by Amy Wolf
“—Hell,” Nick repeated.
“As far as the Labor. . . it involves, uh . . . slaying Cerberus.”
“That sounds familiar,” said Nick.
“He is the dog who guards the gates of Hades.”
“A dog?” Nick asked in disgust. “That’s a Labor?”
“He has three heads,” said Helen.
“Naturally.”
“And is as big as a horse.”
“Oh,” said Nick. “Any chance they could swap him for a Yorkie?”
Helen rolled her eyes.
“We have to find the gates,” she said.
“Where are they?”
“Different places, but one set is here.”
Nick sighed, looking at her mom’s island from which white smoke erupted.
“I suppose,” he said, “That Typhon is uh, lying under our feet?”
Helen nodded, causing Nick to lift a sandal.
“Let’s get moving,” he said. “I want to be gone by the time your dad pops his top.”
“Agreed,” said Helen. She seemed to be thinking. “According to myth,” she told him, “the Sybil of Cumae lives in a cave in Avernus.”
“Who’s she?” Nick asked. “I thought we were going to Hades. Wait . . . that didn’t come out right.”
“She is the guide,” said Helen. “She will give us directions, but only if we ask good questions.”
“‘Good’?”
“Not stupid.”
“Oh boy,” said Nick. “Well, I did beat the Sphinx.”
“This isn’t a riddle,” said Helen.
“Okay, riddle me this—should I change?”
“Nope. Avernus is close.”
“For once!” Nick cried.
He followed Helen as she tramped east. This place was pretty blasted, with all these twisted lava cones. He had to plug his nose as they passed some small geysers burping out foul-smelling gas.
“Typhon’s breath?” he asked.
Helen just gave him a glare. After tramping awhile, they came to a wooded shoreline.
“Lake Averno,” she said. “They say that the Sybil is close.”
She set off at a firm clip, but Nick felt almost sick at the path ahead: which was lined with dead birds!
“Blech,” Nick remarked as the two of them entered a cave. He saw some small bowls resting on wooden stands. It looked like some kind of altar.
“Libations,” said Helen, “to Hecate.”
“Who?”
“The Goddess of Witchcraft and Magic.”
“Hmm,” said Nick, “just what kind of being is Sybil?”
“Unlike any you’ve known,” said a voice, echoing down a long tunnel. “Though I am mortal, I have lived a thousand years.”
“Like you,” Nick whispered to Helen.
“Not exactly,” said the Sybil. “Come closer so I can see you.”
Nick started to make for the tunnel, but Helen put out a hand.
“Careful,” she warned. “The Sybil doesn’t take to everyone.”
“C’mon, she’s got to like us. Aren’t we Mýthos myths?”
“Yes, but she has known great sorrow.”
“I say we cheer her up.”
Nick ran down the tunnel, grateful for the cool air. He wondered what Sybil looked like: would she be a babe?
As it turned out, she was dust.
Or, more precisely, a bunch of grains in a jar.
“Sybil?” Nick asked. “Are you like . . . Grape-Nuts?”
“Yes,” said the grains. “Long ago, Apollo wanted me, but I thought to spurn him. What you see is the result.”
“Harsh,” said Nick. “Can you . . . can you see us?”
“Yes. I still have all my senses, just no body to house them.”
Nick shuddered.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Apollo once helped me, but he can be kind of a jerk.”
“Why have you sought me?” the grains asked. “You must ask me questions, which I may or may not answer.”
“Right,” said Nick. He had to get past the point where he felt silly talking to cereal. “Uh . . . can you tell me the way to the Underworld?”
“There are a hundred caves branching off from this tunnel.”
“And?”
“Only one leads to Hades.”
“And that one would be . . . ?”
The grains refused to answer.
“Right, not a good one.” He looked at Helen. “Can she give me a clue?”
“‘The gates of hell,’” said the Sybil, ‘are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way ...’”
“Are you related to the Sphinx?” Nick asked.
Silence.
“This one cave. Does it have like a sign?”
Silence.
Oh, boy, Nick thought, this Sybil was stricter than Miss LaRose.
“Any ideas?” he asked Helen.
She put a hand to her chin.
“Well, we seek the entrance which leads to Cerberus.”
“Right.” Nick asked the Sybil, “When we stand there, can we hear him?”
“No.”
“But if we call for him, will he bark?”
“Yes.”
Helen turned to Nick.
“Her goddess Hecate,” she said, “casts her spells to the four elements. Water to the North, Air to the East, Fire to the South, and Earth to the West.”
“What is your question?” asked the Sybil.
Man, this was harder than Jeopardy!
“Oh,” Nick said, now picking up on Helen’s hint. “Should we head south, toward fire, which I hear is big in Hades?”
“YES,” said the Sybil. “Very good, son of Chiron.”
“Thanks,” said Nick. “I took a lot of AP’s.”
“I am happy to help you,” the grains/Sybil said, “for I am the daughter of Glaucus.”
“Whoa,” Nick yelled. “He’s like my only best friend!”
The grains in their jar started shaking.
“We better go,” Helen whispered. “Thank you,” she said to the Sybil. “I’m sorry about Apollo.”
“Good luck on your journey. If you see Aeneas, tell him I said hello.”
“Will do,” said Nick, taking Helen’s hand and hurrying down the tunnel. It was almost pitch black. “Doesn’t anyone here like light?”
“It is meant to be foreboding.”
“Score!”
They walked for what seemed like miles inside the tunnel. Once Nick’s eyes adjusted, he found he liked the lava-carved tube and its smooth curving walls.
“Weird that we’re literally . . . going to Hell,” he said. “I always thought it would be worse.”
“Pray you never find out,” said Helen, “and end up in Elysium Fields.”
“Where’s that?” Nick asked. “Somewhere up in the sky?”
“No,” she answered, “it’s in Hades too.”
“Wow,” said Nick. “Even though I’m Greek, I admit my people are strange.”
“Hmmp,” said Helen.
They continued their downward trek.
“Look,” she said. “We’re here.”
They both stood in awe. Branching off from the underground tunnel were at least a hundred openings.
“We go south,” said Helen, turning in that direction.
She was greeted by twenty-five entrances.
“No worries,” said Nick, handing over his stuff. To himself, he ordered: “Allagí. Into a horse, that is.”
He took up most of the tunnel’s width as he stood there swishing his tail. With a neigh, he moved his ears: Man, they really swiveled. With his horsey hearing, Nick heard sounds from below: grunts, shrieks, mad laughter, and . . . a big dog’s growls. He lifted his right foreleg and pointed a hoof toward this entrance.
“Good work,” said Helen, patting him on the neck.
Nick tossed his mane and Allagí-ed back to himself. He was sure to put back his armor, considering where they were going.
“After you,” Nick said to Helen, gesturing like a waiter. “Guess sometimes I don’t muck it up.”
“Sometimes,” she said, giving him a quick kiss.
Once they entered the cave mouth, they were able to walk side-by-side. Nick noticed that shortly, they were standing at a steep angle. It made him wish his sandals were made of Velcro.
“Phew!” he breathed, as the pleasing cool of the tunnel gave way to scorching heat. “I think I know what’s coming.”
Helen nodded, clutching at the smooth walls so she wouldn’t tumble. Nick followed suit, sweating beneath his armor,
“Well,” he told Helen, panting, “as we say in L.A.: ‘At least it’s a dry heat.’”
“I can’t stand it,” said Helen. “Even Titan/Gorgon me.”
Nick’s throat was starting to desert.
“How much longer?” he croaked.
“I have no idea,” said Helen. “But I do have an idea.”
He looked at her with hope.
“Why,” she asked, “don’t you become a centaur? On this slope, you can dig your hooves in.”
“Hmm,” said Nick, so hot he was up for anything. He turned and ripped off his armor. “Allagí,” he ordered, and did. “You’re right; this works. Four feet are better than two.”
“Good,” said Helen. She sighed. “I just wish we’d brought some water.”
“No ice water here!” Nick crowed.
Helen did not look amused as she covered her nose and mouth. Now Nick could smell it too: a sour stench like those geysers belching above. Could this be the famous “brimstone” that went along with hellfire?
“We’re getting close,” said a muffled Helen.
“Better climb on,” Nick told her.
When she was on his back, he picked his way down the tunnel. With both hooves and arms, he was able to keep his balance. Man, was this an inferno. Nick felt kind of offended that Hell turned out to be . . . hot.
“Shhh,” Helen said, leaning forward.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Shhh!”
Nick strained to hear. He wished he still had horse’s ears. But, from down below, came the sound of barking. It reminded Nick of a fenced lot filled with guard dogs, but here there was only one: who happened to have three heads.
Nice Doggy
As Nick slid down on his hooves, he saw that the ground became level, until he was standing straight up. With relief, he exhaled, despite the heat and the barking.
“I don’t like this,” he told Helen, who handed him his bow plus one Hydrafied arrow.
“I think you’ve done worse,” she said, now able to unpinch her nose. The smell of brimstone down here seemed a lot more spread out.
“I didn’t care about killing Ladon or those other monsters,” Nick said. “But . . . I like dogs. And I don’t want to hurt one.”
“Yet,” Helen yelled over the sound of deep growls, “it wants to kill you. This isn’t a family pet—it’s the hound of Hades!”
“Okay,” said Nick, loading his bow. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
It really wasn’t that hard as a rough black shape bounded toward him: fully the size of him, it drooled from its twelve fangs while barking its joined three heads off.
“Better get off,” Nick told Helen.
She leapt to the ground and crept behind him. He carefully aimed his arrow, but all that barking was jarring, causing him to miss.
“Damn!” Nick yelled, unable to believe he’d blown it from so close. What would Orion say? He didn’t have time to worry since Cerberus loped toward him in a spray of drool. Nick’s horse instincts kicked in, and he started to kick, rearing and using his front legs to slam that monstrous body.
Nick heard the beast whimper. This was so unfair. But as Cerberus came at him, Nick made sure the dog got a mouthful of spear.
“Hey,” Nick cried, as Cerberus went for his throat, causing him to chomp down on fur. “Man bites dog!” he shouted. Yet it was his hooves—kicking the monster’s heads—that served as his best weapon. Three pairs of eyes clouded over before the hellhound crumpled. “Sorry, boy,” said Nick, feeling a stab of guilt.
“Well done,” said a voice, and, from behind some scattered fires, Nick saw the outline of a man. He was tall, in a long robe, and held a two-pronged fork just as big as he was.
“Lord Hades,” said Helen.
“The God of Death?” Nick breathed.
He couldn’t believe he was really meeting That Guy!
“Um,” said Hades, “sorry, but that would be Thanatos.” As he emerged from ash, Nick saw he looked a bit gloomy. “I am the God of the Underworld, brother to Zeus and Poseidon. My realm spans from Tartarus to the Elysian Fields.”
“Bro,” said Nick, “can we talk? You know, I’d rather end up—"
“I don’t decide that,” said Hades. “I suggest you lead a good life if you don’t want to end up down here.” He swept his fork-thing past flames. “Of course, I’m always happy to host you.” Giving a close-mouthed smile, he walked—glided?—over to Helen. “What have we here?” he rumbled. “I haven’t seen such a beautiful—living—woman since. . . you know, I honestly can’t remember.”
“What about Persephone?” asked Helen.
“She bores me. What is your name, my dear?”
“Medusa,” said Helen, looking him straight in the eye. “Sister to your dead hound.”
“But so much lovelier.”
“She can turn you to stone!” Nick cried.
“Me?” asked Hades. “Boy, you can’t be serious. I’m one of the Big Three!”
Nick put his hand on his sword.
“In any case,” said the god, “I often find myself lonely. Persephone comes in the Winter, but, for the rest of the year, I just play a lot of discuses . . . dískoi.”
“Isn’t that fun?” Nick asked. “I bet you win tons of medals.”
“It’s not the same,” sighed Hades. “Having Medusa with me would make the eons go faster.”
“But I’m not immortal,” said Helen.
“You can be,” Hades purred. “Just leave it to me.”
“I’m not having it!” Nick cried, raising the Pelian spear.
“A centaur challenging me?”
Hades shook with laughter.
“Not just any old one,” said Nick.
“I don’t care if you’re my son—you’ll soon be joining the dead.”
“Wait,” said Helen. “As a god, you know all. Which means . . . you know I’m in love with Nikólaos.”
“How sweet,” said the Underworld God. “I almost wish Eros was here.”
He hoisted his fork like a javelin.
“Just a sec,” cried Nick. “Surely you know that I was sent here by Zeus!”
“Curse him and his imperious ways.”
“Also,” Nick went on, “I’m a favorite of your niece: the grey-eyed goddess Athena.”
“Curse her too,” said Hades. “I have too many damned relatives.”
“Do you want to cross her?” Nick asked. “I saw that she has a spear which makes mine look like a toothpick.”
Hades looked up to the heavens.
“Very well,” he said, lowering his big fork. “I take back my claim to Medusa.”
“Thank God,” Nick muttered.
“You’re welcome,” said Hades. “Nikólaos, son of Chiron, I free you now to perform your final Labor.”
“Whaaa-t?” Nick asked.
“And your father was a teacher. Look, you asked the Sybil good questions, killed my dog, and freed Medusa from me. That’s nine, ten, eleven . . . last time I checked, next one’s twelve.”
“But . . . the Hydra doesn’t count.”
“It does now,” said Hades. “Oh, the sheer joy of being a really big god!”
Nick raised his sword. To his surprise, there were three new letters.
“Wow,” he said. He almost couldn’t believe it. He was in the home stretch!
“There’s one more th
ing,” said Hades.
“That’s never good,” Nick answered.
“You understand,” said the god, “that once you’re in Hades, you can never leave?”
“That wasn’t the deal!” Nick cried.
“I just love collecting souls. And it makes me so sad when anyone tries to leave.”
Oh no, Nick thought, this guy’s got abandonment issues!
“But . . . we’re not dead,” Helen told him.
“To escape while alive, you must have a show-stopping talent—think Orpheus and his harp. Do you have such a gift, boy?”
Nick thought but came up empty: he didn’t even play glockenspiel.
“I-I have this armor,” he stuttered, seizing his breastplate from Helen. “And-and this shield and sword. All forged by your brother-god, Heph.”
“Nice,” said Hades, though he looked bored. “What use do I have for weapons? When I’m holding this—”
He thrust out his fork, causing Nick’s shoulders to slump. He was all out of ideas.
“Don’t look so glum,” said Hades. “Remember, I rule over Tartarus.”
“Where my father lies,” said Helen.
“Right,” Nick answered. At least he could do his last Labor.
Hades sighed, then lifted a hand to his head.
“I suppose,” he asked, “you’ll be wanting my Helmet of Invisibility?”
“What?”
“Here.”
The god took off a hat—more like a sculped square—and handed it down to Nick. “Put this on when you meet Typhon. I don’t believe you can best him, but I suppose you can try.”
“Thanks, Hades,” said Nick. “You know, you’re not such a bad guy.”
“Everyone hates me,” sighed the god, “but it’s not really my fault. I couldn’t rule over something pleasant: like the heavens, or water. No, I’m the guy with the souls.”
“Sorry,” said Nick. “Hey, thanks for the hat, and could you tell us the way to Tartarus?”
“It is the same distance from Hades as Mýthos is from here.”
“You’re saying . . . down?”
“You must journey,” said Hades, “to the core of the world, where you will see sights of such horror they may well drive you mad.”
“I’m nearly there,” said Nick. “Oh, you’re giving me money?”
Hades swept out a gold coin which he placed in Nick’s palm. It was engraved, quite nicely, with the raised form of a bee.
