Chapter 14 Tartarus #2
Eventually, their winding staircase reached the bottom of the cavern, and Hades paced towards a vast iron grate set into the rock bed beneath their feet.
Metal tubes burrowed into the stone around it, feeding up to the cavern walls and into the pulley systems that operated the carts.
Another burst of steam issued from the grate, the tubes vibrated, and the carts heaved into motion. Danae’s lips parted in amazement.
‘Check the locks,’ Hades barked at Charon.
The ferryman obeyed, running between the eight metal locks holding the grate in place. Condensation glistened on the bars. As Danae drew closer, the heat burned her lungs and lanced sweat from her skin, but curiosity drove her forward. When she reached the edge, she looked down.
Dark water shimmered at the bottom of a vast well. Ripples scurried across the surface, then the liquid seemed to shatter as something huge emerged from the water.
A great reptilian head coated with emerald scales and black spines reared up. Eyes, like two burning suns slit through with obsidian, blazed up at Danae. Then jaws that could have swallowed her whole opened.
She threw herself back just in time to avoid being caught in the plume of steam soaring up through the cavern. It seemed Charon had known what to expect and had already moved back. Once the cloud of hot air had dissipated, he carried on testing the locks of the creature’s cage.
Danae turned to Hades, who stood further back from the pit, his brow creased, arms folded.
‘What is that?’
‘It is the dragon, Typhon.’
‘The what?’
‘An ancient creature, possibly the oldest in existence, blessed with the gift of flight and fire. And it is mine.’ Hades’ lips stretched into a strained smile.
‘Its containment is simple, yet effective. By keeping it submerged in water without the space to stretch its wings, the dragon’s fire is neutralized. ’
She felt a twinge of pity for this magnificent creature, imprisoned in a pit in the deepest part of the earth. Her hands flew to the collar around her neck. Both of them gelded, one by water, one by iron.
Charon hurried to his master’s side and signed his report.
Hades’ scowl deepened. ‘Are you sure?’ Then almost to himself he muttered, ‘The stone does not lie.’
The ferryman nodded.
‘Hmm.’ The Lord of the Underworld stared at the grate. For a moment, Danae could have sworn she caught a whisper of fear in his pale eyes.
‘Come.’ Hades turned and strode towards another staircase that snaked up to one of the passageways burrowed into the rock. ‘It is time for your task.’
Once more Danae disconnected from her surroundings, retreating into the innermost part of herself. After this, Hades had promised to take off her collar. That was all that mattered: regaining her power so she could fulfil her destiny.
They left the main chamber of Tartarus, Charon’s glowing staff leading the way through a roughly hewn tunnel until they reached another grate guarding a cave beyond. The ferryman withdrew a ring of keys from beneath his cloak, undid the lock and heaved the door open.
Filthy, gaunt faces stared out from the darkness.
The chamber was rammed with people. It was difficult to tell in the dim light but there must have been at least fifty mortals imprisoned in the cave.
Like their fellows working the mine, their clothing was torn and covered in dirt.
There were people in the first flush of adulthood all the way to the very elderly.
At the sight of Hades stepping into the chamber they cringed back, pressing themselves against the rock walls.
‘This is my vault. The weak specimens are useful for replenishing life-threads, the rest I put to work, or elevate into shades.’
Her heart stammered.
‘Let them go.’
Hades turned to her.
‘Free them and the mortal workers in the mine, then I will do whatever you ask.’
‘That was not our bargain.’ His expression darkened. ‘Perhaps the rot of your humanity has not yet been weeded out. We should return to my laboratory.’
Her mouth dried.
‘No,’ she rasped. She forced herself to think of all the future generations she would save from the tyranny of the Twelve once she had defeated Zeus. She had to hold on to the greater good. The lives of the many over the fate of the few. ‘What is my task?’
Hades snapped his fingers.
Several of the Missing whimpered as Charon stepped amongst them and pulled an emaciated man from their midst.
Danae drew a short, sharp breath.
The man was dressed in nothing but a grime-encrusted kilt.
His mahogany hair hung in tatters, shrouding the sharp angles of his face.
He was tall, his shoulders broad despite his wasted frame, his bruise-mottled skin stretched over long, spindly limbs.
Danae wouldn’t have recognized him had she not seen him this way once before, lying unconscious in a cave beneath a tree adorned with the bodies of dead men.
A sacrifice to Artemis from the hunters of Lemnos.
A once powerful hero starved of his strength elixir.
Heracles.
‘What would you give, little Titan, to have your powers restored? To destroy Zeus? It begins here. One little life. It should be easy; he looks so like his father.’ Hades withdrew a bronze knife from inside his midnight robe.
He laid the blade flat on his palms and held it out to Danae, like the temple hands used to do before the sacrifice at the Thesmophoria.
‘The time has come for you to shed the last shackles of your mortality. As soon as you have completed your task, I will remove the collar, and your powers will return.’
She took the blade by its bone handle. Under Hades’ tutelage she could become more powerful than she had ever dreamed possible. Just like him.
An old ache, a memory of ecstasy, rippled through her; of life-threads thrumming through her veins.
Perhaps her humanity was already lost, left behind in the mists of the Asphodel Meadows.
Her heart was barren, any remnants of feeling burned up by grief and fury.
She had made so many agonizing choices, put aside what she wanted over and over again.
She could do it once more. She had to. She was just a thing of flesh, with nothing but Prometheus’ words where her soul should have been.
The air felt as thick as honey as she turned the knife in her hand. It was so light, such a small thing. A tiny destroyer of worlds.
Charon forced the man to his knees, pulling his head back to bare his neck.
Her gaze met his.
Heracles’ cerulean eyes were bloodshot, devoid of anger or fear, filled instead with the stone-patient look of a man waiting to die.
Danae loosed a long, slow breath and raised the blade above her head.