Christopher Golden - Tears of the Furies

"Go on," she urged. "I’m curious."

Conan Doyle glanced deeper into the petrified forest. "Well, to begin, they had another vehicle waiting for them not far from here, well aware that they would be leaving us behind and that they would unlikely be able to reach the Range Rover."

"Okay, but what about the grave?" Danny urged.

"Do you know the story of Orpheus?"

The demon boy nodded. "I think so. Something about saving his girlfriend from Hell- Mom used to watch Xena."

"Hades," Eve said quietly. She kept glancing at the open grave as though its nearness disturbed her.

"Hades. Whatever. Greek Hell," Danny muttered. "Okay, go on."

Conan Doyle turned to Ceridwen. She was unlikely to know any of what he was about to explain, and it seemed most important to him that she understand what was happening.

"Orpheus was the son of Calliope and Oeagrus. Some of the myths say his father was Apollo, but no matter. He was the greatest musician written about in the Greek mythology. His voice could soothe wild animals and lure the trees to dance. He appears in the story of Jason and the Argonauts, but that is not the greatest myth of Orpheus. For his story is intrinsically tied to love.

"His wife, Eurydice, died of a serpent’s bite, and Orpheus was so stricken with grief that he would not accept her death. He descended into the underworld and sang to Hades himself, his songs so beautiful that the lord of that terrible realm agreed to allow Eurydice her freedom. But not without condition. Hades instructed Orpheus that Eurydice must follow him to the surface and that he must not look back. But the agony of being unable to see her, to know for certain that Hades had kept his word, was too much for Orpheus, and at the last moment he did turn, and Eurydice was drawn down into Hades’ realm once more.

"Orpheus grieved for the rest of his days, and his songs of mourning made the heavens weep. Yet his luck did not improve. The Maenads were female followers of Dionysus, women who would dance in praise of their god and become so frenzied that they would lose control of themselves. When Orpheus refused to admire them, to lust for them, because grief still clouded his heart, they attacked him and tore him to pieces."

Danny visibly flinched. "Damn, I don’t remember that part being on Xena."

"Nice," Eve whispered.

Ceridwen only frowned, troubled, and said nothing.

Conan Doyle took a breath, glancing at them each in turn. "The Olympians were so furious with the Maenads that they turned them into trees." His gaze surveyed the petrified forest. "And as for Orpheus.. they threw his head into a river, and the river fed the ocean, and in time his head came to rest on the shore of the island of Lesbos."

Only the wind broke the silence. They stared at him. Danny shook his head.

"No way."

"You’re saying — "

Conan Doyle waved them to quiet. "Indeed. I believe the skull in that grave to be that of Orpheus. Gull had need of it, and used us as a diversion to appropriate it."

"But he left it behind," Ceridwen said.

"Because he found out what he wanted." Conan Doyle explained. "The ash all around the grave, even beneath our feet now, is wet." He plucked at the knees of his pants, which were damp. "The girl, Jezebel, is a weather witch. We have seen her work this magick already. She made it rain here, just in this place."

"I am so not following this," Danny sighed, reaching up to scratch the flaking leathery skin around his horns. "Wake me up when we get to the ass-kicking part."

Eve thumped him on the arm. For once, Conan Doyle approved.

"Why would she need to make it rain?" Eve asked. "Come on, seriously. Every second you take enlightening the terminally dense here is another second between us and them. Assuming we do want to catch up to them?"

"Oh, we do," Conan Doyle assured her. "But I’ll attempt to be brief."

"Far too late for that," Ceridwen noted, violet eyes flashing in the sun.

"I’ve told you of Gull’s work with ancient magicks. Dark magicks that no one in their right mind would ever work for fear of how it might taint them. He sacrificed his face for that power, and other things as well, I should think. One of the rituals he practices allows him to… borrow the voices of the dead. If he drinks rainwater from the mouth of a corpse, he can speak in its voice."

"That is hideous," Ceridwen whispered. "Desecrating the dead in such a way."

"But useful at times, I’m sure," Conan Doyle conceded. "For instance, if you wanted to open the gates to the ancient underworld, to the home of whatever might remain in that realm from before the dawn of the Third Age of Man, and you knew that — "

"The voice of Orpheus," Eve said. "This is just too much. You’re saying this guy can speak in the voice of Orpheus now, and that’s somehow the key to some ancient netherworld."

Conan Doyle sighed."Precisely. But more than that, Gull will be able to sing in Orpheus’s voice. And few will be able to resist him."

"What the hell does he want in the netherworld?" Danny asked.

The four of them stood there in the midst of the petrified forest, the sun beating down on them, and Conan Doyle raised the Divination Box in his hand.

"That, I do not know. But I have no doubt we will soon discover the answer, and to our misfortune. Gull might have left this behind because he expected me to follow. Or he might simply have flung it away now that he needed it no longer, so arrogant that he could not conceive of my being able to use it."

Ceridwen reached for the box and raised it up, studying it in the sunlight. "But won’t you need some piece of Gull? Something of his flesh?"

"Not necessarily flesh. And not Gull, either." He withdrew from his pocket a lock of hair bound with red string. Red hair. "From Jezebel. With this, we can locate her. And when we find her, we find Gull."

"And when did you collect that little sample?" Eve asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Last night, while she slept, I gathered it from her hairbrush." Conan Doyle turned from them and started toward the Range Rover. "Come. I’ve got to prepare the Divination Box, and then we’ll see where we are headed next."

They followed, but as they did, Danny spoke up. Though he had the face of a demon, the hideous visage of some hellish thing, there was still somehow something of a human teenager in his expression. At time’s this phenomenon was comical. At others, it was chilling.

"Hold up. So Mr. Doyle had this all figured from the start, right? All of it."

"Not all," Eve said, striding along, and plucking at the tears in her clothing, clearly more displeased with the damage to her outfit than anything else. "He took the girl’s hair as a contingency. Probably one of a hundred backup plans he’s got in his head. And as for Orpheus, he only just figured that out since all of this happened, and even now he’s not completely sure."

Conan Doyle paused at the Range Rover with his hand on the door. He turned and regarded his three companions. Ceridwen came to him, standing intimately close. It made his heart light to have her near, but he refused to let it affect him now. His love for her had almost cost them dearly in this fight, and he would not allow it again.

"Is that true, Arthur? Are you unsure?"

"On the contrary. I’m entirely certain for any number of reasons, not the least of which being that there’s nothing else in that grave. Only the head. And when I held it… it seemed to hum."

Conan Doyle climbed into the Range Rover but paused before he shut the door. He leaned out again.

"Eve. Danny. A small favor, if you will?"

They had been about to get into the vehicle but now waited, eyeing him curiously.

"I’m going to deal with what’s left of the Hydra. Before I do, could I trouble you to go back and remove its teeth and bring them to me?"