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Trying to ignore the screams, the two of them stepped between fires until the smell of sulphur sickened them. Nick covered his face with his hands, gesturing to the right. He couldn’t even speak until the putrid air cleared.
“What,” he coughed to Helen, “is Tartarus, exactly?”
“It’s a place worse than Hades,” she said, “where those who’ve angered the gods suffer unspeakable torment.”
“Sounds like working in Hollywood.”
“It is also a force.”
“Huh?”
“A primal one, like Night and Time. We don’t know how, but it came along after Chaos.”
Nick shuddered.
“Sounds awful.”
With that, they trudged on. What Nick saw were yet more fires, a general aura of gloom, and a figure in a black robe who looked precisely like . . . Death. It stood in a small wooden boat holding a giant paddle. Beneath the hull was not water but a river of fire.
Nick gathered his courage and went up to the boatman.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”
He reached for the coin Hades gave him, then handed it over. A skeletal hand emerged from one billowing sleeve. After it snatched the gold, Charon tested it with his teeth.
“Get in,” he half-whispered.
Nick did, nodding to four poor souls huddled close in the prow.
“C’mon, Helen,” he called, and, as she started to join him, Charon put out an arm. Oh no! How could Hades forget to give them a second coin? Was this some kind of scheme for him to keep her with him?
“Here,” Nick said, tossing Helen Hades’ hat. Once she put it on, she totally disappeared. “Are you here?” Nick asked softly, glancing around the boat. When he felt a press on his arm, all his muscles untensed.
Once Charon had a full load, he set his paddle into the River Styx. As flames crackled beneath them, Nick saw chilling sights all around: solitary, robed figures; gazing down at the ground, their color a washed-out grey and their forms nearly see-through. There were still more small burning fires, plus the horrible sounds of souls being whipped by Furies. Note to self, thought Nick: Try not to end up here!
He wished he could talk to Helen but that would blow her cover. Instead, he turned to Charon.
“So,” Nick said, “which way to Tartarus?”
The boatman pulled out his oar and forcefully pointed it down.
“It’s far?”
Charon’s hood moved up and down.
“No shortcuts?”
The black-robed figure shook with silent laughter.
“Okay, thanks,” said Nick. “You’ve been great.”
He managed to hold it together until he heard the wailing. It came from behind a wide blaze, and was so scary—the cries of souls in anguish—that he had to stop up his ears. Hades was, no doubt, the worst place he’d been to so far.
Nick wanted to ask for a refund, but Charon halted his boat at the shore of an endless grey field. He gestured for all to get out. Nick did, then started to worry.
“Helen?” he whispered, watching Charon shove off.
“Here.”
Now Nick saw her, Hades’ hat in one hand.
“Better keep that,” he told her. “It could come in handy.”
“I figured.”
Nick looked around this sad field.
“Do you have any idea where we are?”
“The Plain of the Dead,” said Helen, “from which there is no return.”
“Well,” Nick said, “we’re not dead, so maybe the rules are different.”
“Maybe,” said Helen, but she didn’t look too convinced. “We need to leave it. Somehow, make our way down.”
“How?” Nick asked. “Should we anger the gods?”
Helen shuddered.
“No.”
Nick looked ahead and saw a wall of floating ghosts. Unlike their reputation, they didn’t make a peep.
“Maybe I can scare them,” he said, “into telling us where to go.”
“We’re already there,” said Helen. “Please be careful. They are not used to the living.”
“I’m not sure if that includes me.”
Nick walked up to a woman who thankfully stood on the ground. Like many around her, she was staring down.
“Hey,” Nick said. “I know this is kind of wack, but we’re trying to get to Tartarus. Would you know the way?”
The woman raised her head and pointed down.
“But, how—?” She tore off through the air. “Uh, thanks.” He walked back to Helen. “I think she hated me.”
“I think.” said Helen, “we should look for a slope.”
“Uh, okay.”
Nick was all out of ideas.
Helen just stood there thinking, then looked back at the Styx.
“Do you think,” she asked, “that the river heads down?”
“Hmm,” Nick answered. “Who knows? But even if it does, we can’t swim through fire.”
“No, no,” said Helen, shaking her head. “We need a boat like Charon’s.”
Nick snorted.
“Maybe Hades has a marina.” Helen gave him a look. “Although,” said Nick, “I know that at Disneyland’s Pirates, they keep extra boats just in case.”
“Hmm,” said Helen. “I wonder if . . .”
“Charon has a spare?” Nick finished. “I mean, if his springs a leak, he’ll roast.”
Their eyes met.
“Let’s walk by the Styx,” said Helen. “See if we can find something.”
They stuck close to the river, but that wasn’t easy when the whole thing flamed. Nick wiped sweat from his face. He almost missed Poseidon . . . and his kingdom of cool water.
After what seemed like days, Nick felt like he’d lost five pounds—in water weight alone. He was tired, he was cranky, and he needed a drink—of water.
“This isn’t working,” Nick said, wanting to back off. “Who’s the fool who thought of it?”
“You.”
“Maybe we should go back. I mean, away from the flames.”
“Good idea.”
The two of them put some distance between them and the Styx. It was like going from a sauna directly into a steam room.
“I know seniors like heat,” said Nick. “That’s why they’re in Arizona. But the dead?”
“They don’t have a choice, “Helen answered. “Unless they end up in the Fields.”
“I wish,” said Nick, “we’d end up in a pool.”
Still, they slogged on, the dead who weren’t floating shuffling past like zombies. Nick was starting to feel like he’d just run the 800: about a million times. As he opened his mouth to say, “You know, my idea stinks,” he spotted a small enclosure with one of those flat tented roofs.
Sweating his way over, he took a peek inside. Yes! His Pirates theory was right. The tent sheltered two boats, both of which matched Charon’s.
“I knew it,” said Nick. “Even in Hell, things break.”
“Let’s roll it into the wa-flames,” Helen said, grabbing the prow.
Nick leapt to assist, his jacked torso helping. Finally, they poised the boat on the bank of the River Styx.
“Let’s hope it’s like Charon’s,” said Nick. “In other words, fireproof.”
“Right.” Helen said. “You hold the back while I get in.”
All went according to plan until Nick took a running leap and landed face-first in the back.
“Ouch,” he said, rising and rubbing his cheek. “This thing have a paddle?” He looked over the rows of benches.
“No,” said Helen, “but I don’t think it matters. The current is taking us.”
She was right: the craft moved forward on a cushion of flame.
“I finally have my own boat,” Nick said. “But I was thinking more yacht—not a dingy in Hell.”
“At least we’re leaving the Plain,” said Helen, and—thank Hades!—they were. Its greyness receded as they bumped down the river.
“What do we look for?” Nick asked, taking a seat on a bench. “Some kind of lava waterfall?”
“Let’s hope not,” said Helen. “If we’re lucky, the river will slope and lead us to Mýthos’ core.”
“That’s luck?” Nick asked.
From the prow, Helen shook her head, but that’s the last he saw of her. She was now slanting down at an insane angle!
“Hold on,” he heard her cry. “I think we found your waterfall!”
Nick grabbed both sides of the boat as it tilted ninety degrees. He had never been river rafting, and didn’t want to start now. He heard himself yelling as they plunged into darkness only lit by the Styx.
“Help,” he said, ashamed of his screams while Helen endured in silence. Man, those Titans were tough. “Make it stop,” Nick whispered after an unknown time which promised to last forever. He had the urge to whimper but thought that would be unmanly.
His stomach was now in his knees and his arms hurt from hanging on. If he’d had the strength to call for Athena, he would have in a hot second.
“Will it ever end?” he cried out.
“It has to,” he heard Helen shout. “When we reach the center!”
Still, they went on, Nick’s half of the boat now airborne until he could barely stand it. Should he just let go? he wondered. Say to heck with Typhon and hope that the gods stepped in? Can’t, he thought, that still leaves my dad. And Helen. Thinking of them gave him a flicker of hope, which, from his current position—hunched down in a hurtling boat—seemed like the light of the world.
“I think it’s ending!” yelled Helen. “There’s no more flames, just—”
Darkness.
They both flew from the boat as they came to the end of the “waterfall,” hitting not fire but air. At first, Nick somersaulted, then found a way to right himself.
“Oof.” After what felt like miles, Nick hit something solid, but it was the color of coal and scraped his entire body. “Helen,” he called, “you okay?”
“Yes,” she said from wherever she’d landed.
“Ow!”
Nick realized the “coal” was pitch black sand and it was burning his face. He got up with a groan, shifting his weight from sandal to sandal so he wouldn’t get scorched. Helen, walking over, was pretty much doing the same.
“Is this it?” Nick asked. “Are we really in Tartarus?”
They both heard anguished screams.
