by Maz Evans
“YOU CAN’T BE THERIOUTH!” screamed Sisyphus, sprinting downhill as the boulder started to roll back down. “AAAAAARGH!”
The mighty rock came tumbling down the hill, picking up incredible speed and forcing Sisyphus to dive into Tantalus’s pool to take cover. Tantalus howled with laughter as the boulder that had taken months to reach the summit rumbled back down in seconds, rolling up the other side of the valley and taking off like a skateboarder on a ramp.
“Oh, get thtuffed!” yelled Sisyphus, grabbing a huge handful of plums off the tree and cramming them greedily into his mouth.
Thanatos’s thin lips curled into a satisfied smile.
“Whoops,” he said carelessly, and headed onward. “Wait for me back at the boat, Charon.”
Charon shrugged. “You’re the boss,” he said. “But remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Thanatos strode on through the flaming valley until he came to the banks of a murky lake. In the middle there was a small island, surrounded by a river of fire. On the island stood a circular stone prison, from which a cacophony of shouting and argument was echoing around the valley.
“Comrades!” shouted Thanatos from the bank. “Can you hear my call?”
The din went quiet.
“Who is it?” a voice squeaked from within. “If you’re one of those door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesmen, we’ve told you—we’re not interested.”
“It is I, your king—it is Thanatos,” the Daemon cried across the water.
There was frantic whispering within the prison.
“Don’t believe you,” said the voice again. “Unless you’re delivering pizza, get outta here.”
“Is that you, Mendacium, Daemon of Lies?”
There was a brief pause.
“No,” said the voice unconvincingly.
“I believe him,” said Pistis, Daemon of Trust.
“I heard you were alive,” whispered Ossa, Daemon of Rumor.
“It’s true,” said Thanatos. “And when I have reclaimed the Chaos Stones from the traitor, I will use them to free you too. We will fight! And this time … we will win!”
“No, we won’t,” moaned Penthos, Daemon of Misery.
“Let’s do it!” said Alalal, Daemon of Battle Cries.
“I’m hungry,” moaned Limon, Daemon of Famine.
“What’s he talking about?” shouted Geras, Daemon of Old Age. “And who’s got my teeth?”
“But first I must know this,” Thanatos proclaimed. “Who betrayed me? Who put you here? Who escaped imprisonment?”
“It was Fuga, Daemon of Escape,” said Mendacium.
“You liar!” Fuga shot back. “I’m still here. Ironically.”
“Well, you didn’t hear it from me … ” said Ossa.
“Who?” barked Thanatos.
“It was Hypnos,” said Ossa.
“My own brother?” said Thanatos incredulously. “My twin? Are you sure?”
“It was—that psycho sold you out,” said Oblivio, Daemon of Forgetfulness. “Now what was the question?”
“It was Hypnos. I swear it,” declared Aletheia, Daemon of Truth. “And that outfit looks terrible on you.”
“I see,” said Thanatos. “Be patient, my subjects. Victory will be ours.”
“You will come back and get us?” asked Elpis, Daemon of Hope.
“It will be done. I will return with the Chaos Stones and free you all,” shouted Thanatos. “I swear it on the Styx.”
“Yeah, right,” sighed Corus, Daemon of Disdain.
“Bungalow!” yelled Coalemus, Daemon of Stupidity.
“Ow! Who trod on my foot?” yelled Algea, the Daemon of Pain, and the arguing started up again.
Thanatos headed back across the barren wilderness of Tartarus to the Lethe, where Charon was waiting in his boat.
“Do you think you can find my brother?” Thanatos asked with a dark smile.
“Hypnos? Crikey, not seen that crazy kid for millennia. Must be up on Earth. I’ll find him, don’t you worry.”
“Thank you,” said Thanatos. “It’s high time for a family reunion.”
“Bet he’ll be pleased to see you,” said the ferryman.
“Oh, Charon,” Thanatos laughed. “I very much doubt that.”
“Where are we now?” Elliot asked Virgo, struggling to see anything through the nebulous gloom.
“The Asphodel Fields,” Virgo announced, “the realm just beneath the Earth. When the Olympians ruled, it used to be where the souls of those who were neither particularly good nor particularly bad wandered for eternity. It was a bleak place, where those with unremarkable lives spent infinite hours roaming aimlessly with no particular purpose nor end in sight.”
“So what is it now?” Elliot asked.
“A shopping center,” said Virgo as they emerged into a brightly lit building.
At first, Elliot thought it looked like any normal shopping mall. Countless shops were arranged on several floors with a glass elevator running up the center. It was only when he noticed that many customers didn’t require the elevator because they were able to fly, and that there were shops for wing repair, snake-hair blow-drys, or spare feet, that Elliot could see this was something different.
They passed a huge furniture shop where two giants were having a ferocious argument over whether they should buy some flat-packed furniture called a Wongledonk or a Fluberstink.
“I don’t know what it is about that shop—it brings out the worst in everyone,” muttered Virgo. “Mind you, Elementals have no idea how to behave in public … ”
“You’re a snob,” said Elliot.
“I assume that this is a mortal word for someone whose head is screwed on correctly?”
“It’s a mortal word for someone whose head is somewhere,” muttered Elliot as they arrived outside Café Hero.
Inviting aromas floated out of the door as he and Virgo made their way inside the coffee shop, past a large bar steaming away with bubbling machines and surrounded by glass cases full of tempting cakes and pastries—and the occasional slimy insect with elaborate icing on top.
But a quick look at the inhabitants revealed that this was no ordinary café. The tables were filled with extraordinary creatures, from dragons to fairies to trolls to … he didn’t even know what half of them were. To his left, a couple of elves were doing word searches over an espresso, while on his right, a unicorn fed her foal a giant blueberry muffin from the end of her horn.
The two members of staff had long necks supporting at least a dozen heads each and countless arms sprouting from their torsos. This allowed the server to take umpteen orders simultaneously and prepare them all at once, while the waiter could clear at least ten tables at a time, chatting merrily to several different customers. Elliot thought of Mavis in the Little Motbury tea rooms. He and Mom used to time how long it would take her to bring a cup of tea. Her personal best was twelve minutes and six seconds. She could learn a lot from this place.
“Hecatoncheires,” Virgo explained, “hundred-handed ones. They run the most successful chain of coffeehouses in creation—they’re springing up everywhere. Ah—Hermes.”
Virgo pointed out a tall, tanned man standing between a vampire and a pixie in the long line for the counter. He was dressed from head to toe in designer labels, from his trendy T-shirt to his fashionable jeans. The outfit was topped off with a trilby hat and designer sneakers, both of which had small wings on the side.
“Hermes! Hermes!” yelled Virgo over the hustle and bustle, but Hermes carried on singing to himself and gently dancing on the spot.
“Great,” huffed Virgo as she and Elliot worked their way down the line, narrowly missing a bite from a grumpy werewolf and apologizing to a Hydra for stepping on her tail. Having irritated most of the line, they reached the winged messenger and Virgo tapped him on the shoulder. Hermes turned around coolly and peered over the top of his designer shades.
“Virgo! Babe! SHUT UP!” he yelled warmly, waking a nearby stroller fu
ll of baby goblins. “Hold tight. I am, like, totally plugged into my iGod—The Sirens have released a new album and I can’t switch it off. I’m not even joking. Hang on a sec.”
Hermes fiddled around in the small leather satchel slung across his body and produced a golden screen, about the size of a paperback book, in a tortoiseshell case. He pulled two golden earphones out of his ears and hugged Virgo.
“How are you, darlin’?” He smiled. “Babe—it’s been too long. Love what you’re still doing with your hair, totes Golden Age. And oi oi! Who’s this then? Finally giving a thousand years of spinsterhood the elbow, you cheeky mare?”
“You two know each other?” asked Elliot.
“Of course—Hermes comes to Elysium all the time,” said Virgo. “He’s the Messenger God.”
“Not to mention—God of Fashion,” announced Hermes, winking into his iGod and taking a picture of himself.
“It’s good to see you, Hermes—this is Elliot.”
“Mate!” said Hermes, giving Elliot a massive high five. “Nice one.”
“I’ll introduce you properly later,” said Virgo. “But listen, we need your help.”
“Babe,” interrupted Hermes. “Whatever you want. Gossip. Scandal. Hair that suits your face shape—you name it.”
“We need to find Zeus,” said Elliot. “It’s urgent.”
“Babe—I’m your man,” said Hermes. “But I’m not being funny or nuthin’, you’re not going to get any sense outta me until I’ve had my nectarchino. Hold tight.”
Elliot wasn’t confident they were going to get a word of sense out of Hermes at all, but waited patiently while Hermes ordered a skinny-double-frappa-something-or-other and then followed him to a nearby booth.
“Bosh!” shouted Hermes after draining his cup. “Okay—I have a total nightmare keeping track of everyone, I’ve had to download a new app—it’s called Look@Me!”
“What does it do?” asked Elliot.
“It means that friends can show each other where they are every minute of the day. Mate, seriously—dunno what I did without it,” said Hermes. “I can spend hours just … looking at where people are—it’s amazing. Look, I can add you as a friend … ”
“But I … ” Elliot protested as Hermes grabbed one of his fingers and pressed it on the screen. A heart icon appeared under his finger.
“Sweet!” Hermes cheered. “That’s you. Now if I look on the map … here we all are!”
On a map of the Asphodel Fields, Elliot’s heart icon flashed in Café Hero next to a star representing Virgo and a pair of wings for Hermes.
“I’ve got all the family on here,” said Hermes, typing “Zeus” into the iGod. “So where’s Dad?”
A thunderbolt icon pinged up on the map.
“Apparently, he’s in a golf club in the New Forest,” said Hermes.
“What’s he doing there?” asked Virgo.
“On a Saturday? There’s usually only one thing my old man is doing … ” said Hermes.
He reached into his leather bag and pulled out a rolled-up newspaper, which he handed to Elliot.
“Go to the gossip section—he’s nearly always there.”
The newspaper was printed on browning parchment, with a large central banner across the top. THE DAILY ARGUS was inscribed in classic Greek type, KEEPING AN EYE ON THE IMMORTAL COMMUNITY. Small boxes around the edges advertised the paper’s contents, from the weather forecast by the Meteoracle Office to horoscopes by Cassandra.
Hermes leaned over Elliot’s shoulder and read:
DADDY DAY CARE?
By Catullus, Births and Rebirths Correspondent
The Minotaur is proud to announce
Twin baby girls, five pounds and one ounce
His wife isn’t happy, it’s only been days
He’s already lost both the kids in the maze.
“Aw, bless ’im … ”
“Hermes!” chided Virgo.
“Oh, yeah, sorry, babe, attention span of a goldfish. Blah, blah, blah—boom! Hold tight, here we are: engagements. Listen to this:
JUST MARRIED … AGAIN
By Homer, Society Editor
You’ve gotta admit it, old Zeus has some faith
He’s married more women than Henry the Eighth
His heart has been won by the mortal Petunia
Who’s roughly twelve thousand and four years his junior
They’re planning a wedding, it’s true love of course
Zeus promises this time he got a divorce
Given his record, the bride must be plucky
You know what they say, “Three hundredth time lucky”
The honeymoon’s planned for the island of Malta
Provided they make it as far as the altar …
“The sly old dog,” said Hermes with an admiring shake of his head.
“Why aren’t you at your dad’s wedding?” asked Elliot.
“Mate—not being funny or anything, but if I went to all my dad’s weddings, I’d have spent more on toasters than a sea monster spends on swimming hats.”
“I really need to see him,” said Virgo. “Can you get us there?”
“Are these cheekbones chiseled?” Hermes announced confidently, positioning a pair of expensive sunglasses on his nose and admiring his reflection in the window.
“Can Charon come with us?” asked Elliot. “After we’ve seen Zeus, I really need to get home.”
“Where’s home?” asked Hermes.
Elliot pointed to Little Motbury on Hermes’s map.
“Oh, it’s on the way,” said Hermes. “I’ll get you there much quicker than Charon, bless his salty sandals. We’ll drop in on Dad, we’ll get you home, bosh.”
“Well, if you’re sure … ” said Elliot.
“Not even joking, mate,” Hermes said, winking. “Let’s motor!”
“Ah—Hermes?” chimed Virgo, picking up the messenger’s forgotten iGod.
“Babe—you’re a lifesaver,” sighed Hermes. “I’d forget my head! Then who’d be on the front cover of Messengers’ Health … anyhoo—Kottos! I’ll take another nectarchino to go. We’ve got a wedding to get to! BOOM!”
Elliot had thought that traveling by constellation was the most terrifying experience he was ever likely to have.
But that was before he had driven with Hermes.
At first, riding in the sidecar of the Messenger God’s gleaming motorcycle—all chrome and turquoise sequins—had seemed awesome. Mom had promised she’d teach Elliot to ride a motorcycle when he was old enough, and he couldn’t wait to roar along the country lanes.
But Hermes’s driving was making Elliot consider a small tricycle instead.
For one thing, Hermes viewed speed limits as a minimum requirement for how fast he should drive. As he whizzed along, warning signs flashed up: SCORPIO SAYS DON’T BE TOO ZIPPY! THE ZODIAC COUNCIL HONORS CAREFUL DRIVERS! But if Hermes noticed them, they had no effect as he revved the bike harder to weave in and out of the immortal traffic, earning him colorful curses from an elderly leprechaun on a mobility scooter and threatening hand gestures from a gnome in a white van.
And for another thing, the road was upside-down.
“I don’t understand,” Elliot yelled over the roar of the air blasting his ears and the blood rushing to his head. “Why don’t we fall down?”
“We’re on the low-way—the immortal road system that runs exactly under the mortal one,” Hermes shouted back. “You’ve got, like, a perfectly good network, so we just copied it. Every time you drive down the road, an immortal is probably driving underneath you. You don’t fall off the Earth’s curve, do you? And you don’t fall under it neither. Hold tight!”
In the sidecar, Elliot and Virgo exchanged nervous glances as the bike accelerated again. A voice boomed over a nearby loudspeaker:
“Vehicle registration: B 0 5 H. Owner: Hermes. Category: Olympian. The Zodiac Council warns you this is your second speeding infringement. One more offense and your vehicle will be disabled an
d you may face a substantial fine or the forfeiture of a body part. Have a nice day.”
“Whatevs,” yelled Hermes. “Nearly there.”
The bike charged along the immortal motorway, finally turning down a country road signposted to the Royal Withering St. Stan’s Golf Club. Hermes drove up a ramp, which twisted around until the motorcycle was the right way up, emerging back onto Earth through a set of roadworks.
“Nice of you mortals to keep digging up your roads,” said Hermes. “Makes it much easier for us to get in and out. Here we are. Boom!”
He swung into the golf-club parking lot alongside cars that seemed the size of Elliot’s cowshed. At last, the motorcycle came to a welcome stop. Elliot clambered out, his legs still vibrating from the bike’s relentless engine.
“Slumming it again, Dad.” Hermes grinned as he took in the grand facade of the clubhouse, a stately home set in acres of lush green golf course. “Shut up! We’ve got five minutes.”
Elliot looked toward an elaborate gold carriage drawn by a beautiful white horse, in which he could see only an enormous white dress. Three salmon-pink bridesmaids were trying to free the bride, but the circumference of the gown had wedged her firmly in the door. As the carriage rocked and jolted, the horse, clothed in an intricately embroidered coat, released an irritated whinny. Elliot could have sworn it actually rolled its eyes.
They joined the gaggles of fancy wedding guests bearing elaborately wrapped gifts. The ladies wore furs, the gentlemen wore tuxedos. Hermes looked woefully at his T-shirt and jeans.
“Nah, mate,” he said, producing his iGod and scrolling around the screen. As he rolled the dial in the center, his outfits changed from sportswear to beachwear to a pair of lederhosen.
“Hermes, we don’t have time,” snapped Virgo. “We need to get to Zeus.”
“There’s always time to look sharp, babe,” said Hermes, finally settling on a designer tuxedo. He offered the iGod hopefully to Elliot and Virgo, taking in Elliot’s torn T-shirt and Virgo’s backward pants. “Your turn?”
