Abbie only flinches a little when the opening in the giant, grotesque tree closes behind her. She thinks she hears Crane's voice on the other side calling to her, but is not sure if she actually hears it or just imagines it.
She pauses for just a moment, remembering the look on his face, the pleading in his eyes when he implored her not to go. His voice was soft, nearly a whisper, saying only, "Don't."
But he knew. She knows he knew, and knows he felt helpless as he watched her ascend the stairs and step into the tree. She is grateful he didn't take off at a run to pursue her.
It was frightening enough walking into this thing. She would have hated to hit it at a dead run just so he wouldn't follow her.
No. One Witness had to remain.
She can't even say why she decided to do this. She just… went. She stared at the glowing mass in her hands, absently wondering why it isn't absorbing into her body from between the cracks in the metal like it did Jenny's, wondering if her being a Witness was somehow protecting her from the shard's power.
As she stared, she knew. She just knew. There was no voice, no vision, just knowledge. Take it into the tree. Return it to where it belongs.
She steps forward, onto the first step of a long staircase with no discernible end. She steps down, down, down, one foot in front of the other, walking automatically, still holding the glowing mass in her hands.
It is warm, almost hot, but does not burn her. It vibrates with a gentle hum, like she is holding a ball of bees.
Abbie reaches a split in the stairs and chooses the left passage, descending further into the bowels of the earth.
No. Not chooses. She doesn't make the choice. She just automatically goes that way, like she knows which path to take. Like these are familiar passageways she has trodden hundreds of times.
The shard must be guiding me, she reasons. She doesn't grow tired. Her knees do not ache from carrying her down the endless staircase.
She has no idea how much time has passed. It could be hours or days, but she eventually steps onto a landing. It is a vestibule of sorts, and there are three openings.
Again she takes the left-most passage, again walking without thinking, this time down an endless corridor.
She realizes with some surprise that she isn't afraid. When she thinks, she thinks of Jenny, torn between feeling like she did the right thing to save her little sister and wondering if she hasn't just abandoned her again. She thinks of Joe, glad he is back in their lives and hopes he will make Jenny happy.
She thinks of Crane, and feels an unpleasant tug in her stomach. She left him with nothing more than a "Take care of each other." The thought that he left her not long ago doesn't even occur. This isn't about getting even. This is about saving the world. What is her one life compared to billions, right?
Sounds better than "you have a martyr complex" anyway.
The corridor ends quite suddenly. Dark water laps quietly against the edge of the walkway. She can hear it more than see it, since the walls and the walkway both end at the same place.
She waits, knowing that is what she must do now. There is no other option. She can't go back. She must wait. She looks down at her hands, at the item she has come to deliver.
It doesn't entrance her or draw her in. It just is. She finds herself wondering why it's so important.
The boat arrives after a minute or so. It is long, black, and helmed by a bearded figure in a robe. He turns his face towards her and gives the slightest nod.
She takes in his appearance for a moment, noting he looks a bit like a thin Donald Sutherland. Or an ancient version of Crane. Except Donald's and Crane's eyes are blue. Charon's eye sockets are bottomless black pits, each with its own flame dancing within.
Coin. The word floats into her consciousness, and she quickly and carefully maneuvers the bundle of broken metal to balance on one hand while she digs into her pocket with the other. Surprisingly (but maybe not), the metal jumble keeps its shape. None of the pieces fall.
Abbie withdraws a coin from her pocket. It is a British halfpenny copper from 1770 – something Crane gave her as a token of luck not long after they met and realized their destiny. She remembers admiring it after she found it, forgotten in his pocket much the way a penny would be forgotten in one of her own jackets. When she tried to return it, he insisted she keep it, even though he had to know that such an antique could fetch a tidy sum, especially in its near-mint condition. But Abbie never sold it or pawned it. She has carried it with her since then, its slight weight a comfort in her pocket.
It is the only coin she has on her person. She has to give it to Charon if she expects to cross. The coin's monetary value is nothing compared to its sentimental value to Abbie. She looks at it, then up at the ferryman.
She knows he won't wait forever. Even now his expression, though blank, seems to be growing a bit impatient.
She takes a deep breath and holds out her hand, the coin resting in her palm. He plucks it up with his long, bony fingers, contemplates it a moment, then nods.
Abbie steps into the boat, finding it remarkably stable. She sits, holding the shard in both hands again.
The crossing seems slow, but again, time seems to have no meaning down here. She wonders how much has passed up in the world of the living.
The boat slides to a smooth stop on the other side, and Abbie steps out, nodding her thanks to Charon.
The silent ferryman watches her every move, and she wonders why. Wonders if he knows who she is. What she is. What she is carrying.
She walks a short way and encounters a door. It swings open on its own as she approaches. Beyond it she can see it. The dog. Cerberus.
She expects him (them?) to bark, to be a three-headed mass of teeth and foam, snapping angrily at her. He is an impressive sight: a sleek black coat covering powerful canine muscles, not restrained by any collar or leash or chain. He stands like a sentry just beyond the doors and just looks at her. The center head cocks to the side a bit in the way that dogs everywhere do. The left head makes a small muttering boof sound, and the right head's mouth drops open and its floppy pink tongue lolls out as he pants.
Abbie shows the dog what she carries, holding her hands out in front of her, almost as if she is offering it to the creature.
There is a slight whine from one of the heads and the massive canine steps aside, granting her entrance. As she walks past, she glances up – up! – at the dog, who is a full head taller than she.
"Approach." A voice summons. It is a deep, calm voice that sounds almost bored. It is the first voice she has heard since she stepped into the tree. She cannot see the speaker, but she walks, having a pretty good idea about who it is. There is only one person it could be.
"You are brave, Witness. Or foolish," the voice says after several long minutes. Or hours. Abbie can't tell.
Hades. He doesn't look at all like she was expecting. On the other hand, what was she expecting? A grotesque beast with horns, cloven hooves, and a tail flicking behind him like the devil? A burly, bearded man in a toga? A slick-talking caricature with hair like a natural gas flame, a pointy-toothed leer, and the voice of James Woods?
He's handsome. Very handsome. Of course the god of the Underworld is handsome, she thinks, and immediately wonders if he can hear her thoughts. He says nothing; gives no indication he's heard her knee-jerk thought, so she keeps walking forward.
Her next thought is He looks like a lost Hemsworth brother and she almost laughs.
"What have you in your hands, brave little Witness?" Hades asks. He is sitting on a large throne that appears to be carved out of some sort of black stone. Onyx or obsidian, maybe. He is lounging, his elbow posted on the arm, head leaning on his hand, and his ankle crossed over the opposite knee.
Abbie finds her voice. "The Shard of Anubis… sir," she says, unsure how to address him. She isn't afraid of him; she has had enough classical history to know that Hades isn't actually evil despite his portrayal in countless stories and movies. "I'm returning it to you."
He finally lifts his head from his hand, sitting a bit straighter. "But the shard belongs to Anubis," he says. "It is not the Shard of Hades."
Her eyes widen slightly, thrown by the logic of his comment. Of course the Shard of Anubis wouldn't belong to Hades. But why was she compelled to bring it here? Why did it guide her steps so?
"Do not fret, Grace Abigail," Hades speaks again. Abbie doesn't even bother being surprised he knows her name. "Anubis," he says, not raising his voice.
"Anubis is here?" she blurts, her confusion taking over.
Hades chuckles. "Of course he is." He narrows his black eyes a little and asks, "Did you truly think that each culture has its own set of gods?" Abbie says nothing and he continues, "We answer to many names. Hades, Pluto, Osiris… Hel," he chuckles. It sounds dry and dark, and is the first emotion she's seen from him.
"Isn't Hel a… goddess?" Abbie asks, smiling a little.
Hades cocks an eyebrow in a very Crane-like way. "The Vikings are a fascinating people," he dismissively says, waving his long, slender hand just as a hulking shadow approaches.
Anubis is as frightening as Hades is beautiful. He is huge; nearly nine feet tall. He only vaguely resembles the stylized Egyptian drawings of the jackal-headed god. He is massive and muscular and his head is large and covered in tawny, not black, fur that extends just past his neck. He has large pointed ears, razor-sharp teeth, and glowing yellow eyes. If Abbie didn't know who he was and only saw the head, she would think "coyote". It is then she realizes she's never actually seen a jackal and only assumed they were black from the images she's seen of Anubis.
He steps forward on large, bare feet, a staff clutched in his giant hand. Abbie wonders if it is the same sort of staff from which the hunk of metal in her hand was made.
Anubis lowers the end of the staff towards her and she lifts her hands towards the disk at the end. There is a hole in the center, and once it is two inches from her hands, the glowing red energy flows into the hole. The connection lasts a long time, but Abbie's arms do not get tired as she watches the luminescent stream rising from her hands into the center of the disk.
The red glow solidifies into a stone in the center of Anubis' staff, looking like a large ruby, and the broken case in Abbie's hand crumbles into dust.
She drops her hands and Anubis gives her a grateful nod before walking away.
"Why did you return this item to us?" Hades asks.
Abbie turns towards him again. "This is where it belongs," she answers.
Hades pauses for a beat. "Why did you return this item to us?" he repeats, his tone exactly the same.
"To… to stop Pandora and The Hidden One from destroying the world," she answers, knowing better than to give the same answer.
Another pause. "Why did you return this item to us?"
She takes a deep breath. "To save my sister."
Hades gives a small nod, seemingly satisfied. "In saving your sister, you left her again."
Abbie looks down.
"And the other Witness is left alone. He will not last another 200 years until your next incarnation comes along."
She looks up, remembering Pandora's cryptic comments earlier that hinted about the reincarnations of the Witnesses.
"He will not last two years without you at his side. Your mission will fail."
"Why do you care?" she asks.
"I care very little about his fate or the fate of the mortal world," he truthfully answers. "I care about balance. He is there; you are here. Balance must be restored."
She angles her head at him. "I didn't think you were in the business of letting people out of the Underworld," she says.
He actually looks impressed. "You think I am going to let you return to the world of men? Perhaps I intend to draw your lover down to my domain," he says.
Lover? Abbie decides to let it go. "If… if you do that, things will still be out of balance," she reasons. "We belong in the World of Men, not down here."
He waves his hand again. "The world will be destroyed, the world will be rebuilt, humanity will begin to fail, new Witnesses will be born. It is the way of things."
She blinks. "But if we are repeatedly reincarnated, like you just said, we would no longer be down here anyway, so why not just cut out the middle man and let me go?" she boldly asks, figuring she really has nothing to lose. I'm already in the Underworld, so why not?
Now Hades blinks. Suddenly, he laughs. It is a loud, raucous sound, completely unexpected. "You are a clever one, Grace Abigail. No wonder you are so loved," he says, his laughter abating. "Andrew John, Lucas Javier, Daniel Elijah, Ichabod Nathaniel… all drawn like moths to the fascinating flame that is Grace Abigail, but only one truly has her heart," he finishes. "Yes, your flame burns brightly indeed. Brilliant, beautiful, and crafty besides," he nods. "Perhaps I will have you stay."
"Isn't your wife due to return soon?" she shoots back, cocking an eyebrow.
"Hm," he chuckles once, actually looking a bit impressed. "You may return to the World of Men."
"Why?" she unthinkingly asks.
"You question my judgment?" he returns, eyebrows rising.
"No, I am… simply curious."
"Balance," he simply answers. "You are a Witness. You have no place here among the dead. Your soul is marked, just as your lover's soul. You do not belong in the realms of the dead. Moloch had no right to keep you in purgatory," he explains. He angles his head and asks, "How else would you have been allowed to escape that realm with such ease?"
She is about to protest that it wasn't easy at all, but in retrospect… it kind of was. Especially compared to extracting Katrina. "Katrina Crane said that a soul cannot leave purgatory without being replaced by another," she says, almost to herself. "And yet I was allowed to leave, even though I was there to replace hers…"
"Katrina Elizabeth should have remained in purgatory. The World of Men was no longer her place," Hades says, sounding about as tired of Katrina as Abbie had gotten just before it all went south. "But she and her child are now in my domain and they are no longer your concern," he continues. "You, Grace Abigail, have gained a unique privilege because of your… penchant for throwing yourself in harm's way."
"I don't—"
"Don't you?" he challenges, cutting her off. "Staying in purgatory to free a witch whom you did not trust… leaping into a rift in time to follow this same witch back to a time in which your life was in danger simply because of how you look… and now this. Your dubious travels have earned you the right to return to the World of Men to complete your task."
"Oh," she dumbly replies.
"God's favor gives joy," Hades says.
"I… suppose it does?" Abbie answers, puzzled at this curious phrase.
"Your name was not chosen at random, Grace Abigail. God's favor ensures your safety, but you must remember when you return to give joy," he says.
Suddenly it makes sense. Her name. "Grace" means "God's favor" and "Abigail" means "brings joy". She never thought of herself as much of a bringer of joy, but who is she to question the lord of the Underworld?
Jenny. Crane. Two names come to mind. Two people to whom she is fairly certain she brings joy. She straightens her back.
"Now go. Leave now before I decide to keep you here as a wife during the time when Persephone is away," he says.
"Thank you, sir," she says, nodding respectfully, trying not to be rattled by his words. Is he joking? Or is Hades, god of the Underworld, flirting with me?
"Do not thank me yet. I did not say it would be easy," he replies, a small smile on his face. "And I only return you so that you may continue your battle, which is far from over. You may one day wish you had stayed here, Grace Abigail."
"Maybe. But if I'm gonna be reborn, I'd have to deal with it then anyway, so may as well get it over with, right?" she asks.
"Indeed," he agrees, sounding very much like Crane.
She starts to turn to leave, but stops. "How do I…?"
He simply twitches an eyebrow and says nothing.
She nods. "Right." I have to find my own way out.
A/N: I was researching Hades when I decided to write this and saw that he was sometimes referred to as "The Unseen One". That seemed a bit suspiciously close to "The Hidden One" (Pandora's husband) on the show, but for the purposes of this fic, they are separate individuals. And yes, I know I am mixing mythologies, but blame the show for that.