P. Hoover - Solstice

I jump back but only for a second. Once the dust settles, I set my feet on the wooden planks, my legs trembling under me.

Never leave us.

You belong with us.

The voices come from every part of the castle. The stone walls. The wooden drawbridge. The cobblestones up ahead. I close my eyes, trying not to think about Minos and the dead phoenix, and I remind myself—they’ll tell me what I want to know. What I need to know. And then I’m out on the cobblestones, and the drawbridge rises behind me.

I stand in the middle of a gravel courtyard with only the smell of death to keep me company. Fountains sit in the four corners, but they’re dry and cracked like the fountains in my world above ground. I think of Sisyphus. Of him gripping his penis and of his melodic voice. And then there were his words. I know who you are.

“Who am I?”

I don’t realize I’ve said it aloud until I hear the echoes of my whisper all around me.

Who am I? Who am I?

It taunts me as it mixes in with the other voices. It blends into their chorus. I put my hands over my ears to hold out the noise, and then another voice takes over. One which drowns out the rest.

“Come join us. We will show you.”

To the left, a carved wooden door gapes open. Yellow light pours out from inside, and I know I need to go there. I steel myself against my fears, and walk across the gravel toward it.

I shield my eyes when I walk in, but the door slams, and the blinding yellow light extinguishes. I’m left standing in a room with just enough light from the torches on the walls to see a long wooden table ahead of me and three men seated around it. My eyes move from one to the next, trying to figure out what I’ve gotten myself into. But before I can take them all in, the man at the head of the table stands up.

He’s got a close-cut dark beard, and on top of his thick curly brown hair sits a golden crown covered in gems which send reflections of color across the table and the room. When he stands, I notice he’s holding a golden goblet decorated with gems equaling the ones on his crown.

“I certainly hope Sisyphus didn’t scare you.” His voice is in my head and in my ears, and he raises the goblet to his lips and takes a long drink, leaving a red stain on the hair of his close moustache.

“He did. He did.” The man on the right cackles when he says it. “Look at her eyes. Such pretty eyes. Tasty eyes. One at a time. Savor them.” His own eyes cross when he speaks, and his lips are so dry, the skin is cracking.

The man—the king—at the head of the table whirls on the man who’s spoken. “Tantalus, we shall not eat our guest. It’s not polite.”

Tantalus, the man on the right, rubs his hands together. “But look at her neck. Like a pearl. And her breasts.” He licks his lips, and reaches for a plate of fruit on the table.

I want to turn around and run out the door. I glance over my shoulder, but can’t see the door anywhere. It’s vanished—blended into the stone wall behind me.

The king slams his goblet down on the table, sloshing thick, red liquid over the sides. “Can’t you see she’s scared, you idiot?” He raises a hand and points it at the man, and the plate of fruit moves until it’s just out of his reach.

Tantalus screams like he’s been wounded, and his fingers claw at the table, snapping against the hardness of the wood. There are scratch marks decorating the wooden planks in front of him. I force my eyes away from him and back to the king.

“Please excuse his rudeness, my lady. We don’t make a habit of eating our guests,” the king says.

The man on the left laughs. It’s the first time I look at him, and my breath catches. He’s about my age with light brown hair that reaches past his ears, and is muscular and sculpture-worthy. He’s clothed in a toga, and when he looks at me, his green eyes sparkle with humor.

“Perhaps Tantalus would make a habit of it if he could eat anything,” he says.

The king picks his goblet back up. The wine is back at the top, somehow magically refilled. “May I please introduce myself and welcome you to my kingdom.”

I still don’t trust myself to speak, so instead I nod, biting my lip until it hurts. The pain helps stem the fear I feel is about to bubble over.

“I am Aeacus, King of Tartarus.” He motions to the right. “You’ve had the pleasure of meeting Tantalus already.”

“And don’t forget about me.” It’s the man on the left talking. The one so good looking I can almost forget Tartarus is a place for the eternally damned.

Aeacus laughs. “How could anyone forget about you, Pirithous?” Aeacus extends his arms wide. “My lady, may I present the honorable Pirithous to you?”

I force myself to flash a brief smile, barely showing my teeth.

“Oh, her teeth. Her teeth. And what of her tongue? Just one glance of her tongue.”

I shut my mouth at Tantalus’s words and cross my arms over my stomach, trying to hide as much of myself as I can.

Aeacus motions, and a chair at the end of the table nearest me slides out, its heavy stone scratching against the hard floor underneath. “Please sit and join us.”

I don’t want to sit. I want to call for Shayne. I want to go back and hang out with Chloe. I even want to be with my mom. To let her comb my hair. But I also want answers, and so, against every nerve in my body, I walk forward and sit in the cold, stone chair.

Once I’m seated, Aeacus sits also. Pirithous pours a goblet full of wine, sliding it down the table to me. I watch his fingers as he pours, noticing how long and powerful they look. Veins pop from his arms as he flexes his muscles. Unsure what to do, I catch the goblet when it reaches me and raise it to my lips.

“Her lips. Must have her lips. So red. Always so red.” And Tantalus lunges up, nearly jumping across the table to me. His eyes roll around in his head, and his hand almost reaches my arm. I look down at his skin and notice it’s shriveled like a grape left in the sun.

“Tantalus!” Aeacus’s voice booms through the chamber, and Tantalus freezes inches from my arm. His chair grows long tendrils that reach out and grab him, yanking him backward so fast it’s like he’s disappeared and then rematerialized.

Tantalus begins crying. “Just one taste. One small finger.”

I curl my fingers under my palms and look away. The only positive part of this is Aeacus doesn’t seem to want to let Tantalus eat me.

“The little flower is scared,” Pirithous says, and he reaches over what seems like an impossible distance, and his fingers touch my closed fist, caressing it.

Shock runs down my body, and I look away from him, hoping he doesn’t notice. But with the shaking in my body, I have about as much control of myself as a feather in a hurricane.

“My lady.” Aeacus straightens his crown. “Why have you honored us with your presence?”

My mouth falls open, revealing my chattering teeth. “I thought you knew.”

Aeacus forms a lazy smile on his face. “Of course I know. It is my job to know.” And then his eyes harden, and he looks into my soul. “But do you know?”

My stomach flips around, trying to settle, but it won’t. I lift the goblet and take another sip of wine. I wait until I swallow to answer. “I want some answers. I want you to tell me who I am.”

Aeacus’s eyes soften. “Good, my lady. You have come to the right place.” He motions, and plates of fruits appear along the table with cheese and crackers scattered in, all out of the reach of Tantalus. Aeacus reaches out with a knife, cuts a thick slab of something which looks like Brie, and lifts it to his mouth on the knife. “Do you know what the penalty for killing a phoenix is?”