‘Why did Hades want me to see this?’ she croaked.
The ferryman remained still. She knew he could not speak in a way she understood, but he could give her some indication.
Charon made no effort to answer her question, but instead held out the flatbread she had refused to eat back at the rock. She took it from him and hurled it across the sand.
The ferryman sighed then lifted her again and carried her the rest of the way across the obsidian desert, only setting her down again at the edge of the River Styx, where his barge waited for them.
When they arrived at the riverbank leading up to Hades’ palace, Charon did not linger to see if Danae would follow him out of the barge but scooped her into his arms and hastened through the ghostly grove. His ribs were heaving by the time they reached the pillared entrance hall at the crest of the winding staircase.
The feast chamber was deserted and Danae did not see another soul as the ferryman carried her to her room. She rolled towards the wall once he lay her on the bed, her face inches from the veined marble, the iron collar cold against her skin.
Sleep came and went but brought no relief. At one point she heard the door open and something being placed upon the table. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted across the room.
She did not move. Hunger and thirst had become nothing but notes in a symphony of suffering. She understood now why the Twelve had created the fiction of unburied souls wandering endlessly across the banks of the River Styx. It was a frightful punishment to go on existing when one had nothing to live for. Like those lost ghosts, now she knew the truth, she would never again know peace.
The world was a dark and terrible place, and she wanted no part of it.
In a few quiet moments during her year of searching, she’d allowed herself to escape into fantasy. She had imagined walking up the dusty path to her hut, the smell of her mother’s honey cakes wafting from the yard. Eleni would wave at her as she pushed open the gate and scold her for staying away so long. Her pa would have just returned from fishing, and his nets, still wet and gleaming from the sea, would be piled on the table inside. Alea would be there too, bouncing Arius on her hip, asking their father about his day as he lowered himself into a chair by the hearth. Both would smile at Danae as she entered, then carry on chatting about the tides and the mercurial nature of red tunny. Danae would be happy just to stand there and let the ordinariness of them wash over her.
Allowing herself to remember her life before came at a heavy price. When she returned to reality, the pain was almost too terrible to bear. Yet she kept remembering. Like an old drunk who cannot stop themselves reaching for their cup. Now, in that dark, windowless room beneath the earth, she closed her eyes. Perhaps, this time, she would not haveto come back. Perhaps, if she concentrated hard enough, she could stay in her dream forever. But as she trod the familiar path to her family’s hut, voices drifted through her mind that had no place there. One, cold and aloof, she recognized, the other, lilting and boyish, she had not heard before.
‘Where is the creature you sent to plague us?’
‘Which creature?’
Slowly, she began to regain her senses and realized that the voices were not inside her head but wafting from beyond her room. Her bones grating with effort, she opened her eyes and rolled away from the wall. Her door had been left open.
‘The one with godlike powers you disguised as a mortal girl.’
A harsh, brittle laugh: Hades.
‘You flatter me, Hermes. I wish it was in my power to craft such a creature, but alas even my talents do not stretch that far.’
‘But she is from the Underworld. Father said …’
‘If it looks like a lion, roars like a lion and has a lion’s teeth, then perhaps it is a lion.’
‘I don’t understand …’
‘Your father is a liar.’
The sound of crashing furniture reverberated through the palace.
‘How dare you slander the King of Heaven –’ Hermes suddenly fell silent, and Danae heard a faint choking sound, then in a strangled voice, ‘If you give her to me, I will do whatever you ask. Name your price.’
A pause.
‘The girl you seek is not here. Fly home, messenger boy, and discover the truth. Now go, before I decide that Persephone could do with some company.’
Danae heard a clink, followed by a humming sound like the rapid beating of wings.
Somewhere, in the ruined caverns of her mind, a question echoed.
Why was Hades hiding her from the Olympians?
Her gaze drifted to the candle on her table. It had burned down to a waxy soup in its silver dish. She squinted at the brightness of the little flame, her eyes unused to the light after staring for so long at the dark wall.
There was a story her mother had told her and her siblings when they were children. The tale of Pandora, the first woman made by the gods. It was said that she was given a wedding gift by Zeus: a jar she was told never to open. But Pandora was curious, and one day, while her husband was away, she opened the lid. A terrible, blood-curdling shriek ripped through the air, and the daimons of worry, sickness, jealousy, greed and all the evils that now plague the mortal race came pouring out. Pandora fell back, covered her face and wept at the terrors she had unleashed. Then a gentle hand came to rest upon her head, and a soft voice said, ‘Do not mourn, child. Despair can never rule your heart while I am here.’ It was Elpis, the spirit of hope.
