Descent into Tartarus Page 8

  This one was larger and untouched. He saw the rock squirrel keeping a close eye on him.

  "Sorry pal, I'm just passing through. You wouldn't happen to know if there's another passageway, would you?" Dan's voice echoed in the room. He glanced around, his light revealing a rough cave with hard rock walls and little weathering.

  He looked back to the squirrel, and it darted behind another rock outcrop. He went to the outcrop and found that it was another passage. This time, he'd have to crawl, but it was wider.

  On his hands and knees, pulling the backpack along with a strap, he crawled into the other room. It opened out and his small light revealed a much larger room. The ceiling had a few old, dusty stalactites, but no corresponding stalagmites. The room was much older and was a nesting area for the squirrels in the area, since he spotted a lot of debris, but nothing made by modern humans. The walls were scratched here and there with unusual letters.

  He stood up and dusted himself off. He looked around the floor of the room. A few rocks and debris, but a solid packed layer of dirt as well.

  As he took a step, the light on his cap went out, leaving him in complete darkness. He tripped over an unseen rock and fell on his face. His yell echoed around the room, sending the rock squirrel running to the other opening and away from the crazy human.

  He carefully stood up, muttering curses to himself. He groped in the backpack for the box of matches. As he opened the box, his eyes were adjusting to the darkness. He stopped and looked up. A dim, orange glow was coming from a spot in the back wall.

  He gingerly made his way over to the rear wall and patted his hand on the wall. He felt solid rock as he made his way towards the glow, then his hand seemed to pass right into the rock.

  "Son of a bitch..." he muttered.

  He picked up the backpack and fumbled in it for the glow sticks. He pulled one out of the box and cracked it. Now the room was lit in a bright yellow-green. He went back to where his hand went into the rock. It looked as if his hand been cut off and he had the stump against the rock, but as he pressed, his arm went in deeper.

  He stepped back, slipped on the backpack and picked up his jacket. He slapped at it to knock the dust off, then he stood looking at the spot on the wall.

  "I can turn right around. Make my way to the village and try to get a bus to a city, find the American embassy and tell them I was robbed and lost my passport and visas," he muttered. "Any sane man would do just that."

  He took a step to the back wall. "I guess I know where I am on the crazy scale. I'm off the top, out past Pluto."

  He took a deep breath and stepped into the wall and out of the earthly dimensions.

  Part 2

  Through me you pass into the city of woe:

  Through me you pass into eternal pain:

  Through me among the people lost for aye.

  Justice the founder of my fabric mov'd:

  To rear me was the task of power divine,

  Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.

  Before me things create were none, save things

  Eternal, and eternal I endure.

  All hope abandon ye who enter here.

  Such characters in colour dim I mark'd

  Over a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd:

  Whereat I thus: Master, these words import.

  -Dante's Divine Comedy

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As soon as Dan had stepped through the portal, he slapped at his face and knocked off his baseball hat. It felt as if he'd walked through a huge cobweb.

  "Goddamn!" He spun, wildly brushing at himself. "Fuck!"

  He dropped the backpack, threw off his jacket, brushing wildly at his face and chest. Only then did he look at the wall behind him. He relaxed when he saw that there were no spiders or webs.

  "Damn!" Dan's breathing finally slowed and he caught his breath. He picked up his jacket and brushed it, inspecting it closely for spiders, just in case. He lifted his backpack to check it for spiders, then slipped it back on. He stuck his baseball hat back on his head only after closely inspecting it.

  Dan had a fear of spiders going back to childhood, when he was playing and ran through a mass of cobwebs and garden spiders, which had caused him to begin screaming and rolling on the grass. Earlier that summer he had seen a terrifying movie about spiders and now he was captured and about to be eaten by millions of eight-legged demons.

  His mother had found him in just his Yoda underwear, running in circles, crying.

  He took another deep breath and tried to settle his nerves.

  "He could have warned me," he muttered, looking back at the spot he's just come through. "I wonder what else that old guy forgot to tell me?"

  He looked out towards what he assumed was the Underworld and spotted a dirt path leading down the side of the steep cliff below him. The path wound through a series of switch-backs that descended into the mists. It reminded him of the time he visited Carlsbad Caverns, and opted for the hike into the cave, not the elevator.

  Unlike Carlsbad, the cave here was plain, if not dreary. The rock walls were rough, and the path was worn, but the only footsteps he saw were his own.

  From somewhere, there was light. A dim, orange light that illuminated the entire scene. The cavern opened out before him; the trail descending into the depths. He couldn't judge the distance, but the ceiling appeared to drop, following the trail as it disappeared into the mists.

  He collected himself and began the hike downward. It was easy going, the air cool, which became cooler as he descended. At the third switchback, he stopped to don his jacket. He shook it out, just in case there were spiders.

  Dan kept walking, stopping only to rest after half an hour. He looked up; he was quite a way down the path, the top portion lost in the hazy gloom. He sighed, then continued down.

  After what felt like an hour of hiking, he checked his wristwatch, to find it had stopped. He had no idea when it had stopped. He shook his wrist, and he felt the watch self-wind, but still no movement. Had time stopped for him? He ventured another peek downward. The trail started a more direct path after two more switch-backs.

  Dan continued on. The temperature stayed the same, like any cavern system. He rounded the last corner and saw that the trail headed outward, at a right angle to the steep hillside.

  He stopped to rest and take in the scene: The ceiling was so high overhead, he couldn't see it. A thin, orange haze occluded the view of the ceiling. The trail straightened out and disappeared into the mists ahead. He heard the sounds of water lapping against an unseen shore in the distance. No other sounds came to him.

  He sat for a few minutes, or a few hours, time was passing or held still, he no longer had any reference: No sun or stars, no breeze. Only stillness.

  He dug into his backpack and pulled out a small bottle of water. He sipped carefully. It had occurred to him there might not be a source of drinking water, so he'd packed a couple of bottles. Truth be told, he didn't really feel thirsty, he only drank out of habit. He stopped on that thought. He also had no urge to pee. That was usually a sign of dehydration. Perhaps he needed more water than he'd packed. Then again, maybe being in this realm suppressed human functions.

  Then another thought arrived, that maybe he had fallen and was now in the afterlife, totally unaware of having died.

  He snorted and stood up.

  "I'm not getting anywhere thinking that way, old buddy," he mumbled. He clapped his hands and listened. There was no echo. In the last cave room, there was a slight echo. Here, nothing. Then faintly, he heard the echo of his clap.

  He stowed the water bottle and resumed walked. Then he got a whiff of an odor, a fresh smell of water mixed with moss. It grew stronger as he walked, and the trail then twisted to his right, around a towering pile of rock.

  Dan peeked around the corner. The trail went through an arched entrance and into a tunnel. He stood and examined the rock wall around the entrance. It was smooth, as if it was built, the entrance lined with old bricks of lime
stone. At the top was some lettering, worn by age.

  "Abandon hope, yadda, yadda," Dan said, softly. His voice echoed back to him from the tunnel.

  He stepped into the tunnel and followed the path. This tunnel wasn't more than a few hundred feet long, and it ended with another arched opening.

  He stepped out and walked to the edge of a calm pool of water. The bank on the far side disappeared into the haze, and there didn't appear to be any current. The water was dead still. He shook his head.

  "Of course it's dead," he muttered. "It's the Styx, I guess."

  He jumped when someone behind him coughed. Dan wheeled around and saw a tall figure in a dark gray robe and hood standing at the water's edge. Next to him was a small boat. Similar to an ancient Greek vessel, this was smaller, about twelve feet in length, with a beam of, perhaps, three feet. Its bowsprit rose almost to the height of the robed figure.

  "It's not the Styx, sir." The voice was rough, as if the thing was trying to speak thorough a clogged throat. It coughed again, clearing its throat. "I'm sorry, my allergies are kicking up. This is the Acheron."

  "Oh," Dan said, looking around.

  "Well, let's not stand here all day jaw jacking, I figure you need to cross, right?" The tall figure pointed out across the water. Its finger was long, bony and pale. "Then get in, I haven't all day, you know."

  "You're the boat man?" Dan asked, fear rising unexpectedly.

  "Who else would I be? This is my boat and, last time I looked, I was a man." The figure drew back the dark hood to reveal an old man's face, bald head and a pair of ears sticking out like handles on a jug.

  "Oh, well, of course." Dan stammered, then dug into his pocket. "Here, Alecto sent these for you."

  The boatman took the coins and inspected them with one eye. "Oh! Nice specimens."

  He looked up and motioned Dan aboard the small boat. As Dan boarded, the stability of the rickety craft surprised him.

  "I'm Charon," he said as he climbed aboard the boat and took up a spot by the bowsprit. The boat moved on its own.

  "I was expecting you. Persephone sent word to expect a mortal. In fact, you're the first person, mortal or otherwise, I've ferried in the last century. Not like it used to be, not at all," Charon muttered. "Used to be, I'd be so busy, I contracted out to three other boatmen. We had these huge ferries, hold two, three dozen souls at a time. Oh, we really hustled to get everyone across. Some days, they'd be waiting four and five hours just to board. Yes, not like it used to be."

  "How does the boat... Move?" Dan asked, looking around for a motor or other way the boat was being propelled.

  "It's just pulled along. I know where it needs to go, and it goes," Charon said, looking up inspecting the coins.

  Dan dug out the map and unfolded it, trying to figure out where they were.

  "You came in the Cumaean entrance. There, at the bottom." Charon stood next to Dan and poked at the map. "We're heading to the central marsh where I'll drop you off. Then take the trail to the right, it'll take you to the Palace."

  "Palace?" Dan said, perplexed.

  "Of course. You're expected. No doubt there'll be a welcoming committee," Charon said, stepping to the bow again and looked out over the calm water.

  "We're nearing the marshes. If you look to the left, over there, that tall tree," Charon pointed. "That's where the Fleece is now. It was such a pretty thing when we first put it out. Now, it's a bit tarnished, like this whole place."

  Dan glanced towards the island and spotted the tall tree, with a muddy looking cloth hanging over a limb.

  "Seriously? The Golden Fleece? But gold doesn't tarnish," Dan pointed out.

  "Oh, everything tarnishes down here. It just doesn't show it as easily," Charon argued. "The love between two lovers, the love of power, and especially the love of riches. After a while, it doesn't seem to matter."

  The boat floated out into a wider body of water, with small islands scattered around. White figures gathered and looked out as the boat passed.

  "What are those creatures?" Dan said, nodding his head to one island with a large group huddled together.

  "Damned souls," Charon replied. "People who weren't buried properly, and those who await judgment. I trust you're familiar with that concept, knowing the sisters the way you do."

  "Well, I was just made aware of this recently," Dan said.

  "They're awaiting judgment," Charon said, observing the souls lined up on the shores of the islands. "The boss has been missing for quite a while, and no one else has the power to appoint judges. So, they stand and wait. And wait."

  "Boss? You mean..."

  "Hades." Charon said, turning to look Dan in the eyes. His deep-set black eyes seemed to pierce Dan to his soul. "He appoints the judges, and he's no longer here. No one wants to be the judge who condemns someone to an eternity in Tartarus. So, no volunteers to be a judge. Thankless job."

  "I was told he was taken captive by that nasty demon," Dan said. "Sor--"

  Charon held up his hand, quieting Dan. "We do not speak of him openly. He has eyes and ears all over. I assume you wish to continue on your quest without being intercepted? Then do not speak his name aloud, sir."

  "Assume away, sir," Dan said, quietly.

  He was quiet as the boat glided through the marsh, around more small islands where additional groups of pale souls gathered, huddled together. If this was the afterlife, no wonder people feared death.

  "Do all souls wind up here?"

  Charon coughed again. "No, not all. We had to do renovations to account for all the new religions. Elysian became 'heaven' or Paradise. Those who believed in reincarnation get to wade through the Lethe and get another go at being a human. Why they'd want all that misery again is beyond me." Charon shrugged.

  "Modern life can be OK, I guess," Dan offered.

  "Oh, sure. In your country. Not everywhere. If you do the reincarnation bit, then that thing called Karma kicks in. You might have been a wealthy person in one life, then go back and live the life of a refugee or beggar," Charon said, then spat into the water. "Thank you, no. One time around was good enough for me, and I got the job of the boatman. It's a good career."

  "I guess," Dan muttered.

  "I'm my own boss, so that's a plus," Charon pointed out.

  The boat made an imperceptible turn to the right and glided towards the bank. No white figures on this bank. It was deserted. Just tall, bare trees, bare bushes and piles of stone, and a level landing made of the same stone.

  The boat bumped against the bank and Charon turned to Dan. "Here you are, sir. Remember, keep to your right. To the left is Tartarus and the Fields of Judgment, which is likely to be quite crowded."

  Dan stepped from the boat and onto the riverbank. He turned to thank Charon, but the boatman and boat had vanished.

  <<<>>>

  Themis returned to Sorath's bedchamber, followed by two large demon guards dragging Megaera between them. Her head was down, her once-beautiful blonde hair was in oily strands, covering her face. She wore manacles on her wrists and ankles; the chains dragging on the rock floor. She kept fighting, pulling, and twisting as the guards dragged her into Sorath's bed chambers.

  They tossed her to the floor, then stepped away.

  She lay still for a few moments, then she slowly lifted herself up, her eyes blazing at Sorath through her hair.

  "Is this the goddess who broke Theseus' heart? I think Bune was correct, you're more harpy than goddess," Sorath laughed.

  Megaera just glared at her tormentor. She was breathing hard, practically panting.

  "Themis, look at how she's reverted to her true animalistic ways," Sorath taunted.

  "What do you want," Megaera growled.

  "Answer me this and I'll allow you to return to your cell. Fail to answer and I may break your neck," Sorath said in a low voice. "The choice is yours."

  "I didn't answer your toady's questions, I'll not answer yours!" Megaera spat at Sorath.

  "That," he said, wiping
his face, "actually answers my question."

  She climbed to her feet, her shoulders hunched. "Suck my cock."

  "Wow, okay." Sorath was caught off-guard. "Trust me, even if you had one, I'd not suck it. Have it cut off and fed to you, yes? Perhaps string you up by it?"

  His eyes narrowed as Megaera started heaving.

  "Take her away!" he shouted as Megaera began to gag.

  As the guards approached to grab her, Megaera projectile vomited across the room. The bulk of the mess missing Sorath, but splattering his bed and floor.

  "YOU bitch!" He shouted. "Get her away from me!"

  Megaera managed a smile as the guards roughly twisted her arms back and pulled her from the room.

  Sorath glared as Megaera laughed. Her laugh echoed down the hall as they dragged her to the stairs.

  "Inform Lord Bune that he may employ whatever techniques he feels is necessary to break her. Now, fetch the maids," Sorath said while pulling up the bed linens and wadding them up.

  They shoved Megaera into her cell, landing face down. She tried to spring back up, attack, but her nausea stopped her, forcing her to keep her head down. The room spun. She dropped down and felt like she had to hang on. It finally passed. She needed water, but the room was hosed out and they had taken the food tray. There were a few puddles of water near the center. She crawled to the closest puddle and stuck her head against the floor, lapping up the moisture.

  All that accomplished was to make her even thirstier.

  She let out a primal scream that echoed around her cell. Outside the cell, the two guards glanced at each other and smirked.

  Megaera slept. She'd finally succumbed to her fatigue and had fallen asleep on the hard floor. Then a hammering woke her up, and the door opened. In a flash, she was awake and ready to leap, her eyes flashing.

  It was a guard with a small tray of fruit and a pail of water. He sat both on the floor and backed away.

  "Where's your master! I want blood--" but the door shut. She crawled, reached out and pulled the try closer. She sniffed the fruit, then tore into the apple, the juice running down the front of her clothes. Her top was filthy, soaked with vomit and dirt. Her hair hung in greasy strands. But her eyes remained clear and revealed the rage she felt inside.