Soul in Darkness Read online

  “Oh, poor wretch.” The voice sounded ancient and gritty like stones grinding together.

  I turned, stumbling away from the open window onto my bruised and swollen knees.

  “Who is there?” I called, wincing and pushing to my feet as my eyes scanned the empty space.

  “I am the watchtower of Taenarus. Why dost thou forsake thy life?”

  The tower was speaking to me? Would there never be an end to the wonders? The tower believed I had come to jump.

  I swallowed hard. “I must complete a task for the goddess Venus. In the underworld.”

  “Mortal, if thy spirit be separated from thy body, thou shalt never return.”

  My gut clenched in anguish. “She advised me to come to this tower. She could only mean for me to die.”

  The rumbling chuckle made me want to cover my ears. “Or to speak with me.”

  My pulse began to race beneath my skin. “Why, honorable tower, would she want us to speak?”

  “Because I can tell thee how to reach thy destination with thou soul and body intact.”

  Was it possible?

  “Listen and heed, for I weary of speech.”

  I went very still, focusing with all my might, afraid to hope.

  “Venture to the city of Lacedaemon, where thou will obtain two coins for the Charon to ferry thou across the River Styx, and two sop cakes—one to give Cerberus to allow thy entrance into the palace of Pluto—and one to be allowed out. When thou returneth to Taenarus, thou wilt find a hole in the cliff where none dare to risk. This is the entrance for souls into those infernal shades. The underworld is a treacherous place with souls full of avarice. Guard thy coins and sops, for the spirits will attempt to steal from thee. Now, go.” His booming voice softened. “And be well.”

  I wanted to ask for clarification, but the tower’s spirit was fading.

  “Thank you.” I pressed a hand to the stone, clutching the box to my chest and leaning my forehead against the cool wall. “Thank you, Tower.” The floor gave a tremor and tufts of hair lifted on my head as if the tower had sighed. I rushed from the room with renewed hope, all but flying down the stairs, quickly finding the path to the city of Lacedaemon. All of my pain and ailments were forgotten as I ran, expending what little energy I had left.

  When I reached the outskirts of the city, my body ached anew. As the first person laid eyes on me, a man, I became acutely aware of my appearance, for no man had ever looked upon me with such disgust. His nose scrunched, repulsed, and he hurried off. I nearly laughed, which turned into a desire to cry, because the monumental task ahead of me was made all the harder by how I now looked. I would have to beg, and for once in my life, people would not be so willing to give me what I wanted.

  It was a shameful feeling to realize what an easy life I’d had in comparison to others—humbling beyond measure. As I walked further into the city’s dirt streets, even beggars looked upon me with morbid curiosity, trying to see past the chopped hair, swollen eye, and bruised body.

  I stood against the outer wall of a thatched building selling wares. First thing I needed to do was secure the box. People would think I’d stolen it. I’d seen some of the other beggars pull up the top layer of their dressing gowns to make pouches for their few belongings. I pulled my raggedy gown up on the side, revealing my calves, and tied the fabric around the box. It was unwieldy and uncomfortable, but it would do the job for now. A middle-aged gentleman, soft of belly and friendly-faced, began to pass. I reached out and gently touched his arm, saying, “Please, kind sir—”

  He let out a yelp and pulled his arm away, as if I were a contagious leper. His benevolent appearance changed to disgust as he scowled and marched away, brushing off his arm.

  How would I ever make enough to buy cakes with two halfpence to spare?

  As the day wore on, I tried everything. Conversation. Flattery. Nothing worked. The longer I stood out there, the more exhausted I felt, stooping and shifting my weight. Two streets away, I had passed a woman singing a cheery tune and getting coins, but my singing would surely send people even further away from me.

  “I don’t know what happened to you, Miss, but I can see someone has done you wrong. Here.” I faced a woman in a faded, but fine toga, her black hair streaked with strands of white that made her appear noble. She handed me a cream-colored shawl.

  “Oh, thank you!” I said. When I smiled, my cheek and eye zinged with pain.

  “May the gods have mercy on you,” she said, already walking away.

  “May they, indeed,” I whispered. I made quick work of draping the shawl over my head, tying it at the nape of my neck to hide my tattered hair situation. It made me feel ten times better. I stood straighter.

  The next people to pass were a mother about Miracle’s age with a young daughter holding a small book of poems. I recognized the author at once.

  “Good choice there,” I said, pointing to the book. The mother gave me a worried look, glancing at her daughter and beginning to tug her faster. But before they could get too far, I began to recite.

  The mother stopped and turned in surprise, and the daughter beamed up at the woman, then me.

  “That one is my favorite!”

  “Me too,” I said, leaning my hands on my knees. “I can see you are a very smart young lady.”

  The mother blinked at me, her eyes scanning my nightgown and beaten features. “How does such a cultured woman take to the streets?” She quickly closed her eyes and shook her head. “Never mind. I probably do not want to know.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I tried to smile, though I was certain it warped my face even worse. I could tell her my name, and there was a chance she’d have heard of me, but she would undoubtedly think I was a lying halfwit.

  “What happened to your eye?” the little girl asked. Her mother began to shush her, casting me an apologetic look, but I answered.

  “I took quite a tumble, but I assure you, I will be fine. With a little luck, fate will help me up and I will make amends.”

  The woman studied me. “You do speak beautifully.” In a quieter voice, she asked, “Who did this to you? A lover? A boss? Are you a runaway slave?”

  I shook my head, still wearing a small smile. “My mother-in-law.”

  Her eyes widened, and she let out a huff. “In that case…” She pulled out two shiny, large coins, and I clutched them to my chest, overwhelmed by her generosity. “Back on your feet, you go.” She lifted her chin and gave me a conspiratorial grin.

  “I cannot thank you enough, Miss.” I bowed my head. “May the gods bless you and your precious daughter.” I looked at the girl once more. “Keep up the reading.” She nodded, curls bouncing.

  As they walked away, I stared down at the coins and closed my fist around them. It was enough to buy the two sticky cakes for Cerberus and have coins left over for the ferryman. Gratitude welled inside me but never turned to joy—not when I knew I was one step closer to the underworld, a place where no mortal had ever gone and returned with their soul intact.

  Perhaps Cupid would never have me again after what I had done, but I would prove my worth to him. To Venus. And most importantly, to myself.

  THIRD TASK

  Psyche

  A hole in the cliff where none dare to risk. What did that even mean?

  I stood at the edge of the cliff in Taenarus near the Tower. It was night now, but the moon was full, and the sky was clear. As I stared out at the dark water and the shadowy, rocky descent, I had never felt hungrier or more spent. My mouth had filled with moisture when I walked into the bakery, but the owner had not been happy to see a threadbare, dirty customer. He attempted to charge me an outrageous sum for the cakes. It was far harder to barter as a beggar than a princess. I finally talked him down just enough to have two coins left over, but there was not enough for me to buy food for myself. Thankfully I had found a fresh stream along the way to fill my belly with water.

  As I explored the ledge of the cliff, I spi
ed a narrow, steep pathway hidden by brush. It was enough room for one person to shuffle downward. I slipped the coins into my makeshift pouch with the box and held the cakes gingerly between my fingers as I scooted along the constricted path, nudging overgrown vines out of the way. Not using my hands to steady myself made me feel off-balanced. I concentrated extra hard to keep my footing.

  A hole in the cliff. That had to be a cave. I moved slowly along the path but up ahead I could see there was a curve, and something blocking the way. As I approached, I squinted in the darkness and discovered it was a mass of thorny sea brambles.

  Of all the horrid luck.

  I avoided those at all cost. The stickers were murder on bare feet. How would I get past them?

  Where none dare to risk. I repeated that line in my head. Any sane person would turn around at the sight of those briars. Could this possibly be what the tower had meant? The closer I got to the brambles, the stranger I felt. My heart began to skip, then race. A strange sentience overcame me, like a warning, telling me to turn back. I tensed, catching my breath, and forced myself to trudge forward again. Tiny steps. I was almost to the wicked brambles.

  You will fall! A voice shouted in my head and I jerked to a stop, leaning against the rock. Go back!

  My eyes darted about, and my ears were on alert for the strange source of my panic, but nothing at all was there. Still, I couldn’t quite seem to catch my breath.

  “No,” I whispered into the darkness. “I cannot stop.”

  I urged myself forward, clamping my jaw shut against the urge to scream in terror as I sidled up to the malevolent, overgrown sticker bushes.

  I reached out a trembling arm to push aside the bramble, prepared to tear my hand away, but what I encountered instead of thorns was a soft sheet of leaves that easily parted under my hand. Confusion filled me. I crept forward, pressing into the canopy of tangled branches that felt nothing like it looked. Darkness engulfed me. Still, I pressed on.

  My blood pumped wildly as I stepped out of the curtain of darkness. A sharp gasp caught in my throat when I realized I was inside a cave. Dim, thick candles aligned the walls with what appeared to be hundreds of years of wax drippings piled underneath them like the buttressing of massive trees. One more step inside had my vision clearing, causing me to press my back against the wall in surprise.

  People! So many people! Where had they come from? It looked as if they were coming in through the same entrance to the cave that I had taken. But there’d been no one outside. Or had there? I brought the back of my hand to my mouth. Peering around now, they were not like me. They appeared solid at first glance, but the longer I stared, the more they seemed to blur along the edges.

  Spirits.

  I held the wrapped cakes in my hands, trying not to squeeze them, and began to shuffle along with the mass of souls. I kept against the wall. When they brushed up against me, it was the strangest feeling—almost like the soft rub of a cat’s fluffy fur—not quite solid. I shivered and hurried along, feeling the clink of the box and coins in my gown’s pouch. Ahead, my eyes beheld a frightening sight: two sooty stone gargoyles, so large their heads scraped the cave ceiling. Their eyes roved over the souls coming in. As I neared, their staffs sliced downward, halting my entrance and startling me to pieces.

  “What is your business here, live one?” came a booming voice.

  Once I gathered my wits again, I told them, “I come with a task from the goddess Venus, to get this box filled by Proserpina.” I took out the box with shaking hands and held it up for them to see. After a long moment, the staffs raised, and they said nothing more. Spirits spilled past me, and I moved tentatively forward, my heart erratic as I passed through without harm.

  Outside of the opening, souls went in different directions, as if they instinctually knew or were being silently guided to their proper destinations.

  We were in a giant underground area with tunnels along one side that spilled a constant stream of spirits. It was difficult to see. The only lights were scattered candles along the walls, and glowing stalactites overhead. Liquid dripped down stone walls into guttered ruts that ran along the floors. I spied a long line against one wall where sounds of running water drew me.

  As I moved toward the line, a man pushing a cart of wood stepped in front of me and the whole thing toppled. He let out a strangled sound and stooped, then grabbed his back. I couldn’t understand why a spirit seemed to be working down here instead of going to his destination, like the others.

  “Please, Miss,” he said, beseeching me. “Can you help? If I bring this to Charon, he will allow me passage.”

  My heart squeezed with pity. I wanted to help him, but I dared not set down the cakes. And I remembered what the Tower had told me about not stopping for any reason.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I have to go.”

  When I attempted to pass him, he snarled and threw his arms out to grab me. In his semi-solid state, it was enough to make me stagger backward and fall on my bottom, barely keeping the cakes in my hands. To my horror, I heard the clang of a coin falling from my ratty pouch.

  His eyes widened with the avarice the Tower had warned me of, and I quickly huddled my body over top of the fallen coin, lowering my face to pick up the coin with my lips. I pushed it into my cheek with my tongue and threw back an elbow to get the soft spirit off me. He fell harder than I had intended, proving to be as frail as he looked, and I tried not to feel guilty.

  I stood and ran to the end of the line, my body shaking all over. I carefully transferred one of the cakes into the crook of my other arm and dug down into my pouch. Securing the other coin, I pressed it between my teeth and cheek with the other one. Then I held the cakes like fragile treasures and waited.

  My eyes darted all around, not trusting a single soul. Spirits were quick to fill the space behind me, but the line moved surprisingly fast. As we neared the front of the line, I saw the River Styx flowing out through a darkened tunnel, and running along the wall, far down out of sight. It was hard to gauge distance in the darkened space, but the river was wide. The gurgle of the water sounded sluggish, not welcoming.

  As I moved forward, I watched souls reach out holding coins to a dark figure as the boat appeared before them. That’s right, appeared. One moment the boat was there, and the next it was gone. Then back again. Two souls away from the front, and I was able to take a good look at the fabled Charon, ferryman of the River Styx.

  Though he appeared tall and thin, one shoulder stooping, the magical power in his person was undeniable. He wore a black robe with a hood, but his face was not hidden. His drooping skin held the gray pallor of death, his eyes as deep and soulless as Sadness and Sorrow’s. Every part of me wanted to turn and run from his presence, but I steeled myself to move forward until it was my turn.

  I stepped forward when the boat appeared, rocking to and fro. Charon stuck out a bony hand that looked as if he had been submerged in water for hundreds of years. Balancing both cakes in one hand, I pulled a coin from inside my mouth and placed it on his palm.

  “Been a while since I ferried a live one.” His voice was like sticks rubbing together. He needed a drink of water worse than me.

  Charon’s dead eyes seized mine as he motioned one arm to beckon me onto the boat. I held my breath and stepped past him, sitting on the small seat. I had always imagined his boat would be huge, ferrying many souls at once. Everything about this was bizarre.

  He pushed off from the bank with his oar, and I tensed, expecting us to disappear in a blink of an eye like the others, but we simply moved along the river at a normal pace. I shivered as we got farther down the river.

  “Pardon me, worthy ferryman.” My words were slightly garbled with the coin in my cheek. “Why did we not disappear like the others?”

  He paddled slowly. “Time works differently for those on the river.”

  Still holding the cakes, I crossed my arms, chilled to the core. The darkened tunnel had me spooked, giving off the sensation of
passing through spiderwebs. When I saw something come out of the water beside us, I was already screaming before I could make it out.

  A hand.

  Then a head. A man! He grabbed my arm in a grip that felt stronger than the old man spirit from before. I struggled, still screaming and nearly squeezing the cakes to mush. I wrenched myself from his grasp. The sudden loss of my arm caused him to fall back into the water.

  “Oh, my gods!” I stood, peering around as Charon kept rowing, his eyes straight ahead. In the water, I could make out other bodies. Terror froze me as solid as ice. Hands reached, their mouths open in silent screams, their eyes pleading.

  “It is their eternal punishment,” Charon commented.

  “Gods above,” I whispered. This was more than a nightmare. This was the true fate for these souls; they would never wake up from the torment. What had they done to deserve it? I shook my head.

  As uncomfortable as Charon made me, I decided to stand with my back to him, so I would not be taken by surprise by any more of the dead. It was a good thing, too, because another man, his long hair and beard stringy from the thick water, was able to pull up on the boat side to look at me, his hand reaching far too closely.

  “Help,” he croaked. “Please, help me.”

  As I stared at his desperate face, my eyes burned and something inside my chest twisted painfully.

  “There is nothing I can do,” I whispered.

  He wailed as he was pulled under by something beneath him. My stomach lurched, and I fought to remain standing. After what seemed like an eternity, a shore appeared in the distance. I stared, glad to have something to take my attention from the morbid waters. Unfortunately, the view became more unbecoming as we neared.

  The shore was filled with souls overlapping one another. To one side stood a massive dark stone castle partially built into the walls of the cave—the palace of Pluto, god of the underworld. A shiver ran through me. Would I meet him? I hoped not.

  In front of the castle’s grand entrance, between onyx pillars, was the legendary three-headed dog, Cerberus. He was even larger than I had envisioned, with muscles that bunched in his back and legs like tree trunks. He snapped at souls that got too near. I glanced down at the cakes in my hands with worry. How would one tiny cake suffice all three heads of that beast? And not just once, but twice? Everyone knew the creature would not allow a human to pass within reach without mauling them to bits.