by G. E. White
The young soldier pushed his face close to Quinn’s and stared into his eyes. “You’re lying,” he said, sounding disappointed.
“Aw, look at him; he’s scared,” Harold chuckled, taking in Quinn’s slight trembling.
Jimmy reached out as if to touch Quinn’s face. “Don’t you want to be our friend?” he asked.
Quinn jerked back out of the ghoul’s reach. “Don’t touch me!”
Harold’s face twisted into a snarl, his hand painfully ensnaring Quinn’s forearm. “No need to be rude.”
Fear morphed into adrenaline. Quinn wound back a fist of his free hand and landed a surprisingly solid punch on the translucent being. The ghoul fell back, releasing the boy. His other two companions looked on in disbelief that Quinn’s fist had been able to connect with Harold’s ghostly form.
Harold staggered to his feet. He, along with Jimmy and Rosa, advanced on Quinn who stumbled back, frantically looking for a way out.
Just as the three had closed in on him, a new voice boomed across the cavern.
“Okay, that’s enough you vultures!”
The three apparitions shrank back as if burnt, allowing Quinn to pull away. Where this new comer had appeared from, Quinn was unsure, but grateful nonetheless.
Quinn’s rescuer stood solid in contrast to his ghostly assailants, with a shock of black hair that was partially slicked away from his face. The young man’s ice-blue eyes glared out at the specters from his aristocratic features. While his sleek attire of black slacks and gray sweater over a fit body, could have placed the young man on the cover of GQ magazine.
Quinn blinked in surprise, for standing before him was the mysterious young man he had seen at Cedar Hills just before Marvin’s death.
“Jared,” Harold cowered, “We didn’t know he was with you.”
“And that should make a difference?” Jared challenged. “Did you even stop to think what a mortal would be doing here with his flesh still attached?”
“We’re sorry, my Lord. We promise it won’t happen again,” Rosa pleaded.
“Damn straight it won’t. If it does all three of you will find yourselves stuck at the bottom of the Phlegethon faster than you can say Tartarus. Now get out of my sight!” he bellowed, giving a sharp thrust of his arm as if to throw them from him.
With an anguished wail the three specters vanished like ashes being cast into the wind.
Quinn stood stiffly, his gaze fixated on his imposing savior, who continued to glare in the direction of the vanished apparitions. “Thank you,” he said softly.
Jared shrugged off his once fierce demeanor, softening as he turned to face Quinn. “No problem, lousy ghouls don’t know when to quit. Though I’m surprised that right hook of yours didn’t scare them off. I thought they knew only gods can physically harm the dead. Looked like it would have hurt too.”
“Uh, thanks, I guess,” he replied, scratching the back of his hand.
When Quinn looked up at Jared he realized that he was younger than he first thought. The young man was probably in his early to mid-twenties, but could present himself with a mature air.
While Quinn inspected Jared, the older man returned the gesture.
“You’re Quinn right?” he asked.
“Yeah… how did you know?”
He smiled gently at the teen. “Leo gave us a call and said you might be down here.”
“Us?” Quinn asked.
“My brothers and I… Where are my manners?” he said to himself.
“I’m sorry. I’m Jared Doyle, the current incarnation of Thanatos.”
“Thanatos?”
“The God of Death,” Jared elaborated.
Quinn was positive his face just gave an involuntary twitch. The God of Death? Could this day get any crazier? Some part of him wondered if all he was experiencing was in his head and he was safely tucked away in Cedar Hills finally lost to his illness… but then he doubted that his head would hurt as much as it did. However rolling over Jared’s words in his head something didn’t quite make sense.
“But I thought Hades was the God of Death.”
Jared chuckled good-naturedly. “Technically Joseph, uh, that’s my brother, is God of the Underworld; he deals with the administrative stuff. Think of me as the Grim Reaper… Though I like to think I’m better looking than what most people picture Death to be.” His comment was accompanied by a self-effacing grin.
Quinn returned the gesture; who would’ve guessed that Death would have a sense of humor?
“One second,” Jared said, holding up one finger with his left hand and pulling out a cell phone from his jacket pocket with the right. “I just gotta make a quick phone call.”
He flicked through his contacts before finding selecting one. Quinn listened intently to Jared’s side of the conversation as the person on the other end picked up.
“Hey, yeah I found him…Yeah, he’s okay,” Jared said into the receiver again giving Quinn the once over. “Got a bit of a lump on his head, maybe a little shook up, but otherwise he’s fine. So what do you want me to do?... Uh-huh… Oh…” The Death God continued, though his voice dropped to a lower note on the last word making it obvious he just received some bad news. “I see… But you’ve got it under control?... Uh-huh… Okay, yeah, I can do that. Okay, just let me know if anything changes. Okay bye.”
Jared pressed a button ending the called and peered down to see the questioning look on Quinn’s face. But instead of asking who he had been speaking to, another comment passed Quinn’s lips.
“I’ve seen you before,” he said.
Jared tensed at the comment, the skin at his forehead becoming creased with lines. Out of everything the boy could have said, it was probably the most surprising, “You have?”
“Uh-huh,” Quinn said nodding. “At Cedar Hills, a couple weeks ago.”
The tight knit of the older man’s frame relaxed as Jared gave a relieved laugh. “Oh right, Marvin Jacobs. I thought I recognized you from somewhere.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed at the odd behavior, but let it slide wishing answers for his other questions. “No one else could see you, why is that?”
“It’s part of my gig,” Jared explained. “When on the job, I’m usually invisible to everyone but the soul I’m collecting. Well, with gods and animals excluded of course.”
“Animals?”
“What can I say, they like me,” he said, with a hitch of his shoulders.
The mention of animals brought Quinn’s thoughts back to the bestial creatures that had attacked him and Surina up in the Hall of Erebus. “You said Leo contacted you about me. What about Surina? Was that her on the phone?”
“Ah, no. That was Leo. Surina’s a little indisposed at the moment, but don’t worry she’ll be fine,” Jared reassured. “She’s tougher than some of the actual gods; it’ll take more than a few danaids and a case of miasma to take her down.”
“Miasma?” Quinn echoed, unfamiliar with the term. “Is that some sort of Asthma?”
Jared cringed. “Uh, yeah something like that,” he replied, his eyes shifting away from the younger man.
Quinn scowled. There was obviously something the older man wasn’t telling him, but before he could voice his skepticism Jared continued on.
“She was more worried about you, but who wouldn’t be when their charge is in the Underworld.”
Quinn swore his heart stopped for a beat as he heard Jared’s words, “The Underworld?”
“Where did you think you were?”
Quinn shook his head. “Not here… but I guess I should have figured it out.” He continued, gazing up at the road signs once again. “These paths lead to rivers don’t they?”
“Yep, the five rivers of the Underworld – let me guess, ‘Styx’ gave it away.”
“Almost everyone has heard of the River Styx. I don’t know how I forgot,” Quinn said.
Jared waved it off. “Hey, you were under a bit of stress; I think you’re allowed a little memory slip now and then
.”
“I suppose… So how come you came to get me and not Surina? I mean, miasma aside.”
“Let’s walk and talk, okay Quinn?” Jared said as he started walking down the path towards the River Styx.
Quinn followed quickly behind him, stretching his legs to match Jared’s longer stride, “Okay.”
“You see, while it’s not officially a rule, there is an understanding that mortals who aren’t gods shouldn’t be allowed in the Underworld, unless they’re dead of course. We’ve had a few incidents: Orpheus and Eurydice, Izanaki and Izanami to name a couple and they’ve never ended well. That and there are a few gods that don’t exactly trust Surina.”
“Why is that?”
Jared shook his head. “It’s not really my place to tell. Let’s just say that it has something to do with her heritage and leave it at that.”
Though his tone was soft, Quinn had no doubt that the topic of discussion was over and he continued to walk alongside Jared until they reached the bank of a wide river.
The water appeared grey as a light mist blanketed most of the surface. But as they stepped closer to the river’s edge Quinn could make out the occasional ghostly blue arm that would rise from its depths before sinking back beneath the surface.
The river was filled with souls, some wept, others raged, but most just slept, apparently at peace as they floated along.
Quinn tore his gaze from the river when Jared pushed something into his hand.
“Here, you’ll need this,” the older man said.
The items Jared had given him were two silver coins with what appeared to be an olive branch etched on them. Quinn couldn’t accurately tell how old the tarnished coins were, but he had a feeling it was quite old.
Out of the mist floated a small boat, ferried by a looming cloaked figure. The face of the ferryman was impossible to see under his hood, but the hands that gripped the long pole were pure bone.
The boat pulled up to the bank of the river and Jared calmly stepped in, handing the ferryman his own coins. Quinn stood stock still on the river’s edge.
“Come on, hurry up,” the Jared called. “Don’t let this guy scare you; Charon here is just an old softy at heart,” he reassured, patting the skeletal figure on the shoulder.
Charon groaned in slight irritation but did no more. Hesitantly Quinn stepped into the boat and approached the ferryman. Charon held his bony hand out to the teen. After a moment of staring into the dark abyss of Charon’s hood Quinn remembered the coins and placed them in the skeletal figure’s open hand.
The ferryman took the coins, almost humming in pleasure, and pointed to one of the seats in the boat.
Obviously not much of a talker.
Quinn sat as directed while Charon used the long pole to push off from shore and to steer them across the River Styx.
The journey along the water was made in silence. Quinn huddled in on himself, not wishing to get too close to the edge of the boat. Jared leaned against the side, head propped up by his hand, looking almost bored staring out at the river.
The ghostly apparitions floating down the river and under the boat paid them no mind, each just moving with the current of the dark water.
Several awkward minutes later the ferry nestled onto the white sand of the other bank of the river.
Jared stepped out of the boat with an ease born of repetition and gave a casual wave. “Thanks man,” he said to the ferryman.
Quinn was not so graceful getting out of the boat, catching his foot on not only one of the seats but the rim of the vessel as well. But once on solid land he offered his thanks as well. Charon just grunted in acknowledgement before shoving off back onto the river.
The whole situation struck Quinn as odd. Since climbing out of Charon’s ferry the two walked in silence. Soon approaching what appeared to be a sprawling mansion and wide spread gardens. The immense grounds were surrounded by a tall fence and main gate constructed entirely out of bone.
Strangely enough, it didn’t seem grotesque; in fact, the gate could be described as beautiful. The bone was completely flawless – white, smooth and gleaming like marble.
Quinn paused at the entrance, trying to take it all in.
“Come on, hurry up,” Jared ordered, “My brothers and sister-in-law are desperate to see you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well you have been missing for a while,” Jared replied.
That wasn’t right. Quinn hadn’t been missing; he just never met these people. But he supposed that they were speaking about Athena and not him. For some reason the thought irritated Quinn. Did these people care about who he was, or were they more preoccupied with who he’d been? Or perhaps Jared was referring to his jaunt through the Underworld.
He glanced up at Jared and his genuine smile, he hoping the man wasn’t just seeing Athena when he looked at Quinn.
Past the gate was a neatly constructed garden in symmetrical circular patterns on either side of the main path that led up to the raised two story mansion. Unlike the terrain they had navigated through in order to get here, the grounds of the mansion were alive with deep green grass and a virtual plethora of various flowers and ferns.
Despite being the home of the Death Gods, there was little about the place that spoke of the ‘doom and gloom’ often associated with death. Even the figures sculpted into the fountain were radiant with their smiles, each one appearing to be in the midst of a dance.
Quinn walked behind the current incarnation of Thanatos at a slightly reduced pace, taking in the gleaming white walls of the mansion as they ascended the stairs. The large French doors of the entrance swung open on their own, allowing the two of them to pass through into an elegant foyer.
Unlike the gate, both in and outside the building the use of bone became sparse as Quinn only noticed it as the guard-rail that lined the upper level and twin staircases that angled toward the entrance. Live flowers wound around the banister, almost at odds with the bone-framed paintings on cream yellow walls.
Jared had moved ahead of him and now stood in front of another pair of doors under the second-floor over-hang. Quinn jogged over to catch up.
The older of the two pushed open the door and stepped in, the younger right behind him.
Inside appeared to be some sort of receiving/throne room, filled with paintings of random men and women Quinn didn’t recognize, but still felt a twinge of familiarity when looking at them. A path-like burgundy carpet led from the door to and two large thrones, one made of bone, the other of twisted wood and flowers.
Sitting on the throne of bone was a man in his late thirties, perhaps early forties, with dark, closely cropped hair and a short, meticulously groomed beard on his face. There was something both fierce and kind about his gaze, much like Jared’s. Crow’s feet appeared at the corners of the man’s brown eyes as he smiled gently.
To the left of the throne stood a man who was almost Jared’s duplicate. However, unlike Jared, his hair was pulled away from his face running in a long low pony-tail along his back. His features showed amusement at the pair’s arrival.
On the right in the throne of wood, sat a woman with kinky black hair and almond-brown eyes. Her dark skin brought out the vividness of her green top and ruffled brown skirt. Her whole being buzzed with excited energy as she practically bounced in her seat.
The thought struck Quinn like a bullet between the eyes: They were happy to see him, they wanted him there. It was something very few had been in Quinn’s life. It was strange, but Quinn couldn’t help but feel the same as he gazed at the family photo-like image they presented, almost as if he was returning home.
Jared smirked, gazing down at the overwhelmed teen, “Quinn, I’d like you to meet my family.”
~ Chapter 10 ~
Surina dropped her sword and leaned against the wall of the Hall of Erebus, exhausted. She fumbled with the glasses in her pocket before slipping them back onto her face. All that remained of the danaids that had attacked her and Quinn w
ere lifeless (and occasionally limbless) bodies and several mounds of rubble. She considered herself lucky there were only a dozen of them; had it been the full forty-nine Surina doubted either she or Quinn would have lived to tell about it, though that’s not to say that she got out of the skirmish unscathed as her various cuts and bruises could attest.
Her charge coming back to the forefront of her mind, Surina scooped up her sword, pushed off the wall and stumbled towards the tunnel she had last seen Quinn enter.
“Quinn!” she called, walking down the darkened path. Only the sound of her own boots echoing against the stone floor answered her.
In the dark she could make out the faint outline of a body lying on the ground. Apprehension filled her as she knelt to get a better look. She let go of a breath she had been unaware she had been holding. The body wasn’t the teen she was looking for, but one of the danaids she had wounded. The feral woman was obviously dead and missing an arm. She must have stumbled through here after battling with Surina, lost too much blood and died.
However, on her remaining arm was a strange bracelet, more like a metal cuff with some sort of dial or clock face on the side.
Finding jewelry on a woman so savage she could no longer speak seemed odd indeed. But then again, the danaids’ presence in Erebus was odd as well. Perhaps the clunky piece of jewelry would give them a clue as to how and why they were here.
Surina slipped the cuff off the dead woman’s wrist and tucked it into her jacket pocket.
She continued to move down the tunnel in her search for Quinn. Kicking at some of the pebbles at her feet she heard them tumble down a steep incline in front of her. Casting a small spell to illuminate the dank tunnel she saw Quinn’s footprints in the dust below her, disappearing into the gaping pit blow.
“This is not good,” she muttered to herself.
Yet the answer to Quinn’s disappearance was not the only thing that the light revealed.
Behind her dark sunglasses, Surina’s eyes widened, taking in the blood caking her coat and hands, the blood of the danaids. She rushed back along the way she came. Her concern for Quinn was still present but she knew if she didn’t get treated soon she would be no help to the young man.
