For the Love of Hades (Loves of Olympus 2)

He nodded. “Good.”

The Erinye added, “We shall reinforce the wall next, my lord.”

The Erinye bowed, returning to the shades. She paced before them, her whip snapping with threat. She moved, a true hunter, like one stalking its prey. Hades’ eyes traveled over the souls that were once men. Whatever their crimes among the living, there was no escaping punishment in death. She would see the wall twice as thick, and enjoy it.

In truth, those that fell under a Persian sword would not enter Tartarus. Few that fought for their country, died for their country, were sentenced to eternal torment.

War brought sorrow to all. How many wives and children, mothers and fathers, would Charon and Cerberus drive back from his realm when war brought their loved ones here? How many mortals and souls would cry out in anguish, reaching even his ears, when they were denied?

What would it be like to have someone so devoted? That they would travel into the Land of the Dead, to plead for your release or one last glimpse of your face?

It was a sorrow he would never know. He should be glad of it. His life had seen enough sorrow. He would not seek more out.

He set off, prowling the tunnels with a sharp eye. All he passed bowed. The shades trembled, falling to their knees while the Erinyes stooped low.

He wound through every passageway, following the corridors those within Tartarus had made with a small hammer and pick. They were endless, opening into tunnels, cells or vaults. On and on they went, winding back and forth, towards the main cavern.

It seemed that man had an affinity for evil and Tartarus would need to grow. He left the tunnels, watching the shades work.

They were gruesome to behold. More spirit than flesh, their eyeless faces and bent, twitching movements were the stuff of nightmares.

If he were mortal, would he be sent to Tartarus? He’d done terrible things in his time.

“Will Hades find him worthy, I wonder,” Persephone’s voice reached him.

She’d looked to him for reassurance that the young soldier would find peace, not knowing he would be the one to give it to the boy. Or take it from him.

The days since he’d returned had done little to dampen his memories of her, or the troubling effect she’d had upon him. He could feel the throb of her, the pull of her touch upon his arm. Indeed, the air seemed to come alive, searching for her… aching for her, if he thought on her too long.

He moved forward, grabbing up one of the large boulders meant for the wall and setting to work. It was not the first time he’d toiled alongside those in Tartarus, but it had been years since the need was as great as it was now.

He would chase away her presence, or go mad from it. She lingered in his mind’s eye and haunted his dreams. Why, he did not know. But he would banish her.

He worked on, until his back ached under the weight of the massive black rocks and he grew weary from the heat.

“My Lord,” Didymos spoke from behind him, “Judge Aeacus calls.”

Hades nodded, set the last stone and straightened, flexing and rolling his neck and shoulders.

Didymos backed away, his eyes downcast as he returned to his work. This man had been a monster in life. Even now, the man’s corded muscles and layers of scars displayed his earthly sins. He’d earned his eternity in Tartarus, the deeds of his life beyond forgiveness. But Hades had found his skills useful. Monster or no, Didymos served Tartarus well.

And Hades valued Didymos. All who served him, loyally, deserved as much.

Hades entered the chiseled tunnels rising gradually to the only opening into Asphodel. The gated hole, a sudden gash caged by leaden bars, was constantly watched over by a dozen guards. No one would leave Tartarus and no one would fall from Asphodel. The gate opened for him, though he had no key. It was the Fates’ doing. He was all powerful in his realm, and only slightly less so in the Land of the Living.

The murky sunlight that greeted him was blinding when compared to the red darkness of Tartarus. The air was clean and cool, a balm upon his dry throat.

The guards bowed their heads as he passed, expecting no acknowledgement from him. None was given, for Aeacus was waiting.

“My lord,” Aeacus greeted him with a slight bow.

Hades clasped the man’s arm. “Aeacus. What troubles you?” He set off towards the crossroads, Aeacus at his side. The Judges of the Dead held court at the crossroads, enabling those new to the Underworld to take the path to their given place.

“One who demands your audience.” Aeacus did little to disguise his disbelief.

“Demands?” Hades regarded Aeacus with surprise.

Aeacus shrugged. “With no disrespect, to be sure, but he is most insistent. As he is a hero from Athens, we sent him ahead to your home, to wait for you.”