WHEN AT LAST the boat skidded up onto the bank, the demon shouldered his oar and stepped into the shallows, limping through the foam. “I’ve fulfilled my side of the bargain,” he bellowed, collapsing on hands and knees at the water’s edge. “Now remove this thing. It is poisoning me.”
We climbed out of the boat and worked our way toward him through the surf. “The moment we remove that arrow,” whispered Diomedes, “he will turn on us.”
The giant nodded, “You heard what Charon said. There is no pity in the Underworld. No mercy. No honor.”
The old demon looked over his shoulder at us and frowned. “You are not going to remove it, are you?”
“No,” I said.
“But you gave your word.”
At this, Diomedes laughed. “This is Odysseus of Ithaca, the Man of Twists and Turns, known the world over for every type of cunning and deceit. He’s better with a lie than you are with that boat. What do you think his word is worth?”
“Odysseus,” said the monster. “Yes, I’ve heard. Even among the dead, that name is known.”
Ordinarily, such talk would have thrilled me. My fame extended all the way to the Underworld. But was my word really so cheap? Was it laughable? Sure, I’d broken an oath or two—many, perhaps—but always for good reason, and rarely to a friend.
Charon lowered his head, sparse gray locks dragging in the sand. “Go on, then. Leave.”
I looked at the monster crouched before us and felt no remorse at the thought of leaving him there. In fact, the very thought of keeping my word made me uncomfortable and afraid. What did I owe Charon anyway? He had been quick to abandon us to our suffering. It was that quip of Diomedes that bothered me, and I remembered the words of the goddess: “My king has no use for a lying crook like you.” If they didn’t need a liar, why did she choose me? Was this a test? I looked again at the cowering mess at my feet, and something else she had said returned to me: “Let mercy triumph over justice.” I stepped forward and gripped the arrow with both hands.
“Odysseus,” Diomedes put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not really going to keep your word, are you?”
“I think so.”
“We don’t need the arrow.”
Diomedes was right. The value of the weapon did not warrant the risk of removing it. “It’s not about the arrow,” I said, and gave it a yank.
Charon exploded with rage and pain, casting me on my back in the surf. The air trembled with shrieks. All about me the water churned and spat. But when the spray had settled and the cries had echoed into silence, I could see that my arrow was still firmly wedged between the old demon’s shoulders.
“Come,” I said to him, once I’d scraped the putrid water from my face and arms. “Walk a little way up the beach with me.”
Charon cursed under his breath but followed.
“Now turn around.” As I suspected, the arrow had punched straight through his back and was pushing forward against the skin of his chest. “It will have to come out through the front,” I said, pressing the lump with my forefinger. The monster winced and scowled more deeply but made no resistance.
I turned him back around again. “We’ll have to break it.”
Diomedes took me by the arm and walked me a few steps away. “We’re not even going to get the arrow back?” he whispered. “That monster isn’t worth your pity. You know that, right? Just look at him.”
Charon bared his broken teeth.
“I see what you mean.” What I was about to do defied logic. No warrior in his right mind would waste his time healing an enemy. I didn’t even feel like I was doing the right thing. All the same, I resolved to do it, if only to contradict what everyone thought of me. Was I truly the Man of Twists and Turns? Very well. Here was a twist no one would see coming. “I’m going to do what the goddess told me.”
“So now you’ve decided to trust her?”
“Yes. Well, no. Perhaps. I don’t know what to think of the goddess.”
“Look, Odysseus,” said Diomedes, raising his voice a little, “now is not the time to develop a conscience. Wait until we meet someone more worthy.”
I read the concern in Diomedes’ face, and it did not move me. “Were we any more worthy of the goddess’ kindness?”
Diomedes shook his head, then drew his sword and walked a few steps off.
“Now Charon,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. His skin was cool and hard as a washed stone. “This will hurt, but when it’s over, the arrow should be out. Do we have your word that you will not harm us when the deed is done?”
“What good is my word?” he growled. “And what makes you think I would keep it?”
“If I can do it, I suppose you can too.”
“Then you have it,” he groaned. “Just get this out of my back. It is eating me away from within.”
I broke the fletching off the arrow and handed it to him. “And no screaming this time. It is undignified.” With that I braced my shield against my shoulder and slammed it against his back, driving the arrow out through his chest and into the sand at his feet.
Diomedes plugged his ears, but all that came from Charon was a raspy grunt.
The demon stood upright, fingering the hole in his chest. It whistled with every breath. Then he looked at me. “I can kill you now,” he said, stretching out his arms.
“No doubt you can,” I replied. “But I have your word.”
I unslung my shield. I turned my back to him and summoned my companions. “We have waited long enough on the shore,” I called. “It is time we saw what lies beyond.”
We were almost out of sight of the Acheron when I heard my name called. I looked back and saw the ferryman standing by his boat. He held the broken arrow in his hand. “Why?” he barked.
I studied him from this distance, a bony, pale thing trembling on the bank of a putrid river, and felt a touch of something I couldn’t quite name. I held my hands open before me and shrugged. “I gave my word.”