Page 129 of This Divine Revelry

‘Dionysus,’ I gasp before my lungs give out entirely.

I look away, past his shoulder, to the decapitated head of the last woman to vex Perseus.

Medusa.

A spill of snakes, dark grey flesh and pale eyes.

The heat sputters out and suddenly I am tremendously, excruciatingly cold.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

HERMES STANDS BEFORE ME, still in that tower in Argos but it’s empty now – no one else, not even the stone bodies of Perseus’s own men hit by Medusa’s gaze.

‘What happened?’ I demand. The pain has vanished, my tongue my own again.

But he winces – no, more than that. There are tears shining in his eyes that he’s not allowing to fully fall.

‘I don’t know, Ariadne,’ he says, scarcely above a whisper.

‘We need to help,’ I say, pushing past him, but he catches my wrist.

‘Ariadne,’ he says again. His gaze fixes on something behind me and his voice breaks.

I turn to find my own face looking back, arms outstretched. Only my despair tempering the obvious agony – all of me hardened to soft grey stone.

‘I ferry souls to the Underworld,’ Hermes says.

I look back at him. ‘Oh.’

I run. I don’t care – if Dionysus is out there, if the thiasus are fighting then I can help, somehow. Surely.

Hermes snaps his fingers and something in my core hurls me back into his vice-like grip. ‘I wouldn’t recommend that,’ he says. ‘Sisyphus is spending eternity rolling boulders for a similar attempt.’

‘Hermes –’

‘You can’t help them. This isn’t … it’s not quite the world. It’s more a space that runs through it, where the threads of fate are woven and time churns on and a version of me comes to collect souls. I can step between those worlds but you can’t. The thiasus aren’t out there.’

‘I’m really dead?’

I see the answer in his expression – an immortal sort of reluctance. Grief and nostalgia all at once, like the inevitable ending is something the immortals make peace with the moment they meet us.

‘I really don’t want to do this. Not for you. But there are laws … sacred rules even gods must abide by.’

‘I understand.’ But I don’t – my voice is small and I want to be held, want to be comforted, want Dionysus. Dionysus, who I’ll never see again … Fates, so much time spent dreading his immortal future without me but don’t I have one without him too? Trapped in the Underworld, knowing he will never join me there.

Hermes releases my arm and takes my hand instead.

‘Ready?’ he asks.

I nod – letting him lift us into the air, the space around us warping so there is no city to fly over, no land to traverse, just a short stretch of spinning earth until we plunge into a dark cave, the wings of his sandals whirring with each flap.

At once the world solidifies into a loud cacophony. People – no, not people. Souls. Thousands of them, milling and calling, bartering, and some just shouting, screaming for help. A river rushes alongside us, each churn an echoing wail.

I’d expected darkness but the sky above is the orange-touched wash of sunset, like someone has painted it into existence. I can’t see the sun – perhaps if there is one it has already vanished – but that hurts me too. The sun is gone and I am dead and I am in this alone – even Hermes releasing me, stepping back.

‘Wait,’ I say, realizing he’s about to say goodbye. ‘Have you … have you had to bring anyone else from the thiasus?’

I think of those screams … the calls for help.