Destroyer's Blood: The Blood Series, #1

By Michael Lynes

Blood is mightier than the Sword

Dev is a Master Thief, the son of Prometheus, and a bad-boy with a talking magic sword called Betrayer. 
Newly named the Protector of Men by his Titan father, he and Tray prefer to stay far away from Olympus and the squabbles of the Gods. That is until Hermes interrupts them as they climb up Half-Dome with an urgent summons from Zeus. 
Before he can finish, his body is torn to sheds by their Enemy. . .the DESTROYER.
Find out what happens next - read DESTROYER's Blood. . .Book 1 of The Blood Series: A Fantasy Novel by Michael Lynes

Winner - Finalist 2019 IAN Book of the Year Awards - category FANTASY

SOLO Medalist - New Apple Summer EBook 2019 - Young Adult FANTASY

WINNER - Readers Favorite SILVER Medal - 2019 - Fantasy
Winner Indie B.R.A.G Medallion
Winner New Apple Literary Official Selection - FANTASY
Dev shook his head, spitting out dust and rock chips. The last rays of the setting sun stained the ground crimson. "Betrayer," he murmured, ears still ringing from the terrific explosion, "we have a problem."
The cryptic message from Olympus changes everything... One moment Devcalion and Betrayer are free, climbing up Half Dome without a care in the world, the next they are dragged into battle with the Destroyer, Zeus's ancient foe.
The Dark Power is merciless, and time is running out. It's up to Dev and Tray to try to stop him, or the world of men and gods is doomed.
Book One of the Blood Series - Destroyer's Blood by award-winning author - Michael Lynes

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Lynes
• Release date: Nov 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386451129

Michael Lynes

MICHAEL LYNES is the Award-Winning Author of The Blood Series. To date, the series has won the New Apply Literary, Indie BRAG Medallion, Readers Favorite for FANTASY and most recently the IAN Book of the Year Selection for Fantasy. The series begins with the novella "It's in the Blood" and continues with Destroyer's Blood. NEW release Book Two - FIRST BLOOD is due out on November 1st 2019. Book One - "Destroyer's Blood"  Reviewed By Christian Sia for Readers' Favorite Destroyer's Blood: The Adventures of Devcalion: "a gripping fantasy with strong hints of Greek mythology." Meet Devcalion, "Dev," a demigod, son of Prometheus and nephew of Zeus. He has a telepathic sword and a very close friend called Betrayer, "Tray". When we encounter Dev, he and his friend are climbing up Half Dome. An encounter with Hermes changes everything, driving Dev to the last place he wants to be -- Mt. Olympus. Dev and Tray are pulled into a war they never bargained for. With the darkest power in the universe bent on wreaking havoc, do they have any chance of surviving?  Destroyer's Blood has been awarded the Silver Medal for Fantasy in the Readers Favorite Awards for 2019 and has won an Indie B.R.A.G. Medallion for Fantasy. It also won the Solo Medalist in the New Apple Summer eBook Awards for 2019. Book Two - "First Blood" will be released in November of 2019. His short story collection, "The Fat Man Gets Out of Bed", was chosen solo Medalist Winner in the 2017 New Apple Summer Indie Book awards.  His memoir, "There Is A Reaper: Losing a Child to Cancer", was an Indie B.R.A.G. Gold Medallion Honoree , a silver-medal winner Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards for Memoir, a medalist in the New Apple Book Awards for Memoir, and a finalist in Independent Author Network Book of the Year award and the Beverly Hills Book Awards. Most recently Mr. Lynes has been a Contributing Author to the 2019 Ghostly Rites Anthology. Mr. Lynes was awarded a BSEE degree in Electrical Engineering from Stevens Institute of Technology and currently works as an embedded software engineer. He has four sons, has been married for over thirty years, and currently lives with his wife and youngest son in the beautiful secluded hills of Sussex County, New Jersey.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1: HALF DOME

Life, I thought— it never works out the way you planned.

Uh duh! she replied, reminding me my thoughts were less guarded than I’d imagined.

Hey! I’m soliloquizing here!

Oh? Is that what you call it?

I resisted the temptation to reply in kind.  My wisecracking always gets me into more trouble than I bargain for with her.  Ahem.  As I was saying, I continued aloud, Life is all about surprises.  Like us, here, now.

And what, may I ask, is so surprising about us?

I grimaced, getting a better grip on the somewhat rotten schist that the section of sheer rock face we were on had far too much of.  I set the tip of one climbing boot into a foothold and reached up to get two fingers into the next crevice.  It was a bit small considering how high up we were and how quickly the darkness was setting in, but I like taking chances. 

"Well, first of all, we are something of an odd couple.  You a sentient magical sword, forged in the depths of time by Hephaestus himself, both beautiful and deadly.  And I, the illegitimate son of Prometheus, the Father of Men and Bestower of Fire, a scoundrel, thief (following in the family footsteps), and all around wise-ass."

She trilled, and I could tell she was pleased, in her custom-made scabbard.  For centuries I’d carried her on my hip in her more demure form—as a belt slung dagger.  She had come into my hands on the occasion of my eighth birthday, a gift from my father Prometheus.  From the first she had been my protector, vibrating in response to my commands or to warn me of danger.  She could also transform herself into whatever weapon our immediate disaster required, and she had always been able to read my thoughts.  All in all a pretty cool toy for a pre-pubescent demi-god, and up until a few short weeks before, I’d never known that her powers had been restricted to a level appropriate to my own. 

That had all changed.  Following our epic confrontation with Zeus atop Mount Kazbek, we had both received a promotion of sorts.  She had been given access to her second level of abilities, including full telepathic speech.  In the ensuing weeks our relationship had grown by leaps and bounds.  She also felt that her full-sized katana aspect seemed more appropriate to her new station.  I had agreed.

And second, our role as the ‘Defenders of Men’, ‘Stewards of the Earth,’ and all that happy-horse-shirt that Prometheus tricked us into accepting is so out of character.  Especially for me, I added at a sub-level that I hoped she could not perceive.  After all, a man needs some privacy.  Are you with me guys?  Man-power woo-hoo!  Neither of us is anyone’s first choice for the most responsible of adults, after all.

Huh! She sniffed.  Speak for yourself!  I, for one, am supremely responsible.  Not to mention conscientious, polite, possessed of a high intellect, a razor-sharp wit—

Don’t forget modest.

I was getting to that! She paused and cleared her mental throat.  As I was saying. . .modest, demure, subtle, and full of complex emotions.  You know, the more I think about it, the more I realize how little you deserve. . . .

The valley, a five-thousand-foot drop below us, was cloaked in shadow.  The first stars were already glimmering in the blue-black eastern sky.  To the west, now hidden behind the bulk of the cliff face, the setting sun sent streaks of pink-shot purple through the high cloud.  It had been a glorious getaway.  I hadn’t turned on my iPhone since we left New York. 

We’d spent the last couple of months together, hiking across the high desert of the Sierra Nevada range.  It had been just the two of us—no distractions, and no family contact.  We’d trekked across two states, working our way into Yosemite, only to find ourselves at the foot of Half Dome two hours before sunset.  I’d challenged myself to reach the top before nightfall, but that was looking a bit ambitious right now.  I’d been climbing at a fast pace, pushing the envelope without taking insane risks.  I still had about eight hundred vertical feet to go and less than fifteen minutes to do them in.

Technically speaking, we were trespassing.  Climbers were supposed to apply for a permit, and they were awarded, not first come-first served, but by lottery.  This had seemed a bit too chancy.  So, we’d taken the long way in, avoiding the main trails, and approached the mount from the north-east.  It was the impassable side of the cliff face and, permit or not, we were not supposed to be doing what we were doing.  All that said, I liked it better this way.

Okay, Tray, I said with a wry grin.  You win!   I want to see the sunset, and mundane means are not going to cut it.  Let’s see what you and your new powers can do!

She paused for a beat.  Do you trust me?

With my life. 

Then close your eyes and let go.

My eyes widened a bit and I looked down.  Not a confidence-instilling view.  Instead, I raised my gaze, fixing my sight on the evening star, the planet Venus, Aphrodite of old, twinkling in the firmament.  I took a deep breath, long and slow, filling my chest, relaxing my back and shoulders.  I exhaled, grounding my energy and centering my awareness.  My heartbeat slowed.  I let go.

We plummeted toward the earth, almost a mile below.  The thin air whistled through my hair, long black ponytail streaming behind me, my black cloak and keikogi flapping in the gale.  I tucked my body into a ball and then twisted, spreading my arms and legs into a classic free-fall position.  Terminal velocity from this altitude is about one hundred twenty miles per hour, I thought, saving my breath.  We should make an impressive crater.

Yes, yes, I know! she replied, sounding exasperated.  One sec—I can never remember that transformation sequence—

Uh, shouldn’t you have thought of that before I let go?

Hush!  I’m concentrating!

Hey, no sweat! I’d say we have twenty, maybe twenty-five seconds.  Take your time!

The ground was rushing up.  Below us I could see a bunch of nasty-looking boulders and spires of broken rock that grew larger by the second. The buffeting of the air streaming past us eased.  We’d reached stability, and I felt weightless, able to soar.  I angled my arms and we slipped sideways, away from the face of the mount.  We broke out of its shadow and into the light.  The sky before us was a shout of gold.  The west blazed as the lower rim of the sun dipped below the dark hills.  Flaming orange limned the scattered clouds, crimson rays streaming up into the blue.  It was a breathtaking sight. 

Devcalweeion! Yoo-hoo! DEV-cal-wee-ON!

A flicker of motion caught my eye.  A bronze-skinned figure hovered by my right shoulder, easily keeping pace with us.  I could hear the whirr of his winged sandals, even above the roaring wind.

Thank Zeuth! I’ve found you at wast! he said, his voice a scolding lisp.  "My deah boy!  I have an impawtent message for you!  He flew in closer and favored me with a disapproving frown.  You’ve been most unhelpful, he continued.  Why, I’ve searched all over!  It’s been just dwedful!"

I sighed inwardly. I was tempted to flip him the bird and then ignore him.  But of all the immortals, Hermes was by far the most anal.  I suppose centuries of being the messenger of the gods had gone to his head.  Come Hades or high water, he was going to deliver his missive. 

Hey, there, Hermie ol’ pal!  I cupped my hands and shouted.  Sorry to be such a pain in the butt.  I gestured towards the looming spires of broken stone. As you can see, I’m a bit busy right now falling to my certain death. His eyes widened. If you cut out the small talk and get right to the point, you may be able to complete your mission while I am still alive enough to care."

He gave me a nonplussed look and vanished.  Oh well, I thought, it was going to be a boring conversation anyway.

The end was moments away and there was something I had to get off my chest. Betrayer. . ., I began, I will miss you. Since this is our last time together in this life, I want to tell you how much I appreciate you. You’ve always been there for me, through good times and bad. I know I’ve often mistreated you and taken you for granted. Despite the fact that this whole situation is pretty much all your fault, I want to apologize—for everything. It was good knowing you.

Dev. . .

One sec, I was getting to the good part.

Right. . ., she replied in a dry tone. Well, at the risk of spoiling the, ah, ‘good part’, look down.

I looked down.  The oblique rays of light were casting knife-edged shadows across the tumbled volcanic scree.  I figured we had a fifty-fifty chance of a direct hit on one crag in particular. This was the way I’d always wanted to go, flashy, instantaneous and sort of puzzling, all at the same time. Hey! I exclaimed, suddenly outraged.

Yes? She answered in a sweet, ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’ tone of voice.

We’re not falling! I yelled. Why didn’t you tell me!

We were in fact still falling, but our decent was now more akin to that of a tuft of feather-down than a meteor streaking toward the earth. We drifted sideways, past the jagged rock outcrop and towards a gentle slope covered in talus and rough scrub.  Seconds later my boots crunched into the gravel.  There was a sensation like a popping soap bubble and the full force of normal gravity returned.

Well. . .you were on a roll! I figured since I’d already saved the day, it was my best chance for some well-deserved, long-overdue compliments so. . .

Betrayer!

She continued in a contrite tone. Dev, I am so sorry! If you’d been hurt or killed I don’t know what I would have done with myself. When you let go I was shocked! She paused, and then added in a soft voice. I didn’t think you would do it. You trusted me. . .really trusted me.

I nodded my head in silent affirmation. Yes

Don’t look at me. I’m so ashamed.

"Devcalweeion!  Please!"

Hermes hung in the air about ten meters to my left.  His winged sandals were beating slower now but still too fast for the eye to see.  They sounded like a pair of turbocharged hummingbirds.  He was dressed in his usual attire, a classic white off-the-shoulder number so far out of style that it was almost back in.  I threw him my second-best rakish grin and opened my mouth for a witty rejoinder, but he beat me to the punch.

Do shut up, he said without preamble, and, pleath, deah boy, spare me what you imagine pathes for wit.  I’ve wasted far too much of my pweshus time already searching for you. 

I crossed my arms and sighed.  Here it comes.  Betrayer pulsed twice in agreement. 

Hermes came to attention and drew a long nasal breath.  "Lord Devcalweeion, demi-god, son of Promeefeeyus the Titan, son of Eyapeeetus the Titan, son of Youranus, Lord of the Sky, son of Aether, Essence of Wight!  I, Hermes, messenger of the gawds, have a communication for you!  Will you heah it?

I rolled my eyes and stared at him for a long moment.  Seriously?  He nodded with comical gravity.  I took a deep breath.  Betrayer pulsed again.  Somebody has an extra-long stick up their nether end, don’t they? she remarked. 

Hush! I replied.  You’ll only make this worse!

I cleared my throat.  Well, then, ah, yes.  Yes, I believe I will. 

He bowed low in response.  I shook my head.  He was getting full marks for protocol.  I hoped his ‘message’ was worth the price of the hearing.  I thank you, most gwacious lord!  Dis message is for your ears only, and it was given to me to be replayed in the voice of the gawd himself.  I beg yaw indulgence so I may pweepare myself to deewiver it to you!

I cocked my head and looked at him, a half-smile flickering across my lips.  Tray’s voice was incredulous.  Hoo-boy, he’s got it bad.

Suddenly he stiffened.  He drew a deep breath, chest filling till it seemed it might burst.  His neck bent at a horrible angle, and his mouth gaped wide.  Sightless, his eyes stared at me.  Then a voice, cruel and cold, boomed from his unmoving lips.  Hail, Devcalion, Son of Prometheus! it exclaimed with mocking laughter.  Hail the Defender of the Flame!  The Guardian of Men!

My eyebrows rose in surprise.  Somebody had done their homework.  I could count on one hand the Olympians and Titans who were aware of the new title that my father Prometheus had bestowed upon me.  The sender of this message was not one of them.  I’d been half-expecting a wheedling diatribe from cousin Zeusy, full of veiled threats.  This overture was surprising and disconcerting.  The hair on the back of my neck prickled.  I raised my gaze to scan the darkling horizon, and my hand gripped Betrayer’s hilt. 

The scornful voice continued:  I offer you my congratulations upon your ascension to power! Your father was wise to choose you, from among his many bastards, to assume his dominion.  In you, the noble blood of the Titans runs true.  Hermes bared his teeth, and harsh laughter again rolled from his mouth.  You are a worthy opponent.  I am pleased.  He lowered his brows, and his eyes became dark, lit with an inner flame.  His handsome countenance writhed, features growing grim.  I felt a powerful, malevolent presence.  Betrayer vibrated her scabbard in warning.

Faster than the eye, I drew her forth, assuming a ko-gasumi no kamae stance, my arms extended, her razor-sharp edge held crosswise before me.  A defensive globe of white radiance blossomed from her hilt, surrounding me and filling the air with living light.  The last red rays of sunset glittered on her mirror burnished sides. 

Dev!  This is not an ordinary recorded communication.  I sense an entity concealed within the person of Hermes.  There is also a strange energy surge.  Building!

I stepped back, keeping one eye on Hermes’s tortured form while preparing for an assault.  As I watched, his body began to swell.  His face went red, then purple, eyes bulging from their sockets.  His mouth stretched even wider, jaw almost flat against his distended chest.  I looked on in horror as his spine curled backward into an agonizing semi-circle.  I could hear his joints pop as they dislocated. 

Devcalion! the voice screamed from his mouth once more, its power sending ripples through Betrayer’s shield.  I send you a gift!  A foreshadowing of what is to come.  You and your kind have for too long been unchallenged.  The stench of your rot and decay has polluted the Earth.

Dev! Move! Now!

I threw myself backward, using the slope to accelerate my roll.  At the same instant there was a brilliant flash, sun bright.  A deafening blast and shockwave rolled and echoed through the valley, triggering a minor avalanche from the cliff and sending chunks of rock and loose scree in every direction.  There were smaller, softer chunks as well.

Dev!  Are you okay?

I shook my head.  My ears were still ringing from the blast.  I sat up.  In the dust, next to where my head had lain, one winged sandal still twitched feebly.  The bronze-skinned foot it held did the same. 

"Well, that was special," I remarked, rubbing my neck.  The sun had set, and the light was fading from the sky, across which pale clusters of stars were starting to appear.  I paused to center myself, letting the full import of what had occurred sink in.  Hermes was one of the originals.  I had witnessed the destruction of an immortal, one of the twelve, an Olympian.  Sure, he was a stuck-up, prissy, anal SOB, but he was a god. 

Betrayer, I murmured, shaking my head.  We have a problem.

CHAPTER 2: HADES

Chill vapor filled the dead air.  It curled and twisted, hanging lifeless above a vast canal.  Canal?  No, that implies a navigable waterway.  This was a mighty sewer, a foul cloaca of clotted waste, a river of death.  It flowed through a cavernous space, immense yet claustrophobic, stifling and airless.  The banks were steep, piled high with stinking mud and choked with tattered reeds.  A wan light, seeming without source, illuminated the sky.  It cast odd shadows, revealing things far better concealed.  Baleful howling echoed in the darkness, its muted reverberations surging and dying.

Upon that desolate shore, a silent figure stood.  His face was pale, his garments rent and tattered, and covered in stains that appeared black in the cold light.  He gazed unseeing into the mist.  Near at hand, the noisome haze hung above congealing pools, their surfaces reflecting nothing but the void.  Soundless they crept, thick fingers of slime flowing into the Styx, cesspit of the world.  In the distance there was a gasping wheeze, punctuated by the rhythmic sound of muffled oars.

OH-HO, WHISTLE WHILE you work!  Dah di-dah di-dah dee-dee . . . .

Cheerful sounds echoed along the dank corridor.  Someone was singing, a wandering baritone, belting out off-key snatches of bubbly pop tunes joined to nonsense words.  The singing grew louder, an incongruous counterpoint to the distant screams and disembodied groans that accompanied it.  Soon, flickering torchlight could be seen reflecting off of the slime-covered walls. 

The bearer of the torch rounded a blind corner and skipped into view.  His hands were pale and bloodless.  A broad smile lit up his ashen face.  His eyes were black pools, mere holes in which the red torchlight gleamed.  His feet splashed through the noisome slime as he bounced along, beaming and singing at the top of his lungs.  Oh-ho!  Death and doom make me swoon as I whistle while I work!

Suddenly he stopped, standing stock-still and cocking his head as if listening.  The torch in his hand flickered and guttered as a rush of foul air lifted the edges of his midnight tunic and blew his dark hair backward.  The wind became a howling roar, sounding like a train barreling down a tunnel.  The ground began to tremble.  Pebbles rained down from the rocky ceiling.  He dropped the torch and braced himself, arms outstretched, mouth gaping wide in surprise.  There was a blood-curdling howl.  Three pairs of gigantic eyes appeared, gleaming red in the darkness.  A hideous beast charged into the flickering light.  It crouched and sprang, its ravening jaws yawing wide. 

A look of pure joy crossed his face.  There you are! he exclaimed.  C’mere!  Who’s daddy’s boy!  Who’s daddy’s baby!  My wittle wubbba-wubba!  The beast’s forepaws struck his chest and knocked him to the floor.  He laughed aloud as three massive tongues began licking his face, soaking his beard with their slobber.  "Cerberus!  Ha-ha! Good puppy!  Yes!  Yes!  Daddy’s happy to see you!  Now get off me!  Hahahah! Yes, that’s a good boy!"

Hades, Lord of the Underworld, firstborn son of the Titans Cronos and Rhea, was happy.  In fact, of all the Olympians he was among the most content.  He loved his work.  On that particular night, for in his world it was always night, he was especially pleased.  Business was booming. 

It all stems from that wonderful idea brother Zeus and Sister Hera cooked up! he said to himself.  Hera had enchanted the Scuttle of Hephaestus and then had used it to recall the gift of fire from Men.  Death and disaster had spread across the globe!  A slow smile spread across his dark visage.  Why, thanks to them, thousands died, perhaps tens of thousands!  He nodded in a pleased way.  Of course, he continued, "it could have been so much better!  If only that fool of a boy—oh, what’s-his-name?  Prometheus’s son. . .Dencalion?  Devcolon?—well, some such nonsense.  If only he’d failed to thwart their plans!  He rubbed his hands with anticipated glee.  Why, if he hadn’t intervened, it would have been millions!  Hades stared off into the darkness, a longing expression on his face.  My kingdom would have been supreme!"

He shook his head and then shrugged.  No matter. . .they all show up here in the end!  With that cheery thought, he hooked a heavy chain to one of Cerberus’s spiked iron collars.  Always look on the bright side of death! he sang out.  Isn’t that wight!  Who is Daddy’s wuv?  Who’s my big boy!  Yes!  Yes! My wubba!  Let’s go walkies!  They trotted off together down the sloping corridor, heading towards the River.

THE BOATMAN STANK.  Not in the usual way that men stink, sweat and bad breath and poor hygiene, no.  The boatman stank as a refuse pit stinks, as a corpse fills the air with corruption and decay.  He reeked of death.  Luckily for him, this was not an impediment to the fulfillment of his purpose. 

The boat slid across the noisome flow, drawing no wake.  Its pilot pulled at the sculls with practiced skill, navigating through the thick mist with ease.  It was a narrow craft, with low gunwales and no keel.  Little more than the width of a board kept the foul black sludge upon which it floated from swamping the rotted deck.  It sported a mast amidships, but no sail hung from its sagging spars.  Had one been rigged, the cleat seemed too rotten to have held fast against even the slightest of breezes.  No matter. It would never run before a freshening wind or heel to a following sea.  This was the barque of Charon, and the wretched boatman was its master. 

He bent his bony back and pulled at the sweeps a last time.  The bow ground deep into the muck.  He tossed a loop of moldy hemp onto the pier and shipped his oars.  He did not bother to rise.  He had long ago ceased to care about his job.  About the only thing he liked was tormenting the shades of the dead.  He glanced up, shaking his head.  Only one, he muttered in disgust.  The shade turned, drifting closer.  They were all the same.  They were drawn to him and his barge, compelled to complete their journey.  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a bit of fun with them first.  He raised a skeletal hand and glared, halting the phantom.  Then he turned the hand palm up.  Pay here! he growled.  Open yer rotten pie ‘ole, an’ stick out yer tongue.  The shade stood mute, gazing at him with pearly eyes.  Hey! the boatman yelled.  Cough it up, buttercup!  I ain’t got all noight, ya know!  He seized one long oar and brandished it, threatening to enforce his extortion with violence.  A sudden thrill of feeling, something he’d not experienced in centuries, shot through his being.  The long pole slipped from his nerveless hands, plunging into the filth below.  You! He hissed.  "’Ow do you come ta me loyk this?"

The shade offered no response, gazing at him as they all did, silent and sad.  Charon sat back down, as mute as his charge.  His thoughts whirled.  The Master must know of this! he whispered.  He scuttled to the stern and bent to retrieve his wayward oar, hauling it with some effort from the sucking mud.  He shipped it once more, then paused.  Fear filled his breast.  Had he a heart, it would have trembled.  He cowered for a long moment, considering how his master might react to this most unexpected event.  Loyk as not I’ll be blamed, he concluded with a moan.  He glanced back in fear and hatred towards the dock, lips twisting with disgust.  It’s always ‘Charon fetch me this’ and ‘Charon get me that.’  Every time sumpthin’ goes wrong, it’s poor ol’ Charon what gots ta fix it.  He made an angry motion toward the patient spirit.  "Get in, you floighty bastard."  The shade complied.  Without another word, he set his oars and pulled away.

HADES STOOD ON THE banks, gazing out over the river that bordered his vast domain.  It’s so beautiful, he thought, and let out a deep sigh.  He was no fool.  He was well aware that most of the other Olympians shunned him.  Some even considered him less than a true god, whatever that might mean in their minds.  He’d never bothered to give their opinion any weight.  They can think as they wish, he muttered.  "Fools! I chose to rule this world.  Brother Zeus may rule the land, and brother Poseidon the deeps of the sea.  But I. . .I rule a greater domain than both, for it is to my world in the end that all things of theirs come.  His brows lowered, and his expression grew stern, almost demonic.  My realm encompasses all.  The souls of the living may inhabit their realms for a season, a few lives of men perhaps.  But in this place, they find their eternal home.  In this world, where I am supreme!"

A chorus of howls broke his reverie.  Some distance away he could hear Cerberus snuffling down the banks.  Probably digging up the bones of some poor soul, he shook his head.  Fool dog.  Closer at hand, another sound caught his attention, the creak of rusty oarlocks.  Ah! The landing!  Let’s see the new arrivals.

The docks on this side of the river were in better repair.  Hades liked to run a tight ship.  Charon was supposed to ensure that the landings on both sides were well maintained, but since the Lord of the Dead never bothered to inspect them, his lackey had let the far ones go.  When Hades appeared, he was already out of his boat.

Charon!

Crikey, ’ear he is now already. muttered the other under his breath. He dropped the coil of rope he was stowing and turned.  Oh, Master! he called with false cheer.  ’Ow good of you to drop by!  He shambled away from the dock, ducking and pulling his forelock. 

Yes, yes, Hades replied, wrinkling his nose in disgust.  Charon, he began, have I not commanded you to cross only with your craft at full capacity?  He did not wait for a reply.  "Here you have just come from the land of the living, yet your boat is empty?"  Hades drew himself up.  You know we have spoken of this many times.  His expression had turned severe.

Groveling before his master, Charon bent so low that his knuckles dragged.  Pompous git, he murmured. 

. . .What did you say?

"Yes, Master!  Nothing, Master.  Master is always right, an’ so wise, too!  But Master, kind Master, I did obey you!"

Hades covered his mouth and nose against the smell.  The boatman lay prostrate before him, reaching up timidly to tug at the hem of his master’s tunic.  Faugh! You stinking beast! he roared.  How dare you lay your hands upon my person! 

A spasm of anger flitted across Charon’s gaunt face.  He let go the tunic and cowered, face down in the muck.  Hades kicked him away.  "You obeyed me! he screamed.  Well, then, where are your passengers?  He swept one muscular arm in a semi-circle, taking in the expanse of shadowy shoreline.  I see noth—"

He stopped speaking, and he stared into the mist.  Hermes?  He passed one hand over his eyes, half-laughing and shaking his head in disbelief.  "So this is your passenger! he cried, turning once more to berate the cowering boatman.  The soul-guide!  He is no shade!  He is the psychopompus.  He cannot be dead!"

Hermes drifted out of the mist, drawn like a moth to a flame by the presence of the Lord of the Underworld.  He hovered before him, eyes pearly white, his gaze fixed upon the nonexistent horizon, as silent as the tomb.  Hades did a double take, mouth flapping open.  It was Hermes, with the emphasis on was.  Hades knew, better than any other being, the appearance of a soul that had quit the land of the living.  With a glance at Charon, he found his voice once more.  Hermes! he said in a hoarse whisper.  How come’st thou to my domain?

The shade fixed its gaze on his face, patient and sad, waiting for the order of his new lord.  Hades shook his head in wonder.  Speak! he commanded.

CHAPTER 3: OLYMPUS

I hate this place. 

The golden roof and cornice of the Palace of Zeus blazed in the mid-morning sun, dazzling against the blue-black sky and white snowcaps of the peaks beyond.  The palace perched on the highest point within the Citadel of the Gods, which itself sat atop a high peak, its back to the crest of Olympus.  Not only the palace but the whole city shone, its light rivalling the Sun.  Its outer walls were tall and smooth, crafted of white marble tens of meters thick and arched with an overhanging lip.  They curved and merged with the slope of the summit, presenting an unassailable face to any invader who would presume to enter unbidden.  Within, there were many structures: amphitheaters, temples and meeting halls, homes to the Olympians.  Wide roads connected all.  Tree-lined and sculpted in concentric rings, they rose up the spring-green hillside.  It was a magnificent sight. 

Betrayer and I stood on one of the Encircling Peaks, the mountains that guarded the borders of this ‘narcissist’s paradise’.  The actual peak of Mount Olympus overshadowed all in the middle distance.  One of my happiest memories of this place was the day I left, vowing never to return.  It had been on the occasion of my Naming Day, the day when, by hallowed Olympian tradition, one was presented by one’s parents to the Council, to receive the blessing of Zeus.  It was almost always done at the high summer feast and followed by debauchery far into the night. 

My Naming Day had turned out to be the last in a series of disillusionments.  The epic fight I’d had with Prometheus the night before, and the harsh words I’d exchanged with my mother, the last I’d ever spoken to her, echoed through my mind.  I shook my head, and a sad smile stole over my face.  I never did get ol’ cousin Zeusy to bless my skinny butt, did I? I thought.

No, and you never needed it either.

She was right.  I had always been an outsider.  I’d no use for any of them, the whole toga-wearing, self-absorbed, heavy-drinking lot of them.  They disgusted me, these so-called gods, playing at their endless politics, power games, and petty backbiting.  Unblessed and rejected, I had left, I thought for good.  Free, I walked the Earth, living among mortals as one of them.