Beyond Hades: The Prometheus Wars (27 page)

"Was this fission used for anything besides weapons?" asked Talbot.

Heracles turned slightly to look at him, a look of curiosity upon his brow. "What do you think powers these bulls?" he asked.

Talbot cursed himself for a fool. Of course the blacksmith had used the power of fission to fuel other things. The bulls were direct evidence of this, and he should have known. Something suddenly came to him.

"What about the resonance of the Syrpeas Gate? Is that achieved using the power of fission?

Heracles shook his head. "That is achieved using the vibration of the universe. Some structures - such as your human pyramids - are able to capture these resonations and amplify them into a singular power. Not all of these structures were designed to open doorways either. Some were created to prolong life beyond mortal expectations, while others could heal grievous wounds, but ironically could not heal deformations such as the one their creator, Hephaestus, bore."

"What about Stonehenge?" asked Talbot, remembering the resemblance to the rift that had opened for them in Olympia.

"I do not know this name," said Heracles.

Talbot thought for a moment. "Giant standing stones in Britannia, similar to the ones you use in order to create the rifts."

Heracles seemed to think for a moment, but finally shook his head. "It is possible some of your ancestors attempted to recreate the power of the rifts, though to do so would be foolish indeed. A single miscalculated placement of a stone - even by a fraction of an inch - would result in a catastrophe beyond measure. It is likely they had no success at all, otherwise it would have been documented throughout your historical texts."

Talbot nodded. He could imagine the arrogance of men thinking they could recreate the power of the gods. Thankfully the structures of Stonehenge were no more than a tourist destination, never becoming a gateway into another realm full of hideous creatures.

"What is that?" asked Wes suddenly, pointing forward. Talbot's eyes focused, peering through the haze, toward a thin ribbon of ebony in the distance.

"That," replied Heracles, "is Styx; the river of Hate."

"
Hate
?" asked Wes. "Why hate?"

"There are five rivers surrounding the center of Hades," said Heracles. "They are called Archeron: the river of Sorrow, Cocytus, representing Lamentation, Phlegethon: Fire, Lathe: the river of Forgetfulness, and Styx embodies Hate. Each river is named to represent the states in which a person finds themselves when approaching them. We must be careful; our emotions will be affected by the atmosphere around the rivers."

"Oh," said Wes mockingly, "that sounds like fun. We should have brought the kids, could've made a day out of it. Better than Disneyland." Talbot grinned despite his trepidation. Wes seemed to bolster his spirits whenever he was around.

His smile dropped as he recalled something. "What about the Ferryman, Heracles? Is he a myth, or does he actually exist?"

Heracles appeared uncomfortable with the question. "Kharon was one of Hades's most devoted followers, but following some dispute he was delegated with the duty of guarding the entrances into Hades's dominion, along with others of his kind. He is a true denizen of this realm, and not from Olympia. As such he is able to survive eating things from this place which no other creature can, and he can drink the water from the Styx, which is the most volatile of poisons to anyone else. We must negotiate with him in order to pass the river ahead of us."

The dread in his tone made Talbot frown, but it was Wes who spoke up. "Why can't we just force him to help us? Or kill him if he refuses and use his boat?"

"
Kill
Kharon?" asked Heracles incredulously. "Did you not hear what I said? He is of this world, neither living nor dead. Our weapons will have no effect upon him, and he will refuse to help us or, worse, decide we are his enemies."

"How can our weapons not affect him?" asked Wes, looking at his sword.

Heracles sighed, and when he spoke it was as though he were explaining something to a child. "Kharon is on a separate plane of existence, one we cannot touch. He, however, can touch
us
. He is like a spirit, but not in the sense that you would understand. His atomic structure is able to shift between differing times, and in this way he is invulnerable. Even if attacked from behind he will instinctively shift into another temporal frame and become unassailable. Do you understand?"

Wes nodded, but Talbot could tell the SAS commando had no idea what Heracles had just said. Even Talbot, though he had grasped some of what the warrior had explained, had no real comprehension of how it was possible. He supposed any creature from this world would have to adapt incredibly in order to survive.

Talbot stared out at the landscape once more, but all he could see was gray. There was nothing else, just differing shades of gray. Even in his worst nightmares Talbot could never have imagined such a horrific place; a world without life or light, just a ceaseless, hazy glow which carried no cheer, only the promise of more misery.

What sort of creature could live in a place such as this? What demonic beast would be produced by such a realm? Heracles had spoken of Kharon with something bordering on awe. What could make a man who had seen things unimaginable react in such a way?

Talbot brought his gaze forward once more. The ribbon which twisted across the landscape seemed thicker now, and he began to realize just how wide the river Styx must actually be. From where they were now, still miles away, he guessed the river to be at least three miles wide. It appeared completely black against the gray landscape, and a part of Talbot yearned to get closer, just to get a better look at the water.

The greater part of him, however, wanted nothing more than to stay as far away from the river of ebony as possible. Perhaps it was merely memories of tales about the entrance to the underworld, resurrected in his mind as they neared the central point of Hades, but Talbot felt the fear he'd so far succeeded in holding at bay, begin to rise once more.

The bulls thundered on without pause.

Heracles adopted an expression of determination.

Wes sat down, propped against the side of the chariot, and proceeded to go to sleep.

And Talbot shook away his encroaching fear, and forced a smile.

CHAPTER 11

The river Styx. The river of Hate.

Such an appropriate name. The black ooze lapping at the banks of the Styx appeared hostile, seeming to reach out for them as they stood upon the bank. The river came nothing close to resembling water. Talbot likened the liquid to oil, but even that was a pale comparison. Whatever it was gave him the impression of concentrated malice, like some sort of liquid evil.

Once they had disembarked from the chariot, the bronze bulls had immediately raced away, and Talbot wondered if it had something to do with the nasty feeling oozing from the black river.

"So where's this fucking boat guy?" growled Wes.

"I am not sure," replied Heracles, gazing out across the black sludge.

"What do you mean, you're not sure? Do you know what the hell you're doing or not?"

"I need no direction from an ant like you," snarled Heracles, his eyes narrowing, and his hands tightening into fists as he spun around to glare down at Wes.

Talbot moved to intervene against the brewing argument, but wasn't fast enough. Wes darted forward like lightning, his right foot stepping up on Heracles's left hip, launching himself high. His left knee came up, smashing into Heracles's chin, before Wes hammered his right elbow directly down onto the top of the gigantic warrior's skull.

Landing lightly, Wes snapped into a defensive stance, glaring at Heracles. The massive Olympian slowly raised one hand to the top of his head. It came away damp with blood, and Heracles stared at it incredulously before releasing a roar of rage. Talbot wondered how long it had been since he had glimpsed his own blood.

The huge warrior charged directly at Wes, who leaped nimbly out of the way, whipping his left leg around to lash his shin into the back of Heracles's thigh as he passed. The resulting thud sounded just like a baseball bat connecting with a round of ham, and Heracles roared with pain before swinging blindly backward with his right fist, connecting solidly with Wes's cheek, flinging him through the air like a discarded rag doll.

Heracles turned, murder glinting within his eyes. But before the enormous man could reach the stunned Wes, Talbot stepped in front of him, barring his path.

"Stop!" commanded Talbot with an authority he didn't feel. "Heracles, this is exactly what you warned us of. You're not acting rationally."

Some semblance of sanity attempted to reassert itself, but Heracles's gaze shifted beyond Talbot, and he spied Wes once more. "He mocks me at every turn," spat the giant warrior. "I will tolerate it no longer!"

"Then you'll have to go through me," said Talbot softly.

The warrior looked down on Talbot curiously. "You would die for
him
?" he asked, gesturing toward Wes.

"Yes," Talbot replied with a confidence he didn't feel. "Now the question is; are you willing to kill me to get to him? Are you prepared to snuff out the only hope of closing this damn Syrpeas Gate in order to avenge some perceived insult? Think about it Heracles, why are you so angry?"

"He-he mocks me," responded the warrior, though his voice held much less conviction now.

"It's just his way of dealing with fear; you must understand that. Think logically, why are you suddenly so prepared to kill him when you weren't before?"

Heracles paused, Talbot's hand upon his chest as though he had some chance of stopping the warrior should he choose to attack Wes once more. Wes, on the other hand, now sat watching the exchange, all signs of anger washed from his face.

"I-I am being confused by the aura of the Styx, just as I warned you. The power of its water is stronger than I remember, and I have succumbed without knowing," said Heracles finally, his features easing from the murderous rage he had displayed only moments before. "I am sorry, Talbot. And to you Wes, I owe the deepest of apologies."

Wes rose to his feet. "Yeah, well let's not get all weepy over it. Don't worry about it, mate." He reached up and patted Heracles on the shoulder. "You're a good bloke, Hercules. Sorry I messed with you so much."

Heracles nodded, ignoring the continued mispronunciation of his name, or perhaps he no longer cared, Talbot didn't know. Wes looked toward him.

"And
you
," said the commando, pointing an accusing finger at Talbot. "Don't ever try to stick up for me again. I'm supposed to be the one protecting
you
, remember? If you get stomped on by someone while looking out for me, how the hell will I ever show my face around town again, eh?"

"I have no idea," said Talbot, grinning.

"Well, that's fucking right. The shame of being saved by a little sissy bookworm like you would just about do me in, mate."

"I have almost no idea what you just said," said Talbot. "But I'm going to take it as a compliment."

Wes grinned, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Kharon comes nigh," interrupted Heracles, pointing out over the river.

Through the gloom of the ebony waves and the haze surrounding it like a reverse aura, Talbot saw a figure rapidly approaching across the dead water. He was tall, possibly as tall as Heracles. But whereas Heracles was huge and muscled, this figure appeared almost skeletal. As the boat drew closer and the features of the Ferryman became more distinguishable, Talbot was unable to hold back a gasp.

The
thing
which emerged through the gloom was hideous. A misshapen skull sat atop narrow, sloping shoulders. Thin wisps of gray cloth barely covered the nakedness beneath, and dripping sores ran with viscous-looking pus. Looking back up at its head, Talbot swallowed heavily, forcing himself to stare at its features. He had noticed the misshapen skull, but the face it held was so far beyond hideous that Talbot's brain was barely able to register it.