by Clea Hantman
Apollo angrily brushed himself off and had started to stand up when a cloud of smoke appeared just inches from his face, which startled him so much that it knocked him over again. He looked up to see the shocked face of his twin sister, Artemis*, gazing down at him.
“What, what is the matter? I heard your screams halfway around the world, from centuries away. And why are you dressed so oddly and in this mortal form?” She of course recognized her brother, despite the funny clothes and unfamiliar body. They were twins, after all.
“Artemis! I love you!” Apollo was so happy to see her, he couldn’t even begin to answer her questions till he’d grabbed her and spun her around and around, her feet inches off the ground.
“But are you okay? That scream?” Artemis wondered. She didn’t have time for sappy nonsense.
“No, or rather yes, now that you’re here, I am okay. My word, I’m glad to see your somber face. I didn’t think I could reach you with just a scream.”
“That wasn’t just a scream,” said Artemis.
“It must be some sort of twin radar. I thought I was stuck here on earth, in the future, forever. Oh, I love you so!”
Artemis was wearing a suede loincloth and a flowing silk shirt, classic ancient warrior wear. An old woman in the park couldn’t help but gawk at the striking pair. Besides her funky clothes, Artemis was casually carrying the head of a wild pig in her left hand.
But Artemis didn’t notice the woman’s stare. And she didn’t mince words. “So this outfit. This facade. This place. Explain.”
“It’s Thalia. This is the place Zeus banished them to after the”—and here Apollo blushed slightly—“the engagement debacle. Athens, only it’s Athens, Georgia, in a country called the United States and in the future. I came down here to protect Thalia and her sisters from Hera’s tricks. Oh, and the Furies are here, too.”
At the mention of the Furies, Artemis shivered and winced.
“Exactly. So everything was going fine, well, relatively so; Thalia was even falling for me, well, Dylan, this mortal body I’m in. And then she told me she knew it was me and was ready to marry and that she’d meet me back home. I went home and was crushed when she didn’t appear.”
Artemis furrowed her brow and shook her head as if to say what a fool her brother could be.
“No, but it wasn’t Thalia. It was a Fury in disguise!”
Artemis gasped in surprise.
“I’m shocked you didn’t hear about this—it was all over Olympus, and the gossip rags were having a field day with my love life, or lack thereof.”
“I’ve been hunting wild boar in Babylonia. And I manned a giant fleet of ships into Troy for the war effort—we faced three shiploads of pirates! But wait, I digress. Please continue.”
“Yes, well, Thalia doesn’t know that Dylan is me, or at least I don’t think she does. Then I found out that Hera was giving her and Polly and Era one last chance before sending them to Tartarus. I had to come back here and warn the girls not to use magic because that was the rule, no magic. Only I was too late. They were off on a road trip with a mortal boy named Pocky.”
Artemis raised an eyebrow.
“They’re just friends. Anyway. The girls used magic, all right. I followed them, but I had no powers of my own to stop them because Zeus stripped me of my powers when I came back to earth. When I finally caught up to the girls, it was back here at their ‘home,’ and Hera had gotten to them first. I’m positive Hera has sent them to Hades. Tartarus for sure!”
Now Artemis gasped loudly.
“I can’t bear the thought of Thalia facing those witches on their own turf. She must be so frightened.”
Artemis thought quickly in her practical way. “I don’t know quite what has happened to the girls. But I do know that Zeus and Hera are on a second honeymoon of sorts. I ran into Hermes on the moon. He said that Hera had whisked Zeus away on some god-awful Club Mediterranean vacation in quite a hurry. Perhaps she did it to distract him. But I don’t believe Zeus could save them even if he were aware. If Hera created this rule about the magic, she has the supreme right to punish them for breaking it. It’s Gods’ Laws.”
“I fully understand that, really I do,” Apollo gushed. “But come now, Zeus would never let this happen. All eternity in Tartarus? Their punishment has gotten out of hand. Surely he must have the ultimate power to step in…if he knew.”
“I don’t believe he does have the power, especially not beyond the twenty-four-hour limit—”
“Yes!” Apollo interrupted. “That’s just it, Artemis! If there is anything I can do, I haven’t much time to do it!”
Artemis considered, but only briefly. Then she spoke. “I don’t know what I can do for Thalia, but I do know I can get you out of this”—she looked around at the green lawns and quaint houses and finished—“this wretchedly boring place. Hang on.”
Apollo squeezed his sister tight, and poof, they were gone.
FIVE
We followed the Furies. How could we not? They had us surrounded. There were three paths leading away from the gates; we took the one on the right. Down a long maze that wound and wound around dark and dusty corners and fire pits and deep, dark holes that appeared to go nowhere…or somewhere really evil. We passed gory masks on the walls that cackled and hissed and several vats of fat and slimy slithering snakes. Everywhere we went, a ceremonious trumpet played as if to announce Their Highnesses’ presence*.
“I thought there were giants in Tartarus,” I whispered to Era. “And where are all the souls of the dead?” She just glared at me with a pouty lip.
You’re following us down our own secret way.
You will not be seeing any others this day.
Ugh, they were speaking in unison again. How annoying. What was it about this place that brought out the Furies’ most annoying qualities? Note to self: Never, ever speak in unison with Polly and Era.
In fact, you will not see the others at all.
There’ll be no one to talk to or answer your call.
Oh, be careful to step over that puddle of blood,
Or you may slip and fall and be covered in crud.
But they told us this too late, after we had already put our feet down in the slippery red slime that suddenly, mysteriously appeared in front of us. I’m not sure it was really blood, but Era was thoroughly freaked out. We picked ourselves up only to slip and fall down again on top of each other.
The Furies just cackled.
My every muscle, my every tendon ached. My sisters and I were physically and emotionally exhausted.
“Nice place you got here,” I said, trying to sound as insulting as possible. Polly kicked me.
“Don’t taunt them,” she said in a whisper.
Taunt all you want—it only makes us smile.
Oh, look out, here comes the bile!
And with that a huge rush of thick smelly gunk came flooding down from out of nowhere. It covered us from head to toe in slime. Era was crying now, hard and loud. Her wahhhs echoed against the walls. We were drenched with smelly goo. Our clothes were stuck to our skin. The Furies pressed us forward.
It was difficult to walk. The slime added, easily, an extra fifteen pounds to every step. I just tried to pretend like it didn’t bother me. I couldn’t stand the idea of the Furies thinking they were getting the better of me.
Bile, bile, smile, smile, hee, hee, hee, hee.
We came upon a hallway with yet another three doors. The Furies were behind us, so I picked one and opened it myself, just to see. But there was nothing to see, just darkness.
“Close that door, walk no more!” I slammed the door shut, not willing to get slimed again. And waited.
The Furies then chanted in unison, three times: “Ugly, evil, smelly people,” and the same door opened. This time a bright light streamed out. It was hard to see, what with all the goop in our eyes. But after we’d entered, they opened wide all on their own.
It was our home.
We were back home
, in Olympus! There was our gilded three-story-high staircase with engraved banisters. There was our vivid red carpet, six inches deep and as soft as a lamb’s coat. There were our sitting chairs covered in the finest turquoise silk and our piano made entirely of gold. And there, over the marble fireplace and behind the diamond chandelier, was the portrait of our mother, Mnemosyne. Daddy had painted it from his own memory, and while I had never forgotten it, it was as if I were seeing it for the very first time. When Hera had come into our lives, she had taken the painting down and hid it from us.
Despite wanting to be strong in front of the Furies, my eyes welled up with tears.
“Home! Home!” cried Era. “It was all just a trick; we’ve come home!” She twirled and twirled around and around till she ran straight into Tizzie, and then she grabbed her and hugged her tight. Tizzie shrieked. Not only did she abhor hugs, but Era had covered her in stinky bile.
Meg and Alek laughed. And laughed.
We each just walked around in circles where we stood, absorbing it all. Home. I hadn’t realized how very much I’d missed it until now. I bit my lower lip to stop myself from crying.
Era wandered about the room, touching our things. The marble clock. The solid gold statue of Gaia. Polly plopped down on the ground and began to stroke the carpet.
Now all three Furies were laughing. Like they were enjoying some hilarious inside joke.
I thought about Apollo, that if we were home, he must be near, but then I had another thought. Something was wrong. It was so cold. It wasn’t cold like this at home. I could hear Polly’s teeth chattering.
I didn’t feel like this was home.
Before I knew what I was doing, I ran to the front door and threw it open. Only to find a solid layer of darkness. I slammed the door shut and ran to a window, drawing back the curtain. Again, darkness. Polly and I exchanged alarmed looks. At home, throwing open a door or a window would have revealed fields and gardens and mountains and palaces. Not darkness. Polly’s teeth continued to chatter.
And I knew it then. Even before they said it—before they erupted into the loudest gale of laughter yet—I knew.
Alek spoke now, between giggles.
You silly girls, this is not where you live.
Did you really expect us to forget and forgive?
It may look like your place, but you see you’ve been fooled.
Your new living quarters are not this bejeweled.
“But—but that’s our mother,” said Polly, indignant.
Indeed, your mother is hanging on our wall.
We quite like her looks—too bad her brain was so small!
“How dare you!” I screamed, and lunged for Alek, who effortlessly pushed me away, hurling me back onto my butt. I landed on the marble entranceway and slid at least six feet thanks to my goo-covered jeans. The Evil Ones just laughed.
“No. It’s real. It has to be,” Era whispered, but her eyes showed her doubt. “Why would you fake it? Our house, our mother—why?”
To remind you of all you once had,
To remind you of your once glorious pad.
For Olympus’s sake, stop your leaking,
And while you’re at it, please stop your reeking! P-U!
My heart felt like it was breaking. I moved closer to my sisters and linked my arm through Polly’s. She was now fully quaking from the cold.
Poor Polly. She was the most susceptible to illness and to drastic temperatures. If I was aching with such a chill down to my bones, I couldn’t imagine what she was feeling. I realized with a sudden sharp pang that she was here because of me.
Oh, so sorry, you look very cold.
Let us fix that for you…behold!
And they waved their arms like they were showing us the prizes on some game show we’d seen on TV in Georgia. Poof!
A ring of fire, flames as tall as the ceilings, appeared. But no heat was coming from it. In fact, it made the room even colder! The flames cackled and wheezed.
A cold blazing fire, we have such wit!
Now off to your room, lickety-split.
“Okay, you halfwit and you…you…nitwit. Misfit s !” I yelled. I can rhyme, too.
I couldn’t bear to leave our home, cold or not, unreal or not. Era grabbed hold of a golden column and wouldn’t let go. But Meg pried her frigid fingers loose and forced us all out through what was supposed to be the front door. We slowly plodded down the stairs that now appeared—the cold, steel stairs that left the facade of our old home.
There was a small space at the bottom of these stairs. We crowded there in front of a very heavy door, which I could only assume was the entrance to our bedroom. The Furies paused dramatically for a moment, then pushed it open with glee. Inside was a scant square of a room, not big enough for us to lie down in end to end. There was no banister, no piano, no picture of Mom. In fact, there were no beds. No sheets. No mirrors or clothes. There was no shower. No shower.
The floor was gray and concrete and cold. And we were still damp from the crud and the bile, which made it worse. The walls were short and squatty, and the only light was coming from a bare lightbulb that dangled from an exposed wire in the ceiling.
“Where do we sleep?” asked Polly very matter-of-factly, her feelings totally gone from her voice as if she’d given up.
Dear, dear…here, here!
“And where do we wash?” asked Era.
The Furies just laughed.
“You’re kidding, right? We have no bath? No shower? No clean clothes? We’ll catch cold, we’ll get ill, we could die.” Era was yelling now. They just laughed louder.
Tizzie and Alek, come huddle in tight.
Let’s decide what their first task should be tonight.
The girls circled near the doorway, whispering and chattering, but we couldn’t hear a thing.
“This can’t be real; this can’t be,” I said in a whisper.
“Of course it is. It’s over; our lives are over,” said Polly.
“Daddy, Daddy, can’t he save us?” cried Era quietly. But apparently not quietly enough.
Your daddy’s gone; he got an international visa.
Now he and Hera are sunbathing in Ibiza!
I looked down at the timepiece on my wrist. The sand was trickling through with sickening speed; it looked like at least two hours had passed already. That settled it. Daddy had no idea we were here. And in a matter of hours he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, anyway.
SIX
Artemis and Apollo appeared with a poof in front of Hades, king of the underworld. He was in the middle of a lavish feast. Sitting at the head of his thirty-foot-long wooden table, he was shoving food into his mouth as quickly as a starved piglet in a giant trough of soupy slop. Spittle and food particles were flying in every direction. Grease was dripping off the table, off his fingers, off his long white beard.
When he saw that Artemis and a “friend” were before him, he quickly extended a greasy hand to Apollo, who reluctantly shook it and tried to “introduce” himself (since he clearly didn’t look like Apollo). But Hades was too busy to pay attention. He was eyeing Artemis fondly. The king went in for a kiss from the goddess, but she took one quick step backward and bowed instead.
“Nicely done,” whispered Apollo, who noticed her fast moves.
“Sir,” addressed Artemis, “this is in fact Apollo, my dear brother, in mortal form.”
“Oh, Apollo! Well, come here, my good boy,” and with that Hades grabbed Apollo by the shoulders and pulled him in close. Apollo could feel the grease on his thick neck and behind his ears. He wanted to wipe it off his hands and face, but he didn’t want to appear rude, so he refrained.
“So nice of you two to drop in. Please, join me in my midafternoon snack. I’ve got loads of goodies here.” He placed a hand to the side of his mouth and yelled, “Cook, bring out the deep-fried bat’s wings!” Then he turned back to the twins. “You’ll love these—she makes a delightful dipping sauce that’s to die for!”
“No, we didn’t come for food, but—” Apollo was interrupted.
“Nonsense! You must eat something. Why, that mortal body looks all skin and bones. How about some dragon eggs—they’ve been fried in butter, but they’re not too greasy! Oh, I have this new delicacy; it was flown in from the Orient—it’s mosquito knees. They’re so tiny, but oh, so delicious! Try them, please.” Hades shoved a tremendous silver platter under Apollo’s nose. Apollo could only see microscopic specks on the plate.
“Um, okay, how do I eat them?”
“Scoop them up with a fingernail like this,” and Hades pointed his pinkie down at the platter. His nail was sharp and at least three inches long. Apollo looked at his own nails. They were so short, they couldn’t have picked up a mosquito knee if he’d attached beeswax to them.
“Right, so, Hades, I come with a favor to ask.”
“Oh, sorry, no favors today. I never grant favors on Tuesday, so how about trying one of these cyclops chips? They’re made from the toenails of a cyclops. Cook soaks them for days and then—”
“Sir, it’s Wednesday. Not Tuesday. It’s Wednesday,” said Apollo, careful not to offend but impatient nonetheless.
“Nonsense. It’s Tuesday; I’m sure of it. So after they soak for three weeks and a day, then Cook fries them up in a vat of oil made from the sacred blue olive tree. It makes for a delightful—”
“Sir,” interrupted Artemis, who heretofore had kept quiet, “it’s actually Wednesday, I assure you. Won’t you please hear my brother out? He has a favor to ask, one of dire consequences.”
“Huh, Wednesday. Hmmm, so it is. Well, sorry, no favors on Wednesday, either.”
“Please,” begged Artemis. “Hera has done—”
But the king interrupted her. “Hera? Ohhh, I hate her. What’d she do?”
