Page 104 of Hades and Persephone: Crown of Souls

Why did I think I could do this?

I want to cry.

The muscles in my arms ache with strain.

I tremble as my strength drains as though the very mountain syphons it.

Still, there is nowhere for me to go but down. So down I go. Slowly.

The descent is agonizing, wrought with close calls. By the time I reach the thin bridge of jagged amethyst that hassomehow formed over the boiling river, my fingers are raw, and my feet are cut from the jagged stone. It had been easier to feel my way down the mountain without the slippery flats I’d worn, and I’d abandoned them at the top.

I’m still not sure that had been the best idea after all.

From the top of the mountain, the bridge of amethyst appeared much more stable than it looks now when I’m facing a crossing of the thin, brittle looking crystal.

Nibbling my lip in indecision, I realize that I’m trapped if I don’t make the crossing. There’s no way I can climb back the way I came. The boiling river surges below.

Cautiously toeing the bridge, I test it with my weight. When it doesn’t creak or crack, I give it a little more until I’m standing with all my weight on the amethyst. It’s not smooth like it looked from above. The swirling shades of purple I’d seen from the top of the White Mountain were actually differing depths of the jagged crystal. They bite into my already shredded feet, spearing pain up the length of my legs.

“No way to go but forward,” I breathe to myself as I take one step. And then another.

Every step hurts. Every step is treacherous.

The bridge is thin enough that if I fall, if I slip or lose my balance, I’ll crash into the boiling river that borders the realm of torment.

Even more unsettling is the screams of the trapped souls that release with every bubble that pops in the blood-infused river of boiling red. They sing a symphony of agony that makes concentration hard. Worse, is the variability of it. The sounds only escape from those popped bubbles. Some screams threaten to last forever while others die quickly.

Sweat beads my hairline as I steal another cautious step. As I continue to cross the bridge, the giant amethysts that cut fromthe land in a garden of purple hues loom like sentient creatures whispering tales of doom. It’s all so massive down here.

At the top of the White Mountain, everything in Tartarus had feltless. I’d been able to see for what seemed like miles. And everything had felt far smaller than it is now that I face it on level ground.

From here, I can’t see the swirling columns that craft the temple of the Erinyes, the Furies who reap their vengeance on those who fall deserving of such wrath. I can’t see the stone galaxy that is their temple or the red mountains of fire opal that loom on either side.

And I can’t see the inky pool of darkness that sits in the heart of these jagged giant amethyst pillars that jut perilously from the land.

I take my last step, from the glittering purple bridge to the burnished red earth that assembles the whole of Tartarus. It’s as though it’s built of the very flesh and bones of the souls who met their eternal ends here, calcified by the torment of the passing of an eternity, and stained a deep rusted copper as though dyed by the spill of blood.

Only a second after I’ve stepped onto the solid shore of burnished copper, the amethyst bridge begins to crack. With a loud glasslike pop, I flinch as I watch my thin bridge crumble like shattered glass into the River Phlegethon, sinking into the abyss in which there seems to be no end.

A breath of horrified relief escapes from between my lips. I press my back to one of the giant stones, heart thundering. The solid weight at my back assures me that the land beneath my feet won’t wash away into the boiling river, whisking me into an eternity of suffering.

But the bridge is gone. It only confirms it’s not the way back.

Still, a little sob breaks from between my lips. Through the tugging in my belly that urges me to continue, an ember of regret glows.

What have I done?

With nothing for it, I turn my back on the boiling river. A maze of giant stones jut from the ruddy earth haphazardly. They’re so big, as I step into the garden of them, the angled points conceal even the sky overhead. Darkness feels like it might smother me as I continue forward, using my hands to guide my way. I have no idea where I’m going now and let the intuition that pulled me here to begin with guide me.

The silence is deafening. Not even the scurry of a rodent sounds as I move through the tomb of amethyst. To hear a rat might have been a comfort.

This silence is unsettling.

I couldn’t turn back now even if I wanted to. I wouldn’t know the way.

Fear spikes inside me.

I’m a fool. Hades warned me and I didn’t listen.

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