ONCE THE FERRY and its pilot were safely behind us, my two companions and I began to take in our new surroundings. They were not altogether different from our old surroundings, comprising the same dull soot and charred stone with which we were already too familiar, the chief difference being that now the landscape began a slight—and sinister—descent. In a natural setting, a traveler might well avoid uphill marches, but in Hades, one instinctively resists any course leading downward. Thus we hesitated ever more with each step.
After a long time and several unnecessary stops, we found ourselves at last in the presence of a most peculiar fortress. It was built of the same scorched stone that made up much of our landscape but had none of the familiar marks of a defensive fortification—no turrets or arrow loops, no crenellations or battlements. Its three massive walls formed a perfect triangle, and the stone appeared to be of such fine workmanship that we were unable to make out any seams in the masonry whatsoever. After spending a good long while circling its walls, we came to the conclusion that the fortress had no entrance at all.
“An odd piece of work,” said Diomedes, “but formidable.”
“I always figured Mycenae was the most frightening castle ever built,” I replied. “The rocks they used were so big, we told one another that a Cyclops had helped carry them; but I’ll tell you what—this fortress would make the finest Greek architect weep.”
Our guide, who had remained resolutely silent since we’d left the banks of the Acheron, now walked slowly to the foot of the wall and, looking up along its vast span, lifted one fist and knocked. The noise fell flat in the thick air, and after waiting for a while, he sighed and started to lumber back to us. He had advanced no more than a few steps when an ear-splitting crack rent the air and a door emerged from the masonry. He turned back again at a run when it became clear that the door was falling in our direction. It settled with a crash, and the giant, looking rather shaken in spite of his empty face, sat down beside us for the first time.
“That was clever,” I said. “How did you know the door was there?”
“I didn’t,” he croaked.
Then with another crash, it slammed shut.
“Guess we better knock again,” said Diomedes.
“Your turn,” I answered.
With enormous caution, Diomedes returned to the place where the giant had knocked and quickly rapped on the wall, then sprinted back. But there was no response. He tried again, and still nothing. He ran his hands along the masonry searching for some trace of the door, but it had disappeared. He moved a few steps down and knocked. He walked back and forth, beating harder and softer, higher and lower on the unyielding stone, but still, no door materialized. Only when we moved around to the second wall were his efforts rewarded.
Here, his knock was answered with the same ear-splitting crack, and a door materialized directly in front of him. Diomedes made his retreat with the utmost haste and was only a few paces ahead when the door hit the ground. Another few moments of quiet apprehension, and it closed again.
“We all know whose turn it is now,” said Diomedes, “but this time, let’s try to get inside before the door shuts.”
“Now that you mention it,” I answered, “why are we so eager to be inside?”
“You asked to be guided to the lower realms,” answered the giant. “There is no other way.”
“Is that so?” I said. “Because I’m beginning to wonder if you really do know where you’re going.”
“I know what I know,” he said, and would say no more.
So we moved around to the third and final wall. This time when I knocked, the door fell open and remained so; we crossed over without difficulty.
What lay within, however, was as much a surprise as the walls themselves. The air was cool and dry. The sky shown with a blue of eye-searing clarity, and the earth beneath our feet was thick with green grass. In the distance stood a second castle, larger than the one we had entered. The change of scale was itself a shock to the senses.
“Now . . . I’m no stonemason,” I muttered to Diomedes, “but isn’t the inside of a building supposed to be smaller than the outside?”
“Witchcraft,” gasped Diomedes, squinting up at the sky.
“It is a much deeper magic than that,” whispered the giant. “This was built by the Authority Himself.” Looking at him, I could have sworn I saw a change of expression in his blank face.
The new structure before us differed markedly from the previous, yet the seamless masonry and dark gray stone suggested a common architect. I was relieved to see that it had four doors, one for each wall, which were not at all hard to spot as they were painted a bright royal purple. Circling the castle itself was a moat, and though we shouted and waved and threw rocks at the doors, there was no reply from within. At last, Diomedes piled his armor on the shore, tucked his tunic into his belt, and dove in.
Or rather, he dove on, for the water did not give way. Instead, it dipped and folded a little, then launched him back into the air. All in all, it behaved more like a taut sail than any natural phenomenon. As we watched Diomedes tumble across its surface, I noticed that he wasn’t even wet. At last he came to rest on his back, gently rising and dipping with the water’s surface, a startled look frozen on his face. I stood for a moment in awe, then gathered up his armor and worked my way across the surface to my bewildered friend. Even the giant had trouble getting across, and more than once, we were reduced to crawling on all fours.
At last I knelt beside Diomedes, who remained on his back, an alternating sequence of grins and scowls playing across his face. “Are you all right?” I said, piling his armor next to him on the water.
“I think so,” he answered, “but it’s hard to tell.”
I helped him to his feet, and while he somehow managed to fall into his armor, I made my way to the opposite bank, dizzy and faintly nauseous. There I had time to examine the door while my companions caught up. I ran my hands over its surface. It wasn’t painted after all but was stone like the walls themselves, only it appeared to have been carved from some enormous jewel—amethyst, perhaps, or agate. I had half a mind to take a bit as a souvenir. In fact, I had more than half a mind. I drew my sword and gave the door a whack. Not a scratch. But the door did give a sort of shudder and swung open under its own weight, revealing by increments a bright and bustling city.
Startled though I was by the sudden noise and disorder of it all, nonetheless there was something pleasant about the spectacle. All the filth and bother I had come to associate with village life was conspicuously absent here—no beggars, pickpockets, or ruffians. Children played in the streets. Old folk sat on balconies watching them. On the corners and in the squares, young folk chattered and played. Around us, people of every age and build, speaking various tongues and sporting all manner of dress, moved about in an endless ruck of exuberance. There was no sign of the fear and anguish, the distress and despair that I had come to expect of the Underworld. Moreover, the fact that we were fully armed and accompanied by a faceless giant didn’t seem to alarm anyone, though the children looked up from their games every now and then, and one or two eyed my bow with longing.
We walked for some time in silence, marveling at the new world before us. I’d heard rumors that people had changed since my death. A lot can happen in three thousand years. Fashions come and go. Empires rise and fall. None of the rumors in Hell carried good news, of course; and in any case, one never knew what to believe. Nonetheless, I had managed to gather bits of news from the screams and curses of other prisoners. There was talk from the upper world that mortals had harnessed the power of thunder, that the gods had died, and that men walked the earth denying that the gods had ever existed. I had even heard that soldiers no longer fought face-to-face, and some had even learned to fly. Although these reports were mixed with lies and contradictions, they had prepared me for much of the scene before my eyes. What took me by surprise was that people themselves had changed so much. To begin with, they were enormous. Even the women were taller than I. And their hair—every imaginable shade of brown, black, bronze, and gold. I could have sworn I saw an old woman with hair that was actually blue. And they spoke languages that would have made a Phaeacian scratch his head in wonder.
Then I heard someone speak Greek: a single word, kalos. Diomedes and I turned toward it instinctively. Amidst all the babble, that single utterance was like a port in a storm. It didn’t take us long to figure out where it came from. A cluster of serious-looking men on the other side of the street were having an animated discussion. We picked up more and more of the conversation as we approached, straining after each syllable like dogs on a scent.
“That’s Greek all right,” I whispered to Diomedes. “They’re our people.”
“Our people,” he echoed. “What luck.”
One man in particular was doing most of the talking. The others stood in an earnest circle around him. “The only good is knowledge,” he was saying, “and the only evil is ignorance. Riches and nobility are worthless. In fact, I can’t see how they are anything but evil . . .”
I looked at Diomedes. He shrugged. The speaker was dressed in a manner that looked vaguely familiar, but he spoke Greek with an odd accent. Another, clothed in the white tunic and mantle of an Achaean prince, stood with his back to us. The rest, however, lacked all vestige of civilized society, and it was a wonder to me that these two noblemen would consort with such vulgar types. Most of them wore trousers like barbarians, and they stood in such slovenly disarray that you might have mistaken them for street urchins or worse. Their hair was close-shorn like that of slaves, several had shaved off their beards, and a few wore curious cloth helmets, which could not have offered protection even from the sun. In any case, I was so relieved to hear our native tongue that the peculiarity of their dress was easily overlooked. I decided to direct my greeting to the prince, judging that he at least was from my own age and class.
As soon as I was within speaking distance, I stopped and bowed, saluting him and his comrades with a formal greeting: “Good prince, I come here after many trials to beg for mercy—yours and that of all these others here. May you be blessed with fortune, and may each hand down to his sons the riches in his house and the pride of place the realm has granted him. As for myself, how far away I am from my destination—how long I have suffered! I am in dire need of assistance.”
Their conversation ceased, and the prince answered me in kind, “Speak, stranger. You are welcome in this place.”
But when I lifted my head, the breath froze in my throat. I was standing face-to-face with Amphinomos, Son of King Nisos. There was no mistaking it. He looked exactly as he had the day I murdered him.