Megariad
He could have been sleeping. But the skin was cold, pale, rigid. How could something so like Iolaus fall so far short?
"Megara," said Pyrgo, arms never stopping. "How about a break?"
"I'm sorry, I'm fine." She wasn't fine, but she should be the one offering meager comfort. No mother should have to bury her son.
Meg tried to match Pyrgo's rhythm. They would have wed in the month of Gamelion. Gifts had been exchanged, the men had shaken on it. She had pictured him beside her, in his good tunic, making offerings to Hera.
But here they were, washing him (would it help to call it "the body"?), anointing him with oil, a wreath on his hair, the ferryman's coin in his mouth. There was chanting and gnashing of teeth. She was vaguely aware of a funeral feast that should have been a wedding, but others did not seem as disturbed by this.
People she had never met assured her it would get better, but life remained a gray fog. Her mind kept returning to the singer who, urged by deep despair, had left the realm of light and upper air after his beloved. Iolaus had thought it overly dramatic when they'd watched it at the theatre. But she didn't have the resources to tread the Tenarian road and tempt the shades in their obscure abode. Likewise Lerna, Feneos, or any other supposed gate to the underworld. She should take up busking.
For now she had Lake Illiki, which was little enough help getting around Boeotia, let alone other realms. Its waters lapped apologetically at her feet. She whispered a prayer to Persephone, wondered briefly whether she could ever empathize, decided it was less hopeless than petitioning the husband. If all rivers flowed to the sea, it would only take a little bending of the rules to get her across. If not, all mortals flowed to the Styx eventually. She jumped.
#
Meg clawed her way back to the surface - a wet, gasping failure. Fine. If the lake wouldn't take her she'd find another route, maybe a high tower like Psyche. But the once green shore was now dark, dank, sunless: she wasn't in Boeotia anymore. It fit her mood perfectly.
Getting here was no mean feat, but getting around was something else. From a nearby rocky crevice came light, heat, a human voice - all clearly alien to this land. She crossed onto a beach under a starry sky. A bearded man was building a fire, a black sheep bleating beside him.
"Halt, ghost!" he cried, terrified. "I will not suffer you to approach the blood, till with Tiresias I should first confer!"
"I'm no ghost," said Meg, backing away. She noticed the once-human shadows flitting about, hungry for the feast he was preparing. Surely she was nothing like them?
The man returned to the fire, unconvinced. She noted the aristocratic pose, the battle-scarred arms. "What are you doing?"
"Seeking a powerful oracle," he said, pouring honey and milk in the flame. "I've been trying to return home since Troy."
"Wasn't that like ten years ago?" she said. In Thebes, the funeral for King Thersander had lasted days. "No one can be that bad a sailor."
He looked like he wanted to stab her. "I ran into some god trouble." He took a swig of wine as if to wash away the memory, poured some in the fire, hesitated. He offered her the wineskin.
Meg shrugged, drank, coughed as it burned her throat. If Iolaus could see her now, drinking unwatered wine like a barbarian.
She flinched as the man slit the sheep's throat and held it over the fire, muttering under his breath. The shades shrieked at the site of blood.
"Back, I say!" cried the man.
"Enough, Odysseus," said one with a royal diadem.
"I did not summon you."
"And I, Jocasta, did not come for you," she said. "We came for her."
"Me?" said Meg.
"Why do you seek the underworld, child?" said Jocasta. "All mortals find it, in time."
"Iolaus," whispered Meg. "The love of my life."
The sea breeze sighed with the shades.
"I am Eriphyle," said the second shade. "My husband blamed me for joining a doomed expedition. He ordered my own son to kill me."
"Ariadne," said the third. "I betrayed kin and country for my lover. He abandoned me in my sleep."
"Iphimedia," said the fourth. "Men or gods, they take what they want and leave. In my case, Poseidon."
"Tyro," said the fifth. "Poseidon, disguised as a river god."
"Antiope," said the sixth. "Zeus, disguised as a satyr."
"Leda," said the seventh. "Zeus, disguised as a swan."
"A swan?" said Meg.
"In my experience," said Jocasta, "men are often not what they claim."
"Why, hapless Chief!" cried an eighth shade, an old man with a golden sceptre. "Arrivest thou to behold the dead, and this unpleasant land?"
"Tiresias, finally!" cried Odysseus.
"What's all this, then?" asked Tiresias.
"The child wants her lover back from the dead," said Jocasta.
"It's not that simple," said Meg, hurt. Well, maybe it was that simple, but the shade made it seem silly. This was deep, this was true love.
"Ah, that old nut," said Tiresias. "Reminds of the time Athena blinded me for catching her bathing."
"Everything reminds you of that time," sighed Jocasta.
"If you're an oracle," said Meg, "why not avoid it?"
"Clearly, you've never seen Athena naked," smiled Tiresias. "You would be wise to heed the queen's advice. If you decide not to, cross the threshold and follow the path. You will arrive at the House of Hades."
"Thank you, sir," said Meg.
"On your way, then," said Odysseus, "so we can get back to the hero of this story."
#
Meg went back through the crevice and, sure enough, a decaying path wound its way into the gloom. Had it really not been there the first time?
She started walking, but voices were coming towards her.
"A hero?" groaned Hades, blue fire rippling. "At the gates?"
"Y-yes, my lord," replied Panic.
"We're a year away from alignment," said Hades. "We need to be out in the world, recruiting. We don't have time for a wannabe Sisyphus, Theseus, Pirithous…"
"Mortal!" cried Panic, pointing an accusing claw at Meg.
"I can explain…" said Meg.
Hades examined her with disgust, poked her in the arm. "Too fleshy for our taste, my sweet. Run along now. Given your decision making so far, I'm sure you'll join us soon enough." He moved on. "As I was saying…"
"Lord Hades?" said Meg, voice breaking. She had carefully planned what she would say if she ever made it this far - she could remember none of it. "I mean, o Unseen One…"
"I know, I know," said Hades. "The Wealthy, Knower of All Noble Things, Ultimate Host, Fetcher of Men, and whatever else mortals come up with to avoid saying my name - as if it would change your fates in the least. I'm not usually one to turn away groveling, but I'm a little busy."
"I'm desperate," she said.
"Let me guess, "said Hades. "You want someone back from the dead. A parent. A puppy you've had since you were little."
"My love," whispered Meg.
"How original," said Hades. "Is this the part you play the harp? We doing this old school?"
"I, um, hadn't thought…"
"Mortals," scoffed Hades. "Expect us to upend the natural order of things out of the kindness of our hearts. What's in it for me?"
"My shade?" said Meg.
"If you haven't noticed," said Hades, "shades here are a drachma a dozen. Don't let the hellgate hit you on the way out."
"My life, then!" said Meg. "You said you needed something done out in the world. As it happens, I live in the world. I can help."
"My current agents do leave something to be desired…" said Hades, glancing at Pain. He shot out his hand with a smile that was all teeth. "Fine. Do we have a deal? No refunds or take-backsies."
Meg hesitated, but grasped the cold, hard hand. "Deal."
"Peachy," said Hades, turning to the river which now glowed green with the shades of Hellas. "I need a name."
"Iolaus," whispered Meg.
"Iolaus!" Hades hollered in orange flame.
The cave was silent, the shades flowed on. Meg was about to say something when one shade waded uncertainly to the shore, frail and barely corporeal.
"Iolaus!" cried Meg, running to embrace him.
"What's happening?" he asked hoarsely.
"I'll explain everything," said Meg.
"Take it outside," said Hades. "We'll be in touch."
#
Meg watched small waves roll onto pebbles. I don't think this is working out. I'm not the bad guy here. She wanted to scream. I met someone else.
"Hey there, Meg-o," said Hades, sauntering up. "For your next mission, I was thinking…"
"You!" Meg cried with the fury of a woman scorned.
"Me?" Hades said sheepishly.
"You did this!" she pushed on. "Twisted his mind somehow. It's the only way..."
"Ah," said Hades. "I gather Iolaus is Io-gone? Went out for a pack of pipes?"
"This is all your fault!" cried Meg.
"Meg, dear," said Hades, "let's get a few things straight. Ena, I was minding my own business until you came to me. Dio, though my family loves meddling in mortal affairs, I have bigger fish to fry. Tria, how many mortals live happily ever after with whoever they loved when they were seventeen? Sometimes people grow apart, you can't blackmail them into loving you."
"Except with pomegranate seeds," said Meg.
"You're angry and trying to be hurtful, so we'll let that one slide," said Hades, frowning at the lake. "After we overthrew the Titans, my brothers and I drew lots for the realms. Zeus drew the wide sky of brightness and clouds; Poseidon, the grey sea; I got the underworld."
"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" said Meg.
"Life isn't fair, Meg," said Hades. "Now suck it up. There's a river guardian that needs talking to."