babe in the woods who cannot find their home. They sit where they are dead for ages, crying out. Often they try to pester the living to notice them and get some kind of help. They hear my call, but they are afraid. Or resistant. They sit all alone, grieving for themselves, not realizing that permanent death is imminent.
“That’s why Hermes is so important to me. He collects as many of these babes as he can find. Ones who have been murdered. Ones who have been forgotten. Sitting by corpses that are picked apart by birds and dogs. They must be rescued quickly, or they will be lost forever.”
While he speaks of all this and Seph absorbs every word, the horses begin to wind their way through the trees as if they know where they’re going, and a glow appears. There is an island ahead—the Field of Asphodel, Seph presumes—and lanterns are lit, hanging from tree boughs. The blue flame does not emit light as well in this extremely dark area, but it helps. Seph sees many figures up ahead. Like a gathering or a festival. And the murmur of talking voices—sometimes of crying, maybe someone begging—begins to drift through the trees. It’s more voices at one time than Seph has ever heard.
“We will rise up again so I can show you,” Hades says, and Seph nods.
He grabs the chariot’s edge with one hand and his husband’s elbow with the other. He holds tight as his stomach seems to crawl inside his body, but he manages to stay standing without wanting to curl up and whimper this time.
Just so long as he doesn’t look down or back.
Hades levels them out before they rise into the sky at the same dizzying distance as before. Now they are more like a huge bird hovering over the treetops, only with clattering hooves and a gleaming gold chariot spinning wheels on nothing.
Voices below raise in alarm. There are terrified screams and souls scatter, a patch of the island emptying.
Seph is more bothered by three figures on giant pillars, erected to the height of a house. The top of each pillar is crafted into a throne, and the figures sit in regal robes, their enormous feet in expensive sandals. They’re the size of giants! And the face of each one is monstrous. Many eyes, many noses, many mouths. All shifting, moving over one another.
It seems as though the heads of each are shaking back and forth vigorously. Though the ears are still and the hair does not turn.
“Those are my judges,” Hades says, holding him around the waist again. “Do not be afraid. I know they are not comforting to look at. But they are wise and just souls, all of them. Any time a new soul is presented to them who would make a good judge, that soul is offered to join them and become one of the many faces and voices and minds who weigh the decisions of a mortal’s life and decide whether they are fit for Elysium.”
“Why do they look like that?” It is painful to stare at any one of them. The features vanish and appear and twitch all over themselves. They are like a deformed animal, and looking at them fills Seph with dread.
“It is the only way to fit them on the island, of course!” Hades answers. “They have to share a body, or else I would need a city like Elysium just to hold them. And the judging would be an insanely complicated process. Here, each judge will appear as one face to the souls on the island. That will be the judge that they are assigned. And when they are ready to leave this place, the souls will approach the judges and ask for their life to be weighed.”
“A-are there scales? Like in the myths?”
“No, that’s only a metaphor.”
“O-okay,” Seph says, with a fearful chuckle.
The crowd gathering to the base of the three pillars is a lot smaller than the crowd gathered everywhere else. The trees hide many of the people from view, but from what Seph can see, they are packed shoulder to shoulder.
And another barge, which must be led by Charon, is very long and has so many souls packed onto the deck that Seph can’t see the bottom of the boat. Only its sides and the dark-robed ferryman at the front.
“You said there is only one barge bound for Elysium every few days.”
“Yes.” Hades nods, the sapphires dangling. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that. Very few souls are good enough for Elysium. And it is not that they are good enough necessarily, but that they are a good fit. Some souls are not happy if they aren’t competing for power. If they are not achieving something over others. So even though their accomplishments may be good and their intentions may even be selfless, they will become restless in Elysium.
“Elysium is a world with nothing to gain. Nothing to earn. Nothing to desire and nothing to achieve. It is a world for people who are done with earthly pleasures and will be content to leave those things behind for good. Not very many people go to Elysium.”
“So where do they go?”
“To Tartarus. Those boats there.”
The barges can hardly be seen because the trees grow so thickly in the area where he points. But a continuous line seems to be leaving the island, and a continuous line of empty barges are returning.
“So that must be the River Phlegethon. My mother told me about that one.”
While he can only catch glimpses of water through the trees at this angle, it seems that this river is three times wider than Lethe and runs less crooked. In the distance, the boughs and foliage are so thick that he can’t see a river at all. Or a building or a city or anything that Tartarus might have. Seph bets it’s the place where the trees grow taller and thicker than all others. From here, it just looks like dense forest.
“We will explore it on another day.” Hades snaps the reins and the horses pick up speed, crossing the island toward Elysium. They pass over the heads of the judges, which look fairly normal from up here except for three or four noses shifting around.
“But wait! What happens to most of the souls? Where does everyone go? Why Tartarus? Isn’t that where people are punished for being bad?”
“Very few are bad enough to be punished. Even the most cruel humans are usually victims of some mistreatment. Most souls are reborn, and that happens in Tartarus.” Hades puts an arm around Seph, guiding him to stand in front again. “Now we have to go fast. So fast that you may feel as if you are slipping backwards, but you don’t have to worry. I am right here holding onto you.”
“Okay,” Seph says with a nod, though he has more questions. “We will go to Tartarus another time? I-I would like to see the souls be reborn.”
“Yes, my king.” It’s still strange that he says that in norma
l conversation when they aren’t playing. He even did it in front of the servants once.
Hades continues, “I’m not opposed to revealing it to you now, if you absolutely insist, but Tartarus has many unpleasant aspects, some of which you already know about. And I would like my tour today to be of the places I am most proud of. The wonderful spots. That’s what I want to show you first.”
Seph grabs onto his arm—they are going very fast now—and strokes in an affectionate way. He loves that he can do that, like they are normal lovers. His weight slides backward just like Hades said, the air around the horses’ heads blurring, the trees below rushing underneath them, and he feels nothing but trust for his new husband.
Even so, he asks, “Where are we going?”
“To Cocytus!” Hades says loudly in his ear. “It is the furthest river I know about that breaks off the River Styx! Elysium will not reach it for several millennia, so I consider it the farthest border of my kingdom for now.”
Seventeen
When they find the Cocytus River, the trees are so thick he can’t see the ground, and the palace is only visible as a speck if he stares in the right direction for a very long time. From here, the tallest spires look only like tiny gray spikes poking out of an endless gray lawn. The white-leafed trees, sometimes tinged with pink or blue, do not seem to grow naturally in the underworld wilderness.
Seph wants to ask him things, but the wind is too loud, and even the fake clattering of the horses’ hooves is faint at the speed they’re traveling. Seph continues to hold onto the front of the chariot, just in case, but Hades’s feet haven’t slipped once against the barrage of wind.
Sometimes his nose moves through Seph’s hair. Perhaps smelling him?
Or perhaps because his nose itches and his hands have to hold the reins. At this speed, turning has to be done with precise care or the entire chariot will upset and flip. Seph checks on Hades when a sway disrupts his balance. But his husband seems as impassive as he did on the day they first met.
