Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Spring morn

“Oh, my love, why did you do that? An arrow is not worth your life.”

“Because Lady Lot said we would need them ‘to kill and to not kill,’ and since I used them this time ‘to not kill,’ we might need all of them ‘to kill’ someone or something. I could not take the chance that we would run out of blunt arrows at a critical time.” Roel kissed her on the forehead and said, “Even so, cherie-” But he was silenced as she drew his face to hers and kissed him on the mouth.

Leaving Cerberus raging behind, they mounted up and rode on, and ’neath the dismal sky they fared in among broad plains. To the fore they saw more souls, these in aimless wandering, or so it seemed.

“We need find the Elysian Fields,” said Celeste.

“And the Hall of Heroes,” added Roel.

“Then let us ask one of these souls,” suggested Celeste.

The first one they asked looked up at them curiously.

“You are yet alive,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“We are on a quest,” said Celeste.

“Ah, like Aeneas,” said the shade. “Well, I cannot help you, for I do not know where lie the Elysian Fields.” Neither did the second soul they asked, nor the third nor fourth, nor many others. But finally one, an old-seeming man, said, “Yon”-and he pointed-“where the everlasting day is bright, where the sun ever shines down through sweet air to fall upon green grass and bright flowers and the beautiful faces of the favored. But beware the rift, for ’tis said to lead to Tartarus itself.”

“Tartarus?”

“Yes. It is the Abode of the Accursed, the pit where the very worst souls are sent after judgment. There it is where Sisyphus ever toils, and Tantalus reaches for the unattainable fig and tries to drink from the vanishing pool. There, too, are imprisoned Cronus and the rest of the Titans, and others. Deep is this chasm: it is said an anvil dropped into this abyss will take nine days and nine nights to reach bottom. And just as bottomless is the small rift nigh the Hall of Heroes, for I am advised it plummets to Tartarus as well.”

“How know you this?” asked Roel.

“I was told by Achilles himself, for he roams at times and pauses here in the Fields of Asphodel and speaks with me now and then. During twelve years of travail in our former lives, on one dark night I made his acquaintance.”

“And you are?”

“Priam, the last king of Troy.”

“I have heard of Troy,” said Roel. “Once mighty.”

“But now gone,” said Priam, and he wept shadowy tears.

Leaving the grieving shade behind, on they rode in the direction the former king had indicated. Awhile they fared under dismal skies, and off to the left they espied a great dark dwelling.

“The Palace of Hades, do you think?” asked Celeste.

“Perhaps. If it is, remember Thoth’s warning to not go there.”

“Ah, I do not plan to,” said Celeste, smiling, and on they pressed.

Finally, in the far distance ahead, they saw a glimmer of brightness, and toward this they fared. The sky grew lighter the farther they went, and finally they rode into sunshine. And all about was green grass and bright flowers and the air was sweet, just as Priam had said.

And now they could see an enormous, rectangular, white-marble building, perhaps three hundred paces in length and half that in width and some sixteen fathoms high. Soaring columns lined a broad portico, beyond which huge bronze doors marked the entrance. And below the eaves of its peaked roof, carven figures graced a wide frieze, showing chariots racing and naked men grappling with one another and throwing javelins and discuses and loosing arrows and engaging in fisticuffs and other such sporting events. To the left of the building they could see an oval track for chariot racing, and a straight track for running sprints. There was a ring for hurling the discus, and a field for the javelin throw. Nearby was an area for the standing broad jump.

Other venues for athletic events were scattered here and there.

“By the depictions above and the fields to the left, no doubt this is the Hall of Heroes,” said Roel.

“The gymnasium is enormous,” said Celeste.

“A mighty hall for mighty men,” said Roel, grinning.

On they rode, coming closer, and just ere reaching the great portico, they came to an area fenced off by a chain.

Within that enclosure yawned a rift in the ground, some six paces in length and perhaps two wide at the center.

Celeste said, “Think you this is the crevice of which Priam spoke, the one plunging to Tartarus?” They paused a moment by the chain and peered at the fissure. Celeste dismounted, and as Roel gritted his teeth to keep from telling her to take care, she leaned forward to look as the daylight shone down within.

“I see no bottom whatsoever,” she said. She turned to Roel. “It must be a way to the Abode of the Accursed.”

“Perhaps,” said Roel. “Yet let us not tarry, but enter the hall and find the black portal to the City of the Dead.”

Celeste remounted, and they rode to the steps.

And even as they alighted, one of the great bronze doors opened, and draped in the pelt of a lion, a large muscular man stepped out and said, “Seeking death, are you? Perhaps I should slay you outright.”

Challenges

“Who is it, Heracles?” called a voice from inside the hall.

“A pair of mortals, Chiron,” replied the large man.

“Mortals?” There sounded the clip-clop of hooves, and a Centaur came trotting out and peered at them.

“You two, what are you doing in Elysium? Do you not know that without special sanction mortals are forbidden to be in this place upon penalty of death?”

“My Lord Chiron,” said Celeste, “I believe we are indeed here on special sanction, for we have been sent by the Fates themselves.”

“Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos?”

“Perhaps those are your names for them, but we know them as Skuld, Verdandi, and Urd, as well as the Ladies Wyrd, Lot, and Doom.”

Chiron smiled. “All gods are thrice named, did you not know?”

“You call the Three Sisters gods?”

“I do, but perhaps they are above all pantheons, for the gods themselves seem ruled by the Fates,” replied Chiron. “Regardless, why have you come?” Celeste gestured at Roel and said, “We are on a mission to rescue my companion’s sister and his two brothers.”

Heracles growled and said, “How do we know these mortals are telling the truth?”

Chiron shrugged. “Let us first hear their story, and then we shall judge.” He turned to Celeste and Roel and said, “Come. Enter the Hall of the Champions so that all might know your tale.”

“But Chiron,” objected Heracles, “for a married woman to witness our athletic contests means she must die. Virgins and young maidens are the only ones permitted to see.” He turned to Celeste and asked, “Are you a virgin, or are you instead married?”

Before Celeste could answer, Chiron said, “Oh, my son, if these two are sent by the Fates, then such needless rules must give way.” The half-man, half-horse turned to the pair and gestured for them to enter.

“As you wish, My Lord Chiron,” said Celeste, and together with Roel, she walked up the steps and past the great bronze doors.

Heracles, a sour look on his face, followed, but Chiron was smiling instead.

The hall was a vast gymnasium equipped for indoor sports, with weights to lift and circles for wrestling and boxing and ropes for climbing and other such.

Inside one of the large circles a pair of naked men grappled, and a third man with a brief skirt wrapped

’round his loins and sandals on his feet seemed to be judging the match. Ringed ’round the contestants a gathering of men-some nude, others not-watched and shouted encouragement.