The Pillars of Hercules (47 page)

But it was to the Ortygia that Antiphon now demanded to be taken. That caused no little mirth for the Athenian guards whom he accosted and considerable consternation for Xanthippus and Diocles, who were forced to admit they knew Antiphon—but not that well, of course… they’d simply met him on the way to Syracuse….

“In a cave,” said Antiphon. “Above the beach. While the rest of the army was getting wiped out.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” said Xanthippus as the guards moved in.

“I’m not,” said Antiphon in a loud voice. “I’m Agathocles of Syracuse, wanted by the state of Athens for sedition and I have a message for the new viceroy. And these guys”—he pointed to Xanthippus and Diocles—“are my friends.”

“Fucking great,” said Diocles as the guards grabbed him.

Leosthenes was up to his neck in shit. His order to get the troops off that beach had come too late; worse, there were reports that the captains on the scene had actually
argued
with one another over whether to obey his command. Though at this point mutiny mattered far less to Leosthenes then the realization that he’d already lost the first battle against a king who didn’t even know the meaning of the word
defeat
. There was a knock on the door and Memnon entered the room.

“A visitor for you,” he said.

“I don’t have time,” said Leosthenes.

“You do for this one.”

“Who is it?”

“Someone with an offer I don’t think you’re going to be able to refuse.”

As usual, Memnon was right.

Chapter Nineteen

P
tolemy was no stranger to running for his life. He had done it many times before. But never quite like this. The sandbar gave way to the most desolate shore he’d ever seen. He struck inland into a wilderness of scrubland that rapidly became some kind of forest. Though not the sort he’d ever seen. The plants scarcely seemed to be alive, and they were virtually overwhelmed by fungus basking in the phospherence which glimmered overhead. He stumbled through those growths until he reached the river he knew had to be there. He could only hope and pray it was the Lethe. He kept off its bank—he felt that would leave him too exposed, so instead he kept the river in sight as he moved through the woods, following a parallel course to the Lethe. It led directly to where he was trying to go—the hub of it all. But there was a long way between here and there.

The noises were making it seem all the longer.

At first he thought it was just those damn bat creatures. He could occasionally hear them fluttering overhead, and the sound sent cold shivers up his spine. But eventually he realized that there were other noises, on the ground around him. Nothing too near—but not nearly far enough away for him to feel remotely comfortable. Especially given the nature of those sounds—strange growls and roars and warbles, and he hated to think of their sources.

But it was when the voices started that he really got the fear. Those voices weren’t human. That much was clear from the outset. They howled and shouted in tones that went well beyond the human register—at times deeper, at times shriller than any human voice could be. And the languages they spoke were unrecognizable. Assuming they even
were
languages. Sometimes it was just sounded like fighting. Maybe that was all it was. Moans of agony; howls of triumph… occasionally he heard the clash of blades and caught a glimpse of flame. Sometimes he saw shadows, off in the trees. He had no intention of going near any of it.

But then he saw something ahead of him he recognized all too well.

The
Xerxes
was out of the channels now, back onto what could only be described as a river. But its shores were utterly straight. Beyond those shores, the terrain seemed to consist of nothing but forbidding woods packed with gnarled trees and oversized fungus. Here and there, fires were dimly visible through the trees, along with absolutely unearthly shrieking.

“Why doesn’t that attract the attention of those bat creatures?” he asked.

“Sometimes it does,” replied Eurydice.

Everyone but Barsine was up top. Matthias had his bow out, was scanning the shore for any movement. Lugorix kept one eye on that shore, but he also didn’t trust that water. The
Xerxes’
engine was back on; it was so dark it was difficult to see the smoke emanating from the funnel, but Lugorix still felt uncomfortable about it, given the noises that were emanating from the land. Still, it beat rowing.

“As best I can make out, those bat-things are some kind of automatic defense,” said Eurydice in a low voice. “They’re largely concentrated on preventing intruders from crossing the River Styx.”

Matthias frowned. “Um… River Styx?”

Eumenes looked impatient. “Remember when we got dumped into this place and had to traverse some open water before we ended up in this river? As in, three minutes ago?”

“That open water—
that
was the Styx? Didn’t seem like much of a river.”

“Semantics,” said Eurydice. “The outermost Ocean encircling the world above us—
our
world—a lot of scholars call
that
a river. The Styx is in an analogous position: it encircles the underworld. You don’t make landfall without crossing the Styx.”

“And what about the other side?” asked Lugorix. “What’s encircling the Styx?”

“Nothing but rock. We’re in a giant cavern, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Wait a second,” said Matthias. “Isn’t the Styx supposed to have that weird ferry dude?”

“You mean Charon?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Charon. Where’s he?”

“As best I can determine, he’s indisposed.”

Matthias looked puzzled. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means he’s probably
there
.”

She pointed at that strange tower with the bizarre lights atop it. Lugorix couldn’t help but notice they were heading straight toward it.

Eumenes was having the one conversation he didn’t want to have, but that couldn’t be put off any longer. It was one thing to discuss all this with Kalyana, who was impossible to outweird. But the soldiers and crew of the ironclad were a different story. To some extent, Alexander himself had helped lay the groundwork: by couching his own campaigns in mythological terms, he’d prepared them—however unconsciously—for dealing with otherworldly shit. Men who had conquered the world’s largest land empire and ventured to the Hindu Kush were at least a little more ready to deal with all this then small-town hicks who had never left their village. But that logic only went so far. At some point, the men needed some answers.

The question was whether they could take them.

“Most of this place’s denizens are on the land,” said Eumenes, scanning the faces as he did so. Some looked like they were crapping their pants. Some looked ready for anything. Some looked like they’d had a few shots of strong wine, and he really couldn’t blame them. “Most of the creatures spend most of their time fighting each other. As long as we stick to the river, we should be okay.” No one seemed too convinced. “Think of the Underworld as a gigantic wheel. It’s surrounded by the Styx, which you’ll be pleased to know we already crossed. There are four other rivers, and they’re all straight as arrows—they radiate outward from the center like spokes on a wheel, essentially dividing the land into four quadrants. There’s the river Acheron, the river Cocytus, the river Phlegethon, and—”

“Which one are we on?” someone demanded.

“That’d be the Lethe.”

“Isn’t that the one that makes you forget stuff?” asked someone else.

“Supposedly. I wouldn’t drink it, if that’s what you’re asking. I wouldn’t drink
any
of this shit, no matter what river it’s in.” That drew a chuckle; keep ’em laughing, Eumenes thought, and they’ll follow you all the way to—

“How do you know all this anyway?” The laughter stopped instantly. The soldier asking the question was giving Kalyana a dirty look. They were all suspicious of the Indian. Not only did he look different, but he seemed to know a little too much. There were even some whispers that he’d cast a hex on Eumenes, and that was the reason they were down here in the first place. Which was one more reason why Eumenes had decided it was time to level with them…

“We’re not the first to come down here,” he said, doing his best to project a confidence he really didn’t feel. “Orpheus made it down here, didn’t he?”

“Orpheus wasn’t real,” said a soldier.

“Someone should hang you for blasphemy,” said Eumenes, and he couched the line in just enough of an am-I-kidding way to have them all on edge. Then he laughed, and managed to draw a few chuckles. And in that moment: “I assure you that the lyremaster Orpheus
was
real. As was the Roman hero Aeneas. Whose explorations formed the basis of a number of books that our glorious leader Alexander liberated from the inner sanctums of Rome itself. So we’re not blind down here. Far from it.”

“But why are we down here in the first place?” asked someone.

“And what’s that thrice-damned
tower thing
we’re going toward?” asked another.

“Well,” said Eumenes, “it’s like this.”

Ptolemy didn’t like the feeling of being the hunter. Not in this place. It was far safer to assume one was being hunted at all times, and concentrate on that. But he’d almost caught up with his quarry and he had to make his move. The figure was heading through the trees just ahead of him, dodging nimbly round the fungi (who knew what poisons they were extruding?), intent on staying close to the river. Which gave Ptolemy the advantage. He knew where his prey was going. A quick burst of speed round to the side, and then he was in front. The figure stepped out of the trees.

But stopped when he saw Ptolemy.

For one terrible instant Ptolemy thought he’d made a mistake—had forced a confrontation with one of this place’s denizens. The man carried a barbed spear that looked like no wound from it would be survivable. He wore leopard-skin over his armor, and his helmet was carved to resemble a lion’s open jaws.

But he was human. And Ptolemy knew his language too.

“I’m Macedonian,” he said in Phoenician.

For a moment, he thought the Carthaginian was going to try to run him through anyway. But then the man raised his spear.

“So?” he said.

“So we’re on the same side,” said Ptolemy. “Our kings and your Sufetes have signed a deal to—”

“That’s why you destroyed our ships?”

“I daresay you started it.” There was a howling noise in the distance. “Look, we haven’t got time for this. We’ll live longer if we stick together.”

“Baal himself came down here at the invitation of Mot,” said the man. “Mot tricked him and trapped him in the Underworld.” That was the moment that Ptolemy got the surprise of his life as two other men stepped out of the trees. They were nearly naked, wearing loincloths, and they had thin ropes wrapped their heads and waists. Ptolemy recognized them instantly: they were slingers from the Balearic Islands. Which technically was an Athenian possession, but the islands had historic ties with Carthage—ties that apparently had been resumed. These two men would be utterly loyal to the Carthaginian. Their culture trained them from birth as slingers: as soon as Balearic children were old enough to walk, their mothers placed loafs of bread at distances from them and forced them to shoot so that they either learned accuracy or went hungry. All of a sudden, Ptolemy was no longer bargaining with a potential equal—he was talking for his life. His mind raced over what little he knew of Phoenician myth.

“But Baal escaped the Underworld, did he not? Despite Mot’s trickery?”

“He did,” said the Carthaginian. “But he was a god.”

“Then we must survive by unleashing their power,” said Ptolemy. “We both came down here for the same thing, no?” The Carthaginian said nothing. “The thing that could make all these deaths worthwhile. You know of what I speak.”

“Is there a reason we should not just kill you now and leave you to the demons?”

“There is,” said Ptolemy. “I can get us to the Macedonian ironclad. Which is our only hope of making it to the tower.”

“That ironclad destroyed my ships,” said the Carthaginian.

“A misunderstanding,” said Ptolemy. “As I said, did not Alexander come to an arrangement with your Sufetes to help liberate your city? Down here we either stick together, or we are all lost.”

The Carthaginian stared at him. The howl sounded, still closer. “We should hurry,” said Ptolemy.

“Agreed,” said the Carthaginian as though he’d been pondering it up until the last moment. “We work together. You lead the way.”

Ptolemy did so, his mind racing the way a mind does when slingers who could hit targets at hundreds of yards range are right behind it.

“What the hell is
that
?” said Lugorix.

Coalescing out of the darkness: it was a bridge, spanning the river up ahead. Torches burnt atop it, though none of those bat-creatures were in sight. There was movement around those torches, though. Eurydice held the farseeker up to her eyes.

“Yikes,” she said.

“What is it?” yelled up Barsine.

Lugorix and Matthias could see them now too. They were the stuff of nightmares: giant misshapen insects with animal heads and metal claws. They were cackling and screaming, and even before the
Xerxes
was within range, they were already throwing rocks and burning torches into the water. Matthais drew back his bow and sent an arrow humming through the air, impaling one of the creatures through the head, sending its body falling into the water. But they weren’t the only threat in sight…

“Behind us,” yelled Lugorix.

Eurydice whirled to see another ship back there in the gloom. Clearly it was one of those which had pursued them down into the underworld, and it had apparently been catching up with them the whole time. But only now was it close enough to be visible.

“Clear the decks,” snarled Eurydice.

“Hold your fire,” yelled Eumenes. Kalyana nodded agreement: if they destroyed the Persian ship here, there might be no getting around it. Besides, that ship must have been hit by the demons on the bridge; it was already sinking below the surface of the water. Eumenes watched as it disappeared entirely. On the one hand, it was a relief—there was that much less competition now. On the other hand, Alexander would be less than happy that Barsine hadn’t been delivered to him alive, her seed intact. Still, there might be other female members of the Persian royal house that could serve his purpose. But right now there was a more immediate problem. They were drawing near the bridge; spears and arrows and claws clanked against the ironclad’s armor.