Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two (58 page)

“I don't have the authority, Uncle,” said Hermes. “My orders were clear.”

Hades was still trying to persuade him when he saw Persephone strolling out of the orchard, and he was overjoyed to see her holding a split pomegranate. Her mouth was stained with its red juice. So pleased was he that he neglected to scowl at Charon, whose boatmanship he valued but whose too frequent presence was beginning to irk him.

Hermes took in the situation at a glance. “Congratulations, Uncle!” he cried, and flew off, ankle wings whirring.

13

Chaining a Poet

Certain boulders on a rubbled plain of Tartarus wear iron rings. These are the punishment rocks used by the Harpies who keep discipline among Hell's staff. Here are chained those fiends and demons who have broken some rule or other and need flogging. And it was to one of these rocks that the Sphinx shackled Thallo when she brought him to Tartarus.

She left him there and went off to present herself to Hades. Thallo did not act like a captive. He had expected to be finished off long before this, and was delighted to find himself uneaten. He lounged against his rock and stared across the dismal plain. Figures fledged themselves out of the mist, hardly thicker than fog. These were the shades; they were what was left of those who had died. Thallo studied them keenly, for whatever they had become, he knew, he would become too—probably very soon.

He was disappointed in them. He had expected shades,
souls
, to be purer, more concentrated, now that they had shed their flesh. But these vaporous things seemed very cold, indifferent to everything except themselves. They didn't even glance his way, but drifted past, twittering.

Hades did not wish to meet the Sphinx indoors, even in so vast a hall as his throne room. He received her then upon the Plain of Pain, halfway between the Gutwinder and the Marrow Log.

“I caught Thallo,” said the Sphinx. “And brought him here so that you might watch me eat him, and see how strictly I follow your suggestions.”

“Where is he?”

“In that field yonder, chained to a rock.”

“Let's keep him alive for a bit,” said Hades. “Hecate will be coming to claim him, which will give you the chance you've been waiting for—to fight her in single combat for the queenship of the Harpies.”

“Is that the chance I've been waiting for?”

“Why, certainly! I should hope so. How can you really prove yourself fit for the post except by challenging the one who held it?”

“I see,” said the Sphinx. “I guess I didn't quite understand. Doesn't matter. I'm ready to fight her, or anyone else. No one—bird, beast, fish, hero or monster—has lasted more than a few minutes against me.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Hades. “She's undefeated too. Should be a good match. I've invited the entire Pantheon to view it. Incidentally, I said ‘single combat,' and that's how it'll probably end, but you'll both have allies.”

“Indeed? What for?”

“To serve me the way I require, my Harpy queen must show generalship, you know. I don't just want to see how well you fight, but how well you lead troops. So you'll have troops. And to make it fair, she'll have some too.”

“Who'll be on my side?”

“I have a unique bestiary down here. And giants and dragons, and a staff of assorted fiends and demons. You can have first choice.”

“Very well,” said the Sphinx. “I choose the Harpies, the hundred-handed giants, the dragons, and the First Torture Team.”

“That leaves only Cerberus, the Manglers, the serpents, and the Cyclopes. And the Cyclopes are doubtful. They prefer to fight only in their own interests. They may simply lean on their mallets and watch.”

“All the better,” said the Sphinx. “Who wants to be fair in a fight?”

“You lack experience,” said Hades, “but seem to have the right hellish instincts. Good enough, then. Go meet your troops. Hecate should be here by tomorrow.”

Chained to his rock, peering through the mist, Thallo was too interested to be unhappy. He was alive, alive among the dead, something he had felt before when wandering the slopes of Helicon with his fellow bards, whose verse was so much feebler than his own.

Elated by strangeness, filling with a sense of unfamiliar power, he found himself watching a weird carnival—the Hell tales told him by Hecate fledging themselves out in the dreamy mist. He saw the swooping Harpies she had led; the bat-winged Furies who were even worse; the drifting, twittering shades driven by pitchfork demons and roasted by turnspit demons; the gigantic, gliding serpents she had admired because they had no cruelty, only blind strength. And here he was set down in this taboo place among such fabled creatures—himself, wildly curious, furiously observant, alive among the dead.

Now a flock of ghosts shuddered past, driven by a pair of demons. As they wielded their pitchforks, driving the shades along, the demons chatted about the great battle that was to be staged between Hecate and the Sphinx. Thallo tried desperately to hear what they were saying. He ran toward them until his chain jerked him back. Their slurred infernal accent was hard to understand. He strained his ears so hard that his eyes bulged. He finally understood most of what they said. He slumped back against the rock, thinking hard. Hecate was coming for him; that much was clear, but she would not be allowed to leave before fighting the Sphinx—and an array of fearsome allies.

He saw a huge figure shouldering through the mist, and felt a warm thrill of recognition. Even at this distance he knew that whoever was coming toward him was a living mortal.

“Greetings!” he shouted.

The figure approached, loomed before him, and Thallo knew who it was from the tales he had heard.

“What are you doing here?” said the youth. “You're no shade.”

“Indeed I'm not. At least not quite yet. Neither are you. You're the wild young ferryman from the Alpheus, here on a mission from Demeter.”

“How the hell do you know so much about me?”

“People tell me things. And I'm delighted to meet you, Charon. You and I are the only warm bodies in this dank place. Why don't you loose me from this rock like a good fellow?”

Charon took the chain between his hands and snapped it as if it were twine.

“Thank you,” said Thallo. “You're wonderfully strong. Whom will you be helping in the great fight—Hecate or the Sphinx?”

“Neither. I'm strictly neutral. Won't even be on this side of the Styx. I'll moor my boat on the far shore and watch things from there. Farewell.”

He turned and strode off.

“Wait!” called Thallo. “May I come visit you on the ferry?”

Charon didn't answer, but walked away into the mist.

14

Before the Battle

The great chasm of Avernus is not the only way into Death's realm. There is also a secret passage—a rocky shaft leading from the bottom of a burned-out volcano and entering Tartarus from the south. Hecate took this back way and came into Hell before she was expected.

A friendly fiend told her where to find her husband. She clove the murky air like an arrow, and spotted him sitting on a rock from which dangled a broken chain. He was scribbling on a bit of parchment. She swooped, scooped him up, hugging him until his ribs almost cracked, kissing his face. Alighting on the rock, she held him on her lap, enfolded in her wings. Rocked him back and forth, crooning:

“Oh pettikins … I was afraid she'd eaten you.”

“Not yet. Soon, she thinks.”

“I'll give her something to chew on that'll break her damned jaws,” snarled Hecate. Then she sighed. “It won't be easy, though. She's very big. And has a host of wicked fighters on her side.”

“Like to hear some of my ideas?”

“I love your ideas, poopsie, but what do you know about fighting?”

“I know things about the Sphinx. When I learned that she was hungering for my acquaintance I tried to learn everything I could. Picked up a few facts and even more rumors. Then, of course, she gave me more time than I wanted to observe her closely.”

“Tell me what you know. But whisper, baby. Spies simply swarm down here. Hades actually has a flock of flying ears—look like fleshy bats. And detachable eyes that skitter about on their lashes like water bugs.”

He pulled down her head and pushed aside her hair to whisper into her ear. She listened intently and smiled at him when he finished. But it was a grim smile.

“What do you think?” he whispered.

“I don't know, sweetling. You're quite a little strategist. But …”

“But what?”

“It's a desperate gamble. Disaster if it doesn't work.”

“Well, I mean it only as a last resort.”

“It'll be last all right—for her or me. But worth trying if everything else fails.”

He tried to slide out of her arms.

“Where are you going?”

“To find Charon. He's the key to it.”

“Stay a minute.”

He knew what she meant but could not say—that these were probably their last minutes together. Choking back a sob, he rushed off. She spread her wings and rose into the air.

Using a giant's rusty helmet as a bucket, Charon was dipping water from the Styx and sloshing it over the lower deck. Thallo sat cross-legged on the upper deck, watching.

“Can't really clean this cruddy old barge,” said Charon. “And it'll be carrying a lot of important passengers—the whole bloody Pantheon and a mob of minor gods—to see the fight, you know.”

“Which takes us back to what we were talking about,” said Thallo.

“No use going back,” said Charon. “I've told you a dozen times I'm staying out of that fight. There's no reason for me to help your spooky wife against that other weirdo with wings.”

“There is a reason. Hecate left Hell because she cared for someone. You entered Hell because you cared for someone. You and she have the only two loving hearts in this place of death. You should support each other.”

“Sounds pretty,” said Charon. “But it's not a good enough reason for me to get into that mess. I'm in enough trouble down here.”

“Yes. And your trouble is another reason you should help Hecate. I warn you—if the Sphinx wins this fight and becomes Queen of the Harpies, she will be used by Lord Hades to keep strict watch on you and Persephone. You'll never be able to meet.”

Charon poured a helmetful of water over his head to help him think more clearly. “Stop,” he growled. “I don't want to hear any more.”

A sound came to them; it was like a huge collective sigh. They saw Hermes herding the day's draft of shades. They weren't used to being dead yet; they moaned and chittered, shrank back from the black waters. Thallo watched, fascinated. He had no idea why Hermes was waving some of the shades forward with his snake-entwined staff, and held others back. The ones who came forward climbed aboard the ferry. The others were driven to the river by Hermes. They shuddered into the water and were carried by a sideways current toward the shore where loomed the Gates of Hell. Vultures dived because some of the swimmers still wore rags of flesh.

Thallo jumped ashore as Charon unmoored the ferry. He had to find out why some shades rode while others swam. He looked up at Hermes who, balancing on ankle wings, stood on air—so youthful and radiant that Thallo fell to his knees before him.

“O Bright God,” he cried. “Tell me, please, why do you divide the shades upon this shore? What is your principle of selection?”

“A universal principle,” said Hermes. “One affecting gods and mortals. They ride who can pay the fare; others swim. That is why those who can afford it cover corpses' eyes with gold pieces; those who can't curse their poverty but please the gods by praying more fervently than those who are able to send their relatives off in style.”

“Thank you,” said Thallo. “I understand perfectly.”

“Now a word for you, Thallo. You are alive, and on the far shore of the Styx. You are free to leave, if you wish, and I shall conduct you back to the Upper World.”

“I thank you again, but I must stay. My wife, Hecate, as you may know is about to engage in deadly combat with the Sphinx.”

“That's a reason for you to leave, not to stay. If your wife loses, the Sphinx will simply drag you before Hades' throne and eat you raw. If Hecate wins, she will be invited to resume the queenship of the Harpies.”

“Yes, I know,” said Thallo. “I've considered all that, and have made my choice. I haven't always been a good husband, but she seems somehow to have sunk her talons into the very center of my being. And I would have no interest in keeping alive if she weren't with me. So, if she is destroyed by the Sphinx, or if she chooses to stay here and queen it over those flying hags again, then I'll simply shed my empty life as a snake moults its skin. I'll become a shade and abide with her forever.”

“Nobly spoken,” said Hermes. “Impractical as hell, but that seems to go with talent. Well, I'll be here for the great fight. We're supposed to be neutral, you know, but I'll be silently cheering for Hecate. Good luck to you both.”

And he flew away.

Charon had brought the ferry back, and leaped onto the shore. “I didn't expect to find you here,” he said to Thallo. “I left you on this shore so you could escape, and stop nagging me. Why didn't you go?”

“For the same reason you don't. Love.”

“Oh, hell,” growled Charon. “All right. How do you think I can help?”

“Hearken now,” said Thallo. “This Styx of yours is bottomless. Its waters grow colder and colder as they deepen, and, finally, toward earth's center, become ice. But a special kind, young sir! Black ice! A thousand times colder than the ordinary kind, and used to sheathe earth from its central fire—which, of course, is a broken-off piece of the sun.”