Argos
Page 21
We set off again. The terrain seems to take on a more malevolent aspect. We come to another river. But this one is on fire.
“The Phlegethon,” says Cerberus. “It leads to Tartarus. See that gaping hole over there? That is the entrance to Tartarus.”
I look in the direction he indicates. Some distance away there is a massive pit. The Phlegethon flows into it. Horrendous cries of pain and torment issue from it. Instinctively, I shy away and Cerberus gives a great coughing bark that I know indicates laughter.
“Fear not, Argos,” he says. “That is not your fate. That would never be your fate.”
We come to a rock wall that soars above me. I cannot see its summit. There is a roughhewn tunnel bored though it. “Follow me,” says Cerberus. “Do not fear.”
Obediently, I do as the hound of Hades bids. The tunnel weaves in and out and the light gradually changes. Around the pit of Tartarus, it was dim, filled with noxious vapors. Now, it is brightening.
Eventually, we emerge from the tunnel into what seems like a new world. Although there is no sun, the blue cloudless sky blazes with warmth. I can see no end to it. Meadows filled with deer, boar, and rabbits spread out before us in a vast vista. If there are people present, I cannot see them. There are lakes and rivers and verdant green forests. The sight of it soothes my soul. It makes me happy, at peace. It is, for lack of a better word, paradise. It is Elysium.
“Well,” asks Cerberus, when I have time to take it all in. “What do you think?”
“It is magnificent,” I say simply.
“Would you like to live here?” he asks.
“Do not tease me, Cerberus,” I say angrily. “The gods may be fickle, but such torment is beneath you.”
“I do not tease,” says Cerberus. “The gods—including my master—have met to discuss your fate. Usually the gods argue about such matters. Great heroes are sometimes not allowed into Elysium because they have angered one of the gods, regardless of what service they have provided to another. Zeus tries to keep the peace, to placate them. As a result, few souls gain access to this place.”
“What are you trying to tell me?” I ask.
“That this was not the case this time,” says Cerberus. “It is unheard of but all the gods—yes, every single one—voted that you be allowed to live out eternity in this place. It is a great honor, Argos, one never before bestowed upon a dog or any other animal for that matter. Even Apollo and Poseidon voted in your favor.”
I am stunned. The gods would allow me to live here? Am I really worthy of such an honor?
“You are worthy,” says Cerberus, reading my mind. “You have displayed all the attributes that the gods love in their heroes. Courage, kindness, determination, and selflessness. Resolute in battle. But most of all, loyalty. Fierce loyalty the likes of which the gods had never seen before in a mortal.”
I am unsure what to say. To live here with my memories forever or seek the welcome embrace of oblivion? Both have their merits. “So what’s it going to be, Argos?” asks Cerberus. “The choice is yours. Only you can make it.”
I realize it isn’t a choice at all. I cannot deny who I am, who I have always been.
Loyal till the end.
Epilogue
The man looked around in wonderment for a while, coming to terms with his new environment, his new situation. He appeared to be a little surprised. The man had once visited Tartarus and although he had no desire to return to that dreadful place, a part of him had expected to end up there—punishment by the gods whom he’d angered in life.
This place was infinitely more agreeable. He set off, marveling at the beautiful blue sky and the pristine meadows filled with all manner of animals. He felt his fingers twitch, eager to feel the pull of his bowstring. Just the thought of his bow was enough for its reassuring weight to materialize on his back. Hunting would have to wait though. He had other pressing matters.
He walked on, through the meadows and lush forests. He skirted the outskirts of a huge lake, filled with crystal clear water. Splashes and ripples, sudden hints of a flashing fin or tail, indicated the presence of many fish.
A single ancient olive tree stood on a small hill in the distance. Beneath the tree, a solitary figure waited.
Before he could move closer, however, the figure burst into action, bounding toward him. The man knew who it was and smiled. He’d known the dog would be here, waiting for him.
The dog hurtled toward him and leapt up into the waiting arms. They embraced and the dog licked his face happily.
The man set the dog on the ground and scratched his head affectionately.
“Come, Argos,” said Odysseus. “Let’s go hunting.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My thanks to all the people who read the initial drafts and offered advice and constructive feedback. To my wonderful agent, Vicki Marsdon at Wordlink. Special thanks go to Cath Mayo for her extremely thorough and constructive feedback and to D.C. Grant.
To the amazing Georgia McBride and all the staff at Month9books. Jennifer Million and Jaime Arnold—I know how hard you work. To my editors, Cameron Yeager and Michelle Millet. Thanks for making the editing process so painless.
To my artist collaborator Mat Dawson, for his fantastic cover.
As always, my thanks and love to my wife, Rose, for giving me the time and space to write. And to our son, Jack, who will one day read this and remember the times when our dog, Whiskey, kept him warm and safe in his bed.
Phillip W. Simpson
Phillip W. Simpson is the author of many novels, chapter books and other stories for children. His publishers include Month9books, Macmillan, Penguin, Pearson, Cengage, Raintree and Oxford University Press.
He received his undergraduate degree in Ancient History and Archaeology and both his Masters (Hons) degree in Archaeology and his Masters (Hons) degree in Creative Writing from the University of Auckland. Before embarking on his writing career, he joined the army as an officer cadet, owned a comic shop, and worked in recruitment in both the UK and Australia.
His first young adult novel, Rapture (Rapture Trilogy #1), was shortlisted for the Sir Julius Vogel Awards for best Youth novel in 2012.
When not writing, he works as a school teacher.
Phillip lives and writes in Auckland, New Zealand, with his wife Rose, their son, Jack, and their two border terriers, Whiskey and Raffles. He loves fishing, reading, movies, football (soccer) and single malt whiskeys.
www.phillipwsimpson.com
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