He liked Theresa, always had. Not as a lover. No, more as the little girl next door than as an attractive and mature young lady. Even now he could not see her other than as the little girl.
"Who is he, Theresa? Are you sure?"
"You know him. Randy. He is so strange and wonderful and I knew when we first met."
He smiled, placing his hand under her chin he lifted it up. "If he ever mistreats you, you let me know. And tell him big brother will beat him to a pulp if he isn't nice to you. Understand?"
She half sobbed, half laughed.
"Yes, big brother."
She hugged him, her arms around his neck, then kissed him on the lips, pressing against him. For a moment they stood thus.
"You know, big brother, I think I could have made you love me - another way. I'm very glad I didn't. I'll always need a big brother."
"I'll be here."
21. Dream Shadows
In sleep reality is dreams, dreams reality. And Demo knew not whether he slept, and all was but a dream. Or, whether, waking, his mind did dream of dreams.
It had started - as had all his recent adventures - with a summons from Zeus. And when Zeus spoke Demo felt that, perhaps, he had indulged in too much of Olympic nectar.
"Boy, the world is not what it seems. Look around you. What do you see?"
The question, of course, was purely rhetorical. Zeus went on with no hesitation.
"You see Olympus, of course. And, if you had my powers, you might look down and see earth. Or even let your gaze penetrate to the nether kingdom of my brother, Pluto. With a little more effort Tartarus comes in view. And that, think you, is the universe. Ah, and that is where you err."
Zeus was plainly morose. He had a problem that bothered him. And rather than attacking the problem head-on, he was talking his way around it.
"Ah, indeed, Sire! Just the other day I was telling my mother . . . ."
"Yes, yes, but what I mean is, there is also the unseen. The world in transition. It was, and now is not. Yet, in a strange sort of way, it is. Understand? (More rhetorical questions.) It will be, eventually; it hasn't become, yet. It's a world in . . . well, it's a world in transition. And during the transition, it isn't. Hmmm, very simple, actually. Must make a note of that, - A world in transition - should go over well at the club."
He reached above his head, unrolled a long papyrus, and jotted a few notes on the bottom. As he let go the papyrus rewound, disappearing when the last page was snugly wrapped. Zeus smiled, took a slight bow, and tossed his pen into the air. It, too, disappeared. But, not, unfortunately, before several drops of ink splattered the divine face. With a growl Zeus reached up and a white towel appeared. He started to wipe away the ink.
"Drop that! Not with my clean towel!"
Hera rushed into the room, seized the towel, handing Zeus instead a well-used one. With a sigh he wiped away the ink, dropped the towel into the waste disposer. The waste disposer growled, wagged its tail, and devoured the towel with a single gulp.
"Anyway, that's where you need to go. It's the one region outside of my domain. I just don't have any power there, because it really doesn't exist, you understand. Well, it exists, kind of, to be scientifically precise."
Zeus prided himself on his scientific knowledge.
"And, Sire, what is the purpose of my visit."
"That, my boy, is a good question. Let us see if we can fabricate a good answer." He paused, walked back and forth twice, did a hop and a skip and a slight curtsy.
"I don't know! You will have to define your mission yourself. You see, this transition world, this shadow land - that's it, that's what I wanted to say. Shadow land! It is that. That is where you are to go. And what are you to do? Improvise! Improvise, my lad!"
"Yes sir, but to what end?"
"That tomorrow may come."
"That tomorrow may come?"
"Great! You've got it! Farewell, and a safe journey!"
Transitions? Shadow land? So that tomorrow will come? Has Zeus reached his dotage! Demo would ask more, except that he found himself suddenly alone. Alone, but where? Surely this was not his own world.
The gray fog swirled, settled, then swirled again. Dimly objects could be seen. And movement. They were there, or so it seemed. Yet, what objects? And what moved?
Silence accompanied the fog. Or, perhaps, preceded it.Regardless, the only sound was his own breathing.
A light was approaching. Small, at first almost non-existent, it loomed larger, though no brighter. A silhouette, vague and distorted, carried the lantern. At times both disappeared as the fog thickened.
The approach stopped. Plainly they sensed his presence. The lantern was held higher, and he could catch glimpses of a woman's face. There was anxiety in her eyes, even fear, as she gazed at him.
"Sir, whence cometh thou? Thee be not of our world. Flee to thy home, for he walks the moors this night!"
"I . . . I am sent by Zeus. You say one walks this night? Who walks the moors this night? And why should I fear?"
"None is safe alone in the dark. If you have not where to go then come with me. Quickly, quickly!"
He followed her down dark alleys, twisting streets. The earth was wet, and muddy water flowed in rivulets crisscrossing their way. Varied smells, of vegetables, of cooked meats, and of decay, tinted the air. At times lights were visible through small barred windows along their way.
The fog became ever more intense. She held his hand that he not go astray. Her hand was small and cold. He enwrapped it in his own to give it warmth. She smiled at his concern.
They passed a pond where floated debris, bodies of dogs and cats, and perhaps objects of more unsavory character. As they reached the far edge of the pond she turned to the right, slipped and shuffled down a mucky side street.
She slid the door open and motioned him to remove his footwear. When they stepped inside she took a soiled towel from its rack, wiped his feet and her own.
The room was small. A straw mat covered the floor, and cheap cotton tapestry decorated the walls. A small barred window looked out from the back wall. A mat unrolled on the floor beneath the window served for sleeping.
She closed the door, dropped a strong wooden bar in place to block it from opening. "He will not enter. Still may the Powers help whomever he meets on these dark streets. You are fortunate I took you in. Others might have taken you for a changeling, and left you to your own devices. Many a young maid has lost her life by mating with handsome changelings!"
"You are most kind. No, no changeling I. My name is Demo, and I am here on a mission. When it is done I must once more depart."
She seemed little interested in his mission, regarded his face and figure with marked curiosity.
"Thy clothes are not as ours. Thy skin is dark from rays of sun, and here there is no sun. And thee speaketh strangely, with words and accent unknown in this land." She stopped, a bemused look on her face.
"What call you this land and its people? What is your name?"
She smiled at his questions.
"This is the world of Brume, and we are named Brumians. As for me, you may call me Mist. It is only a title, not my name. Our names we hold sacred, and to give them to others invites dire consequences. Yes, to Mist I shall answer."
"Well, I suppose I should likewise be as reticent. Anyway, my name is . . ."
Quickly she put her hand to his lips. "Speak it not again! You are a stranger, a sojourner in a strange land, and its customs are not of your world. You need not believe in our customs, but do not needlessly court danger. I shall name you."
She walked around him, a smile touching her lips. "Thou art tall, youthful, strong. Thou traveleth from far lands to our world. I name thee Wanderer."
She opened the back window and the white vapors of fog crept in. Sliding a small door to the side she removed a pot and some utensils. Toward the center of the room she removed a block of floormat, revealing a pit in which firewood lay.
Soon the room was warmed, and the aroma of a thick soup tantalized his nostrils. Gladly did he eat, little noticing that only spoonsful remained for her. "Ah, you cook like my own mother! What meat is this?"
"Do not concern yourself. It is nourishing, and harmless to you. It is the night season, and you may share my pad. Though you may think me forward, ask nought of me, for I am pledged. Only my company can I grant thee."
He slept. The fire died, the fog shrouded the room.
Of early morning he woke to find her fast asleep beside him. He reached out to tuck the blanket around her shoulders.
His eyes widened. Taking a deep breath he drew back his hand in consternation and sudden dread.
The shoulder was without substance. His hand felt cold and clammy air, nought else, passed through to touch the mat beneath.
She woke, looked at him with sad and pensive eyes. "Doth thee understand. Thou are not as we. We are but shadows, and thou art real. Waking, we can have semblance of reality. Sleeping, it fades. But touch me once more, for now I am."
Reluctantly he reached out for the hand she extended. Though cold, it was solid now as his own.
The sadness on her face disturbed him. Quietly he squeezed her hand, smiled. "There is much I don't understand. You have been kind to me. Still, I have a mission, and it must be done. I . . . "
The rattling of the door interrupted him. It started suddenly, grew in intensity. Mist moved to the far corner, dread on her face.
Demo frowned, took up his bow and notched an arrow. Slowly he drew the bow, waited.
The door held. In moments the rattling ceased. From without they heard a growl, followed then only by silence.
"Stay. Don't go out. He walks the street this night." Mist held his arm, eyes wide.
"Who is he? Why should I fear?"
"He is like you. He also comes from elsewhere. Yet, he is not like you. For you are kind. He destroys all he meets. And he is real, not shadow. When he came our world stopped. No longer do we move from the unreal to the real. We linger here in this shadow world, with no yesterday and no tomorrow."
He looked at her, startled. "No tomorrow? Strange! He said something very much like that - that tomorrow may come. Strange!"
"I cannot stay here, for I have my job to do. When I leave, close and bolt the door quickly. I pray we shall meet again. Time passes, and now I must do that for which I came. Peace!"
Then he opened the door, swiftly stepped out into the fog. He glanced up and down the alley, as far as he could see. Only fog.
A sound behind him caught his attention.
Turning swiftly, he found Mist closing the door, stepping to his side. "You shall not go alone!"
Arguments came to his mind. He was silent, for he realized she would not listen. "Stay close behind me. I search for him, the one from elsewhere. I know not why, but I feel that my mission is with him."
"You need not search. He will surely find us."
Demo moved down the street, ever watchful. Silence held sway, and the fog clung to them like wet cloth. At times lights could be seen, rapidly disappearing as the drear dawn came. Dawn brought little change. The fog still enmeshed a silent world, a world seemingly populated by Mist and himself.
The chill he felt came not from the fog. A coldness along his spine, a prickling on the back of his neck, forewarned him. Something there was, something evil and fearsome, close at hand!
"No!" Mist cried as she ran forward toward an object barely visible. Demo reached out to stop her. His hand touched only cold fog, and she was gone.
He followed her quickly, then stopped. The scream of utter terror rose, ceased quickly. All was silent. For a moment he closed his eyes. He knew full well he would see her no more.
Mist. A strange name. And yet a kind and gentle person. Now gone. To fight the unseen companion to protect himself had been his goal. No longer. Anger enveloped him. Mist was dead. The Demon must die!
Demo gazed from side to side, trying to penetrate the white barrier before his eyes. To no avail. Then, glancing down, he noted footprints. Footprints not made by man!
Slowly, his eyes on the ground ahead of him, he followed the trail. Where Mist had trodden he could not tell. She left no trace of her passage.
Looming huge in the fog and early morning gloom, ahead an object stood in his path. This was the creature she feared. The one that surely had destroyed her!
It was coming slowly closer. Plainly it recognized his presence. Smoothly he strung his bow, notched an arrow.
Demo waited quietly.
A shudder enveloped his body, and his eyes widened.
He knew this one. An aura emitted from it, one that was not new to him.
Surely, this was the unseen companion!
Without hesitation he released his arrow.
The laughter that came from out the fog held little humor. "Your puny weapons are merely playthings. I would end you now, if it were not that the fates have written, and it is by the tarn you shall meet your destiny. If you survive this world, or non-world! I leave you now, earthling. Find your way back to Olympus and Zeus. If you can!"
The unearthly laughter sounded once more, then faded, as did the figure half displayed in the swirling fog.
In his ears was but silence, and his eyes saw only the swirling fog.
'That tomorrow may come.' The words repeated themselves in his brain. What had Zeus intended? Was the unseen companion the evil influence dominating this strange world? Or were there other, still hidden, culprits. "Zeus, you have indeed given me a strange chore. I know not where to turn! If only I could lift this fog!"
He wandered through the streets. Glancing at a pond in passing he recognized it. He knew that he had merely retraced his steps, neared Mist's dwelling. With a sigh he found the door, entered.
He sat quietly on the mat, fell asleep.
Dreams, interrupted by moments of awareness, disturbed his rest. Dreams of Mist, of the unseen companion, finally of Athena. She spoke strange words to him, words couched in riddles. "Prometheus knew the answer. As did your unseen companion. Quickly, before the fire die."
He woke, sweat streaming from his body. From the center of the room a wisp of smoke rose from the dying fire. 'Before the fire die?' Strange words. 'Prometheus knew, the unseen companion knew?' What did they know?
Wide-eyed, he looked at the fading fire. Suddenly he reached down, pulled a fiery brand from center, and tossed it at the wall. In moments the building was burning.
He rushed out of the building. The conflagration spread rapidly, and the once empty, fog-shrouded streets were filled with dim forms rushing helter-skelter to and fro.
Even as the flames spread the fog began to dissipate. An early morning sun could be seen shining on the horizon. Where strange shadows had moved along the streets now people were to be seen. Smiles replaced looks of dreary misery. Indeed Prometheus had known!
Still, there remained much to do. 'That tomorrow may come?' What action must be taken 'that tomorrow may come'? The fog was indeed gone. Only a burned out city remained. No tomorrow, this!
What else had Athena whispered to him while he slept. Something very important. Nothing came to mind. He moved westward, drawn by an unknown force. The answer was to be found beyond the western horizon. If there were an answer.
The mountains loomed large to the west. He began that westward trek, barely reached the foothills before the sun began to sink behind the jagged peaks. Looking for a place to sleep safely, he noted an opening, the mouth of a cave.
He entered cautiously.
"There is no cause for fear. Welcome. I've awaited your coming."
An old man spoke the words softly, calmly. His countenance belied the words.
Clad in the armor of a warrior, with face stern, marked by steel and fire, the old man projected a sense of authority.
Demo stepped forward slowly.
"Sire, I know you not. Yet you have awaited me?"
"One who has traveled far with you forecast your arrival. In due time you shall know him. Much will be revealed - by the tarn. But that another day, another world."
The unseen companion! He had been here, spoken to this one. What strange fate forever brought their paths together? And what was the secret of the tarn?
Demo shook his head.
"I rule this domain, ignored by the Gods, unknownst to mankind. This is the field of atonement. All pass through here. Some quickly. Some remain long. For a moment you have lifted the mists. Nevertheless, they shall return. I have halted all transitions until your coming. The souls who depart your world and pass through here would press on. And so shall they, in due time."
"What would you have of me, Sire?"
The warrior stood, pulled from its sheath a sword. "Vulcan did temper this sword with blood. And each who leaves your world must first feel this edge. It has proven strong and sharp. Still, time and usage take their toil, and it is now it is only a blunt instrument, useless for its purpose."
"Sire, I am no swordsmith."
The warrior held the blade in hand, extended the handle toward Demo. "Take it. Return it to Zeus. Tell him one whose name remains forever unspoken would have the broken sword of Cadmus. Let Vulcan fashion it and put thereon an edge that will not fail. 'Til you return, Clothos shall spin no more, nor Lachesis measure, nor Atropos wield her shears. And none shall pass through these portals to tomorrow."
The warrior held the blade high, brought it down flat against his knee, and the metal snapped. He handed the broken weapon to Demo. "The gate is there."
He pointed to the darker recesses of the cave. "Quickly, now, to Olympus. I wait impatiently."
Zeus listened in quiet amazement, the broken sword in his hand. In anger he tossed it down and it faded into oblivion. "You shall meet with it by the tarn, in good time. It is not given to me to know of this shadow land. Of its existence only am I informed. The Ancient Ones - they knew! Strangely, they told me nothing! Must even the Gods pass through those portals? I know not. Here, take it. The sword of Cadmus. It, too, was broken. Well, Vulcan has applied his skills. This edge shall never dull."
The warrior examined the sword with critical eye. "The craftsmanship of Vulcan leaves little to be desired. I see the break in the blade. It matters not. There is no weakness now. You have done well."
His visage reflected an expression that might be construed as a smile. "My broken sword lies by the tarn. It may well be of service, at the appointed time. Now, on your way. For I must return to my dreadful chore."
Zeus was morose. "It is a drear vision you bring to me. Still, let us live for today. If it were hidden from the Gods, then it concerns them not. Return to your own, my boy. The flowers bloom, soft winds blow, and spring creeps upon the land. And, I assure you, there will be no fog!"
22. The Escape
It is said that none enter, that none leave, the confines of Hades except they be conveyed by the ferryman. Yet, in time past, ancient time, one entered unattended that eternal prison. He entered in search of his own true love, and pleaded with his songs. So sweetly sung were they that Pluto, that stern master of the nether regions, granted safe passage to him, and to the one he loved. For Pluto, most hideous of living beings, yet within his monstrous form knew the pangs of love.
Yet did another depart those infernal regions with no aid from that dark ferryman.
This is the tale of that departure, of what transpired before. And here lie the tangled threads, and the first strange steps on the dark path to the Tarn of Eternity.
Legends relate the sad story of the kidnapping of Persephone, the story of the evil Pluto. And the legends tell true. But they ignore the role of Venus, and of Cupid. And they are not guiltless.
Persephone did dwell in the Vale of Enna, gathered there the wildwood flowers.
Pluto, master of Hades, dwelt alone in his nether kingdom.
Powerful, emotionless, dedicated only to his duty, this ruler of the dead traveled from time to time, his coach pulled by giant black steeds. And one such a trip Venus espied him. Angry because she had no power to move him she turned to Cupid.
"This one knows not of love, lives in serenity. I would he suffer the pangs of unrequited love. Loose your sharpest arrow. Let him suffer as suffer those mortals ferried through the portals of his empire."
Cupid grinned impudently. Ever pleased to show his skill he notched arrow to cord. True and straight it flew.
Pluto felt a yearning he did not understand. Disturbed, he flogged his steeds, flew tempestuously he knew not where, seeking he knew not what.
Wild, the horses flew. And in their flight they entered theVale of Enna, paused to drink from the pond therein.
Carrying wildflowers in her arms, with laughter and song did Persephone approach the chariot, tossed in childlike simplicity flowers to the occupant. "Come, play with me. I have no playmate. I need a friend."
She looked on his loathsome form with neither fear nor disfavor. To her he was merely a welcome playmate, though not of human form. She asked nothing of him, only that he share this little while.
He gazed upon her, and in his heart Cupid's poisoned arrow worked its magic.
The innocent beauty of that face, the warm and happy spirit shining through those clear eyes, brought to him feelings he had never known. He thought to hold her close, to stroke that soft hair, to caress with gentle touch her smooth skin.
And within him, too, aroused the desires of a man. For though her face was that of youth, her body was of sculptured beauty that Venus might envy.
When Pluto beheld her all thoughts save one departed his mind.This was to be his bride!
He tarried there, danced in parody of handsome prince, sang in voice marred and croaking. She mocked him not; rather, smiled.
Of flowers garlands she made, given to him in innocent pride. She sang sweet songs of light and sunshine, of crystal stars and mellow moon, of flowers that did not die, with blossoms that forever bloom.
He told her sad tales of a dark and lonesome realm, of those for whom hope was no more, and of a keeper who sat in solitude in mastery of that realm. A keeper who, more than all dwellers therein, was prisoner of that realm.
From her eye, soft flowed a tear. From her hand, a gentle touch. He thought not to ask for more.
They parted, though never long. Always his mighty steeds drove through time and space, returning once more to that quiet retreat. The love he felt for the innocent child grew ever stronger. Still, he approached her, not in courtship, but as a friend.
"Your arrow has flown true. It lacked the needed potency. He loves her as does a brother. Once more loose your bow, and into his heart drive desire, passion. And I shall open wide her eyes, that she may see him as the monstrous form he is. He joys in her presence, feels not the pain of unrequited love. As he has ignored me, she shall reject him!"
Venus caused once more Cupid's arrow to fly. An arrow not tinged with sweet love, rather poisoned with selfish lust. And even as the arrow flew she closed the eyes of Persephone, let her dream of handsome prince. Handsome prince, of looks far removed from those of this dread companion.
Pluto lurched back in alarm as desire mixed with tender thoughts, new and uncontrollable needs surfaced.
Persephone opened wide her eyes, saw him now in a new light. No handsome prince he, no proper comrade. With a scream she rose from beside him, rushed blindly toward the garden gate.
He seized her, dragged her to that golden chariot. Madly he lay whip on flesh, driving the mighty steeds as never had they been driven. Thus he carried her to his own domain.
She resisted not, for his was the greater strength. As his chariot reached the gates of the garden she sighed. In arms she held her kitten, a white small ball of fur. As they passed through the gate she set it free. "May the Gods grant you freedom and happiness, for mine is no more."
Pluto heard her words with deep remorse. Nevertheless, the spell cast of Venus overpowered the germ of kindness in his heart. And yet, though he desired her, his love was more powerful. "Only when the Gods have granted you to me in marriage shall you be mine."
In due time it came about. Still, Persephone was granted one wedding wish. Quickly, before it could be withdrawn, she prayed to be returned to her mother for half of each year. And so it was.
In time she accepted her exile with good grace. Yet, because Cupid had never used his arrows on her heart, she felt no love for her captor. At times, perhaps, pity.
Time as earthlings know it does not exist for denizens of the nether world. Those suffering suffer not by day or night, but by eternity. The Curse of Cronus, lifted from the Gods, still left its mark upon these sufferers, and age beyond age they carried.
And even Persephone, though shielded by the Gods, felt the power of Cronus, saw wrinkles gently forming. Invisible to Pluto, who saw only through the eyes of love, this aging process.
One innocent pleasure Persephone had.
The dread ferryman in his duties came ever to the kingdom's portals. And there he heard the happenings on earth, and fables of happenings in Heaven.
These tales he passed on to Persephone, for she longed to know of the world she had left behind.
And one day he brought to her a tale that left her heart cold.
Ceres, her mother, was nearing the end of her days. She prayed daily to the Gods that she might see, before her departure, her beloved daughter.
The bargain had been made. Six long months must Persephone dwell within the nether realm. The Gods would not relent.
Still, Persephone would see her mother. She pleaded with the ferryman. To no avail. He listened not to her pleas. He carried only passengers from the portal to deep within. None carried he to the portal.
She wandered though Hades with sad mien, searching for a path to the other side. She found none.
While in her search, she met the shades of the departed. On one such meeting she heard the name, Orpheus.
Suddenly her eyes widened. Orpheus! The only living man to enter Hades without the attendant ferryman!
Slowly, from tormented souls, from the ferryman, even from Pluto himself, she gathered details of that entry. How he came, singing his songs, and melted even the heart of Pluto.
Ah, how did he enter? What secret way, unknown to any other, had led him into this Stygian realm?
The heights of Taenarus! Earthly legends told of a path, a path of unknown origin. Through terrain unlike any known to man it twisted its uncertain way. Boulders coughed from deep within the earth's core blocked its passage. Edged stones marred its surface. And the path winds into a cave, whose very mouth is enshrouded in darkness.
From its mouth sulfurous fumes rise, and dark clouds of noxious gases besmirch the sky. Bones of man and beast lie scattered midst pools of murky water.
It is thought that this fissure penetrates the very bowels of earth. Even into the domain of Pluto, the fearsome kingdom of Hades.
Through this portal creatures of the afterworld are unleashed on earth's dwellers. Ghosts of those long gone, strange beings never dreamed of by human kind, spirits weird, and other creatures lacking even a name.
Orpheus must have entered through this portal. Through the cave of Orpheus may I escape to my world!
Thus thought Persephone. And she planned her escape. Each day she wandered through the dark domain, mapping its drear geography in her mind.
She waited.
In due time Pluto was called to an accounting at Olympus. In his absence she began the ascent, up through the dark and evil passages. Ever upward with uncertain step and only hope to guide.
Guardians did cross her path, challenged her passage. But when informed that she was queen, and in Pluto's absence master of that dread domain, none dared stay her way.
She reached the portal, followed the rough and strenuous path leading downward from the heights of Taenarus. Always she gazed fearfully behind.
He would come!
23. The Extra Task
"Well done!," Zeus roared. "Every task completed!"
He paused. "Hmmm! I've lost count. Every task . . . . Well,I'm sure you won't mind just one more to, eh, help me out."
"Yes, yes, every task, that is, except one, a minor one I overlooked."
Chagrined he listened as Zeus stated the Final task.
"Perhaps you have noticed, in your sojourns, that you have had a companion. An unseen watcher. A sneaky follower. A sly, disreputable creature! Destroy it! That is your final task. Now, begone!"
Imperiously he waved his hand, and as it fell he faded slowly into oblivion. Why was he smiling so happily?
It happened so quickly that Demo had not time to complain, not even time to think. He stood on the mountain path once more, alone.
Or, perhaps, not alone. The wind gusted, leaves rustling along the pathway. Above the tree tops bowed in obeisance to the intermittent breeze. The smell of rain was in the air. And a sulfurous smell. One he had noted to often before.
He sensed, rather than saw, the unseen companion. In anger he raised his bow, but could not decide where to dispatch the arrow. With a shrug he lowered it, returned the arrow to its pouch.
"In due time I will succeed. I must!" he breathed.
He felt tired. He had labored mightily through the twelve tasks. Rest was delayed for their completion. And now a further task lay on him.
For a moment he leaned against the trunk of a tall pine, his eyes closed. His arms ached, his back and neck, and his felt the need to lie down, to rest.
But he dare not! Somewhere, waiting, his nemesis. And when and how he might strike he knew not.
He trudged disconsolately along the mountain path. In the distance the howl of a wolf broke the silence. The quivering wail was answered quickly from neighboring hills. The pack was assembling for some nightly raid. A dust devil traveled a crooked path on the trail ahead, ended with leaves falling on the floor. A deer stopped at the edge of the trail, sniffed at the air, then retreated.
Demo moved cautiously forward, each step a chore. Strong though he was his energy seemed to be waning. Startled, he remained motionless. This is not right, he thought. I have gone days without rest, and still felt stronger than today. Am I ill, have I eaten something that has weakened me.
He felt a vertigo, nearly stumbled. He shuffled forward, each foot scuffing along the pathway.
As Demo proceeded he noted a shadow on his path. The sitting sun limned the figure of a young girl sitting on a log by the path, rubbing her ankle. Plainly she was suffering, and with the approaching night, in dire circumstances. Exhausted though he was, he could not ignore her plight.
"My lady, you are in pain. Can I help you?" he inquired.
"No! No. Begone, handsome youth! I carry with me dangers you cannot understand. Even to talk to me invites disaster. Go quickly on your way!"
Her voice was taut with emotion, with fear. Her breath came in quick pants, and her face was distraught. She bowed her head in hopeless resignation.
He started to turn, noted the tears in her eyes, and so remained.
"Here, I have medication for your ankle. It will ease the pain."
He rubbed the ointment on the red swollen skin, and her eyes widened as the pain began to recede.
"Oh, sir, I am fleeing from a most horrifying creature. There are no words that can describe it. Should it finds you with me, it will destroy you. Please, go on your way. You have been very kind, now leave quickly. Let me climb down the mountain alone."
For a moment he hesitated, took a step away from her and down the mountain. If I stay to help her it will endanger my chances of completing the final task. I must go on now!
His thoughts said leave. His heart said stay. The sad face of the hapless maiden held his eyes. He could not walk away.
"I too have known fear and loneliness. I cannot leave you thus. I will help you, no matter what pursues. And should it overtake us, I shall leave my mark on it." He touches his arrows for reassurance.
They slowly descend the mountain, and she leans heavily on him as she hobbles along the rock-strewn path. At times winding steeply, narrow. Then leveling and wide. When they reached a precipice overlooking the site of a beautiful, dark pond they paused.
A gnarled pine grew on the crag, leaning outward. In time the wind and rain would loosen its roots and would plunge off the overhang. For now a swallow nested safely within its branches.
Demo looked down at the tarn so far below. For a moment he closed his eyes, drew a deep breath. This is the place. The wait is over. He sighed.
There are ponds where birds sing in happy summer frolic. Where nests are built in bordering bushes, and eggs laid. Ponds where the fish leap, and frogs sing their merry songs of night. Here lightning bugs brighten the surface, court the light of reflected stars. Here the waters are clear and cool. The farmer stores milk here to keep it cold. Children play along its banks with happy laughter. By summer day they swim in its depths. Here by night lovers sit 'neath honey moon and whisper soft words of adoration.
And there are ponds of rougher nature where the fisherman plies his trade. Ponds where flowering plants hide snakes that glide upon the waters and feed on the creatures swimming below. Where turtles wait for unsuspecting geese or ducks and drag them to their death in waters deep. Here young men come to gig frogs, to seine for bait for tomorrow's fishing, to joke and carouse and wrestle man to man.
There, too, are tarns hidden in dark recesses and grottoes. Tarns deep and still where legends grow and strange stories are whispered. Here in the eventide one sees the will of the wisp. At times the call of the loon breaks the evening air. Stories better left untold are found here. Of strange sights in the dark of night. Of spirits of those gone. Of evil incarnate, and hate incessant.
Such a one was the tarn that lay below. Tales were told of blood mingling with the murky waters. Tales of bands of evil note frequenting its shores. Tales of bodies weighted with stone, resting forever on the bottom.
The escarpment extended outward from the mountain, formed a lookout overlooking the dark waters. The escarpment, of solid rock, attracted those despondent, invited them to end their woes with a plunge into the waiting waters. Too many responded to that fatal invitation.
"Here is the land of my mother, Ceres. I am Persephone, her only daughter. And I have been away so long." She sobbed.
Ceres. He knew the name. Where had he heard it? Ah, his Mother. A nursemaid, long ago, and a weak and sickly child. Was this then the needed task, to protect her daughter from a ruthless enemy? How strange the fates! Every move seemed programmed, every action preplanned long ago. And the results? Were they too preprogrammed? Our lives it seems are in the stars, and we neither control nor understand our fate. There was now no question in his mind. This is the Tarn of Eternity! It is here all shall be resolved!
"Finally, now I am getting closer to home. I shall see her once more before she dies. The trip has been long. Soon it is over."
He felt the sadness in her words. And felt something else, something more foreboding.
A hint of a strange odor, a scent that he knew too well. The unseen companion was close, very close!
Even as she spoke a dark form emerged from the heavy bushes beside the path.
Unthinkingly he knew. This was the unseen companion!
Demo's mother slept fitfully throughout the night. Dreams, rather, nightmares, repeatedly aroused her. She saw, again and again, her son. And something else.
Something huge and grotesque, evil and deadly. Something with an unreasoning hatred for her son.
She arose before sunrise, sat on the edge of her bed in deep thought, spoke aloud to herself. "I could try to go to him. Sadly, I am old, weak. I would be but a further burden.
Rough sat at her feet, licked her hand. She reached down absently, patted his head. Her eyes widened.
"Rough, go to him. What I cannot do, you can. Protect him with your life. Quickly now! Find your master! Go!"
The dog whined as she opened the door, looked up at her. Then turning, with a low growl, Rough loped quickly toward the high mountains.
Whatever danger threatened Demo, he would share. Whatever enemy imperiled his master, he too would face.
She sighed, whispered, "Perhaps, perhaps . . . "
Misshapen head, twisted body, covered with hide plated with metallic scales, it stood tall above them.
But he is not the only one to recognize the creature.
Beside him Persephone starts, cries out. "No, let me be free of you!"
A gasping chortle issued from the swollen lips of the creature."Ah, princess, it is fit we meet here by the Tarn of Eternity.Only its waters can still the fires of Hell. And even theycannot still my love for you."
The words, meant to express deep feelings, were grotesque when voiced in a broken, harsh whine by the monstrosity. And yet Demo noted, the eyes held a devotion that was real.
"Pluto, go back to your world. Leave me to live in peace with my mother. I will never return to Hades. Better a short life on earth than eternity in Hades."
"Persephone, I will never release you. My love for you is without an end. You will be mine forever."
This travesty on words of love, voiced by a creature totally devoid of humanity, brought tears to the eyes of the young maiden.
The final task! Destroy the unseen companion! Pluto! Brother ofZeus! More powerful than any save Zeus himself!
A tear came to Demo's eye. No mortal could accomplish this task! Yet, though he die in the struggle, he was committed. Athena, remember me, for I have loved you!
He was no longer tired. He drew strength from the imminent danger.
He took a deep breath, drew an arrow from its pouch, notched it to the string.
"You jest! What power is in your weapons?" once more Pluto speaks.
"I have followed you far, and your arrows have not found theirmark. Do you not know, that nothing you can do will destroy me.I am immortal. I dwell in Hades, Master of that infernal region.Only the waters of the Tarn of Eternity can quench those flames."
He laughed, loud and harshly, without humor.
"Now stand up, tall and brave." he sneered, "I tire of this childish game, and you are about to die."
As Pluto lifted his huge fist Demo drew the bowstring. A threshing from the side of the pathway, distracted him.
He paused.
Before either he or Pluto could move another interfered.
From the brush a deep growl was heard, and in a moment Rough stood in the path of the threatening fiend. He crouched, eyes blazing.
And sprang!
Caught in mid air by a blow from the monstrous figure, Rough fell, rolled over, lay quiet. Demo released his arrow!
It struck, then fell blunted from Pluto's thick hide.
"I struck the animal only a light blow. I too had Cerberus, and of all creatures only he loved me. The dog shall live. But not you, earthling."
Pluto once more turned toward Demo, his deadly intention evident.
"No, Pluto, no more! I can stand no more of you, no more of your evil ways."
Persephone rushes by Demo, dodges by Pluto.
Frozen, Demo stands motionless. Still, there is one who acts.With a desperate lunge Pluto tries to stop the maiden.
Too late!
She flings herself from the edge of the cliff!
Down she falls, down, finally to plummet into the cold depths of the Tarn of Eternity.
Pluto turns, dives into those murky waters. Plummets downward to rescue her from their frigid embrace!
As the waves touch him he screams.
The waters roil and tear at him as though the tarn were a living creature, a beast of prey. Blood stains the roiled surface.
Demo rushes down the tortured pathway, his lungs and throat burning. A stone turns and he falls, slipping over the edge of the escarpment. The roiling waters of the Tarn of Eternity licks hungrily at the boulders below. They crash against the shore, waiting for their next prey.
Slowly, painfully, he regains the path, continues his precipitous journey. Finally arriving at the rock strewn shore, he throws himself down as the air rushes through his burning throat.
There is no sign of life on the Tarn. The water, never still, moves in chaotic pattern. Swirls and streams, whirlpools and rapids, never still.
Then it rises from the deepest, coldest depths. Pluto!
Pluto swims slowly, uncertainly, moving toward the shore where Demo now sits. Demo rises, defiant. A broken sword from some ancient war, lay on the ground, and he seizes it in desperation.
And then he remembers. The broken sword of the warrior! Unsullied by its mishap, the broken blade still shines. Holding the weapon in his hand he waits on the shore, watches the tumultuous waters of the tarn.
Even in his torture, Pluto swims in desperate search forPersephone. But the dark green waters hide their prey.
And then he sees her!
Quickly, thrashing his way to the drowning girl, Pluto dives beneath the murky depths. He lifts her from the water's deadly embrace. Cradled in Pluto's arms, her face white above the dark surface, she seems more dead than living. Thrashing the deadly waves Pluto brings her to the shore.
Demo raises the broken sword high, waiting!
Pluto stalks onto the shore carrying her like a doll, gently, in his huge arms. Turning to Demo, Pluto growls in the angry voice he could not renounce, "Save her." He lays her softly on the ground, lays her gently on the sandy beach.
Throwing aside the sword Demo falls to his knees beside the child.
Demo turns her on her stomach , ministers to her. And finally he is rewarded by the slightest movement, a sign of life. Soon she begins to cough, to breathe.
Pluto stands quietly, watching. What on another creature might have been a smile touches his lips. On his cheek a trickle of liquid. Water from the Tarn of Eternity?
"She lives." He utters, half question, half statement.
"Yes, she lives."
There was no question now. The tears were real.
For a moment Pluto turns away, then turns once more to look at her. "I grant you your life, earthling. Care for her. Help her, human. For this I spare your life. Quickly, now, for as I forecast, the Tarn of Eternity is quenching the fires of hell, and quenching the very life from me. Yet I pass on willingly, that she may live."
He pauses, looks out toward the center of the Tarn.
"These waters, as foretold, have destroyed me."
Though Demo had paid attention only to Persephone, he had still noted the horrible oozing of Pluto's blood from a thousand wounds.
"It is over. I go to my fate. Tell her this. With her departure, what hope in Hades dwelt no longer lingers. And tell her, that in my own way, I loved and love her still."
He turns.
With a dignity born of valor he wades into the dark waters, marches stolidly into the ravenous waters that swirl and froth and tear at his body. Their waves lap ever higher until, silently, he disappears beneath the surface, into their clouded depths.
And, though he were a denizen of Hell, one could but think,'True love deserves better.'
Quickly Demo turned to the maiden. In those few moment her breathing once more has ceased. Loosing her bodice he turns her over, lets the dank water seep from her lips.
Almost he gives up hope. And then she once more stirs, moans.
She moves, half sat, wide-eyed. Gently he holds her hand.
She looks wildly around.
"Where is he? Is he gone?"
He told her of Pluto's last words, of how Pluto died - evil, misshapen, cast out from the heavens. Of how he knowingly cast himself into the deadly waters of the Tarn of Eternity for her sake.
Hated by all. Destroyed, though, not by any of these, not by the power of his enemies. Destroyed by the one small touch of goodness left in him, the ability to love.
Bemused she looked at the now placid surface of the tarn.
Pensively she gazed at the quiet, dark waters. And though she is silent he noted the quiet tears upon her cheeks. Then she rose slowly, walked to the water's edge, and reached out to a green weed growing there.
"Mother, grant me beauty." She whispered the words.
And as she touched the plant a white flower bloomed, fell into her outstretched hand.
"As you have died for love, oh Pluto, I pity you. And though you will be remembered for the evil of your ways, and as master of the infernal regions, one consolation you shall have."
She tossed the flower with its large white petals out on the now still waters.
"When the water lilies bloom, you shall be remembered, not for your vices, but for your one saving grace.
"You will be remembered for this, that you gave up eternity to save the one you loved." She paused, a sob in her voice.
"Rest well, Oh Prince of Darkness."
A tear trickled down her cheek, and her voice was tremulous.
Even as she spoke the face of the pond rippled, and the white beauty of the water lilies spread. Quickly they carpeted the waters along the shore. Gently rocking with the ebb and flow of the ripples they spread their beauty ever farther.
She sat by the quiet waters, stared vacant-eyed toward its farther shore. Turning, she glanced at Demo.
"I remember, when I was a little girl, a poem. It was of a brave warrior, and the woman he loved."
She spoke the stanzas, not to him; softly to herself. Her voice, partially choked by emotion, blended with the soft wind and the rippling waves of the tarn.
"For love of maiden fair,
"He walks untrodden ways,
"And fights with dragons in the air,
"And evil ogres he slays.
"For love of maiden fair,
"He sailed on unknown seas,
"And dared the demon in his lair.
" 'Mongst haunted, ghostly trees.
"For love of maiden fair,
"He lay him down to die,
"And asked a token only there,
"A teardrop from her eye.
"For love of gallant youth,
"More than a tear she gave,
"She would not live with constant ruth -
"Slept by him in his grave."
"There will be no poem for him!"
As she spoke a break occurred in her voice, and a sadness.Perhaps she had not loved Pluto, but surely she had pitied him.
"He was ugly, hated, feared. I, who knew him best, held him in awe. And yet, for all his faults, he was gentle. Though master of that dark domain, he wept for those within. Though he had power, he had not the power to set them free.
"He loved me. A strange love, perhaps. When I returned for that brief moment to my mother, he wept. And when I returned to him once more, his face was radiant.
"Did I love him?"
She was silent. Yet, tears flowed from her eyes.
"Love? What is Love?"
She walked restlessly by the tarn, breathed deeply.
"Mother, I would rest. Take me home." She sobbed.
Demo listened silently, head bowed. Though a tragedy had now ended, still there was tragedy. How strange indeed this life, where evil destroyed did not bring happiness. Where maiden rescued did not bring joy. Where task performed did not bring triumph.
He picked up the broken sword, gazed at it musingly. With a half smile he shook his head, tossed it aside.
Finally he turned to comfort her, but she was gone. Where she had stood a rose bush grew. Its single blossom, one deep red rose, hung low in sorrow. A vagrant wave gently kissed its soft petals.
With a sigh Demo turned to climb again the mountain. Above its peaks a lone white cloud drifted. Sun's rays lit the tree tops.
The final task was done.
"Rough, you've come back . . . , alone! Oh, and you're hurt."She dropped to her knees beside the dog, felt of his legs, ribs."At least there aren't any bones broken."
She stood up, thinking.
"You wouldn't have deserted him if he were in danger. I'm sure of that. So he sent you home. I only wish I knew that he is safe. Well, come, boy, I have some food for you."
She patted the dog, took him inside. After feeding him she stood in the open door.
A tear formed in her eye, and she wiped it away.
"Athena, if you truly love him, protect him."
24. Finale
The flutter of wings broke the silence, and she was there beside him. Athena! She reached out her hand, and he held it. This time neither Zeus nor Pluto intervened. In moments they were flying upward, ever upward, to far off Olympus.
He glanced back to the tarn below. The water lilies had covered its surface. The waves lapped gently at the sandy shore, washed tenderly the wild rose.
A few red petals fell softly into the quiet waters, mingled with the white waterlilies floating there.
Worldwide Book Rights(C) 1995 Frank Tymon