“I can’t do that.”
“Why not, if you know?”
“Because telling you will cause you to change your plan, and then the outcome will also change. It’s a paradox. That is the problem with the future; it’s fungible.”
They ignored that, as none of them knew exactly what the word meant. But Myrrh understood how knowledge of the future could change it, because she had some foretelling ability herself and had run afoul of the effect.
Cerberus was really too big for the dhow, so he elected to run along before it, showing the way.
“Possibly significant point,” Nylon said. “The figurehead refused to tell us how our venture would come out, but he did indicate that Jewel would be returning to tell him more tales. That suggests success.”
“Not necessarily,” Jewel said. “It could mean that I’m the lone survivor.”
“Or some other compromise,” Nydea said. “The sorceress could enchant you and hold you hostage against Aladdin’s cooperation.”
“Or that the figurehead was faking it, as he does not know the future,” Myrrh said. “If he really knew the future, he’d know how Jewel’s stories turn out, and not need her to tell them.”
The others nodded soberly. They had no indication at all.
Nylon glanced at Myrrh. “Time for you to tune us out and tune Aladdin and Duban in. We’ll shut up and let you focus while we travel.”
“Thank you.” Myrrh had privately dreaded this moment, because she feared what she would learn. Suppose the situation was already hopeless?
She reached out for Duban. She loved him, and knew he loved her, but they both muted that because the adults thought children were incapable of real love. That made communication at a distance feasible. But some of the thoughts they exchanged would freak out those naive adults.
She connected immediately. You’re awake! Duban thought.
Awake and well, Myrrh agreed. Medea put a sleep spell on us, but Queen Nylon returned with Cerberus and woke us.
But a sleep spell can’t be broken with a mere snap of the fingers, he protested. Medea would not be so careless.
Cerberus helped, she explained. Nylon tamed him, and now he is one of us. He has royal ancestry. We are coming to rescue you, but we fear the power of the sorceress.
I have prepared a mental blast, he thought. But I am not sure when to use it.
We are counting on that. We will converge on her as she seeks to use the Key to unlock the Gates of Hades. That should be a fair distraction. Strike then.
I will, he agreed, relieved by the decision.
Now I must contact Aladdin, so he can grab the Key right then.
Duban hesitated. Myrrh, if things don’t work out—
I love you too, she thought, and sent him a kiss and hug of such nature she could feel his mental blush. Boys were easy to manage, even powerful Magician boys. It would only get easier as she matured physically. Then she moved on to Aladdin. This was more difficult, because he liked her without loving her, a less committed association.
Aladdin, it’s Myrrh! Sylvie Siren thought, the first to catch her presence. I’ll enhance the signal.
Bless the Siren! That would really help.
Myrrh! he thought gladly. We feared you were—in trouble. When Medea came—
She put us to sleep. Nylon and Cerberus rescued us.
Cerberus! The Hound of Hades? Nylon diverted him so we could pass.
He is one of us now. Nylon tamed him. We are coming to help you. When Medea tries to use the Key on the Gates, we will attack her in a group, and Duban will blast her mentally. You must grab the Key at that moment, when she is disoriented.
Got it. Thanks. He too was relieved to have a coherent plan of action.
Then on a whim she tried Medea. She had never been able to get into the Sorceress’s mind, but if the woman was distracted by her plan to use the Key, she might be careless and Myrrh might be able to sneak in. Anything she learned could be invaluable.
And there she was! The woman was reviewing her life history, as if fearing that it was soon to end. Myrrh tuned in, hiding her presence, because if Medea were to catch on there would be a savage counter-strike. It was as though Myrrh were a fly perched on the woman’s head, seeing and hearing without participating.
* * *
It started, really, with the Golden Fleece.
Two royal Greek children were in danger from their stepmother, who wanted to clear the way for her own child to inherit the kingdom. The children’s mother prayed to the god Mercury for assistance, and Mercury sent the winged ram Chrysomallus to carry them to safety. The ram was a wonder to behold, as his fleece was pure gold. He took the children on his back and flew high. But the little girl, Helle, lost her grip, fell off, and drowned in the sea below. Thereafter it was named after her, the Sea of Helle, or the Hellespont. The boy kept his grip and the golden ram carried him to the kingdom of Kolchis, on the Black Sea, ruled by King Aeetes. The king welcomed them, seeing an opportunity here, and so did the king’s daughter, Medea, who now had a playmate and a fine pet. But then the boy, in gratitude, sacrificed the ram and gave the Golden Fleece to the king. Medea, mourning the wonderful ram, would have nothing further to do with the boy, and was quietly alienated from her father, who should have prevented the prince from making such a senseless gesture. The ram had performed wonderfully, and been cruelly murdered in return. That was the beginning of Medea’s cynicism. Virtue was not necessarily rewarded. She resolved to protect herself by studying sorcery. It turned out that she had a talent for it, and without her father’s knowledge she became quite proficient.
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 wo
uld 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 horizo
n. 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.
The Series Boxed Set Page 40
