Love or Fate (7 page)
Authors: Clea Hantman
F
rom
his hiding space in the laundry pile, Apollo thought he heard voices. He tried to peek, but it was too risky to move an inch, so he just stayed put. He waited till the rustling sounds were gone before stepping out into the open and faced the three doorways once again. He could hear voices echoing from the one on the right. If the Furies had gone that way, maybe they would lead him to the place where his true love was locked away.
When he opened the door, however, there was nothing but black space behind it. He opened the second door—the one in the middle. Just more black space. The third door held nothing behind it as well. Was this a trick? Was someone toying with him?
Apollo was stunned. There was no place to go. He didn’t want to backtrack the way he’d come, for he was sure the Furies’ lair was still ahead of him. But now it looked like there was no way to move forward. Once again he stood helpless, wondering what his next move should be. No powers, no idea where the girls could be, no idea truly of where he was.
“This whole thing is unfair!” he cried. “Rotten and unfair.” He sank down on the ground to think. His heart had an ache. It had been too long since he’d seen Thalia’s eyes. Her smile. Since he’d felt her hand in his. “Argh!” he screamed. “I’m running around like a crazed mortal in Hades, with no help from the other realm. I’ve got to save the girls—and myself—from this abominable fate!”
Apollo paused.
Fate?
he thought. “Yes! Fate,” he yelled. “The Fates
*
!”
Apollo realized he was talking to no one, yelling at air, and he quieted down. But this, he thought, this had to work.
If he’d had his powers, all he would have had to do was call on them out loud and they would have appeared. But in this mortal form, he wasn’t sure they would listen. Still, he had to try.
Apollo got on his knees, clenched his hands
together, raised them above his head, and yelled, “Fates, I command you to show your faces!”
A small bolt of lightning pinged off one of the doors. But no one appeared. Still, Apollo was hopeful, for his voice had at least produced a lightning bolt. No matter how small, it wasn’t bad for someone with no powers. He would try again.
“Fates, I beg of you, show your faces!”
This time a minuscule firecracker appeared, popped in midair, and then fizzled to the ground, leaving a small pile of ash on the hallway floor.
“Hmmm, still nothing. Okay.” Apollo tried one last time. “Fates, please, you are my only hope, show your faces!”
This time there wasn’t even a fizzle. The room was silent.
It was useless without his powers.
He
was useless without his powers.
How,
he pondered,
how does one reach the Fates when they have no godly powers of their own?
And then he remembered an old children’s tale that his grandmother used to read to him. It was about Tartarus and the Fates. How did it go? He concentrated on the memory of sitting in his grandmother Gaia’s lap, in her overstuffed brocade chair, the book in her hand.
There was once a young mortal boy named Gerard, who, curious as he was, was constantly
finding himself in places he didn’t belong. Once, he followed a soldier twenty miles on foot, wandering straight onto a battlefield
—
all because he’d been enthralled by the soldier’s uniform. He even managed, at the tender age of eight, to gain entrance into Aphrodite’s changing room.
But one particular time he took his curiosity a step too far. In the dark shadows of a particularly deep and dastardly swamp where he and his father were camping, Gerard spotted a boat that caught his fancy. He quietly tiptoed toward the vessel and, seeing that no one was inside, he climbed aboard. He pretended he was a great sea captain, commanding hundreds of men. But then he heard someone coming and crouched down into the bow, under a large box. Little did he know that he had stowed away on a boat bound for Tartarus.
Gerard shivered and shook the whole ride there. Once the boat docked and the coast was clear, he got out
—
a big mistake
—
for as soon as he took one step onto land, the boat disappeared. He had no way of leaving Tartarus.
Gerard was frightened, more frightened than he had ever been. He sat on a rock next to a small muddy creek and began to weep. The next morning a very old Tartarus witch, one of the Secret Society of Witch Tarts, found him
crying. The Secret Society of Witch Tarts were a particularly evil brand of witches with many special powers, but this one in particular thought Gerard looked a lot like her own grandson, whom she hadn’t seen in many years.
“What say you, boy?” she asked in her witchiest voice.
“I’m not scared of you,” said young Gerard through tears.
The witch liked the boy’s spunk and asked him why, then, he was crying.
“I am crying because I miss my home. I would like to see my mama again. I cannot, can I?” And he began to cry even harder.
The witch, who had a soft spot for young Gerard, could hear no more of his weeping. And using her special Witch Tart powers, she called on the Fates for help in getting Gerard back to his family. They came and listened as the Witch Tart pleaded the young boy’s case. The Fates then returned the boy to the mortal realm of the living.
Yes, he thought, the Witch Tart was indeed able to contact the Fates, and the Fates had been able to get the boy out of Hades.
Well, that was it. He would go in search of a member of the Secret Society of Witch Tarts.
U
pon
seeing the Furies—all
three
of the Furies—my sisters and I mustered up a weak, “Tizzie!”
That’s right, Tizzie wasn’t dead at all. But the toad was. Turns out my powers had been strong enough to create a toad out of thin air but not strong enough to turn one wicked witch goddess into the aforementioned toad.
After the Furies had sent their scraggly pet bird creature on his way, and after they were finished laughing at our lousy attempt at an escape, our poor magical skills, and our wretched hairdos, they escorted us back to our “home,” aka the concrete box. It was a long walk, as filled with slime, bile, and gobbledygook as before.
The bath that Era had conjured up was long
gone. All that remained was a small puddle of lavender bubbles.
I’d failed. Our escape had failed miserably, and now we were faced with Polly’s biggest fear: the Furies were actually more angry, more enraged than before. Maybe she had been right. Maybe things could get worse.
It is here you will stay, in this tiresome abode,
For thinking you can turn me into a dead toad.
Tizzie was speaking; her sisters just stood on either side of her, their hands placed confidently on their hips, their gazes burning a hole right between my eyes.
You thought it was bad, but thanks to your boldness
We’re shrinking the space and
increasing the coldness!
At these words the temperature seemed to drop another twenty degrees. The room, which was already incredibly smushed, shrank even more right before our eyes.
We’re going to leave you with jobs aplenty,
Thirty-two thousand, three hundred and twenty.
Well, at least that was no big shock. We were already expecting to do their chores for all eternity. But now, apparently, the chores were numbered on a giant scroll, which the Furies dropped at our feet at that moment. Then they left the room, laughing, slamming the big, thick door behind them. It locked with a giant click.
“No!” I yelled, banging my fists against the door in pure frustration. I tried my powers on the lock, but nothing. I guess they were gone again. OH! To have freedom within our reach, and then to have it ripped away again. It was too much to take.
I looked down at my timepiece. There was little time left, perhaps seven or eight hours. That probably wasn’t even enough time to make it through the maze, even if we hadn’t been locked in a freezing cold cell with no way out.
“Daddy,” I whispered. And then, even quieter, “Apollo.”
Then I leaned my head against the door and cried.
Sometimes sisters know exactly what to do to make you feel better. At that moment I felt two sets of warm arms around me.
“It’s okay,” Polly said.
“Yeah, we’ll be okay,” Era added.
I turned to both of them and squeezed them
tight. “I’m sorry, I know it’s my fault. I got you in this mess. I’m so very, very sorry.”
“I’m sorry I got so caught up in my bath,” said Era. “I love you both dearly. Dearly!”
“Yes, yes, I love you both, too. Very much,” said Polly. “We mustn’t work against each other. We must help each other. Who knows how long we may be here?”
“I’m afraid,” said Era with wide eyes, “we may be here forever, just as they said.”
“I’m afraid you may be right,” agreed Polly. “If Father could have rescued us, I suspect he would have done it already.” Her eyes drifted to her wrist, and we sat there silently. “Oh, he should have been here by now!” she cried.
“You know,” I said, “I could take the cleaning all day long and into the night. I could, I really could. But I can’t bear the thought of not seeing my friends again. And our other dear sisters! And Apollo!”
“I cannot bear the idea of never seeing another tree,” said Polly. “Or Pegasus!”
“Oh, yes, Pegasus,” we all concurred.
“It’s just that it is so cold and unfriendly here. So dark and dead. I want to see life!” Polly had a single tear rolling down her cheek.
“Well,” said Era, “I don’t think I can bear to be without clean beautiful clothes. And a fluffy bed.
And my nettle leaf shampoo. And boys! I mean, maybe I could clean all day if I knew that in the end, I could make myself all pretty and then have a dance or two around a ballroom with a handsome young man.”
We all laughed. Even Era. The idea of going to a ball in Hades after a day of cleaning the Furies’ clothes was, well, humorous, in a sad sort of way.
“I think I know how we can get through this. But we all must do our part,” said Polly.
“You know a way out?” I cried.
“No, Thalia. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up. It’s just that I think we can make the best of this.”
“What do you mean?” asked Era.
“I believe if we focus on the good from our lives, remembering fun and joy and love and laughter, it will make this unbearable reality a little less cold.”
“What do you mean, focus?” I asked. “How do we focus?”
“Well…” Polly thought for a moment. “I think we should take turns telling a story about something that happened to us back home. Even if we think we’ve told it before.”
“Like the story about how I summoned Cupid to help me win the attentions of Percival?” asked Era, excited by the prospect of retelling a tale she’s told a thousand times, about when she wore the most
beautiful silk gown and kissed one of the handsomest gods in all of Olympus.
“Exactly,” said Polly.
“And I know, when we’re tired of telling stories,” I suggested, “we can sing! That might drive the Furies crazy!”
“Yes, yes, we can sing,” said Polly. “But we mustn’t think about what will make the Furies mad or glad or any such thing. We should do it strictly for ourselves. For each other. And one day, if we get out of here…”
“If,” I said sadly.
“No, one day,
when
we get out of here,” said Polly, “we will be that much more thankful for our wonderful lives and for each other. What do you say?”
“Yes!” cried Era and I.
“Now, let’s take a look at this scroll they left us.” Polly picked it up and started to read it. “Yes, I’m afraid it’s a list of thirty-two thousand, three hundred and twenty chores. But hey, that’s fine—it’s not a list of thirty-two thousand, three hundred and twenty-
one
chores, and that’s a good thing!”
I tried to be as upbeat as Polly, but that was too much. She seemed to sense this as she moved on to read the list, a little less perkily.
“Okay, let’s see what it says. ‘Chore number one,’” and then her smile faded.
“What does it say?” asked Era.
“Is it really that bad?” I asked, knowing full well it probably was.
Polly just winced and read on, “‘Chore number one: clean up dead squished toad.’”
A
pollo
went back in the direction from which he had come, in search of a Secret Society Witch Tart. Only problem was, he didn’t know what they looked like. Nor did he know where exactly to find one.
Before coming to the lair of the horrible, squawking creatures he had met before, he made a sharp left into a new hall. Down a new corridor he ran, this one well lit, until he happened upon a very large earthworm. Very large. The earthworm was over five feet long and at least two feet wide. It was wearing a top hat. He had no idea why or how a giant earthworm would have ended up here in Hades, but there was no time to think about that.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Apollo.
“That would be ma’am,” said the earthworm angrily.
“Oh, excuse me, it’s just, well, the hat and all,” said Apollo awkwardly.
“You have some nerve commenting on my hat. Have you taken a look at your ridiculous outfit?”
“Yes, I know, I am wearing a rather odd outfit for Tartarus, but believe me, back on earth, well, in the future, in the United States, well, Georgia, in this one high school, this football uniform is a very respectable choice of clothing.”
The earthworm made a “hmpf” noise and started to slither away.
“Wait, I need to ask you something.”
“What is it? I haven’t got all day,” said the worm impatiently, still slinking down the hallway. Apollo followed her.
“Do you happen to know where I can find a Secret Society Witch Tart?”
The earthworm gasped. “No, that’s secret.” She continued to move away from Apollo as fast as she could. Which wasn’t all that fast—earthworms aren’t known for their speed.
“Look, it’s tremendously important. I’m a god, a very important god. Maybe you’ve heard of me—Apollo is the name.”
“Of course I have heard of Apollo, and such a god would not be in Tartarus, nor would he be caught dead wearing such absurd clothing. Good day.”
With that, the worm slithered around a corner and out of sight, and Apollo was left to search for another inhabitant of Tartarus. Hopefully a friendlier and more helpful one.
Moments later he came upon a young man. A very normal-looking young man. When Apollo tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped three feet in the air and let out a petrified yelp.
“Oh, sorry to have startled you, sir. It
is
sir, isn’t it?”
The man just looked at Apollo without so much as a blink.
“Right, okay, my name is Apollo, I’m a God, and…”
The man began to laugh hysterically.
“No, really, I am.”
The man didn’t seem so scared anymore. “Okay, then do a trick,
Apollo.
Perform some great feat. Prove it.” And he laughed some more.
“Well, you see, I can’t. It’s really a very long story, and I haven’t much time, but trust me, I am the god Apollo. Now, I have a question of grave importance. Do you know where I can find a Secret Society Witch Tart?”
The man looked frightened again. He shivered
and shook, and then he made a run for it. He was gone in an instant.
Apollo thought about running after him, but what good would it do him?
So he continued to wander along the unending halls of Tartarus. It seemed like he had covered miles of hallway before he came upon another soul. This time it was a woman. She was young and beautiful. For some reason, she was crying.
“Excuse me,” said Apollo, “I don’t mean to interrupt. Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right,” the woman said, looking up at Apollo with a mournful, tear-streaked face. “I’m stuck in Tartarus. And for what? What! Just because I turned a young man into stone!”
“Well, that doesn’t seem like such a bad crime,” Apollo consoled, patting her on the shoulder. “Maybe you could…wait! Does that mean you’re a witch?” he asked.
“Turning a man into stone shouldn’t mean you have to spend an eternity in Tartarus,” she cried. “You understand. Just because he was Demeter’s boyfriend, that’s still no reason!”
“Oh, he was betrothed to a goddess? Well, that does get into sticky territory there. You know, you really shouldn’t mess with the goddesses.” Apollo realized they were straying from the point. “Anyway,
you didn’t answer me. Does this mean, if you have the power to turn someone into stone, that you are a witch?”
“Gods, schmods! I will mess with whomever I want! Wait till they see the damage I can do from down here. You just wait!”
The young woman looked at Apollo again, like she was actually noticing him for the first time. And seeing him young and handsome, she quickly lost her angry look and smiled a flirtatious smile.
But Apollo didn’t notice. “So you are a witch? Wonderful!”
“Yes, I am a witch,” said the woman. She was twirling a piece of her long blond hair around her index finger coyly.
“You aren’t, by chance, a Secret Society Witch Tart, are you?”
The young woman wrinkled her nose. “Oh, heavens no, those old broads are ugly. In case you haven’t noticed, I am beautiful. That’s why Demeter’s boyfriend fancied me over her!”
“Right, okay.” Apollo plunged ahead, not wanting to get off track. “Do you know where I might find a Secret Society Witch Tart?”
“Well, you know, it’s secret,” she said as she batted her eyelashes.
“So I’ve heard,” said Apollo, a little exasperated.
“But do you think you could tell
me
?” He made an earnest attempt to flirt back. He lowered his chin and looked up at her from under his long eyelashes.
“Well, I don’t know. What can you do for me?”
Apollo began to sweat around his shoulder pads. “Um, well, I am actually the powerful god Apollo, only my powers are not intact at this moment. Once I have regained them, perhaps I can speak with Demeter and get you out of here.”
The young witch began to laugh. “You, a god? Hardly. Don’t get me wrong, you are good-looking, but that getup? No, no, I don’t believe you.”
“Really, I am!” But it was no use.
“Still, I think I can find something for you to do for me.”
Apollo was scared to ask. “What, exactly?”
“If you give me a single kiss, I think I may be able to tell you where you can find a silly old Witch Tart.”
“A single kiss?”
“Yes, a single one. On the lips.”
Apollo knew better than to make deals with witches, and as harmless as a single kiss on the lips sounded, he knew it could be very dangerous. Still, this was Thalia’s life at stake. Plus her sisters’ and possibly his own. He had to find a Witch Tart, pronto, and this might be his only chance.
He looked into the eyes of the young witch. They were jet black and cold as ice. But as he got closer, he could swear he saw a figure, a shadow, really, dancing a little jig in each pupil. It scared him a bit; he shut his own eyes so as not to see and planted a dry kiss on the young witch’s lips.
Apollo stepped back and opened his eyes, and then he gasped. The woman before him was no longer a young and beautiful witch—she was decrepit and old. Her long fair hair had turned a dirt brown color, and it was dry and frizzy on the ends. Her pale silk gown was now tattered and torn and bulging in places a gown shouldn’t bulge.
Apollo didn’t understand. He took a step back. And another.
“Don’t go away so fast, young man. You said you were looking for a Secret Society Witch Tart. Well, you have found one. Now, why would you want such a creature in your midst?”
“Are you really a Witch Tart?” asked Apollo.
“I am more real than you.
Apollo,
did you say it was?”
“But I
am
Apollo—I really am. This body, well, it’s from the future; that’s why it looks so odd to you. It’s simply a disguise.”
“Hmmm, yes.” But it was obvious she didn’t believe him. She giggled.
Then she stopped abruptly. “What is it you want, young man?”
“I must contact the Fates.”
“Well, if you are the great and powerful Apollo, you do not need a lowly old witch, Secret Society or not, to do that.”
“Yes, but see, like I told you, I am without my powers right now.”
“So you said. Hmmm. No. I do not do favors for silly clowns or ridiculously dressed mortals.”
“But I am neither. Please, you are my only hope. I must contact the Fates. I need their help on a most dire matter.”
“And what is that?”
“Well, it’s a rather long story, but suffice it to say that my true love, Thalia, and two of her sisters are trapped here in Tartarus and I must get them out.”
“No one leaves Tartarus, you fool. Besides, I heard from a recently dead arrival that Thalia wants nothing to do with the god Apollo. You really must keep up with the godly gossip if you’re going to walk around claiming to be one of the gods!”
“With all due respect, Madam Witch Tart, Thalia does indeed want something to do with me, or at least I am fairly certain that she does. Now, please, call on the Fates for me.”
“No,” said the witch.
“Please!” said Apollo.
“I’ll tell you what,” said the witch.
“Yes, please,” begged Apollo.
“No matter who you are, I shall call on the Fates for you—”
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” cried Apollo.
“Wait! I was not finished. Under one condition.”
“Of course, name it!” exclaimed Apollo.
“You must bring me a three-ounce vial of Cerberus’s slobber!”
“The three-headed dog?”
“That is the one!” said the witch.
“But that’s all the way back at the gates! I’m up against a clock here. Don’t you have a quicker job, perhaps?”
“No, that is the condition. I need a few drops of it for a spell. Get the slobber and I will command the attentions of the Fates. Fail and you’re on your own.”
“Fine. I will get you the slobber. But you better hold up your end of the bargain,” said Apollo.
“And remember,” said the witch, “Cerberus’s slobber is deathly poisonous to mortals. So you better hope you are in fact the one and only Apollo!” And then she cackled and howled so hard, it hurt Apollo’s ears.
No problem,
thought Apollo. He was a god.
But then he had a thought.
He might be a god, but the body he was inhabiting was all mortal.
