Kairos 85: The Boatman

Each level of the Necromanteion was more ominous than the last.

The first layer had been a standard temple, not so different from the many shrines Kairos had visited in his lifetime; the second floor had been a cavern with mysterious magical properties, but somewhat familiar all the same.

The third, though, was unlike anything existing on the surface.

The party held their breath as their skiff traveled against the current and entered a new cavern, brighter and wider than any other before. Funeral pyres and candelabras on isolated stone islands banished the darkness, alongside burning magma pits erupting from the riverbank. The air was thick with volcanic fumes and the smell of sulfur, and the impossibly tall ceiling shimmered like the flames of Tartarus itself.

The Lethe river flowed from this level, but it was only one of many. Fiery Phlegethon and icy Cocytus had both found their way to this floor alongside the pure waters of the Acheron. It was the fifth river that Kairos found the most ominous though; its waters were grey and lifeless, yet oozed a purple miasma fouler than any poison. Corpses and screaming souls floated beneath its surface, struggling to escape the current.

This was the river of hatred.

This was the River Styx, and its sisters revolved around it like courtiers around a queen.

Together, the various waterways formed a complex circuit that Kairos could only glimpse from the prow of his skiff; a maze of crossroads where the flames of Phlegethon melted the ice of Cocytus, where the dead souls carried by the Styx floated into the Lethe’s embrace to forget their earthly existence. Kairos noticed hundreds of tunnels hidden in the giant cavern’s walls. Perhaps they led to different afterlives or to hidden vaults where no mortal had ever ventured.

As for the riverbanks…

“So many of them,” Cassandra whispered, a hand on her mouth.

Countless shadows waited on the banks of a hundred barren islands. Heroes and villains, kings and commoners, they all looked the same in death. They had become silent shades without substance, transparent specters flickering in and out of existence. Most of them carried a coin in their blurred hands, the price to pay to reach the afterlife. But they were so numerous that their turn would wait years, if not centuries.

Many of them glanced in silence at the [Telchine Skiff], pleading to be taken across the rivers to their righteous afterlife. But their words turned into muffled whispers, their voices as dead as this entire place.

The sight of this desperate crowd filled Kairos with melancholia. Was his father and siblings among these faceless souls trapped in limbo, condemned to wait years before their turn came? Or had they already moved on to their respective afterlife? Had they earned entry into the Elysian Fields, or into the Asphodel Meadows? His father and uncle had been relentless pirates as well as family men; though Kairos hoped otherwise, they might have been condemned to Tartarus for their crimes.

Rook sensed his worry and nuzzled his cheek against his friend’s thigh. “I’m sure they’re in a good place,” his griffin said with a reassuring tone. “Your siblings were sweet and kind from what you told me. I’m sure they’re playing with bird heroes in the Elysian Fields.”

“I hope so as well.” Histria had died before her time, but she had been a kind soul; while Taulas perished in an attempt to become a [Hero]. Hopefully the gods had rewarded his bravery. “Maybe they’re playing with your trueborn siblings.”

“If I had any,” Rook replied with a shrug. Kairos’ father Chron had found his egg during one of his raids, but never learned where it came from. “We’re clutchmates, you and I. I can’t wait to be your kids’ birdfather.”

Kairos chuckled. “Please don’t give them worms to eat.”

“Nah. But maybe you could make a cradle from my feathers? It’ll be so soft, they will never cry in their sleep. And when I’m old enough to have a clutch of my own, we’ll use your hair for the nest.”

“Has any ladybird caught your eagle eye?” Kairos asked playfully. Though he remained a child at heart, Rook had grown into a mighty griffin.

“I get a lot of proposals, you know? Ever since you put my face on your coins, every female griffin wants to ruffle my feathers. But I don’t want to put my eggs everywhere, or I will never find them!”

After the tense encounter with Cerberus and Thanatos, Rook’s joyful words were a breath of fresh air. “Is your wing better?” Kairos asked his friend with concern.

“Give it a few more hours, and I’ll carry you all the way to the ceiling.” Rook wagged his tail. “Are we there yet?”

That was the question. Where were they going? The maze seemed to go on and on, and entering the wrong tunnel or waterway might lead them astray.

Kairos glanced at the rest of his team, who shared the tight space of the skiff the best they could. Thales was gathering river samples in bottles with one pair of hands and writing down a rough map of the waterways with the other, while Andromache meditated at the boat’s back to recover her magical strength. Cassandra looked at the riverbanks with melancholia, while Sertorius listened to Agron and Nessus arguing. The minotaur glanced at the River Styx’s waters with barely concealed lust for power.

“Don’t,” Nessus said, trying to dissuade him. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“It worked for Achilles,” Agron replied with enthusiasm. “And he was a baby, while I am a grown man.”

“You want to dive into the Styx?” Kairos guessed. He had to admit that the idea had merit. Achilles bathing in its waters as a child had made him invulnerable, to the point Paris only slew him with a god’s guidance.

Nessus didn’t share Agron’s enthusiasm though. “This would be foolish,” he said. “There is a reason why no [Hero] who ever visited the Underworld attempted to bathe in the Styx’s waters. Only [Demigods] can hope to survive a dive in the river of hatred, and never without the river’s favor. You are more likely to join the souls at the bottom than gaining Achilles’ invulnerability, my horned friend.”

“And how would you know that?” Sertorius asked with skepticism, having listened to the argument in silence. The judge had grown suspicious of Nessus, picking up on the hints about his true identity and foreign knowledge.

“You can take a dive if you want,” the satyr replied with a shrug. “Don’t blame me for the results.”

Agron frowned as he considered the satyr’s words, before looking at his king. “What about you, Kairos?” he asked with curiosity. “Want to take a bath? You have a Skill that protects you from the river’s negative effects, right?”

“Immune to the Styx’s grasp doesn’t mean I will gain invulnerability,” Kairos pointed out.

“But you have nothing to lose from making an attempt,” his brother-in-law said. “The minotaur has a point. It will cost you nothing to try and it may grant you enormous power.”

After weighing the risks, Kairos decided to give it a try. His allies guided the [Telchine Skiff] to a waterway crossroad where the river Lethe met the Styx. After glancing at the damned souls beneath the surface, the Travian King quickly put his left hand into the water.

The River Styx felt cold to the touch; not the cold of ice and snow, but the chill of death itself. His fingers became numb, the blood beneath his skin coalescing.

[Instadeath] negated by [Stygian Curse 3].

[Instadeath]. It was the most fearsome of all status ailments, for it killed mortals instantly.

The undead shades swimming beneath the surface gathered around his hand like sharks around a bloody corpse. The smell of life drove them mad with envy and hunger, so Kairos hastily removed his hand before they could drag him underwater. The undead circled around the [Telchine Skiff] for a few seconds before fleeing, unable to attack the enchanted boat.

Kairos glanced at his hand with apprehension. His fingers had lost all color and turned into a pallid white. He bit his thumb hard enough to draw blood, but didn’t feel any pain.

Agron didn’t hide his disappointment. “So much for invulnerability,” he complained.

“The river instantly kills you if you fall into it,” Kairos warned his comrades. His fingers started to regain their original color, the skin warmed up by the blood flowing underneath. “The [Telchine Skiff] will protect us so long as you remain onboard, but be careful when we reach the shores.”

“Which shores?” Sertorius asked with a frown. “We have been navigating for half an hour now, with no destination in sight.”

“The Phlegethon River goes through Tartarus according to Plato,” Agron pointed out as he remembered the ancient philosopher’s tales. “If we travel to the source, we’ll reach the entrance and the skiff should survive the lava.”

That didn’t sound like a bad plan, but Cassandra had another idea. “We need to go this way,” she said while pointing at the River Styx. “If we swim against the current, it will lead us to our destination.”

Kairos frowned. “You remember the way from your past death?”

“Yes and no,” she replied, though her gaze remained determined. “This path feels familiar. Something pulls me in that direction, like a gut feeling. I can’t describe it. I need to go this way.”

“Can we rely on a gut feeling?” Sertorius asked with skepticism. “I understand you alone have returned from the dead among us, but if your intuition is wrong then we will lose valuable time.”

As it turned out, Thales had insight to offer. “According to my observations about the waterways’ position, I suspect they encircle a single location.”

“Hades’ old palace,” Nessus guessed. “That’s where we must go.”

“Would the Lord of the Dead build his house over a door to Tartarus?” Sertorius asked. “This seems unwise.”

“Only because you don’t know him,” the satyr replied. “Hades was duty incarnate. Zeus had given him the task of watching over Tartarus’ denizens and he died trying to prevent them from escaping during the Anthropomachia.”

Seeing things this way, building his fortress over his jail’s entrance made sense. Tartarus was no different than a castle’s dungeons, its prisoners forced to fight their jailers on the way out.

“I trust myself,” Cassandra declared before pointing the [Fork of Nemesis] at the River Styx. “We must go this way.”

Kairos glanced at Nessus, the satyr offering a nod of confirmation. Though he didn’t fully recognize the area after so many centuries, the old god agreed with Cassandra’s proposal.

Kairos suddenly wondered about Persephone’s influence. It struck him as odd that she would let Cassandra remember a few facts about her brief stint in the Underworld, although no soul should; memories that came in handy when Kairos’ group needed it the most.

Had she anticipated Thanatos’ machinations and let Cassandra remember just enough from her brief stay in the afterlife so she could serve as a guide later? This seemed a bit too far-fetched even for a [God]... but divination did exist, with both Prometheus and Orgonos foreseeing Kairos would visit them. Maybe the Queen of the Underworld had predicted that Cassandra might one play a pivotal role in future events? Nessus also joined their crew while on a mission from Persephone.

Hades’ widow had chosen her champions.

Kairos wondered if Thanatos had done the same.

Following Cassandra’s advice, the crew traveled against the River Styx’s current and progressed deeper into the third level’s cavern. And as Nessus suspected, the looming shadow of a fortress soon came into sight.

Standing proud on a barren island larger than the city of Histria, Hades’ lost palace was a marvel of architecture. Tall marble columns supported over four floors piled up one another like a Valian ziggurat. The ceiling, floor and walls were made of the purest obsidian stone, so black that they appeared to devour light itself. A paved road expanded from the island’s shore to a ruby archway serving as the palace’s entrance, all overseen by statues of sphinxes, manticores, dragons and cerberi. This place dwarfed even Prometheus’ villa in its grim grandiosity; it was so large that a whole city’s population could have lived within its walls.

And yet, the place was as dead as the shades on the riverbanks.

An army had rampaged through this palace’s halls, leaving only dusty bones and rusted weapons beneath the broken walls. A quarter of the columns were shattered and part of the roof had crumbled. Kairos noticed empty terraces that must have been gardens once, the plants turned to stone, the fountains dried and lifeless.

Even looking at this open tomb made the Travian King uneasy. The air felt colder the closer they approached it, the warmth of Phlegethon sucked into the obsidian walls. As for the skeletons surrounding it... most belonged to men and giants, but a few skulls had wolfish canines.

Some of my ancestors are among them, Kairos thought grimly. He couldn’t even begin to make up for the atrocities Lycaon and his sons committed, but he hoped stopping Thanatos would at least prevent more death and suffering.

“Beware,” Andromache said as she emerged from her meditation. “I sense a powerful magical force coming our way.”

“Undead?” Kairos asked his concubine, who shook her head. “Everyone, draw your weapons and buff.”

They didn’t have the time to do so.

The shadow of another skiff emerged from a dark tunnel, its wood the color of rust. It was a miracle that this ancient boat didn’t sink, for it had small holes everywhere. Its design closely matched that of the [Telchine Skiff], but older, more fearsome. Kairos’ Skills couldn’t identify its magical properties, and it skidded on the water without making waves. The boat and the river moved as one.

A sordid figure stood on the boat. His eyes were hollow furnaces on fire, his skin grey as a corpse. An unkept beard covered his mouth, and a foul garb hid his manly parts. The old man looked haggard, his back hunched, his fingers bent crooked. But his hands held his long pole with sinister strength and experience.

Kairos immediately recognized the figure even before he used [Observer].

Charon the Boatman

Legend: Ferryman of the Dead (Demigod)

Pantheon: Psychopompós.

Level: ???

“I knew I heard Cerberus howl in the night,” Charon grumbled gruffly as he guided his skiff closer to Kairos’ own. “Using a skiff modeled on mine too… are you here to steal my job, my hard-won coins?”

All the Travians onboard bowed before the ancient [Demigod], to whom they had all prayed at least once. Even Andromache and Sertorius appraised the boatman with caution.

He wasn’t alone either. Kairos noticed movement and glittering scales beneath the waters around the two skiffs. The boatman had attendants, ready to drown the intruders at the first provocation.

“No, Lord Charon,” Kairos said with profound respect, hoping to avoid a fight. “We come in peace.”

“Then fuck off,” the boatman replied while spitting in the River Styx. “Get out of my river! It’s already too noisy upstairs, I won’t suffer watching the living use my canals!”

Kairos opened his mouth to argue, but the boatman raised his pole towards him as the two skiffs crossed paths. “Out!” Charon shouted, his eyes burning with immortal annoyance. “Out, I said! Go back the way you came! You can return when you die of old age, but these waters are mine! Out!”

Cassandra covered her mouth to suppress a chuckle, while the rest of the party didn’t say a word. Kairos couldn’t say if it was out of astonishment or fear. They had faced godly beings both wise and arrogant…

But never one so cranky.

“I… I’m afraid that we cannot, Lord Charon,” the Travian King apologized. “We have been tasked to keep the Gates of Tartarus shut.”

“Ain’t no lord of anything,” Charon replied with a sneer, though he lowered his pole.“Wait, I recognize your voice. You prayed to me many times, child.”

“I did,” Kairos confirmed. Charon was a popular [Demigod] in Travia, for he embodied both death and seamanship; the Foresight’s crew had personally prayed to him after his uncle Panos’ untimely demise.

“Many of our raids were done in your name,” Agron added gruffly while squinting at the boatman. Clearly the minotaur wasn’t so impressed with Charon after meeting him in the flesh.

And yet it would be foolish to challenge him. Charon was a [Demigod] as powerful as Cerberus and the Underworld’s waterways were his. From the way his skiff moved, Kairos wondered if he could control the River Styx at will.

“How did you even get in?” the boatman asked with a suspicious frown. He was no longer yelling at the party though, which Kairos took as a good sign. Meeting worshippers, even casual ones, had mollified him somewhat. “You didn’t kill Cerberus, I hope? Or is he sleeping on the job again?”

“We managed to slip past him, old man,” Nessus replied with a casual smile, drawing glares from some of his teammates. By now, the [Charm] effect keeping the giant hound docile had probably worn off. “None of your precious coin-bearers will escape the underworld.”

“Old man?” Charon gritted his teeth in rage at the lack of respect, before paying more attention to Nessus. The boatman’s eyes lost some of their fiery glow, his eyebrows furrowing.

He knows, Kairos guessed. “He has worms in his beard,” Rook said as he observed the boatman, focusing on what truly mattered. “I wonder how they taste?”

“Mine,” Charon replied gruffly, his gaze wandering from Nessus to a confused Cassandra. “I see… you have the Queen’s smell all over you. You’re here to beat some sense into Thanatos’ head?”

“Yes,” Nessus replied, a grim glow in his eyes.

“Good. I would have done it myself if not for these pesky [Pantheon] rules. Come to think of it, the Queen asked me to let her champions pass if I ever encountered them.”

Sertorius’ head perked up. “Do champions fall outside the rules of your [Pantheon]?”

As Kairos had suspected, Persephone couldn’t strike directly against Thanatos. But like the reaper of souls had sicced Cerberus on them, nothing prevented her from sending mortals after him.

“Don’t get cocky, youngsters. If you try to pick a fight with me then no one will protect you, and I brawled with Heracles in his heyday.” Charon raised his pole threateningly. “Well then, what are you waiting for to do your job? Do you expect me to do it for you? I’m paid to ferry souls to their rightful place, not to clean after Thanatos’ mess!”

Good. Kairos wasn’t certain they could survive fighting multiple [Demigods] in a row without heavy casualties. “Lord Charon, before we go,” the Travian King asked, “may you give us some advice?”

“Haven’t you heard a word of what I said? I’m busy.” Charon pointed his pole at the souls waiting on the shores. “I’ve got thousands to ferry through, no time for—”

“How much?” Nessus asked abruptly.

Charon squinted at him. “How much?”

The satyr revealed a full purse. “How much do you want?”

Kairos blinked at his friend, trying to understand the purpose of carrying coins in an underground expedition. Did… did he bring money to a dungeon specifically to bribe Charon, in case we encountered him?

Whatever the case, Nessus’ foresight paid off. Charon’s eyes blazed with greed, and he swiftly grabbed the satyr’s purse. Apparently, ferrying souls to the afterlife could wait until the boatman finished counting his coins.

Kairos suddenly wondered why he even needed money in the Underworld, since he couldn’t buy anything. It probably boiled down to sheer greed. In any case, he immediately seized the opportunity offered to him. “We are looking for the Gates to Tartarus, and prevent them from opening,” Kairos said. “Do they wait beneath the palace?”

“Sure,” Charon replied as he tasted one of Nessus’ coins. “But the whole place belongs to Thanatos now. Queen Persephone didn’t set foot in this cursed place since Lycaon widowed her. She can still hear her son’s screams in the walls…”

Kairos looked away in shame.

“So the old ghost made it his haunt,” Charon said. “He doesn’t like to see anyone, and we scorn him back.”

So they could expect traps and guardians. Worrying, but not unexpected. “We are also looking for the [Necklace of Harmonia],” Sertorius said, not having forgotten his sister. “Have you seen it?”

“That trinket?” Charon scoffed in scorn. “Some foolish young man offered it to Queen Persephone as a tribute back when old Hades still breathed, but I never saw her wear it.”

“Did the Queen take it with her when she moved on?” Sertorius probbed the old boatman. “Or did she leave it in the palace?”

“How should I know? Do I look like a jeweler to you?” Charon hid the purse beneath his barb and prepared to move on. “Unless you have more stupid questions, I’ll leave and go back to work.”

“Wait!” Cassandra asked. “Have you ferried a soul called Rhadamanthe? Our crewmate? He was a minotaur, wise among the wise. He perished a few months ago, and we prayed for you to accept his soul.”

“Why would you want to know?” Sertorius asked with incomprehension. “How will it help us?”

Cassandra’s face turned somber. “I want to know in which afterlife he went.”

Kairos’ heart skipped a beat. True, Charon had ferried all mortal souls across the Underworld. Including those of his family.

“I ferry thousands of minotaurs’ shades, but I remember the name of everyone I transported on my skiff,” Charon replied with a shrug. “I have had no passengers with that name since the last five years. He’s probably waiting on the riverbanks in line with all the others.”

“Is there any way to make the application process faster?” Thales asked with concern, having been friend with the minotaur. “I could repair your skiff in return, sir.”

Charon remained inflexible. “It’s the same for everyone, and my skiff is fine. Death doesn’t discriminate. Everyone pays the same fee; heroes or monsters, rich or poor, they all wait their turn.”

“What about my sister, Histria?” Kairos asked, his voice breaking. “Histria Marius? She was a young girl who died during the last Travian famine. I prayed to you to… to accept her soul at the wake, even though she had the wolfblood.”

“Histria Marius, Histria Marius, wolfblood…” Charon nodded to himself and filled Kairos’ heart with hope. “Yes, that one I remember. The judges sent her to the Elysian Fields. She was a pious and kind little girl, with no sin to her name. Kids always make noise at the judgment, but she didn’t say a word. Not once.”

Kairos let out a sigh of relief, knowing his sister rested in peace. “What about my brother Taulas?” he asked. “My father Chron?”

“His uncle, Panos,” Cassandra added with sorrow. Though she had moved on from her old companion, she had shared his life for years.

“Prince Critias?” Kairos added to the list. He still felt guilt over his murder, and hoped that he at least passed on to a good afterlife. “Eos?”

Even Agron had a name to provide. “My old captain, Periphetes? Did he go to Tartarus?”

“Will you name the entire Underworld?” Charon replied in annoyance, before grudgingly asking for more details. Thankfully, he recalled meeting most of the group’s family members; one of his Skills marked each soul he ever ferried on his skiff.

Kairos’ father and uncle both went to the Asphodel Meadows alongside Eos, the realm of the mediocre neither vile enough for Tartarus nor worthy of the Elysian Fields. The Travian King took some solace in the knowledge that they had avoided the worst of the Underworld’s tortures, but lamented the fact they had gone to a different afterlife than Histria. Even in death, my family will be broken, he thought grimly.

At least Prince Critias had gone to the Elysian Fields. Kairos wondered if he and Histria would get along.

As for Periphetes, Agron’s old mentor, he went straight to Tartarus for his countless crimes. The minotaur took the news with quiet stoicism, though he tightened his hold on his Songaxe. Perhaps he feared that he would suffer the same fate.

There was one name that Charon didn’t remember however. “I know of no Taulas Marius,” he rasped, though he recalled ferrying other crewmates who perished with him.

“Maybe you missed him?” Cassandra asked, while Kairos clenched his fists in anger.

“I don’t miss anybody,” Charon snorted. “If I didn’t ferry him, then he’s either alive, undead, or another god got to his spirit first. Ask Thanatos when you scold him. It wouldn’t be the first time the old ghost hoards a few lost souls to himself.”

No. Not Thanatos. He hadn’t snatched any other soul but Circe’s as far as they knew, and Taulas perished long before his family started opposing his nefarious designs.

Andromache put a hand on Kairos’ arm as Charon moved his skiff away from their own, cursing the mortals for wasting his precious time. Her fingers felt warm and reassuring, but the Travian King barely noticed. “He could be waiting on the riverbanks,” she whispered.

“He ferried my uncle, who died years after,” Kairos replied with skepticism. He noticed Sertorius’ gaze and locked eyes with him. No doubt his brother-in-law suspected the same thing he did.

He is the god of murder. All of those who die by violent, dishonorable means fall under his purview, and sometimes he stays his hand.

Taulas had perished in battle as a true wolfblood.

And Lycaon always had his due.

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A/N: chapter made possible by you, dear patrons.