Wrenching herself from the memory, she regained control of her body and backed away.
The ferryman reached the bank and drove his staff into the sand, pulling the tip of the barge up onto the shore.
Orpheus approached. ‘Please,’ he called, ‘take us to Hades!’
‘Orpheus!’ Danae cried, as the ferryman reached out an arm sheathed in a black hide glove and turned his palm to the sky. The musician proffered his silver coins then froze, his eyes widening as he caught sight of what lay beneath the charcoal hood.
Danae’s pulse thundered. If she set foot on that barge, it would all be over. She had revealed her powers in the passages. The shades that took Hylas might well have warned the other denizens of the Underworld. The ferryman wouldsurely hand her over to Hades and then he might give her to Zeus …
Orpheus staggered back, just as the ferryman turned his hooded head towards her.
The shade lowered his hand then reached beneath his cloak. Before he could reveal whatever weapon it concealed, Danae summoned a clutch of life-threads and hurled a blast of wind at the ferryman. The shade careered back and tumbled into the inky waters of the Styx.
‘Come on!’ she shouted to Orpheus and sprinted towards the barge.
The musician sprang into action, racing behind her. But just before they reached the vessel a long, piercing note ripped through the air.
Danae turned to see the ferryman half emerged from the river, an ebony horn held to his lips.
Then the ground shook.
Danae crashed into Orpheus and the pair fell together onto the black sand. The earth rumbled again, as though it was being pounded by a giant. The tremor dislodged the barge, and it slid back into the water, floating out of reach. Then a shape emerged from the gloom far along the bank. The creature was vast, the thud of its great feet accompanied by a cacophony of hissing. The nearer it drew, the quicker it ran, as though it had caught the scent of its prey.
Despite herself, Danae screamed.
Charging towards them was the largest hound she had ever seen, as long as theArgoand as tall as an oak. Its coat was as black as the sand and from its thick neck sprouted three snarling heads, ropes of spittle dangling from teeth the length of her arm. Like the shades, its three pairs of eyes burned like red-hot coals. With another jolt of terror, she located the source of the hissing. From the scruff of itsthree necks sprouted over a hundred snakes, their serpentine bodies writhing over each other like a scaled, living mane. Finally, as if the beast wasn’t terrible enough, a scorpion’s tail curved up behind its back, a sting as long as her leg poised and glistening.
This must be the beast Orpheus spoke of: Kerberos, Hades’ three-headed hound who guarded the River Styx.
Recovering herself, Danae scrambled onto her feet, whipped a cord of life-threads into the sand and flicked a wave of grains at the hound. With no blade to fight with, she had no hope of killing it without weakening it first. She would have a better chance if she blinded its eyes. All six of them.
Kerberos’ central head roared, tossing furiously as its other two snarled.
Two down, four to go.
As though connected by one mind, the snakes stopped writhing and stretched into the air, fanning out like a spray of deadly peacock feathers around the creature’s neck.
‘You just made it angrier!’ called Orpheus.
Danae ignored his comment and shouted, ‘Run!’ before throwing another torrent of life-threads into the air and hurling them towards Kerberos. The force of the gale sent the beast stumbling back, then its scorpion tail darted forward. She had to fling herself across the sand to avoid being impaled by the stinger. She twisted onto her back just in time to see the dog lunge towards Orpheus, who was running across the shore. Summoning more life-threads, she hurled another concentrated blast of air at the beast’s belly. The hound was caught mid-leap and slammed into the sand. She staggered to her feet and ran towards it, cursing herself for wasting so much energy trying to open the bronze gates.
Just as Kerberos pushed its sinewy body off the sand,Danae leapt. She wrapped her limbs around its scorpion tail and clung on. Digging her thighs into the groove between two segments, she held on tight as the beast roared again and thrashed its tail. Screaming with the effort, she thrust a hoard of life-threads into her arms and with all her strength, twisted.
A bellow of pain exploded from the hound. Danae crashed onto the sand, falling from the severed stinger. She was soaked in something warm and sticky. She prayed to the fates it was blood rather than poison. Barely able to fill her heaving lungs, she staggered to her feet, ready to face Kerberos. But the beast was bounding away from her.
She heard Orpheus cry, ‘No, no!’ and looked round to see him pelting along the shore, desperately trying to catch up with the floating barge, the hound pursuing him.
Danae bolted after them, her legs screaming.
Then Kerberos pounced.
Orpheus turned, at the last moment raising his fists as the giant hound bore down on him. Then one of Kerberos’ heads snapped its jaws around the musician’s torso.
Danae staggered, falling to her knees as Orpheus’ body was ripped between the beast’s three maws like he was nothing more than a scrap of meat.
Her mouth stretched into a silent scream. She could not look away, could not move.
Then something cold and hard closed around her neck.
