by J. R. Rain
Later, when Medea was grown, there came a ship, the Argo, with fifty heroes. The most impressive was the leader, Jason, and because of the intervention of the Goddess Hera she fell in love with him at first sight. She didn’t really mind, because she was without a boyfriend and Jason was a truly handsome man. When it turned out that he had come to take the Golden Fleece she saw her chance to accomplish several things at once: punish her father for letting the ram die, win Jason for her own, and keep the fleece close by her so that it could be properly venerated. So when King Aeetes made impossible demands for Jason’s possession of the fleece, such as yoking two fire-breathing bulls to plow the field and sow the teeth of a dragon there, which would lead to mischief as the teeth sprouted into warriors who would slay him, Medea met with Jason and helped him. She was of course well familiar with the magic her father was loosing, and knew how to counter it, just in case it would ever be set against her. She gave Jason a charm to sprinkle on his body and weapons to make him and them invincible. In return he promised to take her with him when he departed with the fleece, marry her and always love her. She had not at that time learned how to fascinate men without doing favors for them; that would come later.
It worked out exactly as she anticipated. Jason overcame the bulls, yoked them, plowed the field, sowed the dragon’s teeth, then following her advice threw a pebble among the resulting warriors. They immediately fell to fighting each other for the worthless bit of stone, and Jason was able to dispatch the few wounded survivors. She also sang to the dragon who guarded the fleece, pacifying it so that Jason could get safely by.
That was just the beginning. Jason did take her with him, did marry her, and had much joy of her magically beautiful body, siring two sons. But complications of politics—doing Jason’s bidding she arranged the death of a royal person—they had had to move to Corinth, where Jason deserted her and married the pretty-if-you-like-that-type daughter of the king of Corinth. It seemed there was just something about younger, more virginal princesses that appealed to him. That was when Medea lost it. She sent a poisoned robe to the bride, killing her. Then, fearing that her sons would be vulnerable to retaliation, she reluctantly killed them. Jason, angry for some reason, tried to kill her, and she had to flee to Athens, where, still in her madness, she influenced the king to try to kill the young hero Theseus, the king not knowing that the hero was his son who would inherit what Medea coveted. But the plot was exposed, and Medea had to flee again, this time to Asia, where the land of Media was named after her. But her love for Jason remained, though he was now long dead, and she longed to return to him and perhaps win him back. Thus her present mission to unlock the Gates of Hades. If she could just find Jason there, and reason with him, maybe she could at last achieve the happiness that had eluded her for more than a thousand years. It was the abiding hope that motivated her.
* * *
Myrrh tuned out, realizing that this so-convenient history meant that the sorceress had known of her intrusion and presented it in an effort to make her case. The irony was that it was effective; Myrrh now understood what motivated Medea, and sympathized. The woman was not evil, merely cruelly battered by fate. She had had to become supremely tough to survive. Why she thought the faithless Jason would make her happy at this late date was a mystery of the foolishness of women. So he was handsome...
Myrrh sighed. Men chose women by their appearance, hardly caring about the content of their character; why not women choosing men similarly? Was Myrrh herself any better? Duban was not bad looking, and he had phenomenal powers of magic, and he was a prince. All good qualifications for an aspiring girl. His music might be considered a waste of time, but she rather liked that too. None of these things reflected firmly on his character. So how could she fault Medea? It was not a question she could answer.
Chapter Nineteen
The ferry lurched slightly as it came to a halt at the river’s edge.
Water lapped against the rocks along the banks. I had to admit: I didn’t want to get off. I didn’t want to face what lay beyond. I wanted to be in my palace, in bed with Jewel, and making deep passionate love. Anywhere but on the banks of the Acheron, the last river into Hades.
Be strong, my liege, whispered Sylvie into my thoughts.
But why has the job of saving the world from the demons of hell fallen upon my shoulders? Surely there is someone more worthy than I. Someone better equipped.
Perhaps, said Sylvie. Or perhaps not. You have proven yourself uncannily resilient in times of crisis. You are a leader of men. You have perhaps humanity’s greatest young wizard on your side. Two of the world’s greatest adventurers. A telepathic girl unlike any I have ever seen. And, of course, two nubile nymphs to bring it all together.
What about Jewel?
She might be our greatest asset.
Why?
Because of your love for her.
I don’t understand.
Great love inspires greatness. We are going to need greatness to survive this ordeal, my liege. So please pull it together and get us all out of here.
The nymph’s words gave me pause. Put that way, I was ideally equipped to handle the crisis. But how? What match were we against an angry god?
We shall see, came Sylvie’s reply.
The air was colder here, and would have been devoid of light if not for the torch that flickered near a rocky path. The path led off into a darkness so black that I initially quailed. Anything could be in the darkness.
Not just anything, I thought. Hades.
I, of course, came from a different school of thought. One that didn’t necessarily believe in Hades, but in a heaven and hell.
Remember, my liege, this is merely a stopover for departed souls, where their lives are reviewed. Those found worthy will go to your idea of heaven. Those found neither good or bad, will end up in a neutral place. And those found lacking will continue on.
Continue on?
Deeper into Hades, my lord. Into what you think of as hell.
I shivered, then thought: But how does Medea plan to bypass the judges?
As a goddess, I suspect she knows more about this realm than either of us. We shall have to wait and see.
The three spirits who had been huddled together on the far side of the ferry now drifted past us. One looked back at me, and looked as confused as I felt. I prayed Allah had mercy on his soul. Soon, they had moved past the torch light and faded from view. What lay beyond the darkness, I hadn’t a clue.
Medea had gone back to Charon and whispered something into his ear. The ferryman of the dead grinned like a school boy. Medea swept past me and leaped off the ferry to land lithely on the rocks beyond. She held out her hand.
“Come, my lord. Don’t look so nervous. We have a dastardly plot to thwart.”
Despite myself, I took her hand and was amazed by her strength as she helped me onto the rocky shore. Duban leaped lightly and landed smoothly. Almost instantly, the ferry behind us moved away, and I turned back to watch the old man ease the vessel out onto the swirling black water, leaving us stranded on the bleak shore.
Never had I felt so bereft of hope. I took Duban’s hand.
The flickering torch, I saw, wasn’t a torch at all. The fire hung suspended in the air. Medea waved her hand and the flame moved before us, lighting the way.
Apparently, the goddess was dispensing with her slave charade. Only a goddess—or one with knowledge of the Underworld—would have known what to do with that flame.
Indeed, sire, said Sylvie. The child telepath, Myrrh, has informed that Medea had given her access to her thoughts and memories.
But why?
By revealing sympathetic and, quite frankly, gut-wrenching memories, Myrrh believes the goddess is trying to gain favor with us.
Or gain allies, I thought. But why go about it like this?
I suspect she sensed the child telepath poking around, and saw an opportunity. After all, I see no one else here to stop her. Just us.
And if
she can win us over...
Nothing will stop her.
I thought about all of this as we moved forward over a smooth, stone trail and through a blackness so deep that it could have been tangible. At any rate, it was oppressive as hell and it played upon old childhood fears of the dark. And why wouldn’t it? We were following the very path into the Underworld.
At that moment, I felt a rippling calm course through me, so much so that I immediately suspected the source.
Was that you, Sylvie?
Of course, my liege. We need you calm and alert, not dealing with childhood demons.
Better I deal with real demons, eh? I thought, feeling a euphoria rarely felt outside of a healthy dose of bhang. But how...
Easy, my lord. We Sirens have spent an eternity understanding the ways of man. We know the pleasure centers of the brain and how to trigger them gently.
I nearly laughed. In fact, I did. Medea snapped her head around and looked me, her eyes narrowing.
Oops, came Sylvie’s words. A little too much stimulation.
She corrected her dosage, so to speak, and I soon felt like my old self, minus any fear.
We continued on with Medea leading the way. The flame provided us just enough light to see our feet moving over the flat, smooth path. What lay beyond the light, I hadn’t a clue. Maybe demons. Maybe nothing at all. Maybe it was just an eternal darkness, and should one wander off the path, they would forever be lost in darkness. That thought alone would have sent me into a near panic, but now I simply thought and...let it go.
Duban kept close to me, holding my hand tightly, and I realized all over again what a horrible parent I was. Who leads their child into the Underworld?
A parent tasked with saving the world, thought Sylvie.
I nodded at the Siren’s words of encouragement, knowing that the Stygian darkness was bringing every old and new fear to the surface of my thoughts.
We continued on, deeper into the darkness, further and further away from the land of the living. To where, I did not know. But I suspected I was about to find out.
“There, father,” said Duban, after a short time. Then again, perhaps it had been a very long time. I was only aware of my breathing. And of the flame. And of Medea’s perfect backside. And of the darkness. Always the darkness.
I saw it now, too. A light on the far horizon. Or perhaps it was the close horizon. Or perhaps there was no horizon. I’d lost all grasp of self. Of depth. Of the physical world.
Never had I been so grateful to see light.
We continued toward it, over the smooth stone and through the oppressive darkness. Toward the light. The blessed light.
* * *
It was another torch.
This time it hovered at head height within a stone cavern with four black tunnels. Where the tunnels led off to, I didn’t know, but I could guess.
“The tunnel on the left,” said Medea, “leads to the forecourt of the Palace of Hades where the three judges sit, and which newly departed souls must venture.” She pointed to the next tunnel. “This tunnel leads to a realm the Christians call Purgatory, but which we call the Fields of Asphodel.” She pointed to the next tunnel. “This tunnel here leads to blessed peace—realms of untold beauty and joy.”
“And the final tunnel?”
She looked at me. “Hell, of course. Come.” And she stepped forward. Into the final tunnel.
The tunnel to hell.
Chapter Twenty
What could I do but follow her?
Some mean-spirited critic inside me suggested that the sight of Medea’s supremely evocative rear revived my foolish desire to capture her interest in dalliance. But she was carrying the Key to the Gates of Hades and would use it unless we stopped her. So I had to follow her, didn’t I? Anyway, how could we have a grand showdown at the Gates unless we went there?
Both reasons are true, Sylvie thought. We do need to stop her, and you are foolishly hot for her flesh. Your problem is that you want to accomplish both, and be justified. I don’t think that’s possible.
“So we have to go to the Gates,” I sub-vocalized.
Well, you could simply try grabbing the key from her neck. That might even work.
No it wouldn’t, Myrrh’s thought came. She would stun you the moment you touched her. Stick to the plan.
“Unless I stunned her first, with a kiss,” I retorted. “I just might get both key and body, saving us all much grief.”
Medea paused, so that I almost collided with her. Too bad my automatic reflexes averted that. She turned to face me. “But it would be so much fun to try it out,” she said.
“What?” I asked, unwilling to believe that she could have read my thoughts.
“I will even give you the Key first,” she said, proffering it to me on its chain about her neck. “Kiss me, Aladdin.” Somehow her shirt had fallen open under my nose.
Don’t do it! both Sylvie and Myrrh cried mentally.
Stay out of this, Medea shot back at them, mentally.
Oh, doom! Myrrh thought. I thought she was not completely telepathic. I was wrong.
“You were wrong,” the sorceress agreed both audibly and mentally. “You are a supremely talented child, but a child nevertheless, lacking experience. I have been on to your plan throughout.” She smiled, projecting the image of the expression to Myrrh. “But we have no need to oppose each other. All I want is to recover my beloved Jason from Hades. None of you should object to that. You can become useful allies.”
Duban spoke, surprising me. “That is a lie, sorceress. Or at least a mere cover story. You know Jason is not worth your time. He is and always was a shallow cad, deserving only of eternal torment. You want to loose the fiends of Hades on the world, wreaking vengeance on it for making you suffer so long.”
Medea took visible stock, appraising the boy. “You are not the mere stripling I took you for. Some day, if you survive, you will be a man to be reckoned with. But as yet you are not. You are young and naive, like Myrrh. Your magic bolt will not stun me; I am shielded against it. You are not prepared for my return thrust. I suggest that you turn around and walk back to the river, where your mother will intercept you and take you home. That will at least save your life, for the time being.”
“You can’t talk to him that way!” I said angrily. “I’ll—”
She turned on me a nonchalant glance that nevertheless invoked my passion full blast. “You will what? Kiss me?”
Don’t do it! Sylvie and Myrrh chorused again.
“Why not?” Medea asked them. “I would be satisfied to be Aladdin’s mistress.”
She would? Now I was really interested.
Fool! Sylvie thought. She means mistress as in the one who rules, the master, not as in girlfriend. She would be your mistress indeed.
“Yes, but he would enjoy it, in both senses,” Medea said. “At least, for a while.” Then she addressed me again. “Take the Key.”
I actually started to reach for it, where it hovered on its chain between her superlatively contoured breasts, unable to reach her chest because of the magnitude of the slopes below. But something in her very readiness made me pause. I may be a fool about women, but I also have a certain sense of danger, and I felt it now. “What else does this action imply?”
“Oh, nothing much. Merely that you are freely trading me your authority over the Flying Dutchman for the Key. We will celebrate the exchange with a phenomenal union. You will like that.”
So that was it. She was trying to seduce the Dutchman from me, so she could use it to escape once the demons of Hades had been loosed.
“But how can they be loosed if you have the Key?” Medea asked reasonably.
Don’t trust her! Sylvie warned.
“But if I have the Key—”
“Don’t do it, father,” Duban said. “She is more cunning than all of us combined. She has something in mind.”
I sighed. They were surely correct. “Some other time,” I said, exercising more sheer willpow
er than I ever could have mustered had my wife’s son not been watching me. Of course I loved my wife. Of course I wanted to set a good example for the boy. But had I been alone with this fascinating creature I might have temporarily forgotten these things. Men do.
Men do, Sylvie agreed, relieved.
Medea turned about with a flair of her skirt and resumed her walk down the tunnel. My eyes resumed their analysis of her flexing posterior; they couldn’t help it. The skirt seemed translucent. Such a work of erotic art has seldom been crafted in the mortal realm.
“Never been crafted,” Medea said, annoyed by the slight. She had a case.
The tunnel expanded, becoming a grand gallery. Soon we reached the Gates of Hades. They were impressive. They were set in the wall of the cave, huge ornate curling metallic bars backed by blue screening with the words ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE. In the center was a small access with a keyhole.
Medea turned again to face me. The very cave seemed to pulse for a moment with her beauty, and for a moment I almost lost my balance, as if I had moved without walking. “One more time, Aladdin,” she said. “Will you make the trade?”
Give up the ship? I wished there could be some other way. “I don’t think so.”
“Then it is time for the showdown.” Medea took the Key and stepped toward the keyhole.
