Chapter 6 Gates of Bronze #2
He stared at her, then nodded. ‘All right.’ He cleared his throat.
His voice rasped on the first few notes, then the rust fell away, and a pure, unwavering melody spilled from his lips. It was the same song the roots had been humming, and in response to his tune their lights raced faster and faster until every tendril seemed lit up from within.
‘Keep going,’ Danae urged.
Was it her imagination or was there a quiver of movement from the doors? Her hopes lifted further at the unmistakable screech of metal on stone, and sure enough the great bronze doors began to creak open.
‘Yes!’ Danae’s heart soared.
Then Orpheus’ voice cracked. He stopped singing.
The gates froze, then began to close.
‘No, no, no, Orpheus, keep going!’
The musician struck up his tune once more, the doors stilled, then he faltered.
‘I … I can’t remember the words.’
With a groan, the bronze gates continued to close.
‘Shit.’ Danae grabbed hold of Orpheus’ hand. ‘Run!’
They sprinted forwards, hurtling towards the ever-narrowing gap, and threw themselves through the crack a heartbeat before the doors crashed shut.
They remained sprawled on the ground while they caught their breath.
Danae looked at Orpheus and smiled with relief.
They were lying on sand, black as a midnight sky, that rolled away from the bronze gates in undulating dunes towards the bank of a wide river, the water beyond inky as the obsidian shore.
The River Styx.
Hope swelled in Danae’s chest. She hadn’t wanted to admit to herself how terrified she had been of what she would find when she reached the Underworld, that the river of death and the three realms – Elysium, the Asphodel Meadows and Tartarus – might not exist at all. That Prometheus would be proven right.
‘Where are the souls of the unburied?’ asked Orpheus as they rose to their feet and dusted off the black sand.
Like all mortals, they had been brought up to believe that when a person died their body must be buried and the proper funeral rites performed, or their ghost would be doomed to wander the banks of the Styx for all eternity.
But there was no one here, nothing but the sand, water and the darkness beyond.
There is no afterlife in the Underworld, repeated the voice.
Danae ignored the sudden sinking sensation in her stomach. ‘Perhaps they don’t wander this part of the river.’
Her sandals melted into the sand as she walked towards the water, the itch between her toes a familiar comfort. She glanced back at Orpheus. ‘Do you think it’s strange that we’ve not seen any more shades since that ambush in the tunnel?’
Orpheus looked about, his face grey under the sickly light of the strange Underworld stars. ‘I suppose … Perhaps they found what they were seeking.’
Danae’s gut twisted as she thought of Hylas, and what those creatures might be doing to him. She must find him, as well as Alea.
‘Daeira, look!’
Orpheus pointed to where the river curved away into the distance. A sleek barge fashioned from dark wood was being punted against the current by a charcoal-cloaked figure, a light similar to the ones in the sky glowing at the end of its staff.
‘The ferryman,’ breathed Danae.
Orpheus hastily drew his purse from his bag and pressed two obols into her hand.
A heartbeat later, the coins slipped from her fingers to be swallowed by the midnight sand. The ferryman had almost reached the bank, his barge floating through the dark current like an autumn leaf on a slick of tar. He was close enough now for her to see what lay beneath the charcoal cloak.
A pair of crimson eyes.
She was transported through time, her feet no longer held by sand but melded to the stage in the Athenian theatre, bound in chains, the air ripe with fear and piss. She could feel a sea of eyes bearing down at her, but only saw one pair shining scarlet beneath a charcoal hood.
Wrenching herself from the memory, she regained control of her body and backed away.
The ferryman reached the bank and drove his staff into the sand, pulling the tip of the barge up onto the shore.
Orpheus approached. ‘Please,’ he called, ‘take us to Hades!’
‘Orpheus!’ Danae cried, as the ferryman reached out an arm sheathed in a black hide glove and turned his palm to the sky. The musician proffered his silver coins then froze, his eyes widening as he caught sight of what lay beneath the charcoal hood.
Danae’s pulse thundered. If she set foot on that barge, it would all be over. She had revealed her powers in the passages. The shades that took Hylas might well have warned the other denizens of the Underworld. The ferryman would surely hand her over to Hades and then he might give her to Zeus …
Orpheus staggered back, just as the ferryman turned his hooded head towards her.
The shade lowered his hand then reached beneath his cloak. Before he could reveal whatever weapon it concealed, Danae summoned a clutch of life-threads and hurled a blast of wind at the ferryman. The shade careered back and tumbled into the inky waters of the Styx.
‘Come on!’ she shouted to Orpheus and sprinted towards the barge.
The musician sprang into action, racing behind her. But just before they reached the vessel a long, piercing note ripped through the air.
Danae turned to see the ferryman half emerged from the river, an ebony horn held to his lips.
Then the ground shook.
Danae crashed into Orpheus and the pair fell together onto the black sand.
The earth rumbled again, as though it was being pounded by a giant.
The tremor dislodged the barge, and it slid back into the water, floating out of reach.
Then a shape emerged from the gloom far along the bank.
The creature was vast, the thud of its great feet accompanied by a cacophony of hissing.
The nearer it drew, the quicker it ran, as though it had caught the scent of its prey.
Despite herself, Danae screamed.
Charging towards them was the largest hound she had ever seen, as long as the Argo and as tall as an oak.
Its coat was as black as the sand and from its thick neck sprouted three snarling heads, ropes of spittle dangling from teeth the length of her arm.
Like the shades, its three pairs of eyes burned like red-hot coals.
With another jolt of terror, she located the source of the hissing.
From the scruff of its three necks sprouted over a hundred snakes, their serpentine bodies writhing over each other like a scaled, living mane.
Finally, as if the beast wasn’t terrible enough, a scorpion’s tail curved up behind its back, a sting as long as her leg poised and glistening.
This must be the beast Orpheus spoke of: Kerberos, Hades’ three-headed hound who guarded the River Styx.
Recovering herself, Danae scrambled onto her feet, whipped a cord of life-threads into the sand and flicked a wave of grains at the hound. With no blade to fight with, she had no hope of killing it without weakening it first. She would have a better chance if she blinded its eyes. All six of them.
Kerberos’ central head roared, tossing furiously as its other two snarled.
Two down, four to go.
As though connected by one mind, the snakes stopped writhing and stretched into the air, fanning out like a spray of deadly peacock feathers around the creature’s neck.
‘You just made it angrier!’ called Orpheus.
Danae ignored his comment and shouted, ‘Run!’ before throwing another torrent of life-threads into the air and hurling them towards Kerberos.
The force of the gale sent the beast stumbling back, then its scorpion tail darted forward.
She had to fling herself across the sand to avoid being impaled by the stinger.
She twisted onto her back just in time to see the dog lunge towards Orpheus, who was running across the shore.
Summoning more life-threads, she hurled another concentrated blast of air at the beast’s belly.
The hound was caught mid-leap and slammed into the sand.
She staggered to her feet and ran towards it, cursing herself for wasting so much energy trying to open the bronze gates.
Just as Kerberos pushed its sinewy body off the sand, Danae leapt.
She wrapped her limbs around its scorpion tail and clung on.
Digging her thighs into the groove between two segments, she held on tight as the beast roared again and thrashed its tail.
Screaming with the effort, she thrust a hoard of life-threads into her arms and with all her strength, twisted.
A bellow of pain exploded from the hound.
Danae crashed onto the sand, falling from the severed stinger.
She was soaked in something warm and sticky.
She prayed to the fates it was blood rather than poison.
Barely able to fill her heaving lungs, she staggered to her feet, ready to face Kerberos.
But the beast was bounding away from her.
She heard Orpheus cry, ‘No, no!’ and looked round to see him pelting along the shore, desperately trying to catch up with the floating barge, the hound pursuing him.
Danae bolted after them, her legs screaming.
Then Kerberos pounced.
Orpheus turned, at the last moment raising his fists as the giant hound bore down on him. Then one of Kerberos’ heads snapped its jaws around the musician’s torso.
Danae staggered, falling to her knees as Orpheus’ body was ripped between the beast’s three maws like he was nothing more than a scrap of meat.
Her mouth stretched into a silent scream. She could not look away, could not move.
Then something cold and hard closed around her neck.
She gasped and fell forward onto the sand. It was as though someone had leached all the colour from the world, along with every drop of warmth and hope. Like her insides had been scraped out and all that remained was an empty hollow.
Her hands flew to her throat, and her fingers met a collar of metal. She tugged at the ring, but it would not give.
The sodden hem of a dark cloak swayed into her line of sight. She looked up to see the ferryman standing over her.
Stretching an arm towards him, she reached for the power of her life-threads.
It did not come.
Panic exploded through her. She tried again and again but each time she searched for her threads, she felt nothing.
‘What have you done to me?’ she rasped.
The shade tilted his head.
‘Help me,’ she begged the voice.
It did not answer. Her mind echoed with silence.
Then the ferryman struck her, and darkness fell.