by Diana Tyler
“I asked you how much longer until we get to the cave.” Chloe dropped her bags to the ground and took a drink from her water bottle. “I have to be home in two hours or they’ll send a search party. Won’t they come searching for you?”
Orpheus shook his head. “It’s another benefit of being a keeper’s son. I’m free to roam wherever and whenever I choose.” He was half tempted to stretch those words into a poem.
“I’ve never heard of such a privilege.” Chloe shrugged. “But I guess there’s a lot I’ve never heard of.”
“Indeed,” said Orpheus.
“Indeed,” Chloe mimicked.
“Have I misspoken?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. You just speak very…properly.”
He smiled. “I speak Próta properly, too.”
Her head canted right and her eyes squinted at him with suspicion. “You’re kidding. It’s a dead language.”
“Dead to most,” he corrected.
“Show me.” She folded her arms across her chest as she leaned against an oak tree that looked to be as old as he was.
Orpheus grinned. He was amused by her sass. “How about I teach you.”
“And how are you going to do that in hour?” asked Chloe, putting her hands on her hips.
“They say the best way to learn a new trade or craft is through immersion. That is, becoming an apprentice so as to learn and observe. Am I correct?”
Chloe nodded as Orpheus fiddled with the collar of his jacket. He reasoned this was something an actor would do to project nervousness. “I’m not being completely honest with you, Chloe,” he said, raking a hand through his hair.
Chloe pushed herself off the tree and stood completely still, like a hare that had been spotted in a meadow. She was afraid.
Orpheus cleared his throat and continued. “Part of why I know so much about Eirene and Iris and all the rest I’ve told you is because I’ve…well, I’ve seen much of it, with my own eyes. It’s how I learned Próta.”
“Paráxeno theáseis,” said Chloe under her breath. Her eyes widened. “You do know it’s dangerous to tell me this, right? I mean you could be arrested if they found out.”
Orpheus took a step toward her, and with his blue eyes pleading, said, “Please…you mustn’t tell a soul.” Then he spun away from her and shook his head toward the ground. “I shouldn’t have told you.” He pressed his palms into his temples and gazed up at the pale sky through the branches, another melodramatic pose he’d learned from watching plays.
“It’s alright, Orpheus,” she said, walking after him. She tapped his shoulder and he faced her once again. “I won’t tell anyone.” Then she paused, cuing him to look her in the eye. “I swear.”
Orpheus’s face softened. He found himself unable to separate his real self from his acting self as he noted the kindness in her eyes; were he to write a poem about her eyes, he would compare them to starlings’ eggs. Her uninspiring brown hair, on the other hand, he would have likened to a starling’s nest.
Watching Chloe progress back up the mountain, Orpheus had to remind himself that there was something poets valued far more than outward beauty, and that was truth. Orpheus knew Chloe was pursuing it, and if he had been anyone else he would have been tempted to help her.
The one piece of knowledge Hermes and Apollo had withheld from him was why she was to become a prisoner. He knew she was special, but how could she be an enemy of Apollo? To her, Apollo was nothing but a myth.
“Thank you,” he said. Then he commanded his mind stop to thinking and to instead envision Eurydice, her golden hair bouncing and her emerald eyes gleaming as she saw him racing toward her with open arms. He couldn’t let himself feel or say or show anything but lies as long as he was in Chloe’s presence.
They walked in silence to the shoulder of the mountain before it curved toward the summit. They admired the view behind them, the towers of sandstone and rocky spires interspersed throughout the woodland, and the cliffs of the Apokálypsi mountain range cloaked with shadows.
Orpheus noticed a mound of scree and four large boulders less than fifteen feet away. Like a migratory bird that instinctively knows its destination when it sees it, Orpheus knew that this collection of stones was his. It was the entrance to Psychro Cave, the place where he would play his lyre and lure his unwitting hostage to her holding cell. Then his job would be done, and he could forget tricks and spells and guile, and finally step into his fate as Chloe stepped into hers.
“I’m going to show you something I’ve never shown anyone,” he said. This is fate’s decision, not mine. He repeated the phrase in his head, forcing himself to believe it.
As Orpheus walked closer to the cave, he felt the air around him grow colder, and he was sure the temperature must have dropped twenty degrees. “I know you’re here, Hermes,” he muttered as he zipped his jacket up to his chin.
Hermes sped over the rivers and fields of the Underworld like a meteor streaking across the sky. His brothers had been expecting a report for nearly a day. It hadn’t been his fault that the poet’s methods for charming the girl were less than expeditious. It would be his fault if he failed to convince them that the methods were proving effective.
He landed in front of the palace gate as the Chimera roared from the wall above. Hermes waved at the beast as the six brutes that stood guard stomped their spears in greeting and lifted the latch off the double doors.
Hermes strode into the throne room, and then, with the bravado of a clown, tossed his cap high into the air, and performed two flips and a somersault before jumping to catch it. He grinned at Apollo, who sat on the steps of the dais twirling the tip of his sword on the obsidian floor. His black cowl was pulled over his head, preventing Hermes from detecting whether Apollo’s mood was fair or foul. Why do I have to be the one ever at their mercy, he thought.
“Do not dare try and distract me with acrobatics, you fool!” Hades’ voice thundered from his throne. “If you were not our brother, I would have no greater pleasure than binding you to a spit and watching you roast over the Phlegethon River. But keep up your nonsense long enough and not even kinship will stay my temper.”
“Yes, sire.” Hermes secured the cap to his head and marched forward, all the while thinking how an hour in the sun above would do them some good. There was one thing he had over his brothers, and that was the coveted ability to leave this abyss any time he chose.
“You will deliver your message and then get out of our sight.” Hades stood up, the sheen of his gilded panoply and the points of his charcoal horns now visible in the torchlight. It didn’t matter how many times Hermes met with Hades, he always felt his innards coil and writhe at the sight of him.
Long before, the throne of Hades had seldom been occupied. Aside from Hermes, the Lord of Death had traveled more than any of the other rebel gods, for at any given moment he had been busy ripping souls from their dead bodies and dragging them down to the River Styx. But as the Petrodians became proficient at delaying death until they deemed its presence necessary—or advantageous—his errands became fewer and fewer, but Hades was not at all perturbed by this. He spent his days seated on his basalt throne, waiting to receive word of what the Petrodians called a Coronation, but what he and his consorts below knew only as glorious sacrifice.
“The metamorphosis is complete, My Lords,” said Hermes as he bowed low and remained close to the floor.
“And the poet is cooperating?” asked Hades. “And stand up so I can see by your eyes whether or not you’re lying.” His voice vibrated in Hermes’ chest and then echoed sharply off the concave walls, a harsh metallic cauldron that could sear the skin of a mortal man in seconds.
Hermes obeyed and rolled back his shoulders as the final echo faded. “Yes, sire. He’ll soon have the Vessel convinced that he is an Asher, like herself. She trusts him completely.” Apollo stopped spinning his sword. It seemed he finally liked what he was hearing. “They’re entering Psychro Cave as we speak. He will leave her in Cir
ce’s company, and she will be taken care of. I have already given the witch her orders.”
Hades threw back his head and laughed, his white fangs betraying the evil beneath his mirth. “Clever, indeed. The All-Powerful only said that we could not ‘harm’ her. Circe is nothing if not a gracious hostess.” He erupted in laughter again and sat back into his throne. “Well done, brother. You may go. Return only when the Vessel is secure in Circe’s care.”
Hermes nodded and walked away from the bellowing merriment, pleased with himself for the scheme he had weaved. All-Powerful, he silently mocked.
“Hermes, stop.”
Hermes was just outside the gates when he turned to see Apollo standing behind him. Apollo removed his cowl and placed a firm hand on Hermes’ shoulder. Hermes tried never to stare at his brother’s beauty, at his diamond-blue eyes and the crystalline flecks of light that skipped across his alabaster skin.
“You must forgive our brother’s temper,” Apollo said. “He can be quite insufferable, especially when there’s much at stake.”
“I know,” said Hermes, and made to leave again.
But Apollo clenched his shoulder hard until Hermes buckled beneath his hand, fighting the urge to yelp. “I don’t know if you know,” he said, his diamond eyes darkening. “The All-Powerful knows what is happening. We would be fools to think he is sitting idly on his throne with folded hands.”
“Apo—” Hermes began.
“Not a word, Hermes. You think you’re clever, but if you don’t keep your eyes open I will bind you over the fires of the Phlegethon myself. The All-Powerful has not commanded that you remain unharmed.” He shoved Hermes to the ground and stalked back inside the palace.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PSYCHRO
The coolness of the cave was a welcome relief for Chloe, who, for the last hour and a half, had been perspiring profusely, either because the exercise was making her overheat or because her nerves were on edge since Orpheus had made his admission. Probably both, she decided. She’d been in an inquisitive and fairly amiable mood before he’d alluded to the fact that he had seen and maybe even spoken to Iris. Now she was about as talkative as the stone staircase she was walking down, though her mind was as curious as ever.
Should she tell him that she’d also experienced so-called strange sightings? Though she couldn’t possibly fathom why, Orpheus had confided in her. He’d told her a secret that would likely reap grave consequences if the Fantásmata ever found out. Half her brain—or maybe it was her heart—told her it would be wrong not to tell him, while the other half, her common-sense half, hypothesized a worst-case scenario. What if he told someone else as easily as he had told her? What if keeping it to himself had become a burden, and now he was trying to relieve himself of it by recklessly rattling on about it to random strangers? Whoever he had told would report him eventually, and when he was caught, what was to stop him from ratting on her?
As if he could sense the discourse going on between her ears, Orpheus stopped walking and turned to her. “Are you all right?”
“Uh-huh,” said Chloe with a smile. She pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and checked the time. “I’ve got an hour and twenty-one minutes.”
“Good,’ said Orpheus. “We’re almost there.” He took a flashlight out of his backpack and handed it to her.
Chloe tucked her bangs behind her ear as she stopped to shine the light around. She’d been inside of caves before, but never one this massive. The staircase kept winding down, down, down…until she wondered if there was a bottom.
Giant spear-like stalactites pointed down from the ceiling, while beige-and-brown flowstones overhung the walls in wide, spongy sheets. The ground was a forest of mud-colored stalagmites that smelled of peat and sand. She remembered being scolded by her parents for sneakily trying to touch one, despite the tour guide’s strict orders to “keep your hands to yourselves.” Even now, she fought the urge to reach for the intricate frostwork, a virtual coral reef in the heart of the mountain. Some of the stalagmites were tall and thin, reminding Chloe of skeletal fingers, while others were more conical and rotund, like coniferous trees turned to limestone.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Orpheus over his shoulder.
“In a creepy sort of way, yes.” But compared to the things she’d seen in her visions, Chloe thought this really wasn’t so bad. “Are we going all the way down?”
Orpheus stopped abruptly beside a sump that was half the size of her swimming pool. She set down her bags, then kneeled and peered into it, a static pane of opaque glass reflecting the twisted clusters of helictites that clung to the walls like frozen worms. She grabbed a smooth white cave pearl and dropped it onto the surface, then watched the waves roll gently across the flowing mirror.
To Chloe, there was something majestic about this place. The way the formations, so alien and primeval, seemed almost alive, as if they were listening, observing, whispering to one another with every echo, drip, and ripple.
She jumped when Orpheus’s contorted face entered the liquid mirror’s frame. “This is it,” he said. “This is where I come to learn.”
Chloe stood up and backed away from the pool, suddenly fearful of its placid appearance. “They come out of here? Iris and whoever else?”
Orpheus laughed and shook his head. “No, no, silly girl. I go in.”
“You what?” Chloe tried to appear dumbfounded, but she’d seen too much to label him a lunatic. If she could consume a walnut and be transported back in time thousands of years, why couldn’t he dive into a sump and experience equally illogical things?
“I know it sounds crazy, Chloe,” said Orpheus, his blue eyes now gray above the water. “But I can show you, if you’ll just trust me.”
Chloe sighed as she looked up at the fang-like stalactite over her head. She could think of no reason why she shouldn’t go with him. He’d obviously lived through whatever was down there. And he definitely wouldn’t be telling anyone that she’d gone with him, unless he had a death wish. She had only one concern. “How do you breathe?”
Orpheus laughed at the question, seemingly relieved that she hadn’t written him off. “Just like normal. The water is simply the gateway to where we’re going. I can’t explain it, exactly…”
Oh, how Chloe understood. But how could she have explained to him that just last night she’d seen a girl disappear before her eyes and nearly die inside walls of fire, all because she’d eaten a walnut given to her by a girl who communicated only in rhymes?
“How do you know who we’re going to see?” she asked.
“I don’t. I’ve been going almost every day since I found this place a month ago, and the people and places have been different each time.”
Chloe blinked at him, hoping he would add something about how friendly the people were, or how the flora and fauna were unbelievably docile and benevolent, but he only proceeded to slip off his loafers.
“So you just do a cannonball and down you go?”
“A cannonball?” His face scrunched with confusion, like she’d spoken a different language.
Chloe shook her head. Where was he from that he didn’t know what a cannonball was? “Never mind. Are you going to keep your jacket on and take your backpack?”
“You never can predict the weather,” he said, dusting off his sleeves. “And my backpack is precautionary as well. Any more questions?” He flashed a smile that told her he was just as anxious as she was, but just as excited, too.
Chloe took a deep breath and shined the flashlight on the surrounding city of stone statues one more time. Then she set the flashlight down, plugged her nose, and did a cannonball into the center of the sump.
Chloe never felt the weightlessness of being underwater, or the rush of tiny bubbles cascading around her. One second she was in midair, her knees tucked to her chest, and the next she was standing on sand, in a place as primitive and unfamiliar as the cave she’d just trekked through. She could smell the unmistakable scent of salt and
seaweed, and sure enough, the Great Sea stretched out behind them. Please, no monsters this time.
The afternoon sun felt like a laser boring its beam into the top of her head. She shielded her face with her hand and looked up at Orpheus as he made his way toward a small grove of trees, which, thankfully, were thick with leaves. She followed closely behind, wishing she’d brought her water bottle or, even better, a swimsuit.
When she got into the shade, she turned and stared out at the aquamarine waters. Sunlight glinted off the tops of the languorous waves, and a few gulls circled overhead. There were no clouds in the sky, and no ships or fishing boats on the horizon. She couldn’t tell whether she and Orpheus had traveled across the centuries or were simply lost somewhere in their own time.
“What now?” Chloe asked, wiping the sweat from her lip.
“We wait.” Orpheus reached up to the branch above him and pulled off several pieces of round green fruit.
“What are those?”
He juggled them for a few seconds, then tossed one to Chloe. “In Próta, they’re called karydiá. We know them as walnuts.”
Chloe examined the nut in her hands. “Karydiá,” she repeated, thinking, sounds like Carya. She cleared her throat and handed the walnut back to him. “I’m allergic to nuts.”
He smiled. “More for me, then. I’ll remove the shells as soon as I find a stone to crack them on.”
“Well, shouldn’t we go explore or something? I don’t guess there’s a water fountain anywhere.” She wilted to the ground like a sun-scorched flower and lay back against the tree.
“Look,” said Orpheus, pointing toward the sea.
Before she could look, she heard the sound of dogs barking. She jumped up and hid behind Orpheus. She liked dogs, but she couldn’t imagine wild, island dogs to be welcoming creatures.
Orpheus said something in Próta. Chloe peered around him to see a beautiful woman clothed in magenta robes standing before not just dogs, but cats, horses, and fluttering parakeets, too. The woman answered him and gave a ladylike bow, her jewel-encrusted tiara glittering in the sun.
