Snakehead

by Ann Halam

  We climbed out and I pulled the boat farther up: instinct for an islander. Then I grabbed Andromeda again, or she grabbed me. We wrapped ourselves around each other: icy bodies, saltwater kisses setting me on fire, the first we’d ever shared.

  “D’you think we’re dead?” I whispered.

  Being dead did not seem too bad, at that moment.

  “No,” said Andromeda, her nose against the hollow of my throat. “We’re not dead. I know that for sure, because we’re still together, son of Zeus.”

  That cooled me off. I let her go, but I kept a tight hold on her hand. We sat on the pebbles. “I met the Graeae,” I said. “I got the tooth all right, but I didn’t fool them for long. I had to take the eye … to take the eye, and run for it.”

  “That’s what you said. Take the eye. I thought you were telling me to steer into the whirlpool, so I did. As far as I could steer at all. I had to believe you, because we were going to be smashed to death. We must be under the cliffs now.”

  “What cliffs?”

  (In a flash, in my mind’s eye, I saw the spume parting, the black wall …)

  “There were cliffs beyond the reef, no break in them…. The whirlpool must have swept us into a cave. Perseus, how are we going to get out?”

  The blackness had turned to charcoal. I could see shards of light, far away and far above us, but I couldn’t see much of the cavern itself, only that it seemed huge. There was no sound of the sea, no sign of the roaring funnel we’d fallen through. At our feet was a river, running strong but silently. The gleam of moving water vanished into blind dark; I could not see to the other side. I wondered what would have happened to us if we had been carried to that shore.

  “I don’t think we want to get out,” I said. “I think this must be the Styx. This is the cavern where the sacred river runs underground, just the way the boss described.”

  “We had to get past the Graeae to reach it,” said Andromeda wonderingly. “Between the eye and the tooth. Old Yiannis did know something.”

  We were battered, freezing cold, soaked, our mouths and throats parched by salt. But we were where we were supposed to be. The weight on my back, which had nearly killed us in the whirlpool, was the sopping-wet sheepskin. I struggled with the knots in the cord I’d used to fasten it to my shoulders. And there was Athini’s shield, the winged sandals, the harpe. I wasn’t meant to lose them.

  Andromeda unwound the cloth bundle from around her waist, and found more practical treasures: a skin of fresh water, two flat breads wrapped around some grilled meat; a fire striker and tinder in a tarred, stoppered jar. I was very glad to see the water. I wouldn’t have liked to drink from that river.

  “We lost the tallyboards with my instructions,” I said.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She had found her loom weights, and a hank of rare purple yarn, in the last fold of her waist cloth. “I wonder why I brought these?”

  “You never know. They might come in handy.”

  The fire striker wasn’t much use without fuel, but she struck a light anyway, and held up a scrap of burning tow. We saw a river beach backed by a jumble of boulders, driftwood and debris caught between them—just like the shore of a river above ground. We rinsed our mouths, drank a little water and started collecting wood. At least, we might get ourselves warm and dry.

  I stretched my cramped limbs and counted bruises. The gloom grew transparent as my eyes became accustomed. There were bones among the rocks, pottery shards, lumpy little votive statues. Old shoes, a broken bracelet. And more mysterious things: crushed cylinders of bright-colored metal, beaten very thin. Tatters of stuff like insect wings, but very tough. There were a lot of strange small coins, neither copper nor silver but some kind of base metal. I started collecting them out of curiosity. Then I remembered that the Greeks put a coin under a dead person’s tongue so that they’ll have the fare for Charon’s ferry, and I dumped them.

  “People must throw things into the cavern,” I said. “From up above. The river carries them and drops them here.”

  Andromeda?

  I’d been sure she was right beside me, but she was kneeling by the river.

  “Andromeda? Don’t drink that!”

  “I can hear the horses coming.”

  “Andromeda? Come on, wake up, we need wood.”

  “The horses and the flying marks are one and the same, you see. Horses are the symbol of power, and the flying marks are a great power.”

  “I don’t understand you.”

  Her eyes cleared. She came back to herself, and stopped frightening me. We took armfuls of wood back to our mooring place, and I used the harpe to scrape tinder and split some kindling. I hoped the sacred blade wouldn’t find this disrespectful, but necessity is a holy thing. The fire we built wasn’t much, but it was wonderfully comforting. We crouched beside it in our salt-soaked rags like shipwrecked sailors, and shared the meat and the flat breads. I’m afraid I got most of the meal. Andromeda said she was hungry, but she soon lost interest. I was still starving when every scrap was gone. I went off into a dream about wheat ribbons boiled and then soaked in butter, with stewed vegetables, chopped sausage, a little hot spiced oil. A yogurt and garlic sauce on the side …

  “If only we had something to cook.“

  “Everything was battened down,” she said. “I brought what I could. I didn’t think we’d need a whole kitchen. If this was a proper shipwreck, there’d be shellfish.”

  “Sea urchins. Oysters. Grilled crab. You’re going to make me cry.”

  “I don’t like sea urchins.”

  “I bet you’d eat them now, though.”

  She laughed, looked over my shoulder and gasped.

  “Perseus!”

  The cavern should have been darker outside the light of our fire, but it wasn’t. I looked around and saw a party of young women coming toward us, through the clear gloom: striding free and proud, dressed in black and gold, white arms and shoulders bare. I would’ve thought they were athletes, bull dancers, champion swimmers, nothing so wispy as nymphs—except that I knew at once they were not human.

  “Hello, Perseus,” said the foremost of them, a tall girl with dark red hair bound in gold ribbons. She wore a short tunic worked with a pattern of pomegranates across the breast, a bow on her back and armlets like a woman warrior’s.

  She sat down easily by the fire. “We’ve been expecting you. I’m Minthe.”

  “Orphne,” said the second nymph. She was arm in arm with someone harder to make out: not wispy, but confusing, like an image wavering in cloudy water.

  “I am Eleione, one of the nymphs of the dead marshes; we are many.”

  “I am Lethe,” said a gentle voice: a girl in a long black dress with gold borders who seemed very young; she had huge dark eyes and a dreamy smile.

  “I am Styx,” murmured the last of them. Her hair was loose, a drift of charcoal mist around her white face. She stooped and kissed me on the forehead, gravely and kindly; her breath was cold. “I run over there.”

  “Are you the Stygian nymphs?” asked Andromeda.

  Of course they are, I thought.

  The five beautiful faces turned as one to stare at my companion—as if they hadn’t seen her until she spoke, or as if she had no right to speak to them, which I thought was rude. “We are some of them,” said Minthe. “We are many…. What happened, Perseus? How did you ever get here? I’m sure Great Athini and Swift Hermes gave you the most unhelpful, confusing directions. Do tell us all about it!”

  Orphne laughed, then reached out to Andromeda and kissed her. “Welcome, daughter of Cassiopeia, the famed queen. What a lovely surprise that you are with us! But wise and beautiful Andromeda, you look as if you’ve been dragged behind a chariot! How did a learned and splendid Phoenician princess fetch up by our sister’s riverside, so bedraggled?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Andromeda ruefully.

  “We love stories,” they cried together.

  We told them all about it. We fed th
e fire, and when there was no more wood, we all went and collected more. Athini had been right, the Stygian nymphs were special. They were the best company: ideal listeners. I could have talked to them forever. I never needed to see the sky again. The underworld was world enough.

  “How do you do it?” I asked Lethe. “You make me feel like a poet!”

  “We get a lot of practice,” she said modestly. “So many stories.”

  The tall redhead, Minthe, the one who was very close with the king of the dead (she’d let this interesting news slip out once or twice!) gave Lethe a strange look, and leaned over to murmur to me.

  “Perseus. Be careful of your girl.”

  “What d’you mean, careful?” I laughed. “We have no cares now.”

  I had almost asked her what girl, and that startled me.

  Minthe’s breath was clean scented, she whispered like rustling leaves; it was hard to concentrate on what she was actually saying. “I’m talking about Andromeda. The girl you came in with, son of Zeus. She’s mortal. She shouldn’t be talking to us.”

  I’d known it was strange that Andromeda could see the nymphs and talk to them, but I didn’t want to hear Minthe’s warning. “Oh, I think it’s all right. We’re beside the Styx, aren’t we? It’s the river between death and life. The veils are thin here; that’s probably what makes the difference.”

  “A poet and a philosopher,” said Orphne, shaking her head. “It’s plainer than that, Perseus my dear. Princess Andromeda is a dedicated sacrifice. In body she’s no closer to death in this cavern than she would be anywhere, but in her heart and mind she is halfway across the river. So you’d better be careful, that’s all, because we’d love to keep her with us.”

  Then she took out ripe pomegranates from the pouch she had slung at her waist. “But never mind. All that storytelling must have given you a thirst. You must be hungry too. Would you like some fruit? You’ll find it very sweet.”

  I was perishing hungry, as if I hadn’t eaten for a month. But I wasn’t quite so stupid as to accept fruit from the land of the dead. I hesitated. Orphne held out the pomegranate, smiling. Suddenly I looked at the fire, and realized it was nearly out. I needed to get more fuel.

  But there was something wrong. How much charred wood, how many circles of ash, on the little stones by the riverside?

  How long have we been here!

  I jumped up. Andromeda!

  “Andromeda!”

  She wasn’t with me. She was kneeling at the water’s edge. The nymph of the Styx, wrapped in her shroud of hair, was beside her.

  “Oh, Jason,” laughed Elieone, the marshy one, with her crown of reeds and rushes, and gold frogs embroidered on her skirts. “Our recruiting sergeant! He’s so careless, but we’ve no complaints. We love the lads and girls he sends our way.”

  “I dread the day he turns up himself!” Lethe pretended to stop her ears. “I’ll be tired of listening, for the first time in my immortal life!”

  I ran down to the water. “Andromeda! Andromeda!”

  She looked up, puzzled. She spoke from the brief past we shared. “It’s Perseus, isn’t it? And I am Kore. I remember: the cemetery wall at dawn, my torch guttered; I wrote my name on the stones. We are dead, Perseus. We are ghosts, you and I.”

  The nymph of the Styx watched me with her river’s eyes, beckoning and deep.

  “Not yet,” I said. “Let her go, she’s not yours yet.”

  I can wait, breathed the river’s voice. I am patient, son of Zeus.

  Andromeda shuddered, and stood up. “What was I saying? Perseus, we should get away from here.”

  “I know it.”

  The Stygian nymphs were gathered by the fire with its telltale circles of ash, looking guilty and frightened, like little girls caught out. But I blamed myself. There was no evil in them, only nature.

  “Exactly how long have we been here?” I demanded.

  “We don’t know,” confessed Minthe. “We lose track, Perseus. No harm.”

  “No harm,” I said. “No harm at all. But we must get on. We were told you people would direct us how to get to the Garden of the Hesperides? Will you do that?”

  “Of course,” said Eleione, sounding hurt. “We hadn’t forgotten.“

  Orphne giggled. “Except for Lethe: she forgets everything!”

  “The quickest way possible would be good.” They looked at each other. “Have you practiced with the winged sandals, Perseus?” asked Orphne.

  I’d never had a chance. “Er, no.”

  “Well, you have to use them now. Never mind, it’s intuitive. But you’ll need this.” She gave me a small, round bag with a drawstring. It felt like skin; it seemed to be empty. “That’s the kibisis. Don’t worry about the size; it grows to fit anything you put inside it, and there’s always just enough room. It comes from the East. Put the Medusa Head in there when you’ve chopped it off.” She gave me a sly grin. “You still remember you’re supposed to do that?”

  No thanks to you beauties, I thought. But they were not to blame.

  “Yes, I do. I remember everything.”

  “You’ll also need this.” Tall Minthe stooped to the pebbles beside her, and held out her hands. I could see nothing. I felt cold, curved metal….

  “What is it? A helmet?”

  “It’s called the cap of invisibility. It belongs to the king of the underworld. Don’t worry, he knows you’re borrowing it. We’re close, Hades and I, as I may have mentioned. He asked me to take care of handing it over.”

  She’d mentioned. She’d been dropping his name all over. Hades was a married God, but more faithful than most. He didn’t roam. I’d heard that his wife (who had her own life) got on well with some of the nymphs around him. I hoped our five were among that favored band. I knew they’d have been happy to feed on our memories until we were whitened bones, but I still liked them. They brought style and grace to the darkness. If I’d been mortal, I’d have been glad to know they’d be waiting here when I came back again.

  A cap of invisibility, so that I could sneak up on the Gorgons—and escape pursuit.

  A bag that would contain the Snakehead safely.

  I was equipped.

  But the rings of ash around the dying fire were frightening.

  “Thank you,” I said. It wasn’t the same as being kitted out by Athini and Hermes: I had no trouble feeling grateful this time. “I wish you well, with all my heart, my dears. But how do we get to the Hesperides? And how long will it take?”

  I had let go of Andromeda’s hand when I took the helmet. I reached for her again, and was relieved to feel her return my grip. But her hand was cold; she didn’t speak, and the cavern seemed darker. I felt that I was losing her.

  “It will take no time,” said Lethe softly.

  “Put on your sandals. Go through.”

  “My river is at the end of all journeys,” whispered Styx.

  “The Garden is where you began. Go there through your beginning, swift as thought.”

  I’d seen them walking toward us, but I didn’t see them go. Andromeda and I were alone. Our fire was dead, the air was still. The silence was so profound that I could hear the sound of the noiseless river as it slipped through the dark. I sat on the rocks, unfastened my sheepskin and set the invisible helmet on it—so that I’d know where it was. I laced Hermes’ sandals onto my bare feet. My own footgear had gone when we were thrown off the Argo, and I’d never noticed. I slung Athini’s shield on my back. Andromeda took the harpe from me, and strung the kibisis beside it on the leather belt. “What’ll I do with the helmet? If I put it on, you won’t be able to see me,” I said.

  “It’s dark,” she whispered. “I can’t see you now.”

  But I could still see her. “I’ll have to carry you.”

  I scooped Andromeda up in my arms.

  Go to the Garden through your beginning. I thought I understood. The Stygian nymphs had given me all the clues I needed. I must travel in memory: from the shore of the dark water where
life ends, to the beginning of my story. I thought of a wooden box, nailed shut and flung into the sea. My mother’s shame; my callous, stupid grandfather. The Greek word Styx means “hateful,” but this cavern had been a kindly place, compared to my start in life.

  “I can’t do it, Andromeda. I think I know what they mean: but I’m scared.”

  “Remember what you want to remember,” she murmured, from far away….

  Sunlight.

  Little fish, twinkling in the harbor water. Me and my Moumi lying on our bellies, giggling; dabbling our hands and the little fishes coming up to nibble us; the sun on our backs; how it feels to be perfectly happy.

  Sparks flying from the boss’s hammer, the first time he let me hold the pliers. The mask held in front of my face, the smell of hot metal, my pride.

  Sunlight.

  Sunlight.

  A crisp, golden silence.

  The sun burned on my closed eyelids, hot metal. I could smell it. I opened my eyes and I was in the dark again. But I was somewhere different. The air was warm, and full of warm scents: dust and cinammon, musk and dung, spices I couldn’t name. If I am where I should be, this is Africa! I thought. For a moment I was purely thrilled. I was a little boy, fascinated by travelers’ tales: thinking of mighty Egypt; of Ethiopia, Andromeda’s ancestral home. Oh, Great Mother … Andromeda!

  I panicked, terrified. Then I realized I was still holding her in my arms. She seemed to be sleeping. I set her on her feet, and shook her gently. “Andromeda, Andromeda, we’re here, we made it!” She opened her eyes, stared straight at me and began to struggle furiously. She was strong and reckless. I had to let her go or break her arms. She stared around, wary and wild. “Perseus! Where are you!”

  I took off the king of death’s helmet, and held it under my arm.

  “Am I dreaming?” she said. “Are you Perseus?”

  “You’re not dreaming. We’re here. We must be near the Gorgons’ lair.”

  If there were mountains, they were out of sight. A twilight plain stretched out around us. The sky was the color of rust, and so was the ground underfoot. I couldn’t tell if it was always starless twilight here, or if this was the mortal dusk of an overcast, oppressive day. Not a sign of life, not a blade of grass or a tree, but there were stone figures scattered about. Some had crumbled into shapeless lumps, some were whole enough that you could make out the frozen record of flight … an outflung cloak, a leaping silhouette, a hand that clutched a moldering stone weapon. They’d been running and they’d looked back; and that had been the end of them.