Prologue: Spirits Escape the Land of the Dead
A young-looking lady sat at a desk, although with immortals, it's hard to tell how old they really are. She had a gentle glow about her as her pen hovered uncertainly over a pile of blank paper. She rolled her eyes with a huff that made a loose bit of hair flip over her little bronze tiara. The young lady found herself in an awkward position. She, Calliope, Muse of Epics, was experiencing Writer's Block.
A terrible thing to experience, particularly for a being who supposedly helped inspire human creativity. She pondered to herself how she was going to start her second opus about a hero of the modern age. She shrugged her shoulders and mused to herself, 'if it's not broke, don't fix it.'
She put her pen to the sheet and started scribbling away. Images of a dark dank place cluttered her thoughts.
The Fields of Asphodel sprawled out in all directions, seeming to go on forever. It needed to, the living quickly joined the ranks of the dead, to the annoyance of the Lord of the Dead. Countless spirits drifted across the black landscape, mindlessly walking about. A few of the newer arrivals had a wild gleam in their eyes as they actively looked around. But all too soon, even their memories faded away and they forgot who or what they searched for; these were the lucky ones.
For a pitiful few, no matter how long they resided in the bleakness of the underworld; their memories never faded. The colors, the smells and the smiling faces of familiar people were etched in their minds, like an indelible mark. They drifted about, yearning for what they had lost, never forgetting. This was one sad shade's fate.
He could only stand, day in and out. Watching as the light seem to vanish from incoming souls' eyes. While he slowly went mad. Oh, he tried to talk to people, tried to make friends. After all, death was eternal; if he had to be down here, he didn't want to be alone all that time. But the ghosts almost seemed to look through him, ignoring his own presence as if he weren't there screaming at them.
He stared bitterly at the far-off lights of Elysium, flickering over the impossible heights of Erebus. He knew he hadn't accomplished much in his pitifully short life and didn't deserve Paradise. But why did Fate have to be cruel enough to show it off teasingly out of reach. The other ghosts didn't even seem aware of what they were missing; but he did.
He glanced hesitantly behind him at the sound of water trickling behind. The milky white, River Lethe flowed slowly by, with a surface, flat as a sheet. He knew, all it would take, was just one sip of it; and he'd join the rest of these sorry souls in their forgetful stupor. He shuddered at the thought. He cursed everybody out there, that he could still remember what it was like to be alive; yet he cursed himself for being too scared to take the plunge and make himself forget.
He sighed as he parked his butt on a lumpy rock and cradled his chin in one hand; when he heard some rather animated chatter. He sat with his back ramrod straight and listened, trying to figure out where the voices were coming from. No one ever seemed to talk in Asphodel, so maybe someone like him had finally arrived. Someone he could at least talk to, if only just to say hi.
He jumped to his feet and ran across the dry grass and through the gnarled poplar trees, zoning in on the talking. When he climbed up the hill and looked down, a greeting was on the tip of his tongue, when suddenly he shut up and looked petrified.
A regal looking lady with a tall crown and in green shimmering robes with a set of panpipes around her neck walked past. But it was the pair of lionesses at her sides that scared the heck out of ghost. He'd never seen lions, except in pictures. And something told him that these were not like Nala and Simba and the rest of the Lion King cast. The lionesses snarled disdainfully at the scenery and swatted their clawed paws at the shades as they passed by. The ghosts barely knew what hit them before their shadowy forms were scattered at once, and failed to reform after. Gulp…
"I agree Lursa, this place is depressingly dead," the woman hissed. "However, I need allies. And what better allies to act vengeance upon the world above than the spiteful dead?"
The lioness on the right huffed in response, while the one on the left quietly strutted next to her master. "Oh, come now, be more like Betor, the sooner we find our spirits, the sooner we will leave." This was no spirit, the ghost figured that much. The lady seemed to radiate power. Even if she didn't have her lions with her, he wouldn't have gone near her. But this was the most interesting thing to happen since he ended up down there. So, he continued to dog her.
The lady picked up her pipes and began to play an airy tune that seemed to lift the mood. A pleasant breeze filled the air, as the grass turned green under her feet and flowers bloomed despite the darkness. The sight of life made the shade shudder happily, until he realized that that the plants wilted and died as the lady walked away.
She interrupted her tune when she stood in front of a ghost. The figure was thin and vaporous, like she was barely there. Cory didn't know if the ghosts simply faded away after a very long time, but if that were true; he figured this shade had to be ancient.
A gleam of recognition lit in the lady's eyes as she raised her pipes and began to blow. She started a lively jig. Her bare feet danced in circles around the shade. The air filled with energy, even eavesdropping shade started to feel the urge to dance, and he was a terrible dancer. Then he watched in wonder as the ghost appeared to grow more solid. Her grey skin began to turn milky white and then cream colored. Her vacant eyes began to glimmer like yellow topaz while her toothy smile became red, luscious lips.
The ghost's straw-like, grey hair fell straight down her back like a waterfall and turned a midnight black. And to top it all off, her sackcloth dress turned a shade of royal purple and became a fine silk chiton with finely stitched embroidery with golden thread. A little golden tiara appeared on the ghost's head as she took in a deep breath and sighed. The shade on the hill gawked, she had to have been the most beautiful lady who ever lived.
The Lady with the lions asked, "my Queen, how do you feel?"
The queen stared at her youthful features and smiled, "I feel reborn. Who are you, and where am I?" The lady in the purple dress looked around anxiously.
"Why you my dear, are in Underworld."
The Queen staggered as she fell to her knees in dismay. "I am dead? It cannot be."
"It is so," the Lady said sadly. "However, I have brought you back to life, my poor Queen."
"I thank thee," the Queen replied. "But who are you, and what do you want with me?"
The Lady stroked her lionesses behind their heads and smiled at the Queen. "I am Cybelle, Mother of the Wild, although call me a sister in arms. We are very much alike."
"And how is that?"
"Why we are both mothers, and we have both received unjust fates."
The Queen snarled, which ruined her beautiful features, "I know very much about being a mother, and look where it got me?" She held up her arms in annoyance as she swatted away at the depressing scenery around her.
"Indeed," the Lady agreed. "But, I could take you away from this place. You could return to the world above and be the most beautiful woman alive."
The Queen's eyes twinkled as she grinned ferally. "And what would it take to do this?"
"I need assistance in dealing with a few pests. As a mother to a mother, may I ask for your help? If you aid me, I will give you what you desire."
The Queen barely waited a moment. "Done. Let us leave this place. Even now, I'm beginning to grow cold again."
The Lady replied, "not just yet. I need one more to add to our ranks before we leave." She turned to a hunched-over old hag sitting nearby. She played a different tune, more fiery and harsh than the last. This figure shuddered as she became solid and stood tall. She didn't have the overwhelming beauty the Queen possessed, nor the radiant power of the Lady, but there was something about her. She had a black aura around her, it almost stunk, but it wasn't a smell; but it was repelling. Even the other ghosts steered clear of this figure. Her hands solidified and I realized that they were horribly burned, as if she had stuck them into a raging fire.
"Eww, who is she?" The Queen asked, repulsed by the figure.
"My dear Althaea, I am sorry for your fate" the Lady cooed.
Althaea glanced at her hands and winced. She looked up and ghost on the hill turned away. Althaea's eyes looked fractured, as if something had broken inside of her. "It hurts," she hissed. "My body, my mind…"
"There, there" the Lady tried to console her. "I know what happened to you. A terrible fate. Even your time here couldn't wash away your pain. But I can." Althaea looked up desperately and clutched tightly at the green robes, despite her burned hands. "Oh yes, you do what I ask of you, and it shall be done."
The Lady turned to the mist and gestured for something to draw near. Someone, or something slithered out of the haze. The figure appeared to be a woman, yet a hiss seemed to rattle just out of sight. Her presence seemed to unnerve the other two ghosts. "Relax, it is just our third sister in arms. We are all together. I have brought you back from death. Serve me well, and I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams. Now come." The Lady with the lions began playing a melody on her pipes and lead her procession of dead but not-dead ladies through the spirits and trees.
When she made it to a pile of giant boulders, she played earnestly as if serenading the stones. The ghost trailing behind them staggered as image after image of untouched wilderness filled his mind. A rushing river after the thaw, a meadow of flowers in springtime, a forest of reds, orange, and yellow burning with autumn color into the distance and many more. All at once, the rocks split, revealing a skinny hallway and an endless set of steps vanishing upward into the darkness. "Come, before the way closes again," the Lady insisted as the group rushed in.
The shade lingered with indecision. The other spirits shuffling around ignored the gaping hole in the rock. The boulders began to shake as the entrance began to fill in. He clenched his hands into fists, closed his eyes and bolted for the hole and threw himself through the opening as it closed behind him.