The Last King of Erebos

[Ascendancy]

Chapter Two: The Gates of the Dead

*

Across the Acheron, the man struggled to find his voice.

Hades regarded him without impatience. Fear was an understandable response to finding oneself unexpectedly in his presence. It was less understandable in someone who had traveled halfway across the world expressly to seek that god's attention, but Hades was willing to allow for the inconsistencies of desperation.

The stranger finally raised his head. He was a short, thickset man approaching middle age, with a receding hairline and a neatly trimmed beard that had become untidy during his travels. His clothing had once been expensive, although the fine fabric was stained and torn at the hem. A clasp bearing the likeness of a torch hung crookedly from his shoulder, its gold setting scratched and blackened.

"My name is Lykon of Pherae, my lord. I served as a magistrate under the divine Enodia. These people are the survivors of her household and those we were able to bring with us."

Hades knew the name. Enodia was a lesser goddess of generally respectable power, though not one he knew personally. Her influence was concentrated around the Thessalian city of Pherae, where she had made herself patroness of the roads and the surrounding settlements. He vaguely recalled a solemn young woman with dark eyes and a reputation for taking the responsibilities of her office rather more seriously than many of her contemporaries. She had once petitioned Olympus for permission to extend her protection over a neighboring territory, only to become embroiled in a quarrel with another goddess whose interests happened to overlap. The dispute had occupied several years and achieved almost nothing.

It was precisely the sort of affair that had encouraged Hades to fully remove himself from caring about Olympian politics.

"And where is Enodia?"

The magistrate swallowed.

"Dead, my lord."

Hades considered the answer. The intelligence brought to him by Morpheus had contained increasingly frequent accounts of divine casualties, though their circumstances were often difficult to verify. Rumor traveled quickly among the gods and acquired new embellishments at every destination. The downfall of an entire city, however, was less easily mistaken.

"Explain."

The man glanced over his shoulder at the people huddled nearby. Several remained kneeling, while others had drawn close to the pillars in a futile attempt to escape the breeze. An elderly man sat propped against a ledge, his breathing labored. Near him, two children had fallen asleep beneath a cloak shared between them. The exhaustion of the journey had evidently overcome even their fear of the place.

"Skirmishes began in the villages. We heard that the rebels had killed several gods, but there had been reports like that before. Enodia assured us that the roads were secure and that no army of mortals could threaten Pherae while she remained its protector."

"How large was the force that attacked you?"

"I couldn't say. Maybe a hundred, perhaps. There were more beyond the walls. They came from the surrounding settlements, and some of our own people joined them."

That interested Hades considerably more than the man's description of the destruction.

"Your own citizens?"

Lykon's expression tightened.

"Yes, my lord. People who had lived beneath Enodia's protection all their lives. Families who had received her favor. Some opened their gates to the rebels."

Hades knew enough of wartime efforts to respect the importance of that admission. A fortified city was rarely taken by force alone. Someone supplied intelligence, someone betrayed an entrance, or someone within the walls decided that the approaching enemy offered better prospects than the government defending them. The Atharim appeared to understand this principle exceptionally well.

"Continue."

"Enodia went out to meet them. She believed that if they saw her, if they understood whom they were challenging, they would leave."

A rather unfortunate assumption, Hades thought, given the purpose of the uprising.

"When conflict erupted, she destroyed their first ranks. I watched it happen from the city walls. Their weapons melted in their hands, and the road opened beneath them. They fled, but more came forward, and they had brought something with them. I don't know what it was."

"Then describe what you saw."

Lykon hesitated, his brow furrowing with the effort of recalling events he had probably spent the intervening hours trying to forget.

"There were people carrying a long object between them. It looked like a bar of dark metal, bound with bands of silver. They placed it upon the road and drove something into the ground beside it. When Enodia approached, there was a flash of light. Not fire, exactly, but the air seemed to fold around her."

Hades' attention sharpened.

"What became of her?"

"She fell."

"Did she die immediately?"

"No. She tried to rise. The rebels rushed forward, and I saw her use her power again, but something was wrong. She could barely stand, and they surrounded her."

The magistrate looked away.

"When they carried her head through the city, the fighting stopped."

For several moments, only the river could be heard.

Hades was familiar with the effects of certain artifacts designed to interfere with a god's command of Dynamis. Several had been developed during the Titanomachy, though most were jealously guarded by their creators, and others had been destroyed when their continued existence became wholly inconvenient. The description was too imprecise to identify the device, but its apparent effectiveness deserved investigation.

"Who commanded the Atharim?"

"I don't know, my lord."

"Did they possess other such weapons?"

"I saw only the one."

"And how did you escape?"

The man seemed relieved to have reached a question he could answer with certainty.

"There was an old passage beneath her sanctuary. Enodia had ordered it sealed many years ago, but the foundations of the sanctuary connected to tunnels leading outside the city. Those of us in her household feared they would come for us next, so we blocked the palace and fled while the Atharim were occupied at the gates. A priest of Hermes helped us reach the temple where we found the Pyle. He knew how to awaken it."

"A priest of Hermes possessed the knowledge necessary to operate an entrance to my kingdom?"

The magistrate faltered.

"He… He said it was our only chance."

"That was not my question."

"Forgive me. I don't know how he learned it. He performed a series of movements upon the stones, and the passage opened. He remained behind."

Hades had no particular objection to Hermes sharing the location of the temple with his priests. The sanctuary had required attendants from the beginning. Granting them the means to activate its most important artifact, however, was an entirely different matter. There would have to be a conversation about that.

"How many others escaped Pherae?"

"I don’t know, my lord. They scattered when the city fell."

"And how many were directed toward this entrance?"

Lykon hesitated again.

"I couldn't say. The priest spoke to others before us."

Hades regarded the dark aperture of the receiving sanctuary behind Lykon. It was possible the three previous activations had involved other refugees who had turned back upon reaching the Acheron. It was equally possible that the Atharim had already learned of the temple's importance. Neither possibility pleased him.

A movement among the refugees drew his attention. A woman had risen from beside the elderly man and was making her way toward the water. She was tall and narrow-faced, with dark red hair escaping from a loose arrangement of braids. Her left arm was bound against her body, and she walked with the stiff determination of someone concealing considerable pain. Despite her injuries, Hades could sense the unmistakable presence of another god.

She stopped beside the magistrate.

"My lord, this is Dione," Lykon said. "She served in Enodia's household. She was wounded during our escape."

The woman inclined her head, although she did not kneel.

"I saw the weapon more clearly than Lykon did."

Her voice was strained but steady. Hades studied her for a moment before acknowledging the interruption.

"Then speak."

"It was no ordinary weapon. Enodia had destroyed the soldiers approaching her, and they were afraid to come closer. But when they activated the device, her flows came apart. I could feel it from the wall. She tried to draw upon Dynamis, but the weapon turned what she wove against her."

"You felt this directly?"

"Yes."

"And you recognized the weave?"

"No, my lord."

Hades had expected as much.

"But I know what I felt. It wasn't a shield or block. They were doing something to Dynamis itself."

There was conviction in her words, though conviction did not necessarily imply understanding. The distinction mattered. A frightened witness might accurately describe the effects of a device while misunderstanding its operation entirely. Still, the detail was useful.

"You may have my thanks for the information."

Dione appeared momentarily surprised. Then her expression hardened.

"Will you help us?"

There it was.

Hades looked from the wounded goddess to the magistrate, whose face betrayed a sudden hope that the exchange had improved their prospects.

"You may present your petition."

Lykon stepped forward again. He had evidently rehearsed what he intended to say, for his voice acquired the careful formality of a man accustomed to addressing those of greater station.

"Lord Hades, we seek the protection of your kingdom. We have lost our homes, our patron, and nearly everyone who might have defended us. We ask only that you permit us to pass beyond the river and remain until the danger has passed. We will submit to your laws and accept whatever restrictions you impose."

"No."

The answer came without hesitation.

Lykon stared at him. He had probably anticipated objections, questions, perhaps even demands for some extraordinary concession. The simplicity of the refusal appeared to leave him momentarily incapable of speech.

"My lord?"

"Your petition is denied. You will return through the Pyle and seek sanctuary within the territories of Olympus or Aegae. Your circumstances do not confer upon you the right to enter my kingdom."

"But the Atharim are everywhere. We cannot return to Pherae."

"Then do not return to Pherae."

The magistrate blinked.

"Olympus commands territories far beyond the city you have lost. Poseidon holds dominion over settlements and islands untouched by this rebellion. You possess more than one possible refuge. My kingdom is not among them."

"We came because we believed you would protect us."

"You came because someone told you where to find me. The distinction is consequential."

A murmur passed through the waiting refugees. Lykon glanced toward them, then faced Hades again with an expression in which fear was slowly giving way to desperation.

"If you will not admit us, perhaps you would permit us to remain at this sanctuary for a few days. Some are injured. We have little food, and the journey has exhausted us. Even a little assistance would—"

"No."

The magistrate fell silent.

"I have heard your circumstances. Repeating them will not alter my judgment. Your people are the responsibility of their sovereign, not mine."

"Our sovereign is Zeus, my lord. We have no means of reaching him."

"Then I suggest you devote your efforts to finding one."

Hades had governed long enough to recognize the manner in which requests accumulated once the first concession was granted. A night's shelter became a week, a week's shelter became a permanent settlement, and the settlement inevitably acquired needs, expectations, and grievances that its inhabitants believed their host had become obligated to satisfy. Such arrangements might be appropriate within Olympus, whose rulers had always demonstrated an extraordinary willingness to complicate their affairs with the problems of others.

He had no intention of introducing the practice here. More importantly, he had no reliable means of establishing whether these refugees were as harmless as they appeared. Several possessed the ability to wield Dynamis, one had already admitted to witnessing the use of an unfamiliar weapon, and all had arrived through a passage whose activation should have been restricted to a handful of trusted individuals. Their innocence, even if genuine, offered no guarantee that they had not been followed or compromised.
He would not expose his subjects to those uncertainties.

Dione stepped forward.

"You would send us back to die?"

Hades turned his pale gaze upon her.

"I am sending you nowhere. I am denying you entrance. What you choose to do afterward is your own affair."

"You know what waits for us."

"I know what you have told me."

"And you believe we have told the truth! You would still turn us away?"

"Whether I believe it is immaterial to my decision."

The woman looked at him with naked disbelief. Hades found the expression faintly tiresome. She seemed to have mistaken their earlier exchange of information for the beginnings of a negotiation, and now resented discovering that the two activities were not interchangeable.

"Enodia died protecting mortals who betrayed her. Perhaps she was a fool to do so. But she died trying to save them."

"Then I suggest you honor her sacrifice by surviving long enough to find another place of safety."

Dione's face flushed. Whatever reply she had prepared was lost when Lykon caught her uninjured arm.

"Please," he murmured. "Let me speak."

She pulled away from him.

"Speak? What remains to be said? He has made himself perfectly clear."

Hades could scarcely disagree. Lykon bowed his head once more.

"My lord, forgive her. We have endured much, and our tempers are not what they ought to be."

"Your apologies are unnecessary, but your departure is not."

He turned toward Charon, speaking only for him.

"The outer Pyle is to be opened for their return. Once they have departed, restrict its activation to those already possessing my authorization. No further arrivals are to be admitted to the receiving sanctuary without my express consent."

Charon inclined his head.

"And if they refuse to leave?"

"They may remain long enough to reconsider. After that, remove them."

The ferryman's expression suggested that he rather approved of the simplicity of the instructions.

Across the river, the refugees had begun speaking among themselves. Some argued for returning immediately, while others refused to approach the dark doorway through which they had arrived. The elderly traveler could barely stand, and the magistrate was forced to help him rise while simultaneously attempting to calm the others.

Hades watched the disagreement without particular interest. He had rendered his decision and had no intention of presiding over the ensuing discussion.

Dione, however, had not moved.

She stood at the water's edge, staring across the Acheron toward the gates she could glimpse behind him. Her injured arm trembled against its binding, but the power gathering around her was unmistakable.

Hades recognized her intention before she had finished forming it.

"Do not," he ordered.

The single command carried clearly above the river.

Dione looked up at him. For a moment, he thought she might possess sufficient sense to abandon the idea. Then she summoned the flows of Dynamis into her.

A narrow platform appeared above the water, fashioned and reinforced by a delicate arrangement of other flows. It extended from the bank toward the shrouded landing, trembling beneath the strain of its maker's limited strength. Dione stepped onto it, her face contorted with effort as she attempted to hold the structure together. Several refugees shouted for her to stop. Hades did not move.

The first few steps carried her beyond the banks. The platform held, though its surface quivered underfoot. Dione glanced toward the gates, and for an instant triumph displaced the desperation in her expression.

Then the Acheron answered.

The river did not rise. No great wave struck the crossing, nor did some monstrous shape emerge from its depths. Instead, the dark water beneath the platform grew perfectly smooth, its surface reflecting nothing of the cliffs or the pale sky above.

The flows supporting Dione's weight began to separate. She felt it immediately. Hades could see her struggling to reinforce the weave, gathering more of Dynamis in a frantic effort to preserve what she had made. But the river had already laid claim to the intrusion. Threads of force slipped from her control, unraveling one after another until the platform collapsed beneath her feet.

Dione fell into the Acheron. There was a single splash. Then the river closed over her.

For a moment, an indistinct shape moved beneath the black surface. Hades sensed a brief, desperate attempt to reach Dynamis, followed by the sudden severing of everything she had been trying to hold. The water settled.

On the far bank, Lykon stood motionless, his mouth open. One of the women cried out Dione's name. Several rushed toward the water, only to halt when Charon struck his staff against the landing.

"Back from the river lest you be swallowed by it."

The command was not shouted, but the ferryman's voice carried an authority that had been absent from his earlier conversation with Hades.

No one moved closer. The Acheron continued its passage through the gorge. Its waters slipped between the rocks, unhurried and indifferent, bearing no visible evidence of the goddess who had vanished beneath them.

Hades regarded the place where she had fallen. It was an unfortunate waste of a life, particularly after the trouble she had evidently taken to preserve it. Yet the crossing was no ordinary river, and he had neither the inclination nor the authority to interfere with Acheron's response to an unauthorized intrusion. Its protections had functioned exactly as intended.

The magistrate slowly turned toward him.

"You could have saved her."

His voice was hoarse with disbelief. Hades met his gaze.

"She was warned."

Lykon looked as though he might speak again, but whatever courage had carried him through his petition appeared to have deserted him. He lowered his eyes, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of an exhaustion that had become something more profound than fatigue.

Hades allowed the silence to stand. He had no intention of explaining the distinction between a sovereign's authority and a stranger's presumption to someone who had just witnessed its consequences. The matter was settled, and the lesson required no embellishment.

"You will depart through the Pyle," he said at last. "I suggest you do so before anyone else mistakes my refusal for an invitation to test the crossing."

The magistrate inclined his head. It was a small, mechanical gesture, performed out of habit rather than respect. Then he turned away.

The refugees began gathering their few possessions. There was no longer any argument about remaining. Those who could walk assisted those who could not, and the children were roused from their exhausted sleep. The elderly man needed the support of two companions, but even he managed to reach the sanctuary without further incident.

Hades remained at the landing as the first of them disappeared beneath its arch.

He did not watch them with regret. Their plight was unfortunate, and the events that had brought them here were worthy of further investigation, but neither circumstance altered his obligations. The passage awakened, its pale light illuminating the worn stone of the receiving chamber. One by one, the refugees crossed its threshold and vanished. Lykon was the last.

He paused beside the entrance and looked back across the river. From that distance, Hades could scarcely distinguish the man's features, but his posture conveyed enough. He had come seeking salvation and would return with nothing but the knowledge that it had been refused.

Hades offered no farewell, and the magistrate stepped through the Pyle.

Charon rested his staff against the landing.

"Do you expect more?"

Hades regarded the silent entrance.

"Yes."