Page 9 of The Trickster's Heart

Hercules closed his eyes to avoid the burn of smoke and the honey still covering his face, waiting for Eumolpos’s instruction.

A moment later, he grunted in response as the priest bound Hercules’s wrists. There was a quick tug, and Hercules stood up on shaky feet, followed by another pulling sensation. The priest was singing now, swinging an incense holder in one hand as he walked, the other pulling on a leather cord that was now tied to Hercules’s wrists. Hercules followed the priest as they went through one of the cavern’s doorways, weaving through a labyrinth that only served to further muddle Hercules’s senses.

Finally, the priest led Hercules into another smaller chamber. It had a mat of straw on the ground, where he directed Hercules to sit. Hercules almost rejoiced for the clear, cool air, until Eumolpos lit a previously unseen fire pit in the room’s center. He tossed more fragrance into the flames until Hercules swayed on his feet, succumbing to the high once more. Eumolpos’s voice sounded softer now, and he gently directed Hercules to lie down.

As he laid down on the mat, Eumolpos’s hands were at his face almost immediately. Hercules felt something press up against his lips and he accepted it, realizing that Eumolpos was feeding him. He felt like a child, clumsy and awkward, unable to control his finer motor functions. His body grew heavier until Hercules felt he was part of the stone floor.

Eumolpos continued to chant, and Hercules accepted pork, fermented beans, and fruits. This seemed to go on forever until Hercules thought his stomach would burst. More than once, he almost choked on a nearly raw piece of meat or borderline rotten piece of fruit—until he realized what was happening.

Oh, may the gods deliver me. Hercules had a fleeting moment of clarity. This is a funerary feast. It’s the foods of the dead.

Eumolpos helped Hercules tilt his head up and pressed a dish to his lips, holding it there until Hercules swallowed a cup full of wine. It sat in his stomach like acid, and Hercules couldn’t move. He was about to yell at Eumolpos to call it all off, then the wine and smoke mixed together, and Hercules was suddenly blissfully unaware of his surroundings.

He was floating.

He barely registered when Eumolpos put heavy golden coins on his eyes and didn’t realize the priest left after that. Hercules waited, in a dark cave deep in the earth, and succumbed to the spirits that were whispering on the wind.

In a drug-induced haze, Hercules listened.

He heard the shades whispering the secrets of Charon, the language of Hades, and the sweet touches of Persephone. His body floated between two worlds, and he let it reside there; his spirit sat at the crossroads and eavesdropped for information, for the secrets of the Underworld.

Hercules didn’t know how much time passed. Eumolpos eventually re-entered the chamber and helped Hercules to stand, leading him by the same leather cord further down into the earth. The priest moved slowly, for which Hercules was grateful, as his steps were heavy, and his mind was still drugged. They emerged into a larger cave, and Hercules could tell by the cool smell of water that they were approaching an underground cistern.

Eumolpos pressed down on Hercules’s shoulder until he kneeled again, tilting his head back and giving him another cup of wine. There was a bleating sound and the cool sensation of metal as a blade was pressed into Hercules’s hand. Everything was a blur, and a mix of fear and ecstasy began pounding through his veins.

He heard a dull roar, the sharp screams coming to an abrupt end as warm, wet liquid splashed across his chest. Hercules blinked rapidly as he tried to regain his vision in a panic. As he came to, he looked down, and saw his chest was covered in blood. He was holding a stone knife.

Is it…mine? No, no. A sheep. I’ve sacrificed a sheep.

Another wave of ecstasy rolled over Hercules’s body, something otherworldly, and he fell over. He barely registered Eumolpos’s retreating steps as he slipped back into unconsciousness on the water’s edge. Hercules’s body was cold, while simultaneously, arousal flooded his brain and went straight to his groin. His mind rapidly cycled through nearly every emotion he had ever experienced as the events of his life crossed before his eyes.

In that moment, Hercules was neither alive nor dead.

He existed in some place other.

He was at the intersection of life and death as contradictory emotions and sensations went to war with one another in his body. The voices of the shades grew louder and louder until they consumed Hercules. He writhed on the ground, his back contorting, until with a great shout, Hercules passed into unconsciousness.

5

“Oh, this is delicious.”

Hercules’s head was pounding. He blinked rapidly, trying to bring his mind and body back to life. Memories of the ritual came back to him in pieces as he tried to ascertain what had become of him. Hercules’s vision refocused, and he pushed himself backwards with a shout.

“Fuck!” Hercules hissed, his eyes going wide as he grappled with what he was seeing.

Angelos was in the cave.

Angelos was here. He was leaning over Hercules, an impossibly playful smirk etched on his face.

“What the hell!” Hercules shouted, climbing up awkwardly to his feet. He stumbled slightly and held his hands out as he tried to find something to hold onto.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Angelos was grinning as he grabbed Hercules’s waist to steady him. “It’d be quite a fall from your height back to the ground.”

Hercules spun around and stared at Angelos, his brow furrowing in confusion. Something about Angelos looked different; he was glowing in the dark of the caverns, his clothes now pristine and white. He looked even more delectable than he had in the lowlight of the tavern the night before—had it even been last night?

I don’t know how long I’ve been down here. Hercules realized with a shiver. Am I really dead?

“What are you doing here? Did I die? Is that why I can see you?”

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