Someone—maybe one of his aunts—had once told Chibueze that it was the little moments and memories that made up a life, and he had to agree. After ten years without her, his sister Lindsey's face was a faded photo, her voice a distant echo in his mind, but the little things still stood out.
He remembered the games they'd played to pass the time, countless hours of staring at a lonely clock giving way to laughter and friendly competition. Lindsey had played dominoes with fervor and passion and was quick to teach Chibueze the game, and any initial reluctance was quashed when she promised a cookie if he could defeat her. He never had, not for lack of trying, but soon it was out of their hands. She'd placed a hand on his shoulder when another round of layoffs meant their parents had to sell the game and its pieces for money, right when he was starting to grasp the rules. Something in him still yearned for the cookie he'd never managed to earn, but Chibueze had a hunch it was less the snack and more his sister.
Well, if all went well, he'd be seeing Lindsey soon, for the first time since he was seven years old. He hoped she remembered him like he did her, even if it took a while for them to reconnect. Now that he was almost there, so close to their shared goal, he found it easier to recall the memories they shared in, both good and bad.
Chibueze looked out the train window to the outside, where the sun burnt down without remorse, burying everything in a wall of heat. There was the time he'd had that terrible fever, his head pounding, eyes seeing stars in daylight, and sweat caking his forehead before trickling down like he was melting. Chibueze had been deathly worried then, for himself and his family—how could they possibly get by without him? But Lindsey had been there with a cool rag and a comforting word to gently inform him that no, he was not going to die on her watch. And with his sister's help the fever passed, and Chibueze remembered pulling her into a hug that was just the right level of warmth.
The young man absently scratched at himself, hands feeling empty without the weight of the ticket he'd given the train conductor, two silver coins brimming with promises. Funny, he thought, how he'd seen identical coins only once before—and that was when his life had upended.
He remembered the feel and weight of the coins in his hands and Lindsey's careful warning not to lose them. Those coins, she'd explained, were her only hope for the future, for their family and for herself. Chibueze hadn't seen how two coins meant anything when the rent kept going up, but the glint in his sister's eyes quieted him. They weren't just any coins, she'd explained in a hushed whisper—they were tickets to Hadestown, the paradise where food was plentiful, money weighed your pockets down, and you never had to worry about running out of clothes for the week. Chibueze had given them back quickly, and she'd pocketed them even faster, eyes shining at the thought of Hadestown in all its glory.
He hoped she was right about it. Surely it had to be even better than the rumors said, for her to leave and never come back. A thorn of resentment lodged in his chest whenever he thought of it, of Lindsey packing up and leaving like none of them mattered. No matter what Hadestown was like, and even with the promise of sending money back, Chibueze had thought family would be enough to make her stay.
Or maybe Lindsey had known, like Apollo with his gift and curse of prophecy, that their family was fragile and would soon be torn apart by illness and injuries. Maybe her leaving was less a promise to help them and more getting out while she still could. Her explanation had been murky to his young mind then, all grown-up things like money and budgets and spending, but her apology sounded sincere, and she'd wept as she hugged him goodbye. Maybe she'd known Chibueze would be the only one of their family left by the time he was 17, his loneliness and desperation growing every year until this was all that remained for him.
Maybe, in some way only the Fates knew, Lindsey was preparing him for the trip he was making now by showing him the way to get there—two silver coins, stamped with the symbol of a pomegranate and the face of the god whose name they bore.
As the train pulled into the Hadestown station, remnants of his old life were left far behind on the railroad tracks, and Chibueze hoped he was making the right choice. With as many people as he saw around him, all crowding the windows and striving to get out, he wondered what sort of lives they'd left behind. He wondered if their family members would join them here in the years to come, just like him. Bitterness prickled at him again, sharp and hot, and he tried to quiet it with a deep breath that stuck in his throat, nervous anticipation flooding his veins. Chibueze's excitement rose as he joined the passengers waiting to be let out, all jostling against each other to be the first off.
When he stepped off the train, the weight of Hadestown crashed over him like the vehicle he'd just departed. Every one of Chibueze's senses was electrified as the city took him inside itself with the rest of the new arrivals. His eyes initially burned from the cathode rays and were instinctively drawn to a shapeless, dark expanse on the horizon, his ears rang with the sound of machinery and workers chanting, his nostrils flared with the heavy smells of oil and gasoline, and while his tongue was suddenly parched and desperate for water, fresh chills broke out across his skin that soon gave way to sweat as a wave of heat hit him.
Then the sound of a steam whistle pierced the air, and all noise and extraneous activity seemed to slow, then cease as a man in black leather and sunglasses strode up to greet them. Hades held a microphone in one hand, cleared his throat, and began to speak.
"Welcome to Hadestown," the God of the Dead rumbled, his voice deep as the earth and eyes piercing like diamonds. "Your journey here may have been long and the road behind you hard, but here, my children, you may rest assured that you are free. Here you will always have a roof over your head. Your hunger will always be sated. There will always be a fire to keep you warm. And you will have work to give you purpose."
The last was said with a gesture to the sprawling mass of something in the distance that Chibueze now recognized as a wall, towering so far and wide he had no idea where it began or ended. He squinted to try and gauge its scope before snapping to attention as Hades continued, discussing the particulars of his newfound employment—papers to sign, uniforms to wear, and trusted foremen to assign work. Chibueze stood up straighter and hoped he made a good impression, clapping as Hades lowered the microphone and spread his arms wide, energizing the crowd even more.
Then, on impulse, the young man raised a hand. Hades' eyes narrowed at him. "You have a question?"
"Yes, sir," Chibueze said politely. "A long time ago, my sister came here. Do you know—is she okay?"
Hades chuckled with a warm smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "Anyone that comes here knows no hunger or poverty, so I'd say she's better than okay. You may rest assured she's made herself a productive citizen of Hadestown."
Relief swelled in his heart, and as the line progressed to Hades' office, where imposing documents awaited his signature, Chibueze felt hopeful that Lindsey was well. What reason, after all, would Hades have to lie?
In no time at all his papers were stamped and sealed, a leather uniform replaced his worn clothing, and the young man was assigned to the wall, stacking bricks, mixing cement and mortar, and ensuring no cracks could be found. The work was hard and the hours long, but after a few missteps, like everyone had on their first days, Chibueze adjusted. His back grew steady and his arms strong, and it wasn't long before he excelled. He'd even earned praise from the foreman assigned to them, a tall, bearded man whose name he didn't catch, but whose words filled him with pride.
There were times he ached going to bed, completely spent after hours of labor. There were times when the heat of the city outside warmed him more than his thin blankets. And there were times when the food they ate at the mess hall seemed to taste like nothing more than sand, the water somehow hard and sharp as they drank in a haze. But Chibueze persevered, determined to make the most of his new life.
The wall was built for a purpose, Hades said, even as whatever that purpose was seemed to grow fuzzier and fuzzier in the back of his mind. Still, wherever and whoever he had been before—he couldn't remember much of his old life—was surely worse off. Here he had nothing to fear at all, except disappointing his superiors.
Life in Hadestown continued much as it had, new workers rotating in on occasion and new assignments being dealt out. When Lady Persephone arrived below there were cheers and rejoicing, none louder than Hades, but Chibueze paid little attention to the celebrations and ignored his coworkers' furtive glances at the ends of their shifts. There was always more work to be done, except on the rare occasions they were given breaks.
Chibueze was never quite sure what to do with himself when a break happened. His coworkers hadn't even told him their names, and there wasn't much to discuss except work, which made even basic conversation difficult. Usually he wandered the city aimlessly until it was time to fall back into line, and he didn't stray far from the wall he was privileged to work on. On this particular day or night, however, he turned towards an alley he'd glimpsed on occasion but never ventured into. The shadows, so alien in the light and warmth of Hadestown, made him shiver, and he considered leaving immediately and returning to the familiar streets where it was safe.
But then he heard a voice he recognized.
He would know that voice anywhere, even with years of wear and tear behind it.
Heart beating fast with excitement and trepidation, Chibueze ran hard for the source, all thoughts of work forgotten.
And it was there he saw his sister Lindsey, for the first time in the ten years she'd been gone. Her uniform was more pristine than his, her movements sharp and poised, and she carried herself with an authority that only belonged to Hades' trusted foremen. She was standing over a cowering, fallen worker. Cold fury burned in her eyes.
"Explain to me," she snarled, "why you're on break when it's the west district's time off. You've been here long enough to know the rules about changing shifts, and it's not the first time we've caught you slacking."
The other worker stammered a response that he hadn't meant to stay in the mess hall so long, that he'd gotten distracted at the water cooler, but his pleas were cut off when she roughly pulled him to his feet, gripping his arms hard. Lindsey (was it Lindsey?) scowled as she felt his muscles slack, weakening under her grip.
"A double shift in the mines should toughen you up and help you play by the rules," she declared confidently. "If you're not there by the time this discipline report is filed, you might just get sent to the Great Beyond."
Chibueze involuntarily shivered at the mention of the Great Beyond. None of the workers knew much about it, but what little they did know was enough to stay far away from even mentioning it—a place where none could hear you scream, cry, or sing, where you worked without end. If anyone ever returned from being sent there, they would never be the same as before they went in.
He couldn't imagine his sister wanting to send someone to a place like that, even as a joke, and the fact that she had no qualms about it scared him more than anything else.
The foreman dropped the worker, who ran off, terrified, and turned her attention to Chibueze.
"Sorry you had to see that—you know how it is with some workers," she said with a mean laugh. "You need directions?"
"Lindsey," Chibueze breathed, and her eyebrows rose in confusion.
"Are you new here," his sister asked, a frown creasing her face. "Only newcomers have names, and we do our best to forget them quickly. Whoever this Lindsey is, she's long gone. Your name will be gone too, someday."
"Lindsey—it's me, Chibueze," he tried, barely able to get the words out as he looked into her glassy eyes, which quickly turned away. "It's been so long—why won't you look at me? What happened to you?"
The woman's frown deepened. "Mr. Hades says to keep our heads low, except to work. Surely you've been here enough to respect that—if not, I might have to report you."
It was worse than if she had died, Chibueze thought with horror, as nothing in the young woman he saw before him remotely resembled Lindsey. There was no light in her eyes, and no happiness, humor, or warmth. It had all been ground down into a blank stare that only intensified when there was work to be done—or workers to punish.
In the ten years since he'd seen her last, whether it was the work they'd all been assigned or something about Hadestown itself, something had transformed his sister into this cold, pitiless foreman who offered no comfort to those under her watch.
There was no love.
Something inside Chibueze, something that had been quietly building, unnoticed, made itself known at once when he screamed and did not stop. He clung to her uniform in a desperate haze, begging her to remember what he'd half-forgotten himself, and any attempt she made to soothe his distress was met with more pleas. Finally, the woman he still called Lindsey wrote him up for an infraction—interfering with a foreman on duty.
His offense was relatively serious, but as it was his first time, Chibueze's punishment was relatively light. He was assigned an extra shift on the wall and was closely watched by other foremen, who now regarded him with some suspicion. Chibueze accepted it without a word of complaint; he had to, as his mind was racing, and a single misspoken word could doom it all.
He had to make sure that when he escaped, Lindsey went with him. As he built the wall, Chibueze searched for cracks even as he was tasked to repair them, his trained eyes scouring its surface for any weak points. At meals he listened hard for any sounds, any voices, that might lead to the world above. When the lights dimmed enough to allow sleep, where no one could see or hear, he traced his name in the folds of his blanket and whispered Lindsey's as he drifted to sleep.
Despite his best efforts, nothing Chibueze tried had given any leads, until one day when break time came and he saw fellow workers sneaking out. Wherever they were headed, it didn't look like they wanted to be caught, and that gave him hope. Cautiously, Chibueze followed them through a winding maze of alleys and to a building that stood out from the rest; at first he wasn't sure how, but on moving closer he saw it was made of wood instead of stone or steel, a true rarity in the underground. Workers filed inside with no particular rhythm, and after a moment, he did too.
Chibueze was astonished at what he saw. Workers sat around tables with their heads held high, looking at one another and talking freely. Some had drinks in their hands that they sipped with vigor, each a different color and size, and a bar took up much of the remaining space. Chibueze was about to approach when something else caught his eye and held it—at a small table on the right sat an untouched game of dominoes. Something in his heart leapt and twisted at the sight of the familiar game, and he sat down instinctively, waiting for an opponent. Soon a man with dark skin and bright eyes sat across the table, giving the young man a warm smile.
"Win the game and drinks are on me," he offered with a grin, and Chibueze eagerly accepted the challenge. "This doesn't leave this room," the other man continued, "but my name's Dwayne. What's yours?"
"C-Chibueze," he stammered, amazed that this man not only had a name, he encouraged others to tell theirs. Dwayne extended a hand to shake, and he took it, before settling down to look at the dominoes board.
With Chibueze years out of practice it wasn't long before Dwayne won, but to his surprise, Dwayne offered him a free drink anyway. "I haven't met you before," he explained, "and the drinks are part of why we keep coming back to this place—they help us remember things. Try it and you'll see what I mean!"
Chibueze took a sip cautiously, and suddenly his eyes went wide as a memory flooded through him: Lindsey's hands applying a cool rag to his forehead to wipe away sweat and heat, the feel of his sister's hair tickling his face as she leaned into him for a comforting hug, and a whispered promise that he'd be fine under her watch, that nothing bad was going to happen as long as she was there.
It was everything he loved and missed about Lindsey, and he nearly dropped the mug before carefully righting it, not daring to let it spill. Chibueze looked at the nearly full glass in his hands, the memory still fresh in his mind, and had an idea.
"Dwayne," he said cautiously, "where did you get this?"
Dwayne looked around as if hiding a secret, then gave a sharp, breezy laugh to suggest it was no secret at all. "From Lady Persephone! She fills our cups here with memories just like that one, all unique to us—plus stuff like the seasons! What I wouldn't give for a crisp fall day again," he murmured, seeming sad to reflect on it. "She charges for the drinks, so most of us save up to spend our money here."
Dwayne glanced at a clock on the wall that was emblazoned with the seasons and rose from the table, giving his new friend a smile. "The small hand on winter means break time's almost up, so I'd better be going. I hope you enjoy the rest of your drink—and hope to see you back here soon! Maybe next time you'll win at dominoes."
Chibueze absorbed the information gratefully, his mind racing as he stood up and headed for the door with steady hands. He didn't have much money to spend himself, having used his salary on amenities like soap and extra food, and he didn't have time to learn how much the drinks cost. That meant he would have to work with what he had, which was a single cup of whatever Persephone had blessed him with. He had to get it to Lindsey somehow; he was sure that once she drank from it, she'd remember just like he had, and then together they could leave Hadestown and its misery far behind.
The only problem was how to get it to her, and as he hurried to his sleeping quarters to hide the forbidden drink, a conversation came to mind—the poor worker Lindsey had berated when he'd found them in the alley. He'd been caught slacking at the water cooler, Chibueze remembered, and if Lindsey had found him, she must have had a patrol around the area.
But it was the water cooler itself that stuck out most. A place for drinks meant that not only could he help Lindsey remember, he could help other workers too; all he had to do was pour his treasured memory into the receptacle, and it would spread to them all once mealtime came.
With a plan in mind, his extra shift went by in a blur, and Chibueze could hardly contain himself with excitement. The tall, gruff foreman smiled when he saw him coming. "Seems discipline did you good," he said as Chibueze expertly maneuvered bricks into optimal positions, and then helped any fellow workers that were struggling with their loads.
"Keep up the good work," the foreman said, and he promised to.
Chibueze knew this would be his only chance, and he had to get it right. He worked and watched and waited, spending the hours going over the plan that lay sheltered in the back of his mind. When break time came around again, Chibueze didn't hesitate a moment before heading to his assigned room, fetching the precious drink, and making fast tracks for the water cooler.
After making sure no one was around, Chibueze carefully unscrewed the main container before pouring the cup's contents into the bottom of the cooler, where the freshest water lay. He took a small drink to test and was delighted to find that a memory flashed to the forefront of his mind, this one a quiet one of him and his sister watching the stars at night.
Chibueze idly wondered when the last time he saw stars was, and with nothing else to focus on, the thought consumed him. Lost in memories of nights gone by, he didn't notice the door behind him slowly opening a shadow fell over him. Startled, but not scared—the hard part was over—he whipped around to see Lindsey staring at him, mouth set in a tight line.
"Lindsey," Chibueze breathed, and the foreman frowned.
"You're far away from your district," she noted, but before she could comment further, Chibueze had grabbed her by the arm and filled a cup from the dispenser. He held it out to her, eyes shining.
"Please," Chibueze began, "drink from this. It will help you remember!"
Her eyes were blank, and she grew perturbed. "Remember what? I can assure you I know the rules of Hadestown quite well. I have no need to recall them."
"No, not that, a different kind of memory," Chibueze said, thrusting the cup into her hands and spilling some in his excitement and growing fear. "Just—trust me!"
"You're strange," she said with a small laugh. "But talking has made me thirsty, and it would be efficient to drink now before my shift begins again."
Lindsey drank from the cup and stopped as a memory crackled through her brain—there was somewhere she had seen this worker before, in some other life, and as it sharpened, she gasped. She remembered a room in the heat of summer, a boy hugging her goodbye, and two silver coins pressed into her hand as she explained why she had to leave.
She woke from the memory to Chibueze, who was taking her by the arm again. "Do you remember our lives before Hadestown, our lives on top? Lindsey, we have to get out of here! Whatever this place made you—it isn't you! It can't be you," he added, more quietly, as she stared and met his eyes.
Something like recognition glinted in them. "Chibueze," she breathed, and hearing his name from her mouth brought fresh, hot tears trickling down his face.
He wrapped his long-lost sister into a hug, and for a moment, she hugged him back.
But in another second, she struggled and pulled away from him, shouting to the streets. "Get Mr. Hades," she called to the workers, voice high and frightened. "This worker sabotaged the drinking water! Don't let him out of this room or I and the others will have your hide!"
The foreman turned to Chibueze, who stood stunned and slack-jawed. "As for you," she continued, "Mr. Hades will have to decide your punishment himself."
Chibueze barely registered the workers' hands closing in on him to subdue him, and the snarl of disgust Hades made when he tested the water and deemed it runoff from the River of Memories was hardly a whisper to his mind. What made his insides turn to ash was the praise Hades heaped upon his sister for discovering the sinister plot at its source, and her eager smile as he handed her a sparkling cup of Lethe water to erase the pain. Even after Chibueze had been dragged away to a forgotten cell, Hades complimented his sister's work ethic and loyalty.
"In fact," Hades continued with pride, "keep this up and we may promote you further. How'd you like to be in charge of the entire foundry someday? For now, though, you'd best get back to your station," he said, and the foreman nodded and turned on her heel.
When they were alone, Hades turned his attention to Chibueze, and shook his head. "I had such high hopes for you too, son," he said with a parental air, and Chibueze struggled to not feel guilty under the god's penetrating stare.
"What have you done to her," he cried.
Hades refused to answer and leaned close, eyes dark. His shadow consumed the wall behind them. "If I were you, son, I'd worry more about yourself. Being late to work is one thing, and not showing up at all another. But trying to incite revolution with tainted water, trying to subvert one of my trusted foremen, only deserves one punishment."
Hades stood and snapped his fingers. "You're headed to the Great Beyond."
The room fell away before and beneath him, and Chibueze's last coherent thoughts before he was dragged through the earth to the place where none returned were hoping that, somehow, his sister would be all right.
But as the reality of the Great Beyond set in, in the end, he worried more about himself. His life, such as it was, was never quite the same after that.
He worked without end, without rest, and the few others that were there remained forever in his peripheral vision, out of sight and mind. He did not dare to ask their names or tell them his.
He did not speak, except to grunt in pain on occasion. There was no singing this far down below, only chanting and pleas for mercy.
He tried to find a rhythm, a pattern, anything to give focus and meaning, but here there was nothing but work, the jobs shifting with the whims of fate.
When at last, he was granted clemency to return from that place, he did his job without complaint, without feeling, and without hope. He always kept his head low as he worked.
And then one day there was a crack in the wall, a brightness like the sun, and a song.
The young man found himself wondering whose song it was, and where it had come from.
He lifted his head and followed it, jostling against his fellow workers as they strained to hear more.
And eventually, together, they reached the end of the melody.
At the end of the long, hard road, Orpheus sang of Hades and Persephone and the love they shared, and could share again, the gods joining in his song.
The workers sang with them, Chibueze among them, until movement caught his eye.
He looked up and saw Lindsey's eyes staring into his, tears streaming down her face.
"Chibueze," she breathed, and they hugged.
Nothing dared to part their embrace.