by Maz Evans
The air was nearly sucked out of the chamber as the councillors gasped as one.
“What did you say?” boomed Taurus.
“I said ‘chocolate muffins,’ although I really must cut down … ” said Virgo. “Now, about our paper-clip supplier … ”
“Thanatos?” said Capricorn, her horns pricked in anticipation. “Where did you hear that?”
“Oh, it was nothing—just the prisoner’s name,” sighed Virgo, thumbing a stationery catalog. “He is obviously suboptimal. Claims to be the king of the Daemons! More like king of the Dodos … ”
“You must be mistaken,” said Pisces dismissively. “Clearly your incompetence extends to your hearing.”
Virgo knew she should leave well enough alone. She had escaped serious reprimand and the whole matter could now be put behind her.
But being right was far more important.
“So, Pisces—pardon me, but my hearing is perfect,” she ventured. “The prisoner clearly stated his name was Thanatos.”
“That is impossible,” said the Gemini twins condescendingly.
“Why?” said Virgo.
“Because, child,” said Pisces, “Thanatos has been dead for over two thousand years.”
“He seemed thoroughly alive this morning,” said Virgo. “Who is he?”
“Haven’t you studied our history?” asked Aquarius.
“Er … yes, of course,” said Virgo, finding it strange to say something that wasn’t actually true.
Elliot’s head poked around the pillar. Virgo mouthed to him to move out of sight, but he replied with a mortal hand gesture she didn’t entirely understand.
“Thanatos was … whatever are you doing, child?” asked Pisces, noticing Virgo’s strange head movements as she communicated with Elliot.
“Um, nothing. Just some … exercises,” she replied, noting it was slightly easier to say something untrue this time.
“As I was saying—Thanatos was the king of the Daemons,” explained Pisces. “You know that, at least?”
“Of course I do,” said Virgo, embracing this curious new skill. She had no idea what Pisces was talking about—in all her years on the Zodiac Council, she’d barely been allowed to finish a sentence, let alone ask a question. For the first time, she realized this could be an advantage.
“That’s right, it’s all coming back now,” she said. “Thanatos—”
“Was the son of Erebus, Daemon of Darkness,” said Capricorn. “When Zeus became king of the Gods, he made his best friend, Erebus, the king of the Daemons.”
“Absolutely. Erebus,” said Virgo authoritatively. “Wasn’t he the one who—?”
“Repaid Zeus’s kindness by trying to overthrow him,” snorted Taurus. “Erebus wanted to rule the world himself. But he was no match for the king of the Gods. Zeus took his kardia and slew him in noble combat.”
“Of course,” said Virgo. “But then—”
“Thanatos took his father’s place as Daemon King. Years later, he too craved Zeus’s power, so he challenged him,” said Sagittarius. “But like father, like son; he was unequal to the task. Zeus killed him too.”
“Absolutely!” said Virgo. “And so—”
“The only trace that remains of Thanatos is his Chaos Stones,” said Leo.
“Indeed,” said Virgo, “after all, the Chaos Stones—”
“Control the elements,” bleated Aries. “Earth, Air, Water, and Fire. They were a gift from Chaos herself, Erebus’s mother. But Thanatos abused the power of the stones, using them to terrorize the mortals with earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, and infernos. Thanatos was determined to enslave mortalkind and rule the world.”
“But Zeus won the Chaos Stones when he defeated Thanatos and used them to rid the realms of all the Daemons before he retired. Took their kardia and exterminated the lot. And good riddance,” explained Pisces. “So you see, child—it is simply not possible for Thanatos to be Prisoner Forty-Two.”
“Er—hang on a minute,” said Elliot, emerging from behind the pillar to the astonishment of everyone but Virgo.
“Elliot!” spat Virgo. “I told you to stay outside!”
“Elliot?” asked Libra. “This is the mortal child?”
“Yes, I was going to—”
“You’ve brought a mortal to Elysium!” roared Leo. “Are you out of your mind?”
“No, you see, Thanatos … Prisoner Forty-Two … was about to kill him, so I rescued him in my constellation,” said Virgo proudly.
“Haven’t you read your contract?” cried Capricorn incredulously. “Council members aren’t allowed to reveal their constellations to a mortal … ”
“I told you so,” huffed Virgo to Elliot.
“No mortal has ever set foot in Elysium!” shouted Cancer.
“Well, it looks like I picked a good time to start,” said Elliot, exchanging curious looks with Pisces. “Didn’t you just say that Thanatos wanted to enslave mortalkind?”
“We know nothing about that,” said Libra dismissively.
“You just said he did!”
“No, she didn’t,” said Capricorn. “She didn’t say anything.”
“So you’re denying that the chubby golden sheep over there … ”
“How dare you!” snorted Aries. “I’m a ram.”
“Apologies,” said Elliot. “So you’re denying that the chubby golden ram over there just said that there might be a Death Daemon on the loose who could attack mortals with earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, and infernos?”
“No—technically he’d need his Chaos Stones back, and then he could attack mortals with earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, and infernos,” said one Gemini twin, earning a slap from the other. “Not that we have any knowledge of that.”
“So you look after the immortal community, but when something serious happens, you’re not going to do anything?”
“We are a council,” explained Taurus. “It’s not our job to actually do anything. We just have to file the correct paperwork.”
“Thanatos is dead. And even if he weren’t, it’s not up to us to wage war on vengeful Death Daemons,” added Pisces. “Not that there are any of those. And if there were, we’d know nothing about them.”
“So this is your perfect system?” Elliot said to Virgo, who had sunk under the table with embarrassment. “This makes you so much better than mortals?”
All eyes turned to Virgo. Or to the top of her head. Elliot had a point. She needed to stand her ground.
“The child is right,” she finally squeaked from beneath the table. “If this Prisoner Forty-Two is Thanatos and if he is as dangerous as you say he is, shouldn’t we at least try to recapture him?”
“If Thanatos is as dangerous as we say he is, perhaps you shouldn’t have let him go in the first place!” shouted Libra. “Not that he is. Dangerous. Or even exists. I know nothing about it.”
“Well, on behalf of all mortals, you’ve been a huge help,” said Elliot, turning to leave. “So if you could beam me back to my jeopardized mortal life, I’d be very grateful. How do I get out of here?”
“Virgo can show you the way. She’s just leaving,” said Pisces.
“I am?” asked Virgo, poking back up over the table.
“Yes, you are,” said Leo. “You’re absolutely right. This is your mess and you need to clean it up, before word gets out that an immortal prisoner is on the loose. Not that he is. Restore the mortal child to his home and do not return to Elysium until Prisoner Forty-Two is safely back in his prison. Not that he’s out of it.”
“How am I going to do that?” said Virgo.
“Your problem,” Pisces pronounced. “Virgo of the Zodiac Council and Guardian of the Stationery Cupboard, you are to return to Earth and sort out the situation you have created. But not before ordering some more printer ink. To ensure you cannot risk any further exposure of the immortal world, the council hereby forbids you from using any of your Constellation powers on pain of suspension.”
“What!” shriek
ed Virgo. “You’d suspend me from the council?”
“No, child,” said Pisces grimly. “We’d suspend you from immortality. You could lose your kardia for this.”
“But … but … You can’t do that! I won’t let you!” yelled Virgo, clutching the necklace at her throat.
“Er … yes, we can, and yes, you will,” said Cancer, pulling a huge leather-bound volume from the bookshelf with her pincers. “Here it is.”
Cancer handed the volume to Virgo.
“What’s this?” asked Elliot.
“The Sacred Code,” said Virgo grimly. “Our rules.”
“During the reign of the Olympians, certain immortal behaviors were getting a little … excessive,” said Aquarius.
“When the Zodiac Council took charge we decided to impose a little order. We made all immortals swear on the Styx that they would abide by the laws of the Sacred Code,” explained Sagittarius. “Including Virgo.”
Elliot peered over Virgo’s shoulder to read the first page, which was covered in pencil notations, Post-it Notes, and rude pictures in the margins:
The Sacred Code
12,349th Edition*
1) All immortals have the right to ambrosia
b) Immortals cannot break mortal laws
7) Immortals cannot herd giraffes on a Tuesday
xic) Immortals cannot keep mortal money
F2) Immortals cannot wear socks with sandals
39.4) Immortals cannot break an oath
xy) Immortals cannot push cotton buds too far into their ears
*All rules subject to change with any or no notice
“Turn to page four thousand three hundred and twenty-nine,” said Cancer smugly.
Virgo leafed through thousands more pages of rules and read aloud:
“ ‘Rule 985 take-away-the-first-number-you-thought-of: The Zodiac Council reserves the right to confiscate the kardia from any immortal who behaves like a proper doughnut.’ ”
“You see?” said Pisces. “So there you have it. Virgo, your task is clear. Recapture the prisoner without using your Constellation powers. Or you will lose your immortality. Forever.”
Elliot expected something incredibly dramatic to happen when Virgo was banned from her powers. He waited for the sparks to fly, for her body to be beamed up in a ray of light before being cast to the ground, a broken shadow of her starry self.
But in fact, she only had to sign a few forms and hand over the keys to the stationery cupboard.
Elliot didn’t know what to say as they walked away across the clouds.
“I’m sorry you’re in trouble,” he finally offered.
“The council has spoken,” said Virgo sadly. “And the council is always right.”
“A right bunch of—”
“It’s my fault. If I had obeyed the rules, none of this would have happened. Everything was perfect before.”
“So why did you leave?”
“Because I … I wanted to experience a different perfect, that’s all. I never thought it would come to this.”
“Look, I’m sorry about your problems and I’m glad you saved my life and everything, but I really need to get home to Mom. Let’s get into your whizzy star-ball thing and get back to the farm.”
“There is no whizzy star-ball thing now,” Virgo sighed. “You heard them—I can’t use my Constellation powers or they’ll take my kardia and I’ll become a pathetic, simple, pointless mortal. Just like you.”
“Sounds terrible,” said Elliot.
They came to the beautiful river that lapped gently at the banks of the clouds. Virgo pursed her lips to whistle, but all that came out of her mouth was a shower of spit.
“Eugh—gross!” grumbled Elliot, wiping it off with his T-shirt. “What are you doing?”
“Hailing public transport. Urgh.”
“Here, let me.”
Elliot put his thumb and forefinger into his mouth and let out a perfect whistle. He and Mom had spent hours practicing it, along with loads of other useful tricks, including pickpocketing, semaphore, starting a fire, and burping the alphabet.
“Try again,” said Virgo impatiently. “This is so archaic.”
But before Elliot could give another blast, he was knocked flying by a huge wave that suddenly burst out of the river. As he spluttered and choked, Elliot mopped the wet hair from his eyes to see what had caused this unexpected tsunami.
“At last,” said Virgo, who was completely dry. “It’s here.”
Rocked by its own waves in the middle of the river was a long wooden boat. At the prow was a carving of a ferocious lion, and at the stern, a serpent’s winding tail. A pair of wooden oars balanced the boat on the river and a black sail hung from the tall mast, concealing the identity of the sailor.
“Hello, Charon,” yelled Virgo. “Room for two?”
The black sail was drawn aside, and Elliot tried not to stare at the individual before him. The man, if that’s what he was, was deathly white, almost transparent. His stringy yellow hair hung limply down to his chin and a pair of pale-gray eyes stared out of their dark sockets. His short figure was swathed in a rough brown robe, his dirty, veiny hands jutting from the sleeves. Charon raised his finger and pointed straight at Elliot’s heart.
“Come hither, mortal,” he said in a shaky, high-pitched voice, “if you dare to ride the Ship of Death.”
Elliot decided that he didn’t dare at all.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Charon,” snapped Virgo.
“Whatever do you mean, Lady Virgo?” trembled Charon, shifting awkwardly in the boat.
“You sound like you’ve sat on a mouse. Use your real voice, for goodness’ sake.”
“All right, darlin’, you got me,” chortled Charon several octaves lower. “Sorry, mate, don’t normally come north of the river—the tourists love all that stuff. Hop in.” Elliot waited for Charon to whip off his disguise, but it appeared that the boatman was unfortunate enough to really look that way. He tentatively walked up the gangplank as Charon assumed his position at the oars.
“Welcome aboard, mate,” said Charon with something that was presumably a smile. “I’m Charon, proprietor of Quick Styx Cabs. You won’t wait an eternity for us. Made that up meself.”
“Well done,” said Elliot uncertainly, taking his place on a narrow bench next to a particularly pungent sandwich.
“We need to get back to Elliot’s farm. It’s … ” Virgo looked to Elliot for instructions. “You tell him. Charon can find anyone or anything.”
“Better than Google Maps,” said Charon proudly, tapping his head. “I can get you anywhere.”
“Home Farm, Little Motbury? Wiltshire? England? The Earth?” said Elliot, unsure how much detail an immortal cab driver needed.
“What river’s it on?” asked Charon.
“Near the Avon,” said Elliot.
“Right-o, we’ll take the Severn—the Wye’s murder this time of day. Hold on and off we go.”
And with an almighty tug on the oars, Charon eased the boat away from the bank and started along the glistening water. It was a nice change of pace after a hectic morning, although Elliot was worried that Mom had been on her own for too long. He hadn’t even made her lunch. And if she went looking for him …
“Excuse me, Charon—how long will it take, please?” he asked the oarsman.
“Two shakes of a sphinx’s tail,” Charon assured him. “We’ll have you home for lunch.”
“And, er, how exactly are we going to row through the sky?” asked Elliot casually.
“We’re on the river Styx,” said Virgo.
“The Styx?” said Elliot. “The thing you swear your oaths on?”
“Yes,” said Virgo. “It’s a sacred river. If you break an oath sworn on the Styx, you lose your kardia. Then you spend a year unable to speak or move and are denied any nectar or ambrosia. For the next nine years, no immortal can speak to you and then you are ba
nished from immortal society to be a lonely and desolate outcast until you die.”
“It’s also a nightmare trying to get a library card,” said Charon.
“The Styx is the boundary between Elysium and Earth,” Virgo continued. “All the rivers on Earth run into it at some point just below the Earth’s surface, making it a very convenient way for immortals to get around unnoticed.”
“Think of the world like a dirty great onion,” Charon chipped in. “Elysium is like the skin, circling all around it above the clouds. The next realm in is the Earth—you know all about that one. Inside that you have the Asphodel Fields, then the Underworld.”
“Each realm is reached by crossing a river—they run like a corkscrew through the world and Charon is the only way to move between them,” said Virgo.
“And not everyone can go everywhere,” said Charon. “Apart from me. And Constellations, of course, Miss Virgo.”
“All other immortals have restrictions,” said Virgo smugly. “Gods aren’t allowed into the Underworld. Elementals can’t visit Elysium. Accessing a forbidden realm costs an immortal their kardia.”
“Why can’t everyone just go where they want?” asked Elliot.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” snorted Virgo. “Because then everyone would want to live in the best places.”
“So?” said Elliot. “Why can’t they?”
“Of course, it’s all a conspiracy,” said Charon.
“Oh, don’t start, Charon,” Virgo huffed. “Not everything is a conspiracy.”
“That’s what they want you to believe,” whispered Charon, tapping the side of his nose. “But I’m in the know.”
“I feel like I’m in Crazyville and you’re the mayor, Charon,” said Virgo with a shake of her silver head.
“No, I’m not,” said the oarsman defensively. “Besides, that’s six hundred and thirty-seven miles due west, straight through the Northern Lights and second left after Dorking. Nah, we’ve all been fed a big pile of centaur droppings over the years. Take the creation story—if you really think that Uranus … ”
Elliot zoned Charon out and looked over at Virgo staring mournfully out of the boat.
