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Putting physical safety first, the two of them stepped off hot sand. Nick helped Helen onto a boulder, where they both looked Tartarus over.
Nick saw that compared to here, Hades was Hera’s Garden. Though there were no lit fires, rocks glowed with an inner flame. The rest of the place was so bleak it looked like a photo of Mars. Nick, who by now was used to heat, felt he was breathing in straight-up fire. Tartarus would’ve been grim based on scenery alone, but of course there were “residents,” and, in the eyes of the gods, they were the worst of the worst.
The first guy Nick saw looked familiar: he was dressed in ragged robes and rolling a boulder uphill. As he struggled, the rock grew heavier, and insisted on rolling back down. Nick got to him before Helen.
“Excuse me, Mr. uh . . . Sisyphus,” Nick said. On this dead rock world, his words were strangely muffled. “I take it you angered a god?”
Sisyphus, who’d slid to the bottom of the hill, unleashed a sigh of despair.
“Yes,” he answered, his voice barely a croak. “I claimed . . . I was cleverer than than Zeus. My arrogance matched only his desire to punish.”
“Whoa,” said Nick, feeling sorry for the poor guy. “I wish we could help. I hate to change the subject, but we’re here to find Typhon. Any idea where he is?”
Sisyphus shook his head no.
“But if you find Ixion,” he said, “you might have better luck.”
“Where’s he?” Nick asked.
“Look up,” said Sisyphus, straining against the boulder. “And listen for the sound of screams.”
For a moment, Nick and Helen just stood there, dwarfed by massive rock walls which ascended without end. Tartarus had no real color; it was either black or beige: even Sisyphus looked washed out. Despite its vast space, Nick felt trapped by the many grottoes.
“We should—” he said to Helen, but was cut off by moans and the flutter of wind.
They both looked up to see a nightmarish sight: a man, nearly naked, strapped by all four limbs to a flying, rotating wheel. What was worse, his straps were made of snakes, and, when the wheel flamed, the man cried out in anguish.
“Whoa,” Nick breathed. “He must have done something fierce.”
“You cannot imagine,” groaned the man as his wheel dipped overhead. “For I am Ixion, the king who murdered his father-in-law. Yet, Zeus took pity on me and invited me to a banquet, where, I’m afraid, I tried to seduce his wife.” His head fell onto his breast as he barely croaked out the rest. “Zeus sees all. He flung me into Tartarus and consigned me to this.”
Nick made a mental note: Never get on Zeus’ bad side.
“I’m sorry—” he began.
“As am I,” said Ixion. “Did you know, son of Chiron, that I fathered your kind?”
Nick just stood there staring.
“On Olympus, Zeus sent me a cloud in the form of Hera, and I confess I-I had my way with her. Our son mated with mares and created the race of centaurs.”
Nick stared up at Ixion: so this guy started it all. No wonder centaurs drank!
“Thanks for letting me know,” Nick said as the wheel spurted flame, bringing forth more screams. He decided he’d better be quick. “Uh, we’re looking for Typhon. Know where he is?”
“Everywhere,” groaned Ixion, “for he is as big as Mount Olympus. His coils lie under the island of Pithecusae—"
“My mom’s there!’ cried Helen.
“—his body in the depths of the sea, and his hundred dragon heads . . . here.” Ixion shuddered in his bonds. “You do not wish to seek him,” he croaked. “He is far worse than Cronos, who swallowed his own children; and Zeus, who punishes me.” Ixion shrieked in anguish as the snakes began to strike. “Go back, son of Chiron. You do not belong here—go!”
Nick eyed him with doubt. Of course, Ixion suffered, but he was a killer who’d put the moves on Hera. Granted, being tied to a flaming wheel was a little over the top, but then, so were the gods.
“Where are his heads?” Nick asked. He was determined to find them.
“Listen,” Ixion whispered, writhing in his living bonds. “Do you hear it—the hissing? It never stops!”
His Wheel of Torment rose, revolving as it spat fire.
“Heed me,” cried the Father of Centaurs. “Tartarus is not for the living!”
His head dropped back as he flew toward some glowing rocks.
“One thing’s for sure,” Nick told Helen. “You don’t want to mess with Zeus. That guy makes the God of Vengeance look as sweet as my Ya-Ya.”
Helen clutched his arm.
“I thought my own curse cruel,” she said, “but that . . .” She looked up. “That is just inhuman.”
“I think that’s the point,” said Nick. “It’s a warning. To us all.” She shuddered. “Do you think,” Nick asked, “that Ixion is, uh, all there? I don’t hear any hissing—do you?”
“Sometimes, I hear it,” said a voice.
They both turned to see a man standing in water beneath a fruit tree. Each time he bent to drink, the water receded from his lips; and, when he tried to eat, the tree’s branches snapped up.
“More torture,” Nick whispered. “I seriously hate this place.”
“You’re supposed to,” said the man. He gave them a nod. “My name is Tartarus.”
“Isn’t that where we are?” Nick asked.
“It’s a long story. Sometimes,” said Tartarus, as if lost in a dream, “I hear the banging and hissing. And the sound of roars.”
“From where?” asked Helen.
Tartarus raised an arm, pointing toward a maze of grottoes. “Go east,” he said. “That’s where the Titans are.”
“Thanks,” Nick said, watching the guy try to drink. Zeus . . . again? He didn’t want to know.
“Let’s go,” said Helen, leading the way. After jumping over black sand, they tramped on—and on—through a series of caves, each of which looked the same. At last, they came to one way bigger than the others. “Shhh,” Helen warned, as their sandals hit hard black ash.
“Now what?” Nick asked. Helen shrugged helplessly as he surveyed rock walls. “I think—” he started, but then they both jumped back.
There was a deafening rrrr-oar.
Nick stepped in front of Helen, quickly notching his bow. After that, he heard growling, and a swell of roars so fierce he was almost knocked off his feet. Had that guy Verne been right? Were there actually dinosaurs at the center of the world?
“OF COURSE NOT!” rumbled a voice. “TRY TO GET WITH THE TIMES!”
Nick couldn’t believe what he faced: a colossal head, its charcoal flesh and red eyes peering out from enormous grates.
“WHO ARE YOU?!” asked the head, smoke pouring from its fanged mouth. “Have you come to free me?”
“Are you Typhon?” Nick asked, trying not to shake. He saw no sign of dragons.
The head threw itself back, polluting the air as it laughed.
Nick and Helen covered their mouths.
“H-hey, take it easy,” Nick coughed. “We’ve had enough of fire.”
“I AM CRONUS!” roared the head, “imprisoned by my own children. Free me, and I will make you Emperor.”
“Uh, no can do,” said Nick, backing away. “Zeus is one of your kids, and I don’t want to cross him.”
“HE CROSSED ME!” roared Cronus. “Zeus is my usurper. Cut my bars with your sword and I will give you talents of gold!”
“That’s a fair offer,” said Nick, “but I already have this armor . . .”
R-R-R-ROAR!
It was clear that Cronus did not deal well with rejection.
Nick coughed out the Titan’s breath as he seized Helen’s arm and ran. Soon enough, they put the Father of Gods behind them.
“Didn’t you say,” Nick asked Helen, “that all the Titans are here?’
She nodded.
“After the thousand-year war—” she began.
“Please,” said Nick. “I can’t take another myth. My point is this: let’s not run into the others.”
“Except Typhon,” said Helen.
“Kinda.”
They kept heading east, and whenever they heard a noise—be it wind, crackling, or grunts—they were sure to avoid it. Nick thought he saw twelve sets of grates pressed into that vast cave floor. He turned to Helen.
“So, if you were Zeus—"
“I’m not.”
“I know. But if you were . . . where in Tartarus would you put the Number One monster?”
Helen didn’t pause.
“Away from the rest,” she said, “so he couldn’t start trouble.”
“Hmm,” said Nick. “You would make a great Zeus.”
