Dreamless

by Josephine Angelini

  Morpheus looked up at Helen with startling white-blue eyes that looked almost like liquid mercury. He snuggled into the not-quite black of the silk sheets. For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night, Whiter than new snow upon a raven’s back, Helen thought as she took in the contrast of his skin on the sheets, wondering where she had heard those lines of poetry. Whoever wrote them, she thought, must have spent many nights with Morpheus.

  “It’s your voice I’ve been hearing in my head. Little sneak,” Helen said, smiling down at the exquisite, half-naked man. “I thought I was going crazy.”

  “You were, Beauty. That’s why you could hear me so clearly. I called and called to you, but you ignored me so I finally went away. Now come and lie down,” he complained prettily, holding out one of his milk-white hands. “It’s been far too long since I’ve held you.”

  Helen didn’t even have to think about it. She had never laid eyes on this god before, but she knew him. After all, she had spent nearly every night of her life cradled in his arms. There was nothing Morpheus didn’t know about her, no wicked little secret that she had been able to hide from him, and he appeared to love her, anyway. In fact, from the way his starlit eyes gazed up at her, Helen could tell he adored her.

  She smiled with relief, slipped her hand into his, and sighed as she let her head fall against his smooth, moonbeam-bright chest. Every muscle in her body let go as wave upon wave of soothing relaxation rolled through her exhausted limbs. For the first time in months, Helen experienced true rest. Just moments in the god’s arms made up for all those weeks of dreamlessness.

  Morpheus made a sound in his chest, a deep rumbling hum of pleasure, and stroked her face. Gently coaxing her lips apart, he slid two fingers into her mouth and claimed his coin.

  “But you didn’t need to bring payment to visit me. In the many hours you spend with your eyes closed before or after you descend into the Underworld, you are free to dream. You could have floated in with any of the other sleeping minds whenever you wanted,” he said, gesturing to the playful winds that constantly buffeted the tent, occasionally drifting in to ruffle his long, soft hair. “You have more control than you know, Helen. You can even visit me here in body without an obol if you want.”

  “But I can’t visit you,” Helen protested, slightly confused. “Even when I don’t descend into the Underworld, I haven’t been able to dream.”

  “Because you’re afraid of what you’ll find in your dreams, not because any outside force is stopping you. You feel so much guilt for what you want, you can’t even face it in your sleep.” Morpheus lifted Helen, and placed her on top of him so she was looking directly down on him. He dug his fingers into her hair and made it fan around them like a golden curtain that closed them in together.

  “I can dream whenever I want?” Helen asked, already knowing the answer. The moment Helen had learned that Lucas was her cousin, she had stopped dreaming by choice. She’d just never admitted it to herself before.

  “My troubled Beauty. I hate to see anyone suffer, you most of all. Stay here with me and be my queen and I will fulfill all your dreams.”

  The face and body beneath her shifted and changed into a more familiar form. Helen gasped and pulled back. It was Lucas who sat up and gently gripped her arms.

  “I can be this one as often as you like, and you needn’t feel guilty because I’m not actually him,” Lucas said. Helen felt him pull her close and didn’t resist. It was all a dream, right? She ran her hands across his chest and allowed him to kiss her lightly as he spoke. “Or, I can be others. The other one you want so much. Maybe more . . .”

  Helen felt the mouth against hers grow fuller and softer, and felt the bare shoulders under her hands thicken. She opened her eyes and found Orion kissing her. Pulling away, Helen wondered anxiously what Morpheus meant by this. He knew her deepest dreams, so why had he turned Lucas into Orion?

  Orion pushed her onto her back, and she couldn’t help but laugh when he jumped on top of her with a naughty grin. He was so much fun, and being with him was so uncomplicated. With Lucas, she could be completely herself, but with Orion she could be whomever she felt like being at the moment. The thought was intoxicating.

  Orion slid her hands up over her head, pinning her under him. The giddy mood dissipated as quickly as it arose, and Orion’s face grew serious.

  Helen suddenly understood Lucas’s last warning. She could not allow herself to be seduced or she would never leave this bed. Although she didn’t want to, Helen shook her head, preventing Orion from leaning down to kiss her. Morpheus took his own shape again and propped himself up on his elbows over her with a boyish sigh.

  “You are downright addictive,” Helen said sadly.

  She allowed herself to consider what it would be like to live forever in this dream palace with this god. She combed her fingers through his hair, making a midnight tent out of his long locks around their faces, the reverse of what he had done with her sunny blonde hair moments ago.

  “But I can’t stay here,” she said, pushing him back and sitting up. “There are too many things I have to accomplish in the world.”

  “Dangerous things,” he countered with genuine concern. “Ares has been seeking you in the shadow lands.”

  “Do you know why he’s looking for me?”

  “You know why.” Morpheus laughed softly. “He’s watching your progress. What you do here in the Underworld will change many lives, including quite a few immortal ones. But for better or worse, no one can say.”

  “How did Ares get down here, Morpheus? Is Hades helping him break the Truce?” Helen knew somehow that Morpheus would be honest with her.

  “The Underworld, the dry lands, and the shadow lands are not part of the Truce. The Twelve Olympians can’t go to Earth, and that’s the only rule they swore to follow. Many small gods wander the Earth at will, and all the gods come and go from here to Olympus and . . . other places.” Morpheus frowned at his thoughts and then tackled Helen, rolling her onto her back again and holding her in his arms. “Stay with me. I can keep you safe here in my realm, but not outside of it. I see all dreams, you know, even the dreams of the other gods, and I know that Ares is little more than an animal. His only goal is to cause as much suffering and destruction as he can, and he wants very much to hurt you.”

  “He’s foul, I agree. But I still can’t stay here and hide in your bed.” Helen groaned, knowing she was probably going to kick herself for this later. “No matter how dangerous it is, I have to go back.”

  “Brave Beauty.” The god of dreams looked down on her with an admiring smile. “Now I want you even more.”

  “Will you help me, Morpheus?” Helen asked, stroking his shining hair. “I need to get back into the Underworld. Too many have suffered for too long.”

  “I know.” Morpheus looked away as he considered Helen’s request. “It is not for me to say whether your quest is good or bad, I can only tell you that I admire your courage in agreeing to undertake it. I hate to lose you, but I love your reasons for choosing to leave.”

  Knowing that she might be pushing her luck, Helen decided to take a chance and ask for one more favor.

  “Do you know what river Persephone meant? The one I need to draw water from to free the Furies?” she asked. Morpheus cocked his head to the side, like he was trying to recall something.

  “Something tells me I used to know,” he said with a puzzled frown. “But no longer. I’m sorry, Beauty, but I’ve forgotten. You’ll have to discover that for yourself.”

  Morpheus kissed the tip of her nose and rolled out of bed. He turned back and easily lifted her from the twisted sheets before placing her down on the cool grass with a look of regret. Hand in hand, they walked at an unhurried pace through his palace.

  They passed many wondrous rooms filled with fantastical dream imagery. Helen caught glimpses of waterfalls that gushed sparkling liquids of every color, armored dragons atop hoarded riches, their nostrils smoking with barely banked fires, and winged elfin
people dancing with the follow-me lights. But the most spectacular room was a large, twinkling cavern, filled with pile after pile of heaped coins.

  Above each pile a large cylinder hovered weightless in the night sky. The cylinders were made out of brick, stone, or concrete. Some seemed to be thousands of years old and were crumbling with moss; others looked newly constructed and very modern. One or two even had buckets hanging from ropes dangling out of the bottoms, which Helen found strangely kitschy.

  “What is this place?” she asked in awe. The space seemed to go on and on—so far into the dark distance that she couldn’t see an end to it.

  “Ever throw a coin down a well and make a wish?” Morpheus asked. “All wishing wells, past and present, end here in the land of dreams. It’s all a misunderstanding, really. I can’t make dreams come true in real life, no matter how much money people shower me with. The only thing I can do is give them vivid visions of their deepest wishes in their sleep. I try to make them as real as possible.”

  “Very thoughtful of you.”

  “Well, it doesn’t feel right to take people’s money without giving them something in return,” he said with a sly smile. “And all this could be yours, you know.”

  “Honestly?” Helen said with a raised eyebrow. “Your warm bed was more tempting than all the cold coins in the world.”

  As if on cue, Helen heard a pinging sound and saw a far-off glint as one of the enormous piles shifted to welcome another shiny wish.

  “I’m deeply flattered.”

  Morpheus led her away from the room of wishing wells and out of the palace. Standing under an awning, Helen looked across the palace grounds and saw a great tree that stood alone in the middle of a vast plain.

  “Beyond that tree is the land of the dead. Stand under the branches and tell Hades that you will not try to capture his queen. If you mean it, he will not hinder your descents into the Underworld.”

  “How will he know if I mean it?” Helen asked, surprised. “Is Hades a Falsefinder?”

  “Yes, in a way. He can see into people’s hearts—a necessary talent for one who would rule the Underworld. The one who would rule must be able to judge the souls of the dead and decide where those souls are to be sent.” Morpheus’s answer came with a quixotic little smile.

  “What?” Helen asked, bemused by the quirky look on his face. But Morpheus would only shake his head and smile to himself in answer to her question. He walked her across the grounds, right up to the edge of the arching branches of the great tree, and turned to her.

  “When you are standing directly under the tree, no matter what you do, don’t look up into the branches,” he warned solemnly.

  “Why not?” Helen said, dreading the answer. “What’s in them?”

  “Nightmares. Pay them no mind and they can’t hurt you.” He gently released her hand. “I have to leave you now.”

  “Really?” Helen asked with a fearful glance over her shoulder at the nightmare tree. Morpheus nodded his head and started to back away. “But how do I get home?” she asked before he could get too far.

  “All you have to do is wake up. And Helen,” he called out, almost like he was warning her, “in the coming days, try to remember that dreams do come true, but they don’t come easily.”

  Morpheus disappeared into the blending of stars and shimmering lights on the dark lawn, and without him Helen felt very alone. She faced the nightmare tree and balled her fists to steel herself, knowing that the sooner she got it over with, the better. Keeping her eyes down, she strode under the branches.

  Immediately, Helen felt a mass of moving things above her. There were strange squeals and she could hear the scratching of claws across bark as the shadowy creatures ran around. The branches would rustle, then shake, then creak ominously as the nightmares jumped up and down on them in an ever-increasing frenzy to catch her attention.

  It took all of Helen’s nerve to not look up. For a moment, she felt one lean down right next to her face. She could sense its presence loom close, staring at her. Helen told herself not to look and gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering with fear. Taking a deep breath, she faced the Underworld.

  “Hades! I promise I won’t try to free Persephone,” Helen yelled across the barren land.

  While she hated the idea of abandoning anyone, Helen knew what she had to do. Persephone was one princess who was going to have to figure out how to get out of the castle tower without a knight in shining armor to rescue her. That didn’t mean that Helen had to like it.

  “But I strongly suggest you do the right thing and let her go yourself,” she added.

  The nightmares fell silent. Helen heard footfalls in front of her as someone approached, but kept her eyes on the dusty ground of the Underworld side of the tree in case it was a trick.

  “What do you know of right and wrong?” asked a surprisingly gentle voice.

  Helen dared to raise her eyes, sensing that the nightmares had fled. She saw a very tall, robust figure standing in front of her. The clinging shadows that chased around him were like large, grasping hands. Helen had seen this darkness before. It was the same malevolent pall created by Shadowmasters. It dispersed and Helen could see Hades, the lord of the dead.

  He was cloaked in a simple black toga. A cowl obscured his eyes and under that, the cheek plates of his shiny black helmet covered all of his face but the bottom of his nose and his mouth. Helen remembered from her studies that the helmet was called the Helm of Darkness and it made Hades invisible at will.

  Her eyes quickly skipped down from what she couldn’t see to take in the rest of him. Hades was commandingly large and he moved and stood with easy grace. His toga was draped elegantly over his bare, muscled arm, and his lips were full, flushed red, and quite beautiful. Although his face was mostly hidden, the rest of him looked healthy and youthful—and unbelievably sensuous. Helen couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  “What can one so young know of justice?” he prompted while Helen gawked.

  “Not much, I guess,” she finally answered in a wavering voice, still trying to process the enigmatic god in front of her. “But even I know it’s wrong to keep a woman locked away from the world. Especially in this day and age.”

  Surprisingly, the full mouth parted in something that was almost like a laugh, and Helen relaxed. The gesture made him seem approachable and human.

  “I’m not the monster you think I am, niece,” he said sincerely. “I agreed to honor my oath and be the lord of the dead, but this place is entirely against my wife’s nature. She can only survive here a few months at a time.”

  Helen knew this was true. His position as lord of the dead had been forced on him by chance. Hades had drawn the short straw, and while his brothers claimed the sea and the sky as their realms, he had been doomed to the Underworld. The one place the love of his life could not survive for long. It was tragic, a terrible irony, but it was still his choice to imprison Persephone—regardless of how bad a hand the Fates had dealt him.

  “Then why do you force her to stay here at all, if you know it causes her pain?”

  “We all need joy in our lives, a reason to keep going. Persephone is my only joy, and when we are together I am hers. You are young, but I think you know how it feels to be separated from the one you love because of your obligations.”

  “I am sorry for you both,” Helen said sadly. “But I still think you should let her go. Allow her the dignity of choosing for herself if she wants to be here with you or not.”

  The funny thing was, Helen could sense that Hades had followed every twist and turn of her emotions as she spoke. She knew that he could read her heart, and she didn’t know if she should be afraid or happy that he would be waiting to judge her heart again on the day of her death.

  “You may descend at will, niece,” he said in a kindly way. “But I strongly suggest you ask your Oracle what she thinks of this quest.”

  Helen felt herself being scooped up by his mile-wide hand and then gently p
laced back in her bed. Later, she awoke in her room, freezing cold and dusted with ice crystals, but alert and refreshed for the first time in a long time. The space in the bed next to her was empty.

  Lucas had gone, but in a way Helen was relieved. Waking up next to him would have been too hard on them both, especially after what she had experienced with Morpheus.

  As Helen thought back, guilt overpowered her, even though she tried to tell herself that feeling guilty didn’t make any sense. She couldn’t be cheating on Lucas with Orion because she wasn’t even supposed to be with Lucas in the first place. It didn’t matter who felt like a house or a home or a frigging motel to her. She and Lucas could never be together. Period.

  She had to toughen up, she realized. Some people weren’t meant to live happily ever after, no matter what they felt for each other. Hades and Persephone were a perfect example of that. Hades had told Helen that he and Persephone were each other’s joy, but they were both miserable. Their “love” kept them locked inside prisons that made one of them half dead when they were together and the other half dead when they were apart. That wasn’t joy. Joy was the opposite of a prison. It opened the heart instead of locking it away. Joy was freedom—freedom from sadness, bitterness, and hatred. . . .

  Helen had a brain wave.

  Throwing the stiff blankets off her, she ran clumsily on dangerously chilled legs to her dresser and grabbed her phone.

  I think I know what the Furies need, she texted Orion. Joy. We need to get to the River of Joy. Meet me tonight.

  Daphne poured the wine and reminded herself to stand on both feet, like the big, beefy woman she currently looked like, instead of on one leg with a cocked hip, the way she normally would. She could feel the heavy body weighing on her, making her lower back ache slightly. She was over six feet tall and about two hundred pounds, and readjusting her internal awareness to account for all that extra muscle and bone was complicated.

  She tried not to yawn. Conclave was never fun, but doing it while wearing the shape of Mildred Delos’s ape of a bodyguard was downright exhausting—not just because of all the extra weight, but because Mildred Delos was a straight-up bitch. She overreacted to everything, like an anxious little dog that barks and growls constantly because it knows it’s surrounded by much stronger animals that would gladly eat it as a snack.