The next room flips my opinion on its head again. Here is another large man chained to a rock with a pair of vultures pecking at his liver while his head lolls to one side. Bloodshot eyes pass over me, unfocused, yet pleading for relief.
“Tityos, son of Zeus and Elara, suffers eternal punishment for attempting to rape Leto,” Asterius explains. “Like Prometheus, his liver regenerates for the vultures to continue feasting on.”
I can get behind a rapist being punished, but someone who tried to uplift humanity? That still feels excessive and unwarranted.
I shudder at the gruesome sight, but what did I expect? We are a level removed from Hell—or Hades, I guess. At least Asterius doesn’t seem to take pleasure in the violence on display.
His jaw is set and his gaze is hard when we move to the next room. Inside, another deep pit yawns, but this one features a steep ramp extending down from the ledge we stand on all the way to the floor. The inmate within could easily escape if he just climbed up.
Several yards below, however, I see a huge round boulder being rolled inch by inch up the incline, its mass obscuring whoever’s rolling it.
“Sisyphus, king of Corinth, was punished for imprisoning Hades and disrupting the natural order of life and death,” Asterius says. “He is condemned to push that boulder up the hill for all eternity, but it always rolls back down before he reaches the top.”
And true to his word, the boulder shifts mere inches from the top, topples to the side, and rolls back to the bottom again. The man behind lets out a curse as he stares after it in defeat. He looks up at us then, his dismay still etched on his face. He’s so close to us I could reach out and give him a hand up, but he shakes his head.
“I can’t,” he says in a strained voice, backing up as if in fear before turning and running back down the ramp to the bottom to resume his futile task.
“Why doesn’t he just leave?” I ask when we exit the cell. “He was so close.”
“He’s compelled to complete his task and may not leave until it’s done.”
“He’ll never succeed, will he?”
“He has been here for eons. Without divine intervention, it is unlikely.”
The next two rooms feature equally futile torments for the inmates within. One contains Tantalus, who Asterius informs me tried to feed his own son’s flesh to the gods. For his crime, he’s condemned to stand in a pool of water beneath a tree with beautiful fruit just out of reach. Each time he attempts to drink or eat from the tree, the water recedes or the branches rise too high for him to grab.
The other is a man bound to a flaming disc that spins eternally in a darkened room. “To Ixion, it is as if he’s eternally spinning through a void,” Asterius explains. “This is his punishment for attempting to seduce the goddess Hera.”
The next room is not even a cell; it’s a vast landscape featuring a worn and muddy path that disappears down a slope into the distance, ending at the shores of a wide river. A long line of women in tattered robes trek the path, carrying pitchers attached to yokes upon their shoulders.
From our vantage atop the hill, I count forty-nine women who take turns filling their vessels in the river then turn and make the trip back up the hill to a well a few feet away from the cell door. But along the way, the earthenware jars all begin to leak, water streaming out the bottoms while they walk. Yet they don’t stop to patch them, and by the time each one reaches the well to tip their jars and empty them, not a drop of water remains to fill the well.
“The Danaids,” Asterius says in a low voice. “They murdered their husbands on their wedding night, and now they must fill these pitchers with water from the river Styx and transfer it into this well. When the well is full, their sentence is complete.”
“But their vessels leak. This is just as bad as Sisyphus. Maybe he deserved his sentence, but do these women deserve theirs?”
Exhaustion and defeat are etched on each woman’s face when she reaches the well only to find her pitcher empty. I step forward and touch one on the arm. “Excuse me, but did you murder your husband?”
She glances fearfully at Asterius, who nods her way, permitting her to answer.
“My sisters and I were taken unwillingly and forced to wed and lie with our uncle’s sons. Our father told us the only way to be free of them was to kill them, so we did. All of us but one are here paying for the crime.”
“That’s awful.” I turn to Asterius. “Seriously? These women were forced into marriage and raped by their own cousins. How is this justice?”
Asterius just gives me a helpless look, and I huff and push past him back through the door. “I know, you’re just doing your fucking job. You guys have been living under a fucking rock if you think this kind of shit still flies in the twenty-first century. Get with the fucking program.”
“I’m sorry, Nemea.” He rests a gentle hand on my shoulder, his big palm engulfing me. It’s a comfort, and I don’t pull away this time, but he doesn’t linger.
Finally we reach another large, circular room with a deep, dark pit, yet this one is empty, the heavy grate that once covered it thrown back. A thick vine climbs out of it, lush with leaves and beautiful, aromatic flowers.
“This was where Hyperion and his brothers were held. They managed to break their chains and climb out, thanks to Pan’s carelessness.”
“And thanks to my influence. What exactly did he do? He never told me what really happened that day. I just remember how damaged he was when I found him. His horns were nothing but bloody stumps.”
“It’s rather crude,” he says, casting me a sidelong look. I raise an eyebrow.
“Don’t tell me you’re too proper to tell me all of a sudden.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “He was complaining all day about needing to blow off steam—begging Vesh for an outing or bothering me and the others for a romp. When we said no, he took matters into his own hands just a little too close to this pit.”
He walks around the rim to where the vine emerges. Obscured behind the foliage is a low bench resting beside a pulley and a bucket that still contains what looks like a moldy bread crust.
“So he sat here and jerked off, is what you’re saying?”
“His semen possesses powerful magic. It looks like it grew through Hyperion’s shackles, breaking the chains, which enabled him to release his brothers, and then the vine provided a way for them to climb out. The shackles themselves were impervious to their own magic, but not Pan’s.”
“So what I’m hearing is that if he’d gotten laid by one of you, none of this would’ve happened.”
Asterius huffs and stares down into the pit. “Perhaps, but none of us were in the mood for his antics. When we encourage him, we wind up distracted.”
I don’t push, because what’s done is done. I just stare into the darkness below and heave a sigh. After seeing the conflicting messages about who was deserving of their sentences, I have to ask.
“Do you think they deserved their punishment?”
He pauses for a moment, considering his words as he looks into my eyes. “Perhaps they did. But sometimes the gods can be too heavy-handed; punishment should fit the crime, not exceed it. I see your point about some of the others—Prometheus and the Danaids. Maybe Sisyphus too. But the Titans went to war with the gods. This was an appropriate sentence for them, all things considered. That I’m related to one of them should not affect my opinion on the matter.”
My eyebrows lift. “Hold up, you’re related to a Titan? It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself that you shouldn’t care when you clearly do.”
He shifts his gaze back to the pit and takes a deep breath. “I was never assigned to guard them myself because Vesh worried my blood ties might allow Hyperion to influence me—he is my great-grandfather. I take my job seriously, though. I was freed from my own prison to serve Tartarus. I would not jeopardize that honor, no matter who I was assigned to guard. The Danaids… I would sooner free them than any of the others.”
“Then why don’t you?” I ask.
“Nemea, we are already in dire straits after the Titans’ escape. Perhaps once we’ve recaptured them, we can address your concerns with Vesh. I don’t know if there is any way to reverse the sentences of any of the inmates, but if there is, he would know.”
It will have to be enough for now. I let him lead me back down the dank and grim corridor, numb to the sounds of torment that fill the air. When we reach the doors leading back into the library and step through, he closes them firmly behind us, throwing the lock and blocking out the noise completely.
Despite the peaceful silence of this library, I’m still troubled by what I witnessed and the conflict weighing my heart, so I sit at the table again, face buried in my hands as I try to process it all.
Asterius reclaims his seat beside me and sits in silence. His big, warm presence is an odd comfort, and I allow myself to set the burdens aside for now. I need to learn who I am and what I’m capable of before I go trying to help the unfortunate souls unjustly imprisoned here. Perhaps when I have more practice, I’ll have earned enough respect from the other guards that my opinion will carry some weight.
Vesh is the one I really need to work on.
A warm sensation glides against my shoulder, and I look down to find Asterius tracing one big finger along the edge of my tattoo. The octopus covers my entire side, its arms wrapping around me. Two of the tentacles twine up over my breast in front and my shoulder blade in back to meet along the top of my shoulder, where they taper up along the column of my neck.
His touch is soft, his expression curious. “Is this what I think? An octopus?” He lifts his finger and reaches for the empty perfume bottle that still hangs against my chest. “Like this?”
He lifts the bottle gently by its chain. I look down at the tiny object and the octopus wrapped around it, a mirror of the design that holds me in its grasp.
“Yes. It’s a symbol of creativity, adaptability… escape. I’ve just always been fascinated by them. I grew up inland, but the first time we visited Seattle when I was a kid, we went to the aquarium. They had this little octopus named Inky in a tank there who I just sat and watched goof around for hours. It was like he was performing just for me.
“Later on, I heard that he’d escaped—crawled right out of his tank and went down a tiny little drain that led all the way to the ocean. How cool is that? Ever since, I couldn’t get the idea of escape out of my head. Because if he could do it, maybe I could too.” I shrug and give him a crooked smile, but he’s studying me intently enough to make my hair stand on end.
I swallow when the parallel hits me. There are nine of them, not eight, but Vesh is obviously the leader—the body with eight individual arms.
“I know it’s soon yet, but this can be home to you too,” he says without addressing the implications of my chosen symbol—my totem. “Give us a chance, Nemea.”
The earnest look in his eyes makes my insides tangle with longing. To belong, to have a family that actually wants me around… That day at the aquarium, I didn’t move from that spot by the cephalopod tank the entire time. Yet when my mother found me, she yelled at me for running off, then punished me as if she hadn’t been the one to abandon me all day while she and her boyfriend got high in the restroom and entertained themselves with the other exhibits.
I grasp Asterius’ hand and lift it, pressing my cheek into his palm. His long fingers curl around, threading through my hair to cradle the back of my head. I close my eyes, simply absorbing his warmth and tenderness. When he moves, I open my eyes again to see him slip out of his chair, careful to maintain contact as he lowers himself to his knees in front of me.
“If you asked me now what I would do, it would be different than last night. You were a temptation then. You wanted us to say filthy things, so that’s what we offered. But that isn’t all we are.”
I swallow thickly, looking up into his dark eyes. They’re a rich brown with flecks of gold and green, and so soulful I can’t help but believe him—trust him.
“What would you do now?”
He doesn’t answer me with words. Instead, he lowers his mouth to mine and takes my breath away with a gentle kiss. The warmth and tenderness of it shatters the desire I’ve felt all morning, replacing it with a longing even deeper and sweeter—a hunger that’s in the process of being fed.
I moan against his mouth and slip my arms around his thick neck, sliding off my seat only to find myself caught by his free arm, his hand easily cupping my ass to pull me against him.
When we break our kiss, I whisper, “Why don’t you take me to that big bed of yours and make love to me?”
A deep rumble rises in his chest and he shakes his head. “I have a better idea.”
He releases my head and hooks his arm beneath my legs, standing with me cradled against his chest. When he strides down the aisle between the books, I look up at him.
“Where are you taking me?”
He meets my gaze before tilting his chin toward the door. “You still need a bath.”
My entire body warms at the suggestion, but I laugh. “I didn’t realize I was that offensive.”
He chuckles. “You smell delicious, but as nice as it would be to have you all to myself, I won’t hog you. I want you to meet Typhon before the others return and make demands on your attention.”