by C. Gockel
After a few moments, she pulled herself up to sitting position and glanced out. A large overhanging rock concealed the cave’s surface from outside view. Few people, if any, would be brave enough to climb up the waterfall’s length without first knowing for sure that this cave existed. If she looked over to her left, it appeared she’d barely clambered up any distance at all. The small clearing where she’d begun her secretive ascent seemed little more than a few metres away. But if she twisted her head to the right and looked down, her stomach lurched with dizzying vertigo. The drop down to the pool on that side was perilously far away.
Without wasting any more time, Skye backed inside and turned around. There was just enough room for her to squeeze through the claustrophobic tunnel, although she had to take off her backpack and push it ahead of her. Fortunately, the tunnel was short, soon opening out into a cavernous space that stretched up through the roof of the mountain almost as far as the Angel Falls themselves. There had to be a gap somewhere above, because a cascade of white water was falling down in the centre as if it were nothing more than a shower, glimmering flecks catching the remaining dull light that was seeping in from outside. What was it with these bloody gods and waterfalls?
Clambering to her feet, Skye searched for signs of the Styx. She knew from what little Hermes had told her that she would immediately recognise the source because of its thick brackish blackness. She moved deeper into the cave, avoiding the shower of water from the falls and skirting round the edges. She hadn’t gone far when a stale musky odour filled the air. Skye straightened her back. This had to be it.
‘Hello?’ she called out nervously. Her voice was drowned out by the sound of the waterfalls, both inside and out.
She tried again, louder this time. ‘Hello?’
Skye took a few more steps forward. There, bubbling up against a collection of small stones, was a liquid black ooze. She knelt down and peered cautiously at it, then nodded to herself and opened her backpack, taking out the heavy velvet box and opening it carefully. Nestled inside was a crystal decanter with a corked stopper. Skye squeezed out the cork and laid it gently to the side then placed the crystal next to the rocks.
‘What do you want?’ The voice was so sudden, and so cracked and dry, that even though she’d been expecting it, Skye almost fell over in surprise.
Recovering quickly, she stood up and directed her voice down. ‘I’d like some water, please.’ She was amazed at how calm she sounded.
‘There’s water everywhere. You didn’t need to call me to get some. Take a bloody look outside.’ Styx sounded bored and weary.
‘It’s your water I’d like, sir,’ Skye said quickly, before the River God decided she wasn’t worth his time.
‘So take some then. What do I care?’
She licked her lips. ‘Well, I have a funny feeling that if I try to take some, something bad will happen.’
‘Something bad? Do you know the last human who touched me became virtually invincible. Don’t you want that kind of power?’
Skye had thought this through already. Sure, Achilles may have initially done well from his contact with the Styx. Things hadn’t worked too well for him in the end, though. She may not know many of the old Greek myths but she was certainly aware of that one. It wasn’t worth the risk.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I was rather hoping you’d help me and fill my container for me.’ She jerked her head down at the crystal.
A dry laugh emanated from the black water, echoing around the chamber and drowning out the sounds of the waterfalls.
‘You’re not as vapid as you look.’
Skye stuttered out a smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘Now piss off.’
‘Wait!’ she cried out. ‘I can give you something in return.’
There was a moment of scary silence. Then Styx spoke again. ‘What do you have that I could possibly want?’
Exhaling audibly, Skye reached into her backpack again and pulled out a brown paper bag. ‘This,’ she said triumphantly.
Styx was unimpressed. ‘A bag?’
‘Cupcakes!’ She reached in and pulled one out. Her exertions in getting to the canoe in time, along with her other travels, hadn’t done the confectionery much good. The mound of icing was smeared on the inside of the bag and now looked like red sludge on top of a very misshapen dark sponge.
‘What do you get served at birthday parties in heaven?’ Skye asked.
Styx didn’t respond.
‘Angel cake!’ she answered for him, then laughed nervously.
‘Is that supposed to be funny?’
Skye blushed. ‘Clearly not.’
‘Why, in Olympus’s name, would I want cake?’
She took a deep breath. ‘You don’t want cake?’
‘I know I don’t want cake.’
‘But Lethe wants cake.’ The bubbling water at her feet seemed to grow in stature. Skye swallowed. ‘She has a sweet tooth. Asterion told me.’
‘Asterion is crazy.’
She wasn’t going to argue with that. ‘Give her some cake. She might be willing to patch things up with you if you give her a present.’ Skye glanced down at the forlorn-looking cupcake. ‘And because it’s obviously homemade, she’ll appreciate it all the more.’
‘Have you been speaking to Aphrodite?’ Styx growled.
Skye started. ‘Er…’
‘Bloody woman is always trying to matchmake.’
Nonplussed, she took a step back. Matchmake? That hadn’t been her intention. She wasn’t Coop. Something in the River God’s tone had made her pause, however.
‘I’m friends with her son,’ she said softly. She flushed more deeply. ‘Actually we’re not friends. We’re,’ Skye took a deep breath, ‘in love.’
‘Cupid? And you?’ The River God seemed to be mulling it over. ‘Fine,’ he finally snapped. ‘Put the bag down. I’ll take the cakes.’
Skye clutched the bag in her fingertips. ‘Give me some water first.’
Styx sighed in annoyance. Then a single plume of thick black water shot up in the air. Skye jumped back, alarmed, but she needn’t have worried. The water curved up through the air in a perfect arc before pouring through the neck of the crystal decanter. She hastily scooped the decanter up, rammed the stopper in as tightly as it would go and placed it back inside the box.
‘The cakes,’ Styx grumbled.
‘Oh, yes.’ Skye put the cupcake in its bag and placed it next to the dark spring. ‘Mr Styx?’
‘What now?’
‘When you talk to her, you should be nice. You know, tell her she’s looking good.’ Skye glanced down. Did these river gods even have corporeal forms? ‘Or that you’ve really missed her. Tell her the truth and she’ll come round.’ She chewed her bottom lip. ‘You have missed her, haven’t you?’
‘I’ll tell her,’ he returned gruffly. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Skye said softly, then left the way she’d come.
Chapter Thirty
‘So,’ said Hermes, looking embarrassed, ‘you remember how I said it would be crazy for you to be asked to go to the Underworld?’
Skye stared at him. He coughed awkwardly.
‘You’re kidding, right?’ she said finally.
‘Um…’
‘Goddamnit!’
‘It’s not as bad as it sounds.’
‘Really?’ she asked sceptically. ‘What is it then?’
Hermes rubbed at his collar. ‘Well, I’ve never actually been myself,’ he began.
‘You’ve never been?’ Skye screeched. ‘How am I supposed to go if even the bloody gods themselves are too scared?’
‘I’m not scared, per se. Just…’ He flicked her a glance. ‘Okay, maybe I’m a little bit frightened. Only a little bit though.’
Skye was silent for a second. Then she took a deep breath. ‘Do I have to be…?’ Her voice drifted away.
‘What?’
‘Do I have to be dead?’
Hermes’ eyes
widened. ‘By Olympus, Skye, no. It’s true that only the dead are supposed to be allowed to pass through but other people have done it. In fact, there was a guy only just last week who went.’
‘Did he come back?’
Hermes nodded vigorously. ‘Aphrodite doesn’t want you dead.’
Remembering her ordeal at the jaws of the carnivorous cows, Skye wasn’t so sure.
Hermes, as if reading her mind, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘Well, definitely not now anyway. She was really pleased when you came back with that sample of the Styx. Honest.’
‘You’ve already said that the tasks were set from the beginning and that she couldn’t change them now even if she wanted to,’ Skye pointed out.
‘Okay, yes, that part’s true. But Zeus would never let her set a task that involved certain death.’
‘No,’ said Skye sarcastically, ‘because that would be unfair.’
‘It’s the last task. It’s going to be the hardest because that’s the nature of these things. But do this and it’s all over, Skye. For good.’
She sighed heavily. ‘Fine. What do I have to do?’
‘Just find Persephone.’
Skye racked her brain to remember who that was. ‘She’s Hades’ wife?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s it?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘Just find her?’
‘Well, um, not exactly.’
‘Hermes, spit it out.’
‘When you’ve found her, you need to persuade her to give you some of her beauty to bring back to Aphrodite.’
Skye wrinkled her nose. ‘Bring back her beauty? How is that possible?’
‘Not all of it,’ Hermes said hastily. ‘Just a sample.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Actually, it’s not as hard as you’d think. It has to be donated voluntarily, but it’s a fairly easy thing to do.’ At her look, he quickly amended his words. ‘For gods. Fairly easy for gods.’
Skye rolled her eyes. ‘Of course it is.’
‘I’ll drop you off at the entrance. It’s normally invisible to humans so I’ll need to show you exactly where it is. You go through, find her, persuade her and the job’s done.’
‘What am I likely to come across?’
‘In the Underworld? First, you need to persuade Charon to take you across the Styx, then you have to pass by Cerberus.’
‘The three-headed dog? He’s real?’
‘It’s all real, Skye.’
‘“The vasty hall of Death,’’’ she said. ‘Outstanding.’
‘Shakespeare?’
‘Matthew Arnold.’ She sighed again. ‘Let’s go, then.’
Hermes watched her carefully, as if waiting for something else.
‘What?’
He didn’t answer, just gave her a hopeful, expectant smile. She thought quickly. There had to be something missing, something she was supposed to say or ask. Then she snapped her fingers in sudden understanding.
‘Coins!’ She grinned at him. ‘Can I borrow some money?’
Relief flashed across his face. ‘Of course.’ He dug into his pockets. ‘Here.’ Hermes dropped a small bronze coin into her palm. ‘It’s a danake. It won’t buy you much in the shops but I think it’ll get you what you need.’
‘Past Charon, you mean.’
He nodded.
Skye wondered whether she was missing any other important details. What else did she know about Charon?
‘Virgil,’ she said softly. ‘What did he say about Charon?’ She searched the recesses of her brain, her face clearing when she remembered the words. ‘“A sordid god: down from his hairy chin a length of beard descends, uncombed, unclean; his eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire; a girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire.’’’ Unexpected bile rose in her throat. ‘Oh, crap.’
‘Poetic licence,’ said Hermes dismissively. ‘He’s really not that bad.’
‘How do you know? You’ve never been to the Underworld. Don’t tell me you’ve met at some godly party. You know, a themed event? I can just see it now.’ She deepened her voice. ‘Come to the 1500’s party. Dust off your favourite Renaissance outfit. Food on offer will be seasoned tripe and stewed rabbit. You will even listen to those classic hit tunes with the hurdy-gurdy, the hornpipe and the lyre!’ Skye pinched her nose. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised. ‘The lack of sleep is making me crazy.’
‘Actually, that kind of sounds fun,’ Hermes commented.
She sent him a droll look before becoming serious again. ‘Do you think I’ll do it?’
‘Complete the task? Win the day and live happily ever after in sickeningly sweet love with Coop?’ He beamed at her. ‘Of course.’
Skye took a deep breath and turned away. ‘Right. Thanks.’
Behind her back, Hermes’ face immediately dropped. ‘Shit,’ he mouthed silently. Then he rubbed his forehead and pasted on another grin. ‘Come on,’ he said cheerfully, ‘let’s get going.’
Hermes left Skye in front of an innocuous-looking cave. She made bets with herself about how many sodding waterfalls she was likely to find inside. By the time she finished all these tasks, she reckoned she’d be an expert on them. Perhaps if she failed, she wouldn’t have to go back to eking out a miserable existence as a waitress; she could become the world’s foremost authority on dark spooky caves and gushing streams of water. Not to mention talking rivers and dangerous cows. She smiled grimly to herself. She was definitely letting fatigue get to her if she was contemplating failure. The only way she’d succeed was if she truly believed that she would. And regardless of what Hermes had said about the last task being the most difficult, this was the last task. She could be back safe and nestled against Coop in a matter of hours.
Steeling herself, she glanced backwards. Hermes had already vanished.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered into the empty air, ‘for everything.’ Then Skye nodded once to herself and stepped inside the entrance to the Underworld.
She’d expected it to be dark and gloomy. This was, after all, the gateway to the afterlife. It served no purpose other than to provide an avenue for the dead. She’d also expected the adrenaline to start pumping and for her heart to race. It didn’t get more terrifying than tangling with death, after all. But she was surprised on both counts.
The interior of the cave was neither dark nor gloomy. Instead it was lit by a warm blue phosphorescence, creating an almost welcoming, albeit ethereal, atmosphere. And rather than her heart rate speeding up, it seemed to slow down. She was enveloped in a state of calm. It was possible that the sensation was being forced upon her; after all, it wouldn’t do to have terrified newly-dead spirits causing problems hour after hour. Regardless, she took a moment to breathe in deeply and take stock of her emotions; she wanted to remember how it felt to not be scared or nervous.
The path she was standing on was smooth and well worn. All around her was silence but it felt oddly comforting. Skye walked forward carefully. There was a cluster of flickering images ahead which she tried to focus on – but every time the blurred images started to solidify, they suddenly slid away and dissipated into nothing. From time to time she shivered involuntarily, as if someone was metaphorically walking over her grave. She wrapped her arms around herself and continued forward.
To her left there was an odd, roped-off section. It looked like the lines you’d see at a theme park, or in an airport, snaking off into the distance. If she tried not to look too hard, she could see more hazy dancing images between the ropes. Skye paused. Was she supposed to queue? She shrugged. She’d spent her life following the rules and being polite. By entering the Underworld as a living, breathing human, she was already breaking some of nature’s most important laws. She reckoned that not standing in line would hardly be a grave sin by comparison.
She walked on. No ghostly figures tutted or got in her way. She kept going, past the hundreds and hundreds of zigzagging, seemingly empty, queues.
After what seemed like hours, she realised
that the soft blue light was starting to change hues. Up ahead it was more green than blue and if she peered closely, she could make out a figure. It had to be Charon. As she got closer, however, she realised that the boatman was nothing like she’d expected. Instead of a hooded figure with robes and a shadowy face, he was middle aged, wearing a baseball cap, Bermuda shorts and a tattered t-shirt proclaiming that he was a fan of the Grateful Dead. Skye smirked. At least Charon understood irony, if nothing else.
When she was close enough, she raised a hand in greeting. He remained motionless, watching her with expressionless eyes.
‘Another one?’ he said drily.
Skye swallowed. ‘I’m sorry…?’
‘Another live one? It didn’t work out particularly well for the last guy.’
Skye realised what he had to be referring to. ‘Hermes said he got out.’
Charon cocked his head. ‘Aye, I suppose he did.’
‘You mean he didn’t?’ Her mouth felt dry.
‘He got out.’
‘He’s alive?’
Charon’s eyes shifted slowly left and then back again. ‘Yes.’
Her stomach squirmed. ‘I want to get across the river.’
‘I figured.’
She tried to smile. ‘I know Styx. I met him yesterday.’
The boatman scowled. ‘Name drop all you like. I’m in charge here.’
‘I didn’t, I mean, I wasn’t…’
‘Can you pay the price?’
‘What?’ Skye stared at him wide-eyed.
He rubbed his fingers together. ‘It’s not free,’ he said, leaning in towards her. ‘I’m not running a charity here.’
