WHAT HADES SAID WAS TRUE. I hadn’t planned for this. Aiki! I hadn’t planned for anything. And what would it matter if I had? As yet, none of my schemes had worked out. The Parthenos had commanded Diomedes and me to make for the lowest ring of Hell. Well, here I was. Alone. She had told me to look for an eighth arrow, but I’d lost, wasted, or broken the seven she’d given me. She told me I could leave once I arrived here, but there didn’t seem to be a way out. So now what? Was this all an elaborate joke? To have come so far only to meet with more failure—the thought of it wrenched my heart.
“Pardon me for interrupting,” said Hades. “And I do hate to disrupt your thoughts, especially when they appear to be causing you such pain. But I thought I should call your attention to that noise.”
I listened. All I could hear was the hush of ice and fog.
“You do not hear it? Listen carefully, son. Still no? Listen.”
Now I did notice something different in the air—a sort of low, faraway, rhythmic thump.
“That, my child, is the sound of marching feet. That is an army, Odysseus. My army. The army of Hell. I had given orders for them to come quietly,” he said with a frown, “but it is just as well that they did not heed my command. This will give you time to come to your senses. Odysseus, if you think I am terrible to look upon, just wait till you see my army.”
Soon I could feel a thin tremble in the ice beneath my feet, and then I heard a muffled whisper like the crash of a distant wave. I clenched my fists and shut my eyes. “Think, Odysseus.” I spoke the words aloud to myself. “Think, now, Man of Twists and Turns. You’ve been in worse spots than this. How do you fight a beast you cannot touch? How do you escape a prison with no door?” I ground my fists into my temples and racked my heart. If only I hadn’t used all my arrows. My mind cast back to the words of the Parthenos: “Prefer your wit to your sword . . . wisdom to knowledge, armor to arms . . . let mercy triumph over justice.” But what use was wisdom or mercy when your foe was as big as a mountain? What I really needed was strength and size.
Then I had an idea.
“Very well, Hades,” I shouted, planting a fist on each hip. “You have left me no choice. Either you show me the way out, or I shall use . . . the eighth arrow.”
Hades’ eyes grew wide and his wings withdrew a little, but he said nothing, so I reached for my bow. When I looked again, though, he was laughing.
“Oh, my dear Odysseus. Wily Odysseus. How clever! I was almost taken in by your little ruse—and they call me the Father of Lies.” He laughed. “Go ahead, then. Fire away. Let us see this eighth arrow of yours.”
I grimaced and turned my eyes back to my feet.
“Make up your mind, Son of Adam—join me now, or face my army.”
The tromp of marching feet grew louder still, echoing from the cavern walls like a storm of iron.
“You will join me, or you will fight them,” snarled Hades. “But one way or another, my will shall be done.”
Through the fog now, I could make out the distant shimmer of bronze.
“Your time is up, Odysseus,” said the giant. “Why do you not submit? I may yet be merciful. Your friends will surely suffer, but if you surrender now, I shall spare you the worst punishments. You have my word. Come now. What is keeping you?”
I looked from the giant to the fog and back again; and the tiniest birdsong of courage played in my heart. I looked back at the giant and smiled. “Hope.”
Then, turning to face the approaching army, I pulled my helmet down low over my eyes and drew my sword. I stretched my shoulders and winged a brief prayer to the gods. “If this is my time, then I offer my blood as sacrifice. If I must end my existence in failure, then I offer that too. And however you are known, Lord of Heaven, may your four-letter name be honored in my death as it was never honored by my life, for today, I die with dignity.” Then I struck my shield, lifted my head, and sounded the battle cry of my ancestors. “Io!” I shouted. “Io! Io! Io!”
And echoing back to me from the mist, the army shouted, “Io! Io!”
Then out of the whirling fog hurtled a mass of dark fur—a dog, howling with all the fury of a desert wind.
“Argos?” I gasped. And before I knew what was happening, I was on my back, every inch of exposed flesh lathered with saliva. I dropped my sword again for sheer joy. “Easy, boy. I nearly sliced you in two.”
When I did manage to stumble to my feet, the vanguard of the approaching army had breached the fog, tramping like a great, thousand-footed beast—an army like none ever assembled on the beaches of Troy—row upon row of glimmering spears and horsehair crests, row upon row of bronze-faced shields and greaves. The thunderous stomp of warriors wrapped in bronze. Human warriors. Greeks! And at their front, bearing his tower shield and pike . . . Ajax!
“Release!” cried a voice from their flank. A shower of arrows arched overhead, followed by a thunder of hooves—a herd of Centaurs careening out of the mist. Above it all, Harpies circled like gulls before a storm.
“What is this?” roared Hades as a thousand, ten thousand arrows clattered against his fur. “What is the meaning of this?”
Proteus dashed behind him with his cloak drawn over his head.