The Secret of Ashona (42 page)

Erec jumped, pulling his knees to his chest. “Get that thing off of here!”

The undead creature dripped flesh onto the logs of the raft as it crept closer, and the bits of skin wiggled away like worms. Its teeth looked sharp, and its head swung back and forth as it moved. The boatman put his pole squarely in the middle of the creature’s face and pushed, flinging it into the water with a splash.

“Zombies,” he huffed. “That’s what’ll happen to ye if ye decide to go for a swim in the Styx now.”

“I’d turn into a zombie? How horrible!” Erec hoped that none of the splashes around him got too close.

“Or you’d become indestructible. Or maybe both.” He cackled.

Being indestructible sounded good, but there was no way he’d risk touching this water. The raft was pulling up to the other shore, and soon washed onto land.

“Thanks,” Erec said. “When I’m ready to go back across I just call you, then?”

“I’ll know when you’re here. I’ll come to you. As long as you can pay for the trip, you can go back to the other side.”

“But I already paid you!” Erec fished around in his pockets. They were empty.

“Good day.”

“Wait—how much does it cost to cross?”

“A piece of gold.”

“But I paid you two before. . . .”

“Your choice.”

So, he was supposed to take two coins—one to cross the River Styx and the other to come back again? “I want one of my coins back.”

“Good luck finding it.”

Erec knew that there was no way he would ever get his other ring coin back again. Now was he stuck for good in the Underworld? A chill went through him as he thought about his fate. But then he tried to forget about it. He was supposed to be doing this, right? Or was he? The Fates wouldn’t let him do this if he’d really be stuck forever. He shivered, and tried to focus on his task ahead.

He would do his best to disarm Tarvos. If he accomplished this feat, he would move on to rescuing the souls from the Furies. It seemed overwhelming, but then he would have fixed the worst problems he knew about. He’d be finished. But then he remembered something awful—the contract he had signed giving his dragon eyes to Baskania. He might have to live out the rest of his life blinded. And his visions of doing awful things in the future . . . It was too much to think about.
One thing at a time,
he thought. There was a bull to deal with first.

CHAPTER TWENTY
A Test of Cleverness and Chance

S
PARTACUS WAS WAITING
when Erec climbed off of the ferry. “It’s nice down here, isn’t it?”

Around them were endless fields swirling with mists. There was little light on this side of the river, and even after Erec’s eyes had adjusted to the dimness, the place still had a foreboding look. Shapes passed through the mist, formless spirits that, unlike Spartacus, had lost their original appearance.

Even though the fields were wide open, it had the feel of a
prison. Erec felt claustrophobic even though he was outdoors, as if something unseen was pressing on him.

“Why are those spirits here?”

“I asked one of them.” Spartacus shuddered. “This place is a trap. It’s where some of us end up if we spend too long haunting earth as a ghost after we die. I don’t know how much time that is, but I don’t want to end up one of these guys.”

Dark shapes appeared nearby, popping out of crags and around rocks. They came closer to Erec on all fours, steadily, leering grins on their faces.

“What are those things?” Erec asked.

“Night Panthers.” The boatman nodded at the beasts. “Inside they’re all lizard, but their shape and fur look like jungle cats. Don’t let them get too close to ye.” He winked at Erec. “They love to eat dragons best of all.”

Erec stepped back reflexively. He wondered how the boatman knew that he had some dragon in him. “Let’s go,” he said to Spartacus. “This place give me the creeps.”

“All right. But don’t expect the next area down here to be much better.”

Spartacus picked him up and they flew through the fog over endless terrain. Erec was glad that Spartacus knew the way—it would have been impossible for him to get around alone here. As they flew, the temperature grew hotter and hotter. Spartacus didn’t seem to notice, but Erec was dripping sweat. It reminded him of Aorth—and he wished he was wearing the air-conditioned UnderWear that people used down there.

The waving grasses gave way to sand, and soon they were flying over desert. The sky was a deep blood red, and the sands that he could see through the mists were black. “This is it,” Spartacus said in Erec’s ear. “The Desert of Eternal Heat.”

“I can see why it’s called that. This is miserable.”

“Is it? Hmm. I can’t tell.” Spartacus landed on a steaming patch of black sand. “The Suction Pits of Despair are just a few paces that way.” He pointed. “I thought we could talk about what we’re going to do once we get there.”

It was hard for Erec to form words in the extreme heat. “I . . . can’t . . .” He had to get into that cave before he could even think straight. The red sky looked oppressive in the boiling heat, and the sulfur smell was even worse.

“Well, hullo there,” said a crisp British accent. “I can see that we have some visitors here today.” A man stood before them, briskly dusting off his long white lab coat. He tapped a pen against a clipboard in his hand, apparently oblivious to the heat. “Wonderful. Wonderful. Let’s see . . . Erec Ulysses Rex and Spartacus Kilroy . . . no middle name, Spartacus?” He looked right at the ghost as if he had no problem seeing him at all.

Spartacus answered, unsure if he would be heard, “Um, no.”

“Fantastic. Well, we have it right, then.” He tapped the clipboard, pleased. “Let’s see. . . . Welcome to the Underworld, herald of the past and birthplace of the future.” He spoke fast, as if listing oft-repeated lines. “It is the policy of the Underworld that all visitors must be inspected for communicable illnesses, dreaded diseases, poxes, curses, and hexes. Underworld citizens retain rights that will supersede your own when you are traveling here, and you must be advised that an inability to return does not constitute citizenship. Please heed the advisory that the earth elements here can change without warning, and also that their impact on humans is unpredictable. You may come away a somewhat different person if, and I say
if
, you return home again. And finally, it is agreed by the powers that be that each visitor be given a test of both cleverness and chance, and if they fail then they should never have come here, their visit will be void ipso facto, and all rights to return home shall be relinquished.” He smiled pleasantly. “Are we all clear?”

Clear was the last thing that Erec was. It was hard to even focus on this man’s words in this sweltering heat. He just shook his head, no.

“Wonderful. Well, as long as we’re all straight, it’s time to administer your tests. Right?”

“What tests are you talking about?” Spartacus asked.

“The cleverness and chance tests. Your quid pro quo for getting out of here, you see. Which of you would like to take the tests? I assume it will be Erec, as Spartacus will be able to leave at will, but you will not.”

Erec was about to fade, so he raised a hand. If he didn’t do the test now, there would be no hope at all for him.

“Excellent. Erec, I’ll first administer your cleverness test. Right. Now, let me ask you a simple question, and you answer to the best of your ability. If you needed to get your scepter back, and your life depended on it, what would you need to do in order to obtain it?”

It took a moment for Erec to absorb the question in the blistering heat. How would he call his scepter back to him? He knew the answer—he had programmed it so that both he and somebody else had to say that he was ready to use it again. But his senses were still together enough to know not to answer and give away his secret. . . .

“Wonderful! You are correct. Thank you for sharing that information with me. Now, are you ready for the test of chance?”

“But I didn’t say anything. . . .”

“A technicality. I don’t require the spoken word to hear you loud and clear. Those details will be critical if, and I say
if
, you end up becoming a permanent resident here.”

So, this man could read minds, then? Erec worried why he wanted to know about the scepter—and what he would do about it.
A permanent resident? That better not happen. . . .

The man produced a small table with a tap from his cane. On it were six glasses of water. Erec’s thirst overwhelmed him, and he wanted to gulp down each of them.

The man waved his hand over the table. “There are five rivers in the underworld, and two pools. Of course, one river and pool are connected, so that makes six waters that contribute to our spectacular landscape.”

Erec thought the landscape was less than spectacular, but he kept his mouth shut.

The man continued. “In these cups, we have water from each of these rivers or pools. You may choose only one to drink, and whatever befalls you from that drink will be your fortune. Here are the waters of . . .” He pointed to one glass at a time. “Acheron, Cocytus, Plegethon, Lethe, Styx, and Mnemosyne. Which would you choose to drink?”

Erec was so thirsty that he wanted to drink all of them at once. But he hadn’t lost his mind. It was obvious that some of those liquids would do horrible things to him. For instance, there was no way that he would drink the water from the River Styx, that was for sure. But the other ones were a mystery to him. Would some of them actually be good for him? How would he know?

Maybe Spartacus could help. Erec couldn’t ask him out loud . . . but Spartacus could read his mind. Maybe Spartacus could read this man’s mind as well and let Erec know which water to drink! He concentrated.
Spartacus, could you read his mind and tell me what to do?

Spartacus looked at him and shrugged, shaking his head.

“Oh, and absolutely no cheating,” the man said. “Of course a simple ghost can in no way read the mind of a Shadow Demon.”

A Shadow Demon! Of course. One of the books in the library mentioned that Shadow Demons were like police down here, and something about “If you want to leave the Underworld you’d better follow their directions wisely.”

The Shadow Demon yawned. “Police. What a petty comparison. Now, pick a water, let’s go, make it snappy. We don’t have all day, now, do we?”

“Do I get any clues?”

“Now, now, Erec. If you had clues, it would not be a game of chance, now, would it?”

There had to be a way that he could get out of this. Maybe the Shadow Demon was lying to him, and he didn’t really need to do this to leave the Underworld again. . . .

“Quite sorry, chap. If it were only that easy. Rules are rules, you see, and it’s like this—you drink or you stay here forever. And I really don’t think you want that, now, do you?”

In his haze, Erec remembered something about Shadow Demons. He was human now, not safely a ghost—and it would devour him if he didn’t walk right through it. Even if the thing turned into a hideous creature, he would not be afraid. All he had to do was gather his courage. . . .

The Shadow Demon yawned again as Erec walked through him. “Was that fun, now? I hope you enjoyed that little effort on your part. Yes, you have made it so that I can’t eat you. But guess what? I wasn’t going to eat you. So you’ve really changed nothing at all. Now, if you’d please pick a glass of water we can get on with things. It’s becoming a bit of a long day.”

Erec sent a thought to Spartacus:
Maybe we should go into the Suction Pits of Despair and find Tarvos. We’ll see what happens if we ignore this guy.

The man sounded annoyed. “Now, listen here. I’ve spent quite a bit of time helping you both through this difficult period of change that you’re going through. There are rules to be followed, though, and I don’t advise that you take matters into your own hands. It’s like this. You pick and drink now, or I go, and you never get out of here. I’ll do whatever you like, but this is your final chance.” He crossed his arms expectantly.

“Okay, let me think.” Erec pointed to the water from the River Styx. “I’m not drinking that one.”