Speaking of being cold, when I’d first arrived I assumed that the underworld would be hot, but it’s the opposite. It’s freezing down here. My teeth chatter as I massage my arms, rubbing warmth back into them. Every time I stop massaging my arms a fresh array of goose bumps sprout up while I trudge through what appears to be a massive bleak underground desert.
Funnels of gray sand swirl around me and a gust of cold air blasts me in the face. The desert is never-ending and seems too calm for my taste. When things are calm that usually means something is about to happen. I am right.
Voices hiss around me, spinning in circles filling up my head and drowning out my thoughts. I feel like I’m in crowded room, boxed in by the chatter. Except these voices aren’t speaking coherently and there isn’t a person in sight. I know the underworld is a land of illusion. I know it’s a place where nothing is as it seems. But it’s one thing to know those things. To actually experience the strangeness of another realm, that’s something completely terrifying.
A sudden tap on my shoulder causes me to spin around. “Hello.” My vocal chords quiver and fear spreads through me like the plague. “Hades? Is that you?”
Squinting ahead a sheer shadow with a white film covering appears before me. As the shadow lurches closer I can tell it isn’t a shadow at all. It’s an apparition. A ghostly ghoul determined to haunt me. A discarded spirit determined to scare the bejeezus out of me. And it’s working.
Before I’m able to let out a scream, the spirit bursts into a million pieces. Like raindrops suspended in an atmosphere without gravity. The ghost particles hang in the air for a minute, and then fall to the ground. They linger on the gray clay then like they are being sucked through the ground by an invisible vacuum, the particles disappear. Great. I have enough to deal with and now I have to add one more thing to that—ghosts.
More apparitions appear. Men. Women. Even children. And they float toward me like astronauts, suspended in the air by lack of gravity. Their faces hollow and sunken in. Mouths forming an “o” shape as they let out gluteal moans. All they do is moan. None of them utter a clear word. It’s like someone stabbed each one of them in the neck with a scalpel and twisted their vocal chords around the blade so they wouldn’t be able to speak coherently. Their arms are extended, like they are reaching out for me. Like they are begging me for help. I am their savior.
But I’m not their savior. I’m just a Goddess who has been running from their commander her entire life. I’m just a Goddess who prays every day to be considered normal. I’m just a Goddess who wants nothing more than to go home.
I am not their queen. I don’t want to be and I never will be. Yet they float closer and closer as fear takes a firmer hold of my insides. Swallowing hard, I tell myself I can’t let my fear get the best of me. I need to keep going because I have to be getting close to the Styx. As the spirits loom closer, I take a few steps back. And when the first ghost is only inches away from me, that’s when I take off running.
There’s no traction in the soles of my tennis shoes and as I run, I’m slipping and sliding in the gray sand. Minutes pass and I’m still running. I think about giving up. But I can’t. I hear them behind me. I hear their tortured moans filling up the whole underworld and that’s what keeps me going. Still stampeding forward, I struggle to breathe. “What do you want with me?” I rasp in between breaths. I don’t know why I bother asking. I know they can’t speak.
The spirits are gaining on me. They float faster than I can run. Glimpsing over my shoulder I see the first one only feet away from me, so I push myself harder. I make myself run faster. But my body is wearing down. I need to catch my breath or I’m going to pass out. My heart thunders in my chest. My joints ache. I’m starting to topple over. I’m the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but I catch myself before I crash and crumble over some village in Italy.
Up ahead is another thick wall of smog. If I can make it through the smog then maybe I’ll end up in another part of this realm. Maybe the smog will catapult me into another dimension. Any part of this realm is better than where I am now. Being chased by the dead through a desert of gray sand and whirling cyclones sucks.
I sprint through the mass of smog like a marathon runner who has just ripped the red ribbon with their abdomen and crossed the finish line. The crowd cheers and jeers letting out a boisterous round of applause at my accomplishment. Except my crowd is a bevy of ghosts. And they are still following me. I hear their wails of agony as they blast through the smog.
Spinning in a circle I realize I have nowhere to go. Behind me is a river and the murky brownish-green waters jilt back and forth lapsing into the gray sand. Stepping backwards, I back up until I can’t anymore. One more step and I’ll plummet into the murky waters of the river and be whisked away by the current. I can’t run. I can’t hide. They are moaning for me. They are coming for me.
In a last resort effort, I duck and throw my hands over my head as each ghost passes through my body into the choppy waters of the river behind me. And every time a ghost passes through me I feel myself getting weaker and weaker. Finally, after the last one disappears, I hit my knees going face first into a mountain of gray sand. But at least I can breathe again. At least my lungs are expanding and working correctly. And most importantly, I’m so glad I’m not a vessel for the dearly departed anymore.
Picking myself up, I sit down facing the river. I clutch my chest feeling it rise up and down and drop my head in between my knees for a minute. Then I lift my head and debate on jumping into the river and trying to swim across it. The water whizzes past me at a high speed and I decide against it. The last thing I want is to be swept off in the current of an unknown river and not knowing when or if I’d ever be found.
Then I’m hit with an epiphany. It hits me so hard I feel like someone has just smacked me in the face with a shovel. The bitter taste of metal fills my mouth and I swear there is a red welt on my cheek. Is it possible that I’m sitting on the banks of the Styx? Right behind the water is a kind of brown stone cavern with dim lights and a wooden dock of some kind. A dock! Why else would there need to be a dock if wasn’t to let the ferryman on and off the ferry?
I jump up from my spot so overwhelmed with excitement that I feel like I’ll grow wings and soar through the air. I look up at the cloudy gray skyline. What kind of bird would want to fly down here? A dead one. I tuck the morbid thought in the back of my mind and focus on the dock again when a wave of depression sweeps through me. It’s high tide and the wave crashes down on me and pulls me out to sea. The dock is across the river.
Water rushes past me faster, picking up more speed by the minute. I decided swimming across was out of the question minutes ago. But there doesn’t seem to be any other way. Narrowing my eyes, I skim up and down the banks of the river, stopping when I see a line of rocks leading to the other side.
Running toward the boulders sticking out of the water, hope flourishes through me. But I have to be careful. The moldy colored water sprays against the rocks, dampening them and making them slick. This river separates me from the living and the dead. This river separates me from my mom. This river is a cataclysmic barrier of destruction and I don’t care what it takes; I have to make it across it. Even if I have to crawl all the way.
Carefully, I place a foot on the first rock. The large stone is round and the surface is flat so it’s an easy first step. The second rock is slightly smaller and the tip comes to a bit of a point, so I hop quickly from the second rock to the third. I repeat the same process until I come to the seventh and final rock.
First off, the rock is an odd shape with three prong-like portions. Two that stick out horizontally and one that sticks up vertically. This rock reminds me of half of a star, the other half is submerged under water. There is a gap in between the horizontal prongs, but it’s not like the surface is smooth. No, the surface is full of bumps and as the river plows into it, another layer of moisture slaps down on top of it. Only a foot, maybe two at the most separates me from the o
pposite side of the river. So I place one foot on the rock in the right spot then slowly place the other one in the left spot. Just when I think I’m going to make it across, a repetitive plunking noise distracts me and my sends my right foot jetting forward an inch. My limbs flail and I arch my back. Oh no! I’m going to fall.
Out of nowhere, as if pair of hands are on my back I’m shoved forward and my knees pound into the gray river bank. Uneasy, I glance over my shoulder to see who or what just pushed me, but there’s nothing. No one. Nothing but gray skies, rushing water and slippery stepping stones. The plunking noise I’d heard a second earlier grows louder and in the distance I see the bow of a wooden ship.
The rickety wooden oars twirl around and move through the water and the ship almost sails past the wooden dock. On my feet I rush over to the dock, skidding to a stop at the edge. A rope ladder unwinds down the side of the ship. I watch intensely as a grisly man climbs down and hops off onto the dock.
“Sir,” I say, slinking closer.
He lifts his head, squinting an eye at me. “Eh?”
“Is your name Charon?”
He keeps himself at least a foot away from me, eyeing me curiously. Then reaching up, he removes a fitted black hat from his head. Wisps of white hair stand up as he scratches a bald-spot consuming half of his head. “Who’s asking?” he inquires in a grizzly voice.
“You’re the ferryman, right?”
He nods and places the hat back on his head. “I am.”
I lurch closer to him. “Can you take me back to the land of the living? I’ve been brought here by mistake.”
He holds out his hand to me. I stare at the crinkled palm full of callouses for a second confused, then shrug and slap it.
“What was that for?” he rasps.
“Weren’t you welcoming me? On earth slapping hands is like a welcome gesture.”
“Well, down here it means pay me or go away.” He turns to walk away.
“Pay you? For what?”
“The ferry ride. You got a danake?”
I scrunch my eyebrows together. “A danake?” Danakes don’t exist anymore. They were the form of currency in Ancient Greece. I find it odd that Hades is up to date technology-wise, but his ferryman is still requesting extinct currency as a form of payment.
“Well, any kind of coin will do,” he tells me.
Frantically, I fumble through my pockets hoping that I have some spare change on me. I turn my empty jean pocket inside out. “I don’t have any money.”
“No money, no ferry ride,” he says gruffly as he walks down the dock.
“Can’t you make an exception?” I plead. “I came all this way!” And was chased by spirits and almost fell into a river of death.
“No money! No ride!”
“Unfortunately for you, Charon is a very greedy man.” The voice of a third man rings out.
I whip around and face Hades. I frown, disgusted and sneer, “What are you doing here?”
“Well, first I saved your life when you almost fell into the Styx. It’s not very smart to play on rocks in the river. You never know when you might slip and fall.”
My jaw drops. “That was you!”
He nods. “And it’s a good thing I went searching for my queen after I discovered she wasn’t in her room.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Hades,” I say harshly. “I’m not now, nor will I ever be your queen.”
He scans me up and down with his vibrant blue-green eyes, a playful look on his face. “We’ll see about that.” Then he breaks his focus on me and shifts to the right, stepping closer to Charon. “How many souls today, ferryman?” he inquires.
Charon drops his head shamefully. “Only twelve.”
“Twelve?” I don’t think I’ve ever heard Hades voice go up that high and I bite back a giggle at the sound of it. I swear he almost squeaked.
“Yes,” Charon replies. “But the day has only just begun.”
The two of them engage in heated debate. I take that as my cue to exit, slowly creeping away from them. Then when Hades starts shouting, I take off running down the dock and as far away from it as I can get before he realizes I’m gone. But it doesn’t take him long.
Seconds after I take off he appears in front of me and I almost smack into him. “Argh,” I growl. “Stop doing that!”
“Stop running away,” he says calmly.
I step to my right then to my left, but he keeps up with me. When I move he moves. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Away from you!”
“How many times do we have to go over this,” he groans, frustrated. “You’re not going anywhere.” The frustration in his voice hardens to stone cold absolution.
“Watch me.” I charge ahead, shoving into him as hard as I can. He falls back, but disappears before he hits the ground. And I’m still running. I’m free. Or maybe not. I’m running, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m still in the same spot.
Looking over my shoulder, I see Hades with a devilish grin clutching the bottom of the shirt. “You know,” he retorts. “I always knew you’d be difficult, but I don’t think I was prepared for this.”
“If I’m so difficult, why don’t you just let me go and save yourself the hassle?”
He spins me around by the tail of my shirt and grips onto my shoulders. His eyes sear into mine. “I don’t think so. I like the defiant part of you.”
I mentally curse the tiny sliver of defiance that is wrapped up somewhere inside of me. Without it, then I wouldn’t be here with him—Hades. The devil without a disguise. A dark, cold, and drab version of what a queen might want in a king. Some other future queen. Not me.
Hades lets go of my shirt and I brush past him trudging farther down the banks of the Styx. After I make it a few feet, he materializes next to me keeping up with me stride for stride. “All right,” he says coolly. “Enough of this. We are going back.”
I raise an eyebrow. “To earth?”
“No.” There’s a baffled tone in his deep, gruff voice. “Why would we go back there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I thought there was some decency inside of you somewhere.”
“I promise you, there isn’t.”
“Then I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ll find my own way back home.” I walk faster, kicking up gray sand as I break into a jog.
Hades isn’t next to me anymore. He’s behind me. And as I get farther away, I hear him shout, “You won’t last an hour out here by yourself! There are regions of the underworld that would make even the most fearless heroes wet their pants!”
“I’ll take my chances!”
A second ago he was right behind me. Now he’s inches in front of me. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
Before I can react, he lunges for me, scooping me up into his arms like a Pelican carrying a mouth full of water and fish. I feel like he’s going to swallow me. At any second I’ll be swimming through the enzymes in his stomach amongst catfish guts. I’m inside his body like food that doesn’t agree with him. Spit me out already! I want to be regurgitated. I slam my fists into a wall of hard abs. “Let go of me!”
“Oh is that what you want? You want me to let go of you?” He mocks me with a condescending tone. “I’m only here to serve you my queen.”
He releases me and I stumble forward, prepared to eat a mouthful of gray sand, but instead, I ram into the frame of my bed. “What?” I whirl around, confused. I’m back in my bedroom.
Hades leans, propped up against my doorframe. “Welcome back.” I start toward him and he spreads his arms out blocking me in. “Now, when you can learn not to venture off on your own or plan any more secretive escapes, I’ll consider leaving your door unlocked, but until then—”
“Don’t you dare!” I interrupt.
A moment later Hades vanishes and my door slams shut. The lock clicks like a gun after it has been cocked. I hurl my body into the thick wood and pound on it. “Open this door!” I jiggle the brass knob and it barely moves.
“Hades! You let me out! You can’t keep me locked up like some prisoner!”
“But you’re not a prisoner at all.” His voice is slightly muffled as it wafts through the solid oak. “You’re the Queen of the Dead. And the last thing I want is something bad happening to you because you let your curiosity get the best of you. No pun intended.”
I don’t care what he says. I still feel like a prisoner. He might as well have shackled me to my bed. “Hades!” I kick the door. “Let me out!”
No answer.
I kick the door again. “Damn it! Let me out of here!”
Still no answer.
Fury mounts inside of me like Old Faithful. I’m a geyser full of hot water and steam and I’m about to blow. I storm over to my bed and plant my face into the one of the soft pillows and scream. I scream for seconds. Minutes. If I scream any longer I’m certain I’ll make it to the hour mark. Balling up my fists I beat my pillows like I’m heavyweight boxer. I’m the world champion with my gold encrusted belt hanging over my shoulder. Even though my pillow is a lowly underdog, clearly incapable of a victory, I feel better after releasing some of my pent up anger on it.
Asphodel eBook final0 Page 10
