Chapter 2 – Andros
ANDROS
Outside her cell, I stagger as far down the dark hallway as I can.
Far enough that I know she won’t hear me.
And then I sag against the wall. I might be in the Underworld, but I’m experiencing a kind of hell I never imagined.
The woman I love is imprisoned. I’m charged with keeping her there.
I have to sit by and watch while that bastard Hades treats her like garbage.
My princess.
My angel.
The woman I adore. The woman I’d gladly give my soul for.
My entire body shakes. I press my knuckles to my face, then slam my forehead.
I hate myself. I hate that the thing I look forward to most in this world is touching the woman I love.
In her arms, I experience heaven. I imagine for one moment that there’s something good in this world still.
But every time I leave her arms, it’s harder.
It’s harder to go back to the darkness and the pain of the Underworld.
It’s harder to come up with a reason to keep going, even though I don’t really have a choice.
I’m ready to break. I know that deep in my soul.
I can’t hold on much longer, but I have to.
Hecate has experienced the worst things imaginable, and she still holds her head high.
She’s all strength and beauty, and I’m nothing but a weakness.
If I could’ve signed on for a lifetime of torture to gain her freedom, I would.
But Hades will never allow that. Why only have one of us to hurt when he can have both?
Wiping at my face, I realize that it’s wet.
I shove off of the wall, hating myself even more.
As I walk past cell after cell, I hear the faint sound of moans of pain.
I can feel the suffering that drips from the very walls of this cursed place.
I hesitate outside of one of the cells and instantly the shade’s face appears on the other side.
All I know about this shade is that Hades calls her an abomination.
..and there was something in his voice the couple of times he’d mentioned her that made me think he might fear her.
“Please,” she whispers, her purple eyes glowing brighter.
If I had any food on me, I’d give it to her. But right now, I have nothing I can offer her except my guilt, so I turn away.
I hear her shake the bars of her cage, curses raining from her lips. Strangely, it’s a relief when prisoners are angry. It gets scary when they grow quiet. When they lie on the floor and say nothing. So I’m glad she’s angry. Maybe she’ll just survive long enough to be free of this place.
Not that I think any of us can ever truly be free.
“I’m going to get out!” she shouts.
I freeze in place and look back at her. I almost say she won’t, that even I can’t escape this place, but as the purple glow vanishes from her eyes, then turns gold, I can’t bring myself to say anything to discourage her. All I can do is nod.
Her eyes widen in surprise.
And then I turn back and continue walking. A strange thought tickles the back of my mind that I’ve never seen a shade with golden eyes. Is that why she’s an abomination? Is she not a pure shade?
I shake the thought away. Shades are born into this world from violence, not a mother and father. The gold in her eyes must have been a trick of my mind.
Besides, I have bigger things to worry about.
A skeleton guard stands at the end of the hall.
Flesh hangs from his body, meaning he probably hasn’t been one of Hades’s minions for long, and his bones have been sharpened to find points, better than any swords.
As I approach the door, he moves and unlocks it, then opens it wide.
My hands curl into fists, and I continue weaving through the halls of cells as door after door opens in front of me.
At last, the final door opens, and I walk out into the main part of the Underworld.
Two paths stand before me, one to the shores of the river of the dead, the mighty Styx herself, and one up to the top of the wall and the gate that separate the shore from the Underworld.
I choose the path going onto the wall because it doesn’t matter.
Both roads lead to hell here. The scents of brimstone and a copper that can only be blood always hang heavy in the air.
Down here, no wind sweeps through. There are no trees.
No grass. No sun. It’s just bleak nothingness.
“The gargoyle returns!” The shrill voice rolls down my spine, but long ago I learned to not react.
The shade leaps down from the wall. Around her throat is a silver thread, and blood leaks from the thread down her chest. Her hair is long and purple and her face is pale and inhuman, almost cruelly beautiful, like all the shades.
This creature, a servant of Hades, brings the worst of the humans down here and delivers them to Hades to torture.
She, and the other shades, are vile creatures incapable of empathy of any kind. And I dread even looking at them.
Another shades leaps down beside her and cocks her head, her purple eyes glowing. “What soul will you torture today?”
I don’t answer them. I just continue walking along the stone wall, staring straight ahead.
The wall is lined by torches that flicker and change colors from red to an equally eerie blue.
Harpies linger in the shadows, and the shades gather here between their trips to the human world.
Skeleton guards stand silently along the path, staring out at the river’s shore and saying nothing.
A shade leaps into my path. “Why don’t you speak to us, gargoyle?”
I grasp her by the throat, and a tiny squeak slips past her lips.
Moving her to the side, I release her, then keep going.
It’s strange how much I’ve changed. One of the most important rules that gargoyles follow is to not hurt women, but I’d had to change my views since coming here.
Hecate is a woman, not a monster, and deserves to be treated as such.
And there is nothing about the shades that deserve tenderness and care.
Except for perhaps the one who had come down here and befriended Hecate.
And the strange one in the cell.
Often I wonder if my brother saw me now, would he agree with my changing views?
But just as quickly, I hope that he would.
Hecate is my mate, forever. I’d told her that when my brother came, we’d share her as our wife, but she’d thought the notion was strange.
My brother, though, would understand that me choosing a mate means that I have chosen a mate for both of us, and he’d have to come to terms with the fact that she is a monster.
And that if he can’t lover her, he’d lose me.
Something I can’t bear to even think about.
As I get closer to the center of the wall, a shiver rolls down my spine.
Usually I try to keep my gaze straight ahead here, but today I can’t help myself.
As if I’m being pulled by a power greater than myself, I move to the edge of the wall that overlooks the Underworld.
And the second I focus on it, all the horror of the place seems to come crashing out at me.
Below me, spreading out for miles upon miles, are the various places that people are being tortured.
The cries, screams, and moans of the dead supernaturals and humans rise up like a chorus.
I flinch at the sound of a whip. I curl further over myself as a scream grows and grows in volume and intensity until it cuts off.
I’ve seen nearly every inch of this place.
I can picture in perfect clarity what is being done down below.
My feet propel me backwards, and the instant my gaze returns to the stone of the wall, the sounds die down.
I’m panting as I turn around and look out across the river on the other side.
The shore is covered in bones and black sand.
The river is filled with white souls. And the ferryman, in his dark cloak, ferries the dead across.
At least the dead who can pay the price.
On the other shore, lost souls lineup. But they’ll be waiting there forever.
“You need to accept it, gargoyle.”
I stiffen as the low, quiet voice emerges from the shadows, but I don’t look back at the harpy.
“This is the Underworld. It doesn’t matter that your circumstances were unfair. You’re never getting out.”
The shades are cruel, loud, and shrill. Like a pack of cackling hens, their voices are as annoying as nails sliding down a chalkboard.
But they bother me less than the harpies.
Because the women, with their ability to shift into birds, have a quiet way of making my life miserable.
A way of peeking into my soul and poking at the vulnerable places.
But still, my gaze lingers on the far shore. For a long time, I had sensed my brother. I had been sure he was coming to save Hecate and I. But I haven’t felt him for even longer. I should’ve told Hecate, but hope is the only thing she has left. I can’t take it away from her.
If she feels the way I do, if she knows I have lost faith that my brother has ever planned to come for us, she would feel the way I do now. Like eternity is stretching in front of her, and there is truly no escape.
So, I hold my tongue. I tell her that I still believe.
One of us needs to have that hope.
“You’re going to be late for your rounds,” the harpy says with a snicker.
It doesn’t matter. Everyone here is being tortured, just as I am.
It doesn’t matter if I see their pain now, or hours or days from now, it will all be the same.
And yet, I never again want to risk Hades’s wrath, now that he knows my weakness.
So I turn away from even the ghostly hope of something better and turn back to hell.