Asphodel (The Underworld Trilogy)

Puzzled, Hades strolled into the adjoining bath, to see that every item in it was still in place. None of the towels had been used. All the expensive luxurious soaps he had purchased were still in their fancy wrappings and the bathtub was bone dry.

In the hall, he examined the marble tile, hoping to spot some footprints or something to give him some explanation on which direction she might have gone. He knew his realm. He knew the wicked and despicable things that lurked around every corner and he feared for his future queen. He’d been hostile with her yesterday and he assumed she might be angry with him. That was the last thing Hades wanted. He wanted to show the Goddess he’d been obsessed with for thousands of years that there was more to him than what he’d put off the previous day.

He loved the fact that she was a bit defiant. It meant that she wasn’t weak. He couldn’t have a weakling sitting in a throne next to him. The realm of the dead chewed up weaklings and spit them out.

All of a sudden, the sound of Cerberus’s thunderous footsteps pounded through the narrow hall. Stopping at Hades feet, the three-headed dog hung his middle head low, his snout planted on a particular portion of the black marble. Hades bent d

own and stroked each one of the dog’s three heads. “Good boy,” he cooed.

Straightening up, he pointed his finger at his best friend. “Cerberus, heel.” The dog sat down and all three tongues from all three heads rolled out, hanging as the pet panted.

Cerberus licked his master’s face and Hades planted his fingers against the marble and closed his eyes. In a last ditch effort he infiltrated Persephone’s mind to find out exactly where she was going. Then the mighty God laughed out loud. Persephone was definitely clever. He’d give her that.

And now he knew exactly where to find her.

Persephone

Shadows. There are shadows everywhere. Big ones. Small ones. Shadows of different shapes. Circles. Triangles. Squares. The shadows are eerie and creepy and as they pass over my face they make me feel cold and empty inside. The shadows are swallowing my years of existence. Eating me alive. The shadows won’t disappear until I’m a robot. Luckily for me, I’ve lived for a long time.

Speaking of being cold, when I’d first arrived I assumed that the underworld would be hot, but it’s the opposite. It’s freezing down here. My teeth chatter as I massage my arms, rubbing warmth back into them. Every time I stop massaging my arms a fresh array of goose bumps sprout up while I trudge through what appears to be a massive bleak underground desert.

Funnels of gray sand swirl around me and a gust of cold air blasts me in the face. The desert is never-ending and seems too calm for my taste. When things are calm that usually means something is about to happen. I am right.

Voices hiss around me, spinning in circles filling up my head and drowning out my thoughts. I feel like I’m in crowded room, boxed in by the chatter. Except these voices aren’t speaking coherently and there isn’t a person in sight. I know the underworld is a land of illusion. I know it’s a place where nothing is as it seems. But it’s one thing to know those things. To actually experience the strangeness of another realm, that’s something completely terrifying.

A sudden tap on my shoulder causes me to spin around. “Hello.” My vocal chords quiver and fear spreads through me like the plague. “Hades? Is that you?”

Squinting ahead a sheer shadow with a white film covering appears before me. As the shadow lurches closer I can tell it isn’t a shadow at all. It’s an apparition. A ghostly ghoul determined to haunt me. A discarded spirit determined to scare the bejeezus out of me. And it’s working.

Before I’m able to let out a scream, the spirit bursts into a million pieces. Like raindrops suspended in an atmosphere without gravity. The ghost particles hang in the air for a minute, and then fall to the ground. They linger on the gray clay then like they are being sucked through the ground by an invisible vacuum, the particles disappear. Great. I have enough to deal with and now I have to add one more thing to that—ghosts.

More apparitions appear. Men. Women. Even children. And they float toward me like astronauts, suspended in the air by lack of gravity. Their faces hollow and sunken in. Mouths forming an “o” shape as they let out gluteal moans. All they do is moan. None of them utter a clear word. It’s like someone stabbed each one of them in the neck with a scalpel and twisted their vocal chords around the blade so they wouldn’t be able to speak coherently. Their arms are extended, like they are reaching out for me. Like they are begging me for help. I am their savior.

But I’m not their savior. I’m just a Goddess who has been running from their commander her entire life. I’m just a Goddess who prays every day to be considered normal. I’m just a Goddess who wants nothing more than to go home.

I am not their queen. I don’t want to be and I never will be. Yet they float closer and closer as fear takes a firmer hold of my insides. Swallowing hard, I tell myself I can’t let my fear get the best of me. I need to keep going because I have to be getting close to the Styx. As the spirits loom closer, I take a few steps back. And when the first ghost is only inches away from me, that’s when I take off running.

There’s no traction in the soles of my tennis shoes and as I run, I’m slipping and sliding in the gray sand. Minutes pass and I’m still running. I think about giving up. But I can’t. I hear them behind me. I hear their tortured moans filling up the whole underworld and that’s what keeps me going. Still stampeding forward, I struggle to breathe. “What do you want with me?” I rasp in between breaths. I don’t know why I bother asking. I know they can’t speak.

The spirits are gaining on me. They float faster than I can run. Glimpsing over my shoulder I see the first one only feet away from me, so I push myself harder. I make myself run faster. But my body is wearing down. I need to catch my breath or I’m going to pass out. My heart thunders in my chest. My joints ache. I’m starting to topple over. I’m the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but I catch myself before I crash and crumble over some village in Italy.

Up ahead is another thick wall of smog. If I can make it through the smog then maybe I’ll end up in another part of this realm. Maybe the smog will catapult me into another dimension. Any part of this realm is better than where I am now. Being chased by the dead through a desert of gray sand and whirling cyclones sucks.

I sprint through the mass of smog like a marathon runner who has just ripped the red ribbon with their abdomen and crossed the finish line. The crowd cheers and jeers letting out a boisterous round of applause at my accomplishment. Except my crowd is a bevy of ghosts. And they are still following me. I hear their wails of agony as they blast through the smog.

Spinning in a circle I realize I have nowhere to go. Behind me is a river and the murky brownish-green waters jilt back and forth lapsing into the gray sand. Stepping backwards, I back up until I can’t anymore. One more step and I’ll plummet into the murky waters of the river and be whisked away by the current. I can’t run. I can’t hide. They are moaning for me. They are coming for me.

In a last resort effort, I duck and throw my hands over my head as each ghost passes through my body into the choppy waters of the river behind me. And every time a ghost passes through me I feel myself getting weaker and weaker. Finally, after the last one disappears, I hit my knees going face first into a mountain of gray sand. But at least I can breathe again. At least my lungs are expanding and working correctly. And most importantly, I’m so glad I’m not a vessel for the dearly departed anymore.

Picking myself up, I sit down facing the river. I clutch my chest feeling it rise up and down and drop my head in between my knees for a minute. Then I lift my head and debate on jumping into the river and trying to swim across it. The water whizzes past me at a high speed and I decide against it. The last thing I want is to be swept off in the current of an unknown river and not knowing when or if I’d ever be found.

Then I’m hit with an epiphany. It hits me so hard I feel like someone has just smacked me in the face with a shovel. The bitter taste of metal fills my mouth and I swear there is a red welt on my cheek. Is it possible that I’m sitting on the banks of the Styx? Right behind the water is a kind of brown stone cavern with dim lights and a wooden dock of some kind. A dock! Why else would there need to be a dock if wasn’t to let the ferryman on and off the ferry?

I jump up from my spot so overwhelmed with excitement that I feel like I’ll grow wings and soar through the air. I look up at the cloudy gray skyline. What kind of bird would want to fly down here? A dead one. I tuck the morbid thought in the back of my mind and focus on the dock again when a wave of depression sweeps through me. It’s high tide and the wave crashes down on me and pulls me out to sea. The dock is across the river.

Water rushes past me faster, picking up more speed by the minute. I decided swimming across was out of the question minutes ago. But there doesn’t seem to be any other way. Narrowing my eyes, I skim up and down the banks of the river, stopping when I see a line of rocks leading to the other side.

Running toward the boulders sticking out of the water, hope flourishes through me. But I have to be careful. The moldy colored water sprays against the rocks, dampening them and making them slick. This river separates me from the living and the dead. This river separates me from my mom. This river is a cataclysmic barrier of destruction and I don’t care what it takes; I have to make it across it. Even if I have to crawl all the way.