by Eileen Glass
He was right, there is a young girl trapped under here. She is fairly new too, her eyes being the biggest thing about her face. Many bone indentations are visible on her entire form, and she managed to curl up in the dirt like a baby fawn. If she were normal size, and still new enough to not have changed form, she wouldn’t fit.
She has manacles on her wrists, and a chain leads to one of the thick heavy roots here, wrapped several times around and locked through the links.
“Who has done this?”
She shrinks back as Seph reaches for her. She tries to speak, but she’s stuttering, and Seph’s words don’t seem to reach her ears.
“I-I-I didn’t do i-i-it, sir! I-I di-didn’t run. Why would I-I run? Oh, please believe me, I di-didn’t run. Please don’t let the dog eat me, sir. I am good sir! I want to stay, please!”
Seph is firm about catching her and pulling her close. She’s crying as he states sternly, “Stop that and get out of there.”
Hades has repeatedly explained the dangers of being too soft. They have many to look after, and there is no tolerance for disobedience.
But once he has her, he holds the girl close and strokes her hair. The dog growls louder behind him, and Seph shields her from view, not even looking at Cerberus, entirely focused on her. And he pulls at her chains, wondering how he’s going to undo this.
I need to use Hecate’s power again.
As a substitute for the godly powers he doesn’t have, Hecate has never failed to be useful. And Seph does not know why he went without help before now, for being a king in this place without being a fully-abled god is impossible. Minthe was right about that.
“Who is in the woods? Who trapped you out here?”
“I don’t know. They said they were kings looking for wives! But one of them wanted you instead. They were laughing about it! They said they would take me, but I am nothing. Not even enough meat for a twig, they said.”
She tries to hug him, but the short length of her chains won’t allow it. Seph examines the lock they put through the links, uselessly turning it in his hands.
“I’m sorry I did this! I tried to stay quiet so the dog—” In her sobbing, she hiccups. “So the dog wouldn’t find me. But they threw rocks at me. And then I screamed. One of them hit me here—see?” She rubs her collarbone, and at first there is nothing to see.
While a spirit’s form breaks and bleeds when the spirit perceives such an injury to occur, they do not visibly bruise unless they are looking at themselves in a mirror and they expect the imperfections.
Her flesh under her fingertips begins to purple.
“Here. I have magic. You won’t hurt anymore.” Seph lays one of his hands over the affected area. “Give it a moment. The medicine should feel warm. There you go. Can you feel it?”
She nods, her eyes blinking rapidly, and she wipes away the last of her tears. The discoloring disappears.
“Oh, thank you, my king! I was so scared you wouldn’t believe me!” She bows over her knees, her long hair falling forward.
“Of course I believe you. I find it harder to believe that you ran away on your own and then locked yourself to this tree—”
“Oh, there he is!” she taps his shoulder and points.
Seph gets just a glimpse of an approaching man. A Greek man by the looks of it, and he has the bright vivid tone of skin that means he is not dead and he does not belong here. He’s extremely tall. A god or a descendant of one, no doubt. And he wears a golden crown on his head, though a rather plain one. He’s an older man but he smiles with the mischief of someone much younger.
“My beautiful prince! Forgive the summoning. I have come—”
Cerberus growls. The stay command held him for a time with his belly in the grass, but as the man quickly approaches, he tolerates his obedience no more. The black hound dashes from his position and stops midway between Seph and the stranger, his hackles fully raised, his three heads aimed low and his teeth bared.
“Ah!” The man throws open arm to guard himself, a bit like a woman surprised by a rat. “That beast is, well—” He seems to become aware of how ridiculous he looks, and he rights himself. He takes a bold stance, one foot stepping forward, and his hands grasp the hilt of his sword in its scabbard. “Fear not, Prince Persephone. For I, Hero of the Lapiths, a noble protector of the defenseless innocent—”
“Who are you?” Seph asks, lifting one brow. For the defenseless innocent is in his arms right now, and the man seems to think he’s in some kind of play performance.
The stranger takes this as a real question.
“I am Pirithous!” He makes a bow, though the dog growls louder and Pirithous stands quickly. He draws his sword. Pointing it, though taking a step back from Cerberus, he declares, “I am the famous hunter of the Lapiths! And I heard about your need of rescue! The story moved me to tears the first time I heard it!” He looks to the sky, a fist curling in front of his chest. “That is no way to be trapped for eternity, my prince. To be imprisoned in this cold, dark place! Raped by an old man…”
Seph’s eyes grow twice their size.
Old man…?
This Pirithous guy has graying hair! Not to mention an enormous beard, which is well groomed and fashionable for a Greek man, but Seph much prefers the style of a clean shave, which is only worn by much younger man. He also has a bit of roundness hanging over his belt, though he is fit overall. He has a body of aging athleticism. And when he smiles, a gold band across his rotten teeth gleams at him in the dim light.
“I cannot stand to see one so young and fair trapped in this depressing world. Come with me, prince, and your every wish will be cared for. You will be married to the greatest king in history! And most importantly, I will bring an end to the long winter that has cursed the land.”
Seph can’t even begin to form a word. He’s not quite sure what is really happening.
This man certainly has some kind of deity in his blood, but his aged features and imperfections show that he is not a god. And how could Seph join him and become the greatest king in history? When he has never heard of the tribal Lapiths naming a king in the first place?!
He is wondering just how this conundrum came about. And the words he’s thinking about forming are an order for Hecate to strike the damn fool where he stands.
But then he would lose the unraveling of whatever strange mystery this is.
Who sent this man?
Another person’s voice calls from nearby in the trees. It is the nobler one, who did not want Pirithous mocking the girl. But apparently he is not noble enough to have stopped the rocks chucked at her.
“Pirithous! I’m calling it off! There’s weird stuff happening!”
“What, eh?” says Pirithous, who half turns to look behind him. “What is it, man?” he calls back.
“I can’t fucking move! I can’t—fuck, I can’t fucking see it, but I can’t fucking move! What is happening! Oh shit!”
While the previous words were alarmed but not yet afraid, the last exclamation is a louder shout of terror, and Seph should have paid better attention to Pirithous. He moves faster than Seph could have imagined, his deity blood making him quicker than a regular man, and Cerberus roars as his blade meets his teeth. One of the dog’s mouths drips with inky black blood, as Cerberus turns around, Pirithous by Seph’s side now.
Seph struggles to stand the moment he sees Pirithous move, pushing the girl away to keep her safe, but his knee gives out on him, and he has no weapons anyway.
It is time for Hecate.
But he finds that blade pressed tightly under his chin, making him put his head back to avoid being cut, and Pirithous’s strong arms lift him up, capturing him close.
“Where is he, huh?” says Pirithous in his ear. He smells like liquor, and Seph forgot there was any other kind except the pomegranate wine that Hades makes. The scent is not pleasant at all, which always reminds him of kisses and intimacy. This is something that reminds him of sweat and vomit, though he’s lost
those specific memories for why.
“Where is who?” Seph asks with a cough, for he finds it hard to breath with this smelly man panting on his face.
“Your husband. The old bastard.” Pirithous shuffles to look around, almost scraping Seph’s throat as he looks with paranoia at the skies. And then into the trees everywhere. He even leans far over and tries to peer behind the one they’re at.
The girl is left forgotten, and she pulls on her chains with a little cry of might.
Poor child.
She can be free of any chains or border in this world, but the realization does not come for a long time.
“Are you afraid of my husband?”
You shouldn’t be.
You should be afraid of me.
“How did he know we were coming, huh? The girl said he doesn’t do the hunts no more. The girl said you would be all alone.”
The girl and Seph make eye contact for a moment. She lied. But she’s also fearful for her treason.
“They were hurting me, Your Majesty. Please believe me! I tried to tell them nothing at first!”
“I believe you.” Seph cannot move his head very well to nod, but he shows her his palm to indicate that she should stop speaking.
She has done nothing wrong.
“I thought you were my rescuer, yeah? You’re about to nick my artery.”
“Your what?”
Seph learned about human anatomy in the palace library. Though it was only the very basics, it is more than even the nobles and royalty get among typical humans.
“My neck. You are about to cut my neck, dear rescuer.” He almost chokes on the last two words, either from the sarcasm or the smell.
“Oh. Well, uh, I have to make it real, okay? In case he comes. Or we’re all dead.”
No, you’re already dead. Seph almost rolls his eyes at the shady disgustingness of this man.
“Uh, where is he?” Pirithous asks, his head twisting to look in all directions at once, including up. Then he bellows, “Theseus! What’s happening, man?”
And there is no answer at first. Seph rolls his lips inward, being bad at suppressing a laugh. Hecate found him and ended him, no doubt.
But then the weak and croaking words of Theseus are heard faintly through the trees.
“It’s… coming… for you. My man. Look at… the ground.”
The sword leaves Seph’s neck and points at the grass, the end sweeping left then right. Cerberus growls close by, his muscles taut to spring, but Seph whispers and mouths, “Stay. Down.”
An attack from the dog might get himself for the girl injured. He’s certain Hecate has already incapacitated one of them, and this idiot won’t be standing much longer. But while he is looking at the ground, Seph continues to look up.
There is something there.
Is Hades really coming for him? Did he have some protection spell Seph was unaware of?
He narrows his eyes to focus better.
It is as big as a horse, but it has wings, flapping.
Meanwhile, Pirithous shouts, hurting Seph’s ears, “What is it, man? What is it?!”
“The ground…” Theseus says something, but it’s lost to a rustle somewhere. Seph looks around. It wasn’t the dog. There’s something hissing.
“Theseus, louder, man! What the fuck is it?!”
Theseus does not sound like himself anymore. It seems that he is speaking with his last breath, but the word comes through, as the grass directly before them shifts and sways with a breeze that isn’t there.
“Sss-snake!”
And a viper opens its mouth and lunges from the gray leaves. Pirithous throws his sword at it. He lets go of Seph, covering his face with his arms and cowering. But he does not protect the snake’s target—his ankles.
Forty-Seven
Pirithous falls, and Seph for the moment forgets that the girl he’s protecting is not physically real. He throws himself over her, and they both duck low to the ground as if the snake might grow legs, pick up the sword, and threaten to cut off their heads.
Belatedly, looking up from the grass to find the terrible monster, Seph thinks that climbing a tree would have been the correct action to take. And running away by himself while leaving the girl (for she can’t be harmed by venom) would have been the best action of all.
But that wouldn’t have made him feel very good about himself, would it?
There’s a bit of irony and stupidity in caring about the moral implication of his actions more than the effectiveness of them.
But the snake is gone. He also can’t hear the hissing anywhere. He looks carefully around Pirithous’s body, but nothing moves, and the grass all around them is dead still again. The fallen man tries to speak (“Help me,” is Seph’s best guess) but he only makes a groaning sound. He’s on his back with his mouth open, his eyes wide and staring up. A little piece of drool hangs from his bottom lip, and he’s utterly still. Well, except for the fingers on his hand, twitching.
“What was that?” Seph asked breathlessly, still looking around. The snake was golden and shaped like a cobra, but the only kind he’s seen are black.
The chains rattle, and the girl makes a tough, strained cry as she pulls on them. Seph pats her shoulder and rubs her back.
“I’ll find the key. Do remember which one of them has it?”
“That man, I think,” she says, sniffling, nodding her head toward Pirithous.
The groaning sound becomes louder as Seph digs into the man’s pockets. His arms begin to shake and his feet kick a little as well, though his knees never bend much.
“Are you trying to speak to me? Are you trying to get back up?” Seph asks, and he is not particularly concerned about the fear Pirithous might be experiencing. Rescuer or not, he held one of Seph’s subjects hostage, harming her unjustly. She was nearly maimed by the dog too, who seems as alarmed about the snake as Seph is.
Cerberus snarls at Pirithous, but since the man is not moving and Seph clearly has the matter under control, the hound with his three noses sniffs around the body, searching madly for the reptile beast.
Cerberus and Seph have a working relationship. Gradually, in moments like this when Seph appreciates him, it seems to be growing into a bond.
“Good boy,” he tells the dog and tosses him a biscuit he finds wrapped in the man’s small travel bag. He also finds a hefty purse of coins, some kind of strong smelling teabag, he supposes, and one old-looking key.
He returns to the girl, and it fits in the lock and the manacles both.
That thing from the sky approaches, and Seph keeps a wary eye on it as he tries to get the stubborn key to turn on her last wrist. She’s nearly free. And what comes from the sky must be another attack. It’s a monster.
He doesn’t panic yet, since that doesn’t help anything. And as Hecate arrives, walking her horse, he assumes she’ll take care of it. She’ll slay the massive thing, since she is a full god and an extension of his will. Seph will focus on where he is useful, staying out of the way and seeing to the poor girl.
The last manacle breaks open with the clink.
“All right then. Have you ridden a horse before?”
She shakes her head. This is not unusual for a woman or anyone of low birth.
“Well, there’s no need to worry. You just sit there and hold on tight to me, okay?”
He gathers her up in his arms. Even the tallest, broadest spirits don’t weigh anything. But it does pose an issue as he tries to stand from a kneeling position, needing to push from that weak knee without a hand free to pull himself up, and the pain just won’t let it happen.
Styx told him he could have been the first paralyzed god in all of eternity if he hadn’t reformed the connections with his legs. The left one in particular goes dead sometimes.
Seph, don’t be useless, he growls at himself.
“I can walk, Your Majesty,” sniffs the young woman. She’s small, but older than Seph first realized.
“No need to.” He suppresses
a pained sound of effort as he manages to stand. “I’ll protect you and carry you safely home.” He smiles, glad that he didn’t have to admit to one of his subjects he was unable to stand on his own.
Then he pauses, seeing the massive winged thing swoop down on them from the sky. He can hear when its wings beat against the wind, twice before gliding down, making a wide spiral overhead. For a moment he sees a different world suddenly. Extremely bright, blinding actually, and the ground is a vivid green. The sun is a blazing yellow, so bright that he starts to cringe and guard the girl before he realizes the vision is over and it wasn’t real.
He saw a woman with brown skin wearing a white dress, shaking out bedclothes and pinning them on a rope to dry. It sounded just like the wings. Flap. Flap.
He hears it again as the monster comes down, its wings twice as long as his horse, who dances and widens his eyes for the incoming creature.
Spirit horses are better trained than any mortal steed. They’ve had centuries more experience, for one, and eventually they long forget that they can feel pain. But the old instincts of fear are still there, and they can make mistakes.
“Demeas!” Seph calls and makes a short whistle. The horse stamps a short circle, makes a nervous whinny, but trots to him and slows.
Why hasn’t Hecate attacked the thing yet?
Her horse is better trained, standing calmly, though tossing its head once or twice as the creature lands on enormous talons. But Hecate does not draw her weapons, nor even let go of her horse. She stands facing the creature calmly, and Seph is fine with that so long as the enormous thing doesn’t look over here.
He lifts the girl onto his horse in the meantime. And he asks his leg silently to just cooperate enough to get him settled. If they need to run, he doesn’t want his injury to slow them down.
But he sees Hecate reach for the creature with an open palm, like she’s greeting a large pet, and his curiosity makes him pause. Hecate’s horse does not seem to mind so much anymore, now that the creature has folded its wings into its body, its back looking like a very large bird, but its head has hair instead of feathers. And its legs are like a human’s too, at least the thigh and knee portion, which bend forward. The feet are the enormous talons of a raptor. And the thing has no arms that Seph can see.
