The Eighth Arrow Page 29

  “Mercy must triumph over justice,” I said.

  He looked away. “Many have feared me. Envied me. Hated me. A few found me curious. I think . . . I think the witch loved me. But I cannot remember anyone ever pitying me.”

  I started to laugh but caught myself. There was something truly melancholy about the way he held his head.

  “Say, Proteus?”

  “Hm?”

  “Why did you leave her?”

  “Who?”

  “The witch.”

  He walked in silence for so long, I thought he had decided not to answer the question, but at last he spoke. “She wanted to change me,” he said, and I thought I sensed real grief in his voice.

  Yet I had to laugh. “Isn’t that what you wanted from her to begin with?”

  He stopped and stared ahead into the fog. “No,” he said. “I wanted to shift. Not change.”

  Proteus and I pushed slowly deeper and deeper into the mist, and although I felt certain he was plotting my destruction even then, I also felt—and for the first time—a certain affection for the old rascal. After all, he hadn’t actually succeeded in doing me any harm, and he was such a frail thing—despite all outward appearances—that it was hard to imagine him ever really hurting anyone. In fact, when it came to lies and betrayal, wasn’t I as guilty as he? Hadn’t lying and treachery brought me to Hell in the first place? I was still thinking along these lines when Proteus suddenly stopped.

  I made a desperate grab for the fur on his shoulders and only narrowly avoided tumbling forward over his head. I cursed. “What is it now?”

  Proteus lifted his great bear’s snout and poked it around in the air. “He is with us.”

  “With us?” I said. “Who?”

  “Hades.” He sniffed at the air again. “He is here. Get off.”

  I climbed down from his back and stood unsteadily on the ice, wondering if the risk of drawing my sword outweighed the risk of falling on it. “How do you know he’s here?” I said, straining my eyes in the fog.

  But Proteus was no longer listening. He rose on his hind legs and dropped his forepaws to his sides. Then he lifted his head higher and roared. “Hades,” he bellowed, “Lord of the Underworld. Light Bearer. First of the Fallen Angeloi. It is I, your servant, Proteus. I have come to you.” He raised his claws in a greeting, and I watched them dissolve into hands. “I, Proteus. Old Man of the Sea.” As he spoke, the white fur sank into his flesh, and bones snapped into place.

  As though stirred to life by his pain, the fog began to swirl about us. A cold wind blew, and the ice split into a million tiny cracks beneath our feet. Then a long, low, thunderous growl rang out from somewhere overhead. I peered into the fog, but still only mist and ice met my gaze. As the fog began to thin, I thought I saw a vague shape in the distance. But no, it was not in the distance. It was much closer. Towering over us, even. A mountain.

  “Hades,” Proteus again cried, “Light Bearer, I come with gifts.”

  And then, all at once, I beheld the Lord of the Underworld.

  CHAPTER 13

  HADES

  BURIED TO HIS CHEST in ice, Hades was twice the height of Mount Neriton, and just as broad, covered entirely in greasy fur. Six featherless wings, broader than any woven sail, stretched from his back, and these swept forward in great, slow heaves, churning the clouds before them in frigid blasts. The ice beneath my feet shivered again. The mist itself fled before him and stood trembling in a wall around us. Every now and then a shy finger of cloud would stretch out to touch him, then recoil.

  Above each pair of wings, a face rose from his neck—one black as onyx, one bloodred, one yellow like the foam on a rancid slough. All three faces met together below an enormous crown adorned with silver spikes. Each spike glinted in the dark like an eye. The great beast looked down at Proteus, and I saw in each toothy scowl a mangled cadaver—one per mouth—blood, foam, and feet issuing from between his jaws. Upon seeing us, he spat one corpse onto the ice and spoke.

  “Who is this who rushes in where even the angeloi loathe to tread?” he roared. His voice was like a thousand trumpets screaming war.

  Proteus took a few faltering steps and bowed. “Lord of the Underworld, I have come to you through many trials. I, Proteus, Lord of the Eastern Shore. I have come to you with gifts and throw myself on your great mercy.”

  There was another rumble overhead, and the scowls melted into smiles. “Gifts? Indeed. Well, then, come to me, my child.” He spread wide his arms and beamed down at him, the corners of his mouth twitching, as though the effort of smiling was a heavy strain on the muscles of his face. His eyes were on Proteus, but I couldn’t help feeling that he was actually watching me. Proteus took several more steps, bowing repeatedly. “Proteus, then, is it?” rumbled the giant. Now his voice was soft and oily. “The shapeshifter of Egypt. Mmm. Yes. I have been waiting for you. Do some magic for us, won’t you? Change into something. A bat, perhaps. Or a dragon.”

  Proteus bowed lower and lower until he was almost on all fours. “With all due honor and respect, my Lord, I cannot.”

  For an instant, the look of benevolence vanished from the giant’s face, and all three mouths snapped into bitter scowls. But the look passed so quickly, it might have been a twitch or a wink. He oozed kindness. “Oh, come, come. Why not? Do a little shift for us. Just a small one. A human, perhaps. Do Helen. How hard could that be? You’ve done it before.”

  “Terribly sorry, my Lord,” whimpered Proteus (he actually was on all fours now), “but I need water, sir. Without it, my Lord, I am incapable of shifting. Of course, I could walk over there, my Lord, where the mist is . . .”

  “Or I could spit on you,” he rumbled. It was hard to tell whether this was a threat or a jest.

  “That you could, my Lord,” said Proteus, twitching with deference, “and an honor it would be, my Lord, to be spat upon by one so magnificent.”

  Hades roared with laughter and slapped the ice with the flat of his hand. The eyes of one face flashed toward me and away again. “Why, that it would! That it would! And yet even one so magnificent as I hesitates to spit on his subjects.”

  Proteus gave a weak laugh and nodded. Again, I watched the smile fade from Hades’ face. But as before, the expression slipped instantly beneath a mask of grinning benevolence. “You mentioned gifts?”

  “Gifts, sir? Ah yes, of course, my Lord.” Proteus reached into his cloak and rooted around. He grimaced and reached further in, groping deeper and deeper until he was buried up to the shoulder. He looked as though he might actually disappear into his own pocket. He coughed nervously and smiled at the giant, whose unctuous grin seemed capable at any moment of erupting into a murderous rage. But at last, Proteus found what he was searching for. Turning his back to me, he presented his gift to the giant with both hands. There was a look of bemused delight from Hades as he lowered one open claw to receive the offering.

  From where I stood, it was difficult to tell what lay in that enormous palm, but I could make out a pale glimmer of gold. “Pretty,” he said, shaking his open fist so that the object sparkled. Then he took it between two jagged nails and held it before his eye, turning it like a gem. I gasped and dropped my sword to the ice. Proteus had given him Penelope’s cup. Hades glanced at me, and a slow smile crept across his face. “Yes. Yes, this pleases me greatly.” He smiled more broadly, then opened his mouth and tossed it in. I heard the metal crush between his teeth and watched the muscles of his throat work it down. “Worthless, but pretty.” Then he let out a long, wet belch. “Is that all?”

  “Why, um, no, my Lord. Of course not. Not all. No. I brought you a soul, my Lord. A great and famous one, my Lord. He stands behind me.” He gestured toward me without looking. “Odysseus, my Lord. The many-faced King of Ithaca.”

  For the first time, the giant looked straight at me, and I felt the weight of his gaze like a burning stone on my shoulders. “Really, now?” he said. “Many faced! And you brought him?”

  Proteus coug
hed, shuffled his feet, and smoothed his blue hair with a trembling hand. “I had two souls for you, my Lord, but lost one of them along the way.”

  “How disappointing,” said Hades. Proteus withdrew a little further into his cloak. The giant shifted his gaze between Proteus and me. “But it is a dangerous thing to pass among the nine rings. To be frank, I am surprised you made it here at all. You have done well, good and faithful servant. Come, now. Enter into your father’s joy.”

  Proteus looked up gratefully and bowed again but seemed unsure what to do next.

  Hades laughed. “Come to me, my son. Sit at my right hand.” He patted the ice next to him.

  Proteus walked over to the place indicated and stood awkwardly examining his feet while Hades sneered at me. “You see how I reward my servants?” he declared.

  “I hardly see the reward in moving someone from one patch of ice to another,” I muttered.

  I watched the muscles of the giant’s face contract briefly, then relax into a slick smile. I could hardly believe he had heard me, but he had. “The reward,” he said, “is in the honor I have bestowed, is it not, Proteus?”

  Proteus looked anything but honored. Nonetheless, he bowed, nodded, smiled weakly, and stammered something about the great service done him, and so on and so forth.

  “Honor!” the giant boomed. “Fame! Admiration . . .” He stopped and wrinkled all three noses. “What is that smell? Is that you?”

  Proteus smiled timidly.

  “No matter. My servant, Proteus—my loyal servant—will be known throughout the Underworld for his service to me. He shall be feared, respected, and envied. Timē and kleos! He shall be honored for ages unending.”

  I said nothing. I’d learned enough about honor from Achilles. I wasn’t going down that path again.

  “Honor not enough for you, then, Odysseus? Very well. Ask me anything. Anything up to half my kingdom. I could use a man of your talents. I am generous to my subjects, and I shall be more generous still. All you must do is worship me. Speak, then. Ask, and you shall receive.”

  “I want out,” I said.

  There was a burst of laughter, more like thunder than mirth. “Your request is most unflattering,” he said. “After all I have offered you, and you want only to leave?”

  “I shall return.”

  “They all say that.”

  “I made a vow to my wife that I would come back to her.”

  “A vow to your wife?” He laughed harder. “When have you ever honored that?”

  I felt a fist clench in my chest. “I will leave with your permission or without it,” I said, and I picked up my sword.

  His smile faded a little, but his voice retained its syrupy warmth. “Do not be a fool, Odysseus. I have so much to offer you. Surely you would rather rule in Hades than be a slave to the Tyrant of Heaven.”

  I shook my head. “I have a job to do.”

  The giant sighed. “Very well. Since you are so determined to leave, you are welcome to try.”

  I nodded. “You are very gracious.” I looked around at the ice and the fog, took a step or two to the left, stopped, then took a step to the right, and stopped. I looked up at the giant.

  “Why, scourge, blame, and blight me with cankers!” For the first time, Hades looked genuinely surprised—all three faces. “Curse me if you have even the first clue how to get out of here.” He looked down at Proteus and grinned. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

  Proteus coughed but said nothing.

  “What will you do now, Odysseus? This is a genuine riddle. A fitting challenge for the Man of Twists and Turns: How to leave when you know not the way.”

  CHAPTER 14

  THE TABLES TURN

  WHAT HADES SAID WAS TRUE. I hadn’t planned for this. Aiki! I hadn’t planned for anything. And what would it matter if I had? As yet, none of my schemes had worked out. The Parthenos had commanded Diomedes and me to make for the lowest ring of Hell. Well, here I was. Alone. She had told me to look for an eighth arrow, but I’d lost, wasted, or broken the seven she’d given me. She told me I could leave once I arrived here, but there didn’t seem to be a way out. So now what? Was this all an elaborate joke? To have come so far only to meet with more failure—the thought of it wrenched my heart.

  “Pardon me for interrupting,” said Hades. “And I do hate to disrupt your thoughts, especially when they appear to be causing you such pain. But I thought I should call your attention to that noise.”

  I listened. All I could hear was the hush of ice and fog.

  “You do not hear it? Listen carefully, son. Still no? Listen.”

  Now I did notice something different in the air—a sort of low, faraway, rhythmic thump.

  “That, my child, is the sound of marching feet. That is an army, Odysseus. My army. The army of Hell. I had given orders for them to come quietly,” he said with a frown, “but it is just as well that they did not heed my command. This will give you time to come to your senses. Odysseus, if you think I am terrible to look upon, just wait till you see my army.”

  Soon I could feel a thin tremble in the ice beneath my feet, and then I heard a muffled whisper like the crash of a distant wave. I clenched my fists and shut my eyes. “Think, Odysseus.” I spoke the words aloud to myself. “Think, now, Man of Twists and Turns. You’ve been in worse spots than this. How do you fight a beast you cannot touch? How do you escape a prison with no door?” I ground my fists into my temples and racked my heart. If only I hadn’t used all my arrows. My mind cast back to the words of the Parthenos: “Prefer your wit to your sword . . . wisdom to knowledge, armor to arms . . . let mercy triumph over justice.” But what use was wisdom or mercy when your foe was as big as a mountain? What I really needed was strength and size.

  Then I had an idea.

  “Very well, Hades,” I shouted, planting a fist on each hip. “You have left me no choice. Either you show me the way out, or I shall use . . . the eighth arrow.”

  Hades’ eyes grew wide and his wings withdrew a little, but he said nothing, so I reached for my bow. When I looked again, though, he was laughing.

  “Oh, my dear Odysseus. Wily Odysseus. How clever! I was almost taken in by your little ruse—and they call me the Father of Lies.” He laughed. “Go ahead, then. Fire away. Let us see this eighth arrow of yours.”

  I grimaced and turned my eyes back to my feet.

  “Make up your mind, Son of Adam—join me now, or face my army.”

  The tromp of marching feet grew louder still, echoing from the cavern walls like a storm of iron.

  “You will join me, or you will fight them,” snarled Hades. “But one way or another, my will shall be done.”

  Through the fog now, I could make out the distant shimmer of bronze.

  “Your time is up, Odysseus,” said the giant. “Why do you not submit? I may yet be merciful. Your friends will surely suffer, but if you surrender now, I shall spare you the worst punishments. You have my word. Come now. What is keeping you?”

  I looked from the giant to the fog and back again; and the tiniest birdsong of courage played in my heart. I looked back at the giant and smiled. “Hope.”

  Then, turning to face the approaching army, I pulled my helmet down low over my eyes and drew my sword. I stretched my shoulders and winged a brief prayer to the gods. “If this is my time, then I offer my blood as sacrifice. If I must end my existence in failure, then I offer that too. And however you are known, Lord of Heaven, may your four-letter name be honored in my death as it was never honored by my life, for today, I die with dignity.” Then I struck my shield, lifted my head, and sounded the battle cry of my ancestors. “Io!” I shouted. “Io! Io! Io!”

  And echoing back to me from the mist, the army shouted, “Io! Io!”

  Then out of the whirling fog hurtled a mass of dark fur—a dog, howling with all the fury of a desert wind.

  “Argos?” I gasped. And before I knew what was happening, I was on my back, every inch of exposed flesh lathered with saliva. I
dropped my sword again for sheer joy. “Easy, boy. I nearly sliced you in two.”

  When I did manage to stumble to my feet, the vanguard of the approaching army had breached the fog, tramping like a great, thousand-footed beast—an army like none ever assembled on the beaches of Troy—row upon row of glimmering spears and horsehair crests, row upon row of bronze-faced shields and greaves. The thunderous stomp of warriors wrapped in bronze. Human warriors. Greeks! And at their front, bearing his tower shield and pike . . . Ajax!

  “Release!” cried a voice from their flank. A shower of arrows arched overhead, followed by a thunder of hooves—a herd of Centaurs careening out of the mist. Above it all, Harpies circled like gulls before a storm.

  “What is this?” roared Hades as a thousand, ten thousand arrows clattered against his fur. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Proteus dashed behind him with his cloak drawn over his head.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE TABLES TURN AGAIN

  HAD I NOT BEEN so overwhelmed by the sight of the army, I might have stopped to wonder why Hades did not simply run away. Had I not been so delighted to see Ajax, I might have wondered why the great Lord of the Underworld did not call down fire to destroy his enemies.

  Being an accomplished fraud myself, I ought to have recognized that slick grin hiding just beneath his feigned distress. I should have recognized subterfuge when I saw it. But I was so overwhelmed by joy—so glad to see my friends and so taken with my sudden good fortune—I simply did not think to wonder why Hades seemed so helpless.

  Instead I ran, slipping and stumbling across the ice until I stood face-to-face with Ajax. In spite of myself, I hugged him.

  “Ajax . . . how?” I gasped.

  He smiled and patted me on the head. “The Harpies saved me.”

  “But Antaeos!”

  “Yeh,” he growled. “That big fella. Someone told him I was a wrestler.”