by Skyler Andra
Chapter 8
Hades
I summoned Charon, who waited atop his rocking ferry on the banks of the River Styx.
“Bring me the dead.”
Souls huddled behind him, some curiously stretching out their necks to see, others clutching the dead person next to them, while some stood by themselves, glowering.
Cerberus growled at one and they retreated from the edge of the boat. I kept my eye on that one. A young man of about twenty-eight. My guardian had a good nose for souls with a penance to pay in the afterlife.
If I were inclined, I could pry into his history and debate his actions, but I left that to my three demigods. Rhadamanthys, Minos, and Aiakos sat on golden chairs below my dais, each clasping a golden scepter of judgment. I cared not for the fate of the dead or their ultimate resting places, for I entrusted those decisions to my three wise judges. My role included the oversight of the realm’s smooth operations to ensure the souls of good heart found peace and returned to the Land of the Living in a new life, and souls who had wreaked atrocity upon others sought forgiveness and spent time dwelling down the path of deliverance.
With a nod, Charon threw a rope over the pole stuck in the ground, securing his boat. “Late today, master?” he croaked.
Normally, the Underworld operated like clockwork. Judgment first thing in the morning, running until midday. Punishment in the afternoon. Relaxation in the evening. I hated to delay any of the servants of the afterlife. But after the alarming news from the avatar of Hermes, I had to investigate, thus throwing the day’s proceedings well off schedule. But we were here now. No time like the present.
“And we are blessed with a special guest.” The ferryman’s cloak twisted to the right in the direction of Autumn, who was seated beside me on the throne of Persephone, Lady of the Underworld.
My eyes fell to the jewel-encrusted gold seat, equally as magnificent as my own, but decorated with fine vines wrapping around the crest of the back. For five hundred years, the chair had been stored in a locked room somewhere in the palace. I could not bear the torture of its cold and lonely gold by my side. Today I ordered my servants retrieve it for her. An honor for my guest.
She didn’t hear Charon rasp, for she admired the armor I had changed into. A vest, open at the chest, overlain with armor, made from leather and the strongest metals on the earth. Her eyes widened at the prongs on my shoulders and her eyes trailed down my arms, covered by a sleeve, then gloves. Then her eyes broadened again as they drifted over the hints of my chest exposed by my outfit. I tilted my head at her, lifting an eyebrow as her gaze travelled lower, at my apron, consisting of a series of leather lappets, ornamented with hand-carved metal. I wore this outfit for the judgment only. To show my strength in front of the new souls. Convey to them that I was master of this realm and they must obey me and the decision of my judges. At last she noticed my stare and sat straighter, cleared her throat and turned her body to face the room.
“Hi,” she chirped, glancing back at me. “I’m Autumn. Don’t mind me. Carry on.” She flicked her hands forward.
I frowned. Who was the lord here? I tensed in my seat. She certainly had a way about her. Stubborn and strong-willed. A lot like… no… don’t say her name. I didn’t want to think about her. She was gone. But having the human around filled me with a warmth I’d not encountered in centuries, and I was beginning to want to keep her around despite her impudence and irreverence for divinity.
“Welcome, Great Lady.” Charon bowed and then waved over his shoulder at the waiting souls to descend from his boat.
The dead trailed behind him, glancing around with wonder at the tall ceilings, pillars, and golden statues of Zeus in one corner, Poseidon in another, and my own in a third. Other lesser gods stood posed against the fourth wall, silent and ever watchful. Through these statues, the gods, the elementals in the heavens above, could witness today’s judgment.
My mind returned to why I had brought Autumn here. I needed to test her instincts with the souls. Already she had demonstrated an innate ability to deal with the dead—a useful talent that might be of assistance to me if I were to venture again to the Land of the Living to retrieve more souls and bring them to their final resting place. I never had to perform such a task before, but this morning’s events had demonstrated my lack of success at it.
Charon stopped at the foot of the dais and faced to the souls. “Stand in line and await your judgment.”
The souls fashioned themselves into a long line of about fifty, each one huddling close together. Some shook, some stared, and some fidgeted with nerves. I noticed Alan Parsons in the middle of the line, and I touched my jaw, remembering where he had hit me. Perhaps I should throw in a few years in The Craig for that…
Only fifty. An easy day compared to some. That meant we could finish in a couple of hours, leaving me free to make my proposal to Autumn, return her to the Land of the Living, and then retire to my chambers for an early night.
Today had been eventful by my standards. I wasn’t used to souls refusing my orders and punching me. Such disrespect. Perhaps I was losing my touch, but it was something I needed to rectify immediately. I couldn’t have disorder in my realm, nor could I foster weakness regarding my reputation. It was time to reassert my authority.
“Isaac Thornton,” Aiakos announced, crossing his golden scepter over his chest. “You are hereby judged for your transgressions.”
Rhadamanthys, my second arbitrator, lifted a golden scroll made of light. The soul’s contract, listing the man’s history of deeds both good and bad. My judges highlighted the important ones which they felt best represented the character of the soul.
“Cheating your brother out of his inheritance,” Rhadamanthys began, reading from the list of offenses. “Running over your neighbor’s cat and not telling them, and not paying your parking fines.”
Autumn gasped at the list of wrongdoings. She ought not to. This soul had insecurity and lack of virtue etched into the very fabric of his being. Any threat to his security, and he would cheat and lie to wriggle free. Stealing from his brother had been just the beginning of his transgressions.
Minos, the third judge, tapped his scepter against his seat several times before delivering. “You shall spend the next hundred years in purgatory.”
“It is so.” I stood, descending the steps to face Isaac. “We will assess your repentance in a century.”
I reached out to touch him and send him to resting place when Autumn interrupted. “Just like that?” she blurted out. “Doesn’t he get a fair trial?”
All three judges stared at her for daring to question them.
I glared at her for interfering. My realm demanded order and structure. To question my appointed judges, when I had trusted them for millennia, equaled disrespect. I brought her here to test whether she could pick up on the soul’s misdeeds, not for her to challenge the judges’ authorities.
“Don’t you also judge him on the good things he did?” she questioned, leaning forward in her seat.
Her eyes filled with that fire, that passion that had done something strange to me. Bewitched me. If not for it, I would have never let her speak to me the way she had. So boldly and without respect for the Lord of the Dead. After all, I’d thrown Mads, the avatar of Hermes, out from my realm for his impudence.
“Like how he was a good father to his three sons?” she blurted.
Autumn jerked her head backward and her eyes went round. She clearly didn’t know how she knew the details about the soul or why she had leaked them. After a few seconds, she lifted her head, gazing at me with fiery and challenging eyes that reminded me of the goddess.
“That is not the essence of his soul,” Minos argued, and I snapped out of my thoughts.
“That is only one good deed of few.” Rhadamanthys held up the scroll with the long list of bad deeds beneath the three good deeds at the top (two of which were from his childhood and did not count because they were outweighed by the number of bad ones).
“Fine. Carry on then.” Autumn puffed out her cheeks and leaned back in her chair, defeated.
“My lord,” Aiakos pleaded, his cheeks and neck reddened by the interruption.
I opened my mouth to speak when the soul shouted, “Wait! I want to bargain.”
My jaw tensed and I swiped my bident from the side of my throne to calm me. Clever little manipulator. He’d read up on me. Hades, Lord of the Underworld, was also a god of deals and the souls of myth sometimes made bargains with him.
“Speak,” I said, my voice strained. I did not like bargaining with souls like this. They always asked for less penance or to see their family one last time.
My three judges watched Isaac intently.
“I want my good deeds to be judged,” the soul proposed. “Like the lady says.”
I squeezed my bident handle and it creaked under my touch. “In return for what?”
“For a lesser sentence,” the soul cried.
Almighty Olympus!
I flicked my fingers, allowing it. I might be strict, but I was also fair. I glared at Autumn for giving the soul the idea.
For the next few moments, the judges weighed up the soul’s good deeds, lowering his sentence by one hundred years. Once the amendment was recorded on the golden scroll, I touched the soul’s shoulder, and he faded away, transferred to the fires of Tartarus to reflect on his actions until he showed any remorse and shame for his actions.
A bolt of realization struck as I turned to look at her, as if I had been hit by Zeus’ lighting. Why had I not recognized this before? This woman was no mere mortal. At first I had suspected her to possess clairvoyant gifts, able to see and communicate with the dead. But no. Only the Lady of the Underworld could read a soul. Or her avatar. The Lady of Spring, the goddess whose name I dared not speak, had chosen Autumn.
I staggered backward and clasped at the sudden sting in my chest. How would I tell Autumn of this crucial detail? I could not. To do so meant I had to speak the name I had banned in my realm for centuries. The name that had dried on my tongue, crumbled to ash, and blown away in the wind. No. This was a detail I best kept to myself.
My head spun with a flurry of emotions. Confusion. Heartache. Rejection. All the pain of the goddess’ departure resurfaced in face of the discovery of her newest avatar. Perhaps I should return Autumn to the Land of the Living and corral souls alone. I could remain cold and frozen, hidden from the touch of pain, and trapped by the god’s longing torture. I did not want to feel again. Not after the goddess—and my wife—had ripped our heart from our chest and left it bleeding and desiccating on the ground.
When Autumn touched me, her avatar’s magic brought me to life again, like a flower sprouting in spring, basking in the warmth of the sun. And I wanted her. Wanted her because those green eyes burned a hole right through me. Her green hair smelled of flowers. She made my heart flutter when we were close. And her voice, like the comforting patter of rain during the first of spring, could quench and warm the cold soil. They weren’t the only reasons I craved her, however. The essence of the goddess inside her enchanted me once more and I hungered for her touch. That complicated matters. It wasn’t fair to Autumn that I desired them both.
That was not my only issue. Every night when loneliness consumed me, I fought a losing battle against my heart. It was time the god and I forgot about the goddess. Accept that she was not coming back. We had to move on. I could not have Autumn by my side to collect the souls when she would remind me of what I had also lost in my human life every passing minute—of what I missed and craved. No. I had to send her away. Forget about her.
“Continue the judgment without us,” I ordered my three judges, climbing the stairs and gesturing for Autumn to come with me. “Send the souls where they need to go.”
“My lord, where are you going?” Minos questioned, but I didn’t bother looking at him. “You cannot leave the ceremony.”
Autumn was biting her lip when I studied her face, her bewilderment evident.
“Back to the Land of the Living,” I said, leading her out of the chambers.
When we were a safe distance from the judgment hall, she asked, “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” I answered, gripping her wrist tight to stop myself from pressing her against the walls and kissing her—and keeping her here forever to never allow her to leave me again.
“Why are we going back?” she asked, rushing to keep up.
I growled at her question. “Because I should never have brought you here in the first place.”
Before she could say or do anything to convince me otherwise, I clicked my fingers and we spiraled up through the earth and into the work truck she had left in the parking lot outside the diner.
She slumped against the steering wheel and groaned. “Warn me before you do that, okay?”
“Thank you,” I whispered, touching her cheek with the back of my hand. She lifted her head to look at me. But I didn’t want to see those eyes, shining like the finest emeralds. Bright green. More beautiful than any plant or jewel on this world. “Goodbye.”
“Wait!” Her cry echoed in my mind as I transported myself elsewhere, following the call of another lost soul.
***
I stood in the desert, a war zone, untouched by the heat blazing down on the world. My whole body quivered. Hunched over, I was unable to catch my breath. It felt like my heart had been ripped out all over again. I collapsed to my knees. Sand grazed my skin as I braced myself, staring at the tiny grains as if they held the answer. Each one had formed over millions of years and was as old as long as Hades had existed.
I sucked in a breath. What had I done? I sent her away. I didn’t want to feel again. Did not want to be hurt. Did not want the misery.
The smell of smoke caught my attention and I glanced up from the ground.
An American military vehicle lay on its side. Smoke wafted off the half-exploded shell of metal. Its rusted state implied the enemy must have struck it with a bomb six months ago. Now the locals had set it on fire in protest of how much they hated the western invaders. Among the wreckage, a soul was hunched, cradling his weapon to his chest, leaning up against the burning frame.
I crossed the distance between us. “Come with me, Sergeant Jones,” I ordered.
“Where’s my squadron?” the sergeant asked, not bothering to look up.
“Long gone,” I replied, not in the mood to argue since I was Lord of the Underworld—he who should be obeyed by the dead. “Now come.”
“No!” the soul snarled, flicking sand at me. “I won’t leave my men behind.”
I attuned my senses to the men in his team, finding them elsewhere in the country, some two hundred miles from here. “They are safe, and on another mission to apprehend the men who did this to you.”
“Did what?” The soldier growled, glaring at me, his brown eyes filled with contempt.
“Killed you.”
“No… no. No!”
I leaned down to be at his level. The events of his death played in my mind. How he and his team had crouched behind the vehicle for shelter as the enemy shot at them. How the missile had ejected from a long projection device, screamed through the air, and hit the vehicle, slicing it in two. Sergeant Jones had been killed instantly. His men had been burned, torn up by shrapnel, but not enough for the touch of death to reach them. In the end, they were rescued by a helicopter that had destroyed the enemy and carted away the wounded.
“The vehicle was cut open by an explosive device,” I explained. The soldier shook his head. “The heat and force of it killed you.”
“No.” The sergeant’s eyes were wild as he trained his weapon on me.
I pushed the muzzle of it aside. “That cannot hurt me.”
The gun clicked as the soldier tried to fire it at me. He shook the gun and tried again with the same results. Enraged, his lips peeled back as he lifted the butt of the weapon to strike me.
I swiped it away with magic and ro
se to my feet. “This is the last time I ask. Come with me, soldier.”
“I’m not dead!” he screamed.
“Yes, you are,” I declared. “And I am The Lord of the Underworld, come to collect you and take you to the afterlife.”
“No.” The man started sobbing. “My wife. My baby.”
“They are of no concern to you any longer,” I said, holding out my hand and beckoning him.
“I can’t!” he cried. “I can’t leave them.”
“You must.”
He scrambled away from me.
Heat scaled my neck as my impatience grew intense. Before Alan Parsons, no one had resisted me like this before. No one dared. Yet two souls had defied me. Defied a god! Now twice in one day!
Having no more of it, I seized the soldier by the shoulder. Out of instinct, he shoved my arm in a defense move they had likely taught him in the military. But I was far stronger and resisted his blow. I maneuvered him into a headlock and dragged him along the sand.
“You are coming with me,” I ordered, carrying him back to the Underworld.
When my feet hit the marble floor of the judgment room, I dropped him at the foot of the judges with little mercy. They, along with the remaining souls waiting to be judged, stared at me in horror. I had never done that before. I ruled with a firm hand, never a violent one. But this whole situation had agitated me. I had too many things on my mind, and the soldier tipped me over the edge.
“Send him to Tartarus for three years,” I commanded my three judges.
“My lord,” Aiakos began, “that is not for you to judge.”
“It is today!” I barked with finality, daring them to challenge me.
Rhadamanthys nodded, scribbling down the soldier’s punishment on his record.
“That will unbalance the realm, my lord,” Minos added.
But I did not care for the consequences right now. A hard and invisible hand gripped my chest.
“I am taking my leave,” I announced, storming out of the room, my breaths coming sharp and hard.
