“One of Hades’ favorite things is to litter the pathway with hot shards of broken glass; think those Hobbit feet of yours can withstand that?”
Raven picked one foot off the ground, turned it around, and looked at the sole of his foot, the skin of which was thick with callouses. “Maybe. Besides, I run faster barefoot.” Some type of armor might not be a bad idea. Raven’s eyes wandered off to the corner of the basement armory to the ancient armor in the corner. “How about that?”
Ares’ eyes followed to the armor he’d worn at Troy. “No, only weapons and armor that are natural will do you any good down there. No magick, no enchanted weapons or armor, no guns or explosives. You’re better off with some thick leather.” He thumbed the collar of his vest then beat a fist against his chest. “It’ll stop near any blade and there’s no magick involved.”
“Are you offering me your vest?”
“It’s still a little big for you but, yes, if you want it, it’s yours for this Trial and any other.”
Raven always liked his Father’s best battle vest with its sharp metal studs and two inch thick leather. “Gauntlets too?”
“Aren’t you greedy?” Ares sneered. “Yes, gauntlets too, I’d give you my boots but…” his eyes fell down to Raven’s feet.
“You keep them,” Raven said hurriedly and slipped off the spear and holster. “I’ll put this over it, it’ll help hold it on.”
Ares slipped out of the vest with a hearty laugh. “You won’t need that.” Standing there bare chested he turned the vest around to show Raven the back and the ready-made pocket in which to slide the spear. “It was my weapon of choice long ago and I didn’t like the holster.”
“Sweet,” Raven let out a whistle as he took the heavy leather armor from his Father and then slid into it. The weight made his shoulders slump. “Ugh,” he grunted and adjusted the leather on his frame. “Sucker’s heavy.”
“I said it would stop a blade—I didn’t say it was light,” Ares grunted. Taking the gauntlets from his arms and began handing them over to Raven. “These are just on loan, I expect them back.” He withdrew the gauntlets from Raven’s grasp with a narrowed focus. “In good shape.”
“Got it, can I have ‘em now?”
Ares finished handing them over and watched as Raven slipped his forearms into them and secured the ties. “You sure you’re up for this? After last night, I mean. I noticed you brought something home with you.”
Raven swallowed hard and felt his face flush with color as heat rushed into his dark cheeks. He hadn’t realized Jilios was a gift of the you-get-to-keep-it variety. No, Raven thought he was being given the gift of her virginity and her company for the night. When the Bacchanalia was over, when the sun rose and everyone began departing Jilios slipped her hand into his and went home with him. Raven, not knowing what else to do, snuck her up to his room where he put it to her one time before falling into a deep sleep with the young Nymph in his arms. “Yeah, ah, about that, um…”
“You’re not keeping her,” Ares said sternly but gave Raven a warm grin. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“But they gave her to me,” Raven mumbled.
The smile faded from Ares’ handsome face as his eyes narrowed on Raven. “They? Or was it just Apollo and Aphrodite?”
“No, Morpheus.”
That was surprising, Ares had been sure it was Apollo or Aphrodite or both of them who’d done it. He wondered over how Apollo got Daphne to give up her precious daughter to Raven. He thought that the Golden God must be one hell of a lover or he had the sword of Damocles over Daphne’s pretty head. Knowing it was not Apollo but Morpheus, and Ares doubted his Cousin was any good in the sack, he wondered what juicy trump card the King of Dreams held over the Queen of the Nymphs. Now he wondered why Morpheus cared enough about Raven to go to such trouble in the first place. “She’s not staying.” The God of War picked up the shoulders of the vest to adjust it again then let it drop into place. Raven’s shoulders stooped but only for a moment and he recovered.
“Why not? Didn’t you hear me say he gave her to me?”
“Didn’t you stop to wonder why he would give you such a lavish gift? Something so tempting you couldn’t refuse it? Perhaps you’ve let a spy right in through the front door and into your bed.”
Raven grunted. No, he hadn’t thought about that, he was just interested in getting his rocks off with the hot nymph and her tight pussy. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Hmmmm,” Ares grunted. “For now, we’ll just worry about Hades.” Picking up the spear, he slid in into the pocket at the back of the vest. “There, comfortable?”
It all felt a little big and a little bulky but Raven knew he’d get used to it. “Not bad.” He reached back for the spear to find it in easy grasp of his hand and balancing well across his back. “Do I really have to give her back? You know, Mom always said it was rude to refuse or return a gift.” Raven reached across the table for a heavy leather belt. This would not only hold the vest shut but provided extra pockets and hiding places for more weapons.
“Well, too bad for you, your Mother isn’t awake to objection to my decision. Jilios is going very soon.” Very soon, but not just yet, first Ares wanted to see if he could extract some information from the girl, something he could use as his own trump card.
With a sigh and grimace, Raven carefully looked over the weapons displayed before him. “Seems a shame, she’s hot and I kinda like her.”
“Then I suggest you enjoy her while you can.”
Without discussing the subject further, Raven gathered several blades of varying sizes and shapes, from those suitable for throwing to a pair of eight-inch daggers, until nearly all of his pockets were full. When he was done, he slid his sword into a thick leather loop on the left side of the belt. Hoping he wasn’t forgetting anything, he anxiously turned around to face his Father. “Well? What do you think?”
Ares stroked the beard on his chin, trying not to show how impressed he was with his Son at this moment, then he held his hand out to Raven. “You should never go anywhere without some of these.” In his palm appeared a box of wood matches.
Raven looked at it, picked it up, and looked at his Father. “I thought you said only natural weapons.”
“What’s more natural than fire? These are only wood and sulfur; they’re allowed down there. This too.” He picked up a long coil of rope and hung it on Raven’s shoulder. “There could be a lot of climbing involved; if you die down there you stay wherever you lay.”
Raven tucked the small box of matches into a pocket and took two empty wineskins from the table for water thinking that, with a little food from the kitchen, he should be good to go. He pulled his long hair back away from his face into a ponytail that he secured at the base of his neck by looping a wide strand of silky locks around it.
In the kitchen, while Raven stocked up on easy to carry and eat foodstuffs—jerky, dried fruits and crusty bread, Ares gave out the last of his advice. “The Dead have only the power you give them, most of them anyway. If you refuse to believe they can harm you then they cannot. You got that?”
“Yeah.” Raven stuffed more jerky into the pack as he listened to his Father.
“The mind is a powerful tool, Raven, probably the most powerful ever known to Man or God, so use it well and do not be fooled.”
“I will,” Raven assured as he stopped packing to take in everything Ares had to say. “If I don’t believe they can hurt me then they can’t.”
“Falter in that belief for a mere second and they’ll use it to strike you down. If you’re lucky enough to survive the first strike you better draw your weapons and think quickly, boy, because it’s too late for disbelief.” Ares watched Raven nod with wide eyes hungry for more information, so he went on hoping Alena would be proud of him for forearming Raven in this manner. She may not want him to be an Olympian but Ares was damn sure she didn’t want him to die trying. “The air down there is thick and oily. It sticks in your throat and your lungs, makes you
want to vomit. Your body will feel heavier than lead once you cross through the Gate. That will make breathing even harder but it will pass, you’ll get used to it. Sort of like getting your sea legs. Keep your wits about you; almost nothing is what it seems down there. Stay sharp. The sun isn’t real and it’s hotter than the one you know by tenfold, it’s brutal and it will cook you alive if you can’t find shelter. If you’re lucky, you’ll accomplish whatever task Hades has in mind before it rises. You already know this but I’m going to say it again…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, whatever I do; do NOT eat or drink anything from down there or I’ll be stuck for eternity.”
“That’s not a joke,” Ares advised. “Use your provisions wisely, make them last as long as you can in case you don’t finish by sunrise. If you have to spend a day under that false sun boy, cover your canteens before the water in them can turn to steam.”
“That hot?”
“Blistering, the Mortals don’t call it Hell for nothing.”
Chapter Eleven
Highway to Hell
For the second time in twenty-four hours, all of the Olympians gathered in Zeus’ Grand Palace at sundown. This number included Morpheus the King of Dreams who’d been summoned to Olympus to see Raven’s Trials through to the end. Morpheus wasn’t happy about his forced attendance, having planned on using the time when Alena’s body would be unguarded to sneak into the Fortress and kill her. Instead, he was stuck here among those who wouldn’t even look at him.
In the center of the room, looking smart, strong, and battle-ready in his Father’s vest, Raven stood tall and proud listening to Hades speak as the God of Death delivered Raven’s first Trial.
“There is a shade lost deep in Tartarus who belongs in the Elysian Fields. Raven, you will go to the Underworld, you will travel to Tartarus and you will bring this soul back to the Fields. Do this and you will pass my Trial. Do you accept my challenge?”
“How do I know which shade it is?”
“I don’t think you’ll have a problem with that.”
With all eyes on him, Raven hoped he was as ready as he’d convinced everyone else of being. “I accept. I will go to Tartarus, I will find the shade you speak of and see it safely back to the Elysian Fields.”
“Good,” Hades intoned and nodded approvingly, “Your Trial starts now.” With a wave of his hand, Raven disappeared from Olympus. Another wave of his hand and a large image floated near the floor. It was hazy and rolled like an old tube-TV but all in the room saw Raven appear on the shores of the River Styx. “We can watch it all from here but there’s no sound.” Hades was nearly apologetic, “we won’t be able to hear anything.” Just getting the image up here from the Underworld was difficult, having sound transported with it was nearly impossible. The matrix of the Underworld loathed to let anything out once it came in. “Why don’t you all come to the Black Palace and we’ll do like the Mortals do for the Super Bowl? We’ll have a clearer picture and good sound, lots to eat and drink.” Everyone looked at Hades as though he’d just suggested they all devour bowls of hot steaming shit. “What? My hospitality isn’t good enough for you?”
Hera spoke, “It’s not that, dear Brother, we all know you’re a wonderfully gracious host. It’s just that…”
“You don’t trust me. Still? After all these thousands of years? I trick one woman into staying with me in the Underworld, just one. It doesn’t matter that it happened to be the woman I loved with all of my black heart, but will you let bygones be bygones? Noooooo.” He folded his arms across his chest and lifted his head high in the air to look away from them. “No one comes to visit me anymore.”
Hera turned to the others with a pleading but quizzical expression only to see them ever-so-slightly shaking their heads. “Sorry, Brother, it seems we’re all staying here even if we can’t hear what’s going on.”
That decision made there were others to make. “I bet he doesn’t last an hour before he’s screaming to be let out of there.” Apollo plunked a small satchel of gold coins onto the Council Table.
“I say he lasts the day,” Eros returned, placing his own gold into the pot, “and he finishes the task in twenty-four hours.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Poseidon joined in, “I say he comes back by sundown but empty handed.”
“I want in on this,” Morpheus piped up and removed a small sack of gold hanging from his waist. “I say Raven fails, spectacularly, in three hours or less.”
Athena weighed in with her own gold. “I say Raven returns in ten hours and he is victorious.”
Hera with another sack of gold, “I say Raven is victorious within four hours.”
“Four hours?” Hades turned to his Sister, as did Zeus. “Are you mad?”
“Four hours,” Hera reasserted, “what? No more takers? Ares, aren’t you going to get in on this?”
Ares came prepared for the occasion with his own black velvet sack of gold. “I say Raven is victorious.”
“The time limit,” Apollo pushed.
Ares considered. Hera had far too much faith in anyone if she thought that they could even make it from the River Styx to the depths of Tartarus in just four hours. “Sixteen hours.” He plunked his gold onto the white marble table with the other sacks. “You? Bitch, you want in on this?”
Still stinging from Raven’s ignoring her last night when she firmly believed she should have been first in line, Aphrodite stepped forward and put a pink satin pouch of gold on the table. “I say he fails but because he’s so arrogant and egotistical he won’t admit to it for at least a full day or until it kills him.”
“You’d know about ego and how easily it bruises, wouldn’t you?”
“Shut up,” she snapped at Ares. “Like you, your Son wouldn’t know a good thing if it bit him in the ass.”
“Perhaps not, but he knows poison when he sees it.”
Aphrodite’s porcelain face gnarled up in frustration and she stomped her pink sandal-clad foot on the floor with a huff that made Ares grin.
Zeus went last as Hades, being the Trial Master, was forbidden from betting on his own Trial. “I’m with her, I say he fails and it takes at least a day for him to realize he can’t cut the mustard or he dies trying.” The last sack of gold hit the table.
All eyes turned back to the hazy image floating on the floor to see Raven landing on the far side of the River Styx preparing to walk under the massive, and rather terrifying, iron Gate to Hades, shaped like a huge monstrous head with its mouth twisted in agony wherein the grate of the Gate served as the monster’s teeth.
II
Appearing in the Under World for the first time in his life, Raven found himself standing in a misty moor at the convergence of two rapidly running rivers. Before him was a gigantic white Elm tree, to the left of it, in the distance, Raven could barely make out the outline of a huge palace. Looking down at the running water he knew he was on the outskirts of the Underworld between the River of Forgetfulness and the River of Oblivion. The tree in front of him was the Tree of False Dreams and the large palace rising out of the rocky cliffs was Morpheus’ Realm. It looked foreboding in the fog, great towers rose high from the rocky face but there wasn’t a single window insight. Only at the top of the tallest tower was there a covered portico and Raven thought that was only for ventilation.
Taking a few steps forward, something called to Raven, called him back to take another look at the Realm of Dreams. A shiver went through him as he fought the urge to walk up to it and the feeling there was something important hidden away in there.
Shaking his head to clear it, Raven ripped his eyes away from the sight and began walking through the misty moor until the soft grass under his bare feet gave way to dark sand as he reached the bank of a spindly river so black he would swear it ran with oil instead of water. In patches, wide and small, the River Styx blazed fire even as it bubbled and spewed a god-awful stench into the air. Raven raised his wrist to his nose to keep the full brunt of the odor from seepin
g through his nostrils. On the far side of the bank stood the Gates to the Under World settled into the mouth of a fierce monster, its face twisted and contorted in rage so deep Raven couldn’t tell what it was.
Behind him was an endless line of souls awaiting their turn in their leaky boat at the dock, waiting for Charon to ferry them across to their eternal fate if they had the Ferryman’s Fee. Those that did not were doomed to linger on the shore, never crossing the river, instead forever wandering the Bank of Purgatory.
Gazing back to the shore, Raven took in the sight of Charon in his thick hooded cowl. A skeletal hand poked out from the long sleeve of his heavy black robe and beckoned him forward. Taking his hand away from his nose and getting his first deep breath of the thick air that seemed to stick to the back of his throat, Raven gathered his nerve and sauntered down the bank listening to the souls who’d waited so long shout expletives at him for cutting in front of them.
Reaching the creaky boat swaying on the soft current, Raven put one foot in when Charon laid a bony hand on his shoulder. “Pay me now.”
“I don’t think so,” Raven smirked, “I already know this one. You get paid when we get to the other side.” He sloughed Charon’s hand from his shoulder, climbed into the boat that didn’t look seaworthy in the slightest and waited.
Charon silently climbed into the rickety boat after him, planted his long pole in the sand of the shore and they began sailing to the far shore. The Ferryman used his pole to steer and propel them forward and around pits of fire, past black water bubbling and jumping with the movement of the giant Leviathans calling the River Styx home as they guarded it from those who would seek to intrude.
Half way across and all of the flaming patches around them lit up brighter than any funeral pyre. The dark water rolled, rocked and threatened to engulf the little boat. “The water is rough,” the Ferryman intoned, “you must pay me now.” A skeletal hand reached out from beneath the sleeve of a tattered brown robe.
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