by Lucas, Naomi
“Thank you,” she said, breathless. The whip of sails rising and wind-beating-tarp filled her ears. She licked her lips and settled herself down at the end of the sailboat, away from where Haros worked. She pulled off her pack. “How long will the trip be?” she asked as they slowly sailed through the harbor. Athens, new and old, cruised by her in a blur, blending industrial and crumbling stone into one.
“Not long.”
She waited for him to say more, but as he moved from one tie to the next, she realized he wasn’t going to. As the harbor left them behind, the silence continued. Captain Haros wasn’t a talker. Which was fine with her.
Taking out her phone again, she turned her attention to the views around her and took some pictures, the effort giving her peace with this unconventional transit. But that didn’t last long. The Grecian shore grew smaller in the distance, and the only thing left to photograph was gray, choppy water. The wind whipped the sails and pulled hair from her tie, lashing the strands across her cheeks and eyes.
They picked up speed.
Water sprayed her face, drawing her eyes to the sea. Ships, small and big, spotted the water. A man on a fishing skiff waved to her, and she waved back. A wave brought on by a nearby barge rocked the sailboat, making her grip the edge of her seat. Cyane put her phone and wallet in her backpack and tied it into a place where it wouldn’t get wet. Another wave crashed against the side, knocking her back and wetting her face.
She wiped the water from her eyes, blinking out the sudden salt invading them, and laughed. “I guess we’re in for a wet ride.”
“Yes.”
His voice was suddenly hollow, old, and everywhere at once.
Cyane looked at Haros, and her smile faded.
The wind stopped. The sounds of the world dimmed. The sails of the boat were gone, and now only a haggard old man with an oar in the crook of his arm stood across from her.
“Captain Haros?”
Flashing red eyes shot to hers—no longer blue. A white hand emerged from the sea to grab at his leg. Haros lashed at it with his oar and it fell away.
Startled, she drew back. That wasn’t a hand I saw. It couldn’t be. All other ships had vanished. She searched for the man on the fishing skiff, but he too was gone. She looked past Haros to the coast, but it too had disappeared. Her fingers tensed, and dread shot through her chest. She swallowed thickly. “What’s happening?”
She never got an answer. The sea opened up beneath them.
The boat gave way like smoke. Vertigo hit, and she lost orientation. Frigid, eternally cold waves consumed everything, forcing her to understand that death was assured.
The last thing she saw, as cold fingers grasped her ankle and dragged her down to hellish depths, was the black surface of the sea growing small far above and the glitter of coins falling ever farther under the waves with her.
She screamed, but water filled her mouth, her throat. In one breath, everything she knew vanished.
Cerberus finds a Mortal
Cerberus stood in the shadows, eyeing the gods and immortals flitting across the dance floor, clinging to one another. No one danced yet—it wasn’t time for that—but their clothes flowed like silk and oil, not caught up in breezes or wind, but in time itself.
He ran his hand over the neck of the hound beside him.
As if on cue, Tantalus, carrying a jug, approached Cerberus’s side and offered him a cup of nectar. Cerberus waved him away, and Tantalus moved on to the next guest.
The celebration would continue for seven days more until Persephone, his queen, returned to the Underworld and retook her place at Hades’s side.
Cerberus scanned the ballroom for his lord but didn’t find Hades amongst the growing crowd. He gave his hound one last pat and stepped back into the deeper shadows.
There he patrolled the party without being seen.
His canine companions prowled alongside him, always keeping a watchful eye on the individuals near the gates. No being, neither god, immortal, or undying could leave Tartarus without his knowledge and consent. Although, some could come and go as they pleased with contracts already in place. Though most of those who preferred the dark rarely left. But during the weeks before Queen Persephone’s reappearance, the undying often came and went.
He hated this time of year.
He wouldn’t be celebrating. He never celebrated with the others. His job was unending, eternal. He knew if he let his guard down, even for a moment, the gods and undying supplicants would know—they eyed him back with uncanny, devious intent.
Lord Hades had much in his kingdom that they desired. The souls of the dead only ended up in one place, regardless of their affiliation in life, and even gods detested losing their toys when they were not yet done with them.
Across the room, Hades appeared in a muted flourish, ignored by all but Cerberus, and sat on his throne. Cerberus stepped from the shadows again in solidarity for his lord. They shared a knowing nod. His lord was atop a slate and obsidian dais, seated on a thin, elongated throne that sharpened like needles at the top. Pieces of it glistened beneath the candlelight glow. Hades, in his dark majesty, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, a cup appearing out of darkness to hang from the tips of his fingers.
The throne beside him sat empty—except for the dead and withered flowers strewn on and around it.
Despite their difference in station, they were one and the same, having been by each other’s sides for eons.
A woman dressed in black veils walked his way, drawing his attention. “Oh sweet Cerberus, must you hide from me?”
He bowed his head and did not meet the goddess’s eyes. “I do not hide to spite you, Melinoe.”
She smiled, beautiful and grim. Her hair, white as winter frost, faded in and out of her body as it swayed without a breeze. “My lord father has worked you hard. Spite or not, will you dance with me this year?”
Cerberus scanned the crowd above her head. “I do not dance, Princess.” And if he did, it would never be with her. Especially one as forbidden and horrid as her. Melinoe was one of the few that plagued his life, his eternal duties, day in and day out.
She plagued everyone. His mind warped painfully just knowing she looked at him.
He glanced her way. Sadness filled her eyes, but they didn’t affect him. Disgust, like always, crept over his flesh.
“Not even if I owe you a favor in return?” She faced the room of immortals. “No one will dance with me, and I have asked. Asked. A goddess born of a lord.” Melinoe turned back to him.. “You are my father’s servant. You cannot refuse me, Cerberus.” She reached out to take his hand, but he drew it away.
“I’m on guard.”
“Will you not even look at me?” she asked softly.
He refused. Instead, he caught the eyes of Hades from across the room.
Cerberus left Melinoe without answering her. He crept along the perimeter of the ballroom as he made his way toward the dais. The sound of the goddess’s cry followed him until he heard her run from the room. The immortals snickered in her wake. The fact that he never laughed like the others was the reason Melinoe thought he was her friend.
He had no friends. He didn’t want them.
He finished his circuit and approached Hades, who sipped nectar with hooded eyes. Cerberus moved to stand at his left side, not deigning to bow.
“The last night before the celebration begins,” Hades mumbled, lowering his drink. “Have you encountered any mischief?”
Cerberus’s lip twitched. “All is well.”
“What a shame. I see Melinoe pursues you still.”
“She will not be a distraction.”
Hades laughed low. “Very well. With what I have planned, such a boring distraction will not be worth it.”
Planned?
Hades rarely voiced his plans, and when he did, it was never in the company of others. Cerberus flicked his eyes towards his lord—the only indication that Cerberus was thrown off—before returning to watch
the party.
Asking for further information under the scheming gaze of the undying was out of the question. It was already questionable and dangerous when they were alone. Despite being Hades’s confidant, his lord shared very little. Even with Cerberus.
“Yes…my Lord,” Cerberus fumed.
Hades ignored his slight. “What do you think of the party this year?”
Cerberus sighed. “Lavish, successful, like every year.”
“Always so frugal on compliments, Cerberus. Will you not enjoy yourself for me?”
“Who will feast on those trying to leave if I’m preoccupied?”
“I remade you in human image, and you squander the gift.” Hades laughed. “You’re no longer beholden to that monstrous form. Go, converse with a”—Hades scanned the ballroom—“a lusty Cocytus nymph, or better yet, one of the Erinyes. Make use of the gift you’ve received, or I shall become offended.”
Cerberus straightened. “It’s my duty to protect your realm. I find no pleasure in becoming a spectacle, not even for you.”
Hades swept his gaze over his guests before landing on Cerberus. “You deny an order from the lord of the realm?”
“Was it an order?” Cerberus countered. “Or a request of me to alleviate your boredom?”
They glared at each other. Hades’s jaw ticked. Cerberus usually stood at his lord’s left, which was his place since Hades had taken a queen. The fact that Cerberus stood over him now was not lost on either one of them.
Hades threw back his head and barked out a laugh. “Well done. My boredom has fled.” He returned his attention back to the undying crowd, where some now eyed him and Cerberus with curiosity. “I’ll get my way with you eventually.” A threat. “Now go, for we will speak when Styx’s waters glow with daylight. I have a feeling my guest of honor is about to arrive.”
Guest of honor? Cerberus narrowed his eyes and began composing clever words for his departure, but he never had the chance to use them.
A prickle slithered across his flesh, an internal alarm telling him that something dared move back towards the gates of the Underworld without permission. Cerberus vanished from Hades’s side.
He appeared on the shore of the river Styx, where the rocky, underground gates of Tartarus welcomed its visitors. His xiphos materialized in one hand, and his shield appeared strapped to his other arm.
The river Styx swirled and misted beneath the gates where it bridged the gap between the mortal realm and Hades’s castle. In the far distance, the water turned into a black and red ocean that encompassed the entirety of the realm. Hades’s castle rose up from the waters of the dead before it, malformed and warped, overlooking the gate, while also overlooking the ocean.
The peaks of the castle didn’t blend into the rocky cavern above, but sharpened into wicked points, much like his lord’s throne. The castle itself was a weapon, awaiting the day the mortal realm fell from above to catch it in its sharpened embrace. The stones always glistened, as if they continuously bled, waiting for such a day to come.
Everything here hungered, even him. Even the castle.
Those who resided in the castle were trapped inside unless they had another means of escape. The river goddess Styx, also forever ravenous, rested in eternal slumber. To bathe in her was to be cursed and eternally dirtied. No one, not even another god, would risk such a fate. Although, sometimes, Styx would delight in those who bathed in her and would reward them instead.
But those who dared to enter the waters seeking such a rare blessing—or were thrown in—often found themselves cleansed of all their memories, consumed with unending pain and tears, or enveloped in fire. The black of her waters reflected Tartarus itself, while the red was her blood—and the blood of all the mortals who’d ever died.
The only ones who were unaffected were those who were already dead and waiting for judgment.
Water splashed, and Cerberus’s vision sharpened. One such soul swam even now. They fought the current that led towards the castle and the Erinyes, away from the gods who would judge their fate.
His nostrils flared.
Desire gripped Cerberus’s belly, his throat, as he watched the white creature swim upward from the depths. All other concerns fled from his mind.
Harpies yelped from the tops of the gate and descended to circle the trespasser. The swimmer reached the surface with an unearthly scream. A chorus of high-pitched shrieks assaulted the air in response, the screams coming from all around. The cries echoed out into the distance.
Feast. Delicious. His teeth ached as his stomach hollowed out for the incoming meal, being devoured was a suitable punishment for any being who dared defy the laws of nature.
Cerberus lowered his sword a hairsbreadth as the bobbing head fought to stay above the surface.
Something was off.
He licked his lips anyway.
The soul wasn’t swimming back towards the gates, but upward. It wasn’t entirely unusual—any direction was better than the unknown.
He couldn’t place the source of this uncertainty, but he had done this job for millennia, and his instincts were well-honed. He sheathed his sword and his shield vanished as he moved to the water’s edge.
His canine companions barked and ran along the shores on either side.
The white creature thrashed above the surface for a second. “Help! Hel—”
They disappeared back under the black waters.
Cerberus stared, waiting for the dead mortal to give up its deceit and swim towards the gates that led back topside.
That was it, the oddness. A soul couldn’t normally shift the waters of Styx. Regardless, this one was, but it was neither swimming with the current nor pushing against it. It struggled, flapping, crying out for help… Drowning? The waters of Styx splashed once more as a hand shot out, grasping to stay above the waterline.
He edged closer to the water’s edge. The prickling sense that something was trying to leave Tartarus began to fade.
His confusion fled as his curiosity piqued. Charon’s boat was nowhere in sight. Nothing was out of place. Where had this creature come from?
Cerberus cursed under his breath as the soul finally dropped below the water’s surface and did not return. The water’s surface rippled and calmed. He continued to stare at those ripples, ripples that shouldn’t be there at all. The dead didn’t have substance but this creature, whatever it was, did.
This isn’t right.
He swept out his arm and a small skiff appeared, he jumped into the vessel and took up an oar, plowing through the dark waters. The figure was beside him, below, its hair drifting around them, wide eyes pleading, and hand still grasping for the surface.
A woman? Even below the surface, her sex was unmistakable.
Without thinking, he dropped to his knees and reached his arm into Styx and grabbed her wrist.
He yanked her out of the water with one sure tug, gathered her in his arms, and laid her out on the skiff. The boat rocked as he flicked Styx’s water off his arm and peered down at the intruder.
He would have to cleanse himself later, but he wasn’t worried. Styx had been a constant companion to him for millennia, and he’d touched her waters before without repercussions.
The female lay before him, drenched, her body garbed in clothes he didn’t recognize. Her white shirt was plastered against her flesh, and her pants had been tailored short to reveal her thighs. They left little to his imagination. She was not dressed as he expected a female would be, and nor was she nude like newly dead mortals, who were stripped of their worldly possessions upon death.
Her hair rested in wet tangles across her shoulders and chest, framing a mortally beautiful, but unmoving face. The waters of Styx clung to her, gathering in droplets across her exposed skin. Cerberus reached out to lay his hand on the woman’s cheek, debating whether or not to throw her back into the water or even eat her essence right then and there, as his right.
She jerked up with a sputtering cough.
Spittle hit his face, startling him back, she shifted onto her palms, hacking out swallowed water. He pressed his hand upon her shoulder as her eyes opened wide to stare wildly at his.
A hush settled over them, and the female’s skin warmed under his hand. It wasn’t right. The dead were not warm. They didn’t have substance like this woman. Was she really dead? Or was she one of the undying guests playing a trick? An incredibly dangerous trick at that. The warmth under his fingers grew.
She pivoted from him and heaved over, coughing out more of the dark water.
He drew his hand from her shoulder, only for his fingers to get trapped in her hair. He pulled the strands away curiously and moved closer to sniff them. A rare smell flooded his nose.
Mortal. Alive? Intruder.
INTRUDER!
His lips twisted into a sneer. He leaned over her, preparing to eat her up, his jaw gaping large, hard, and heavy, stretching his man-suit painfully.
He was a man now, torn from his original form, given a new one, but free to devour all at his lord’s request. But when he was overcome with raw emotion, he could resume his original bestial self.
Cerberus seized upon her with darkening eyes.
Yes.
He would devour her gladly. He reached for the blade at his side with his jaw extended.
Judgement
Fear for her life filled Cyane’s veins, throat, and belly—literally. No matter how hard she coughed, the stranglehold of death only grew more painful.
Her surroundings were dark. She was on a boat and out of the sea, but that was the limit of her awareness. Frantic, she pulled in shallow stabs of air through her nose. Desperate, she expelled the salty water from her body.
Something warm gripped her shoulder, but the sensation didn’t last. She barely noticed it. Nothing mattered until she could inhale fully and alleviate the growing, agonizing pressure in her chest. She pulled her legs towards her, curling up onto her side. Despite the pain, she couldn’t stop gasping. Her eyes, one second wide and searching for help, would wrench closed the next moment.
