The Tale of Kore (The Fruit of Life and Death Book 1) by Amanda L. Rautio

Author:Amanda L. Rautio [Rautio, Amanda L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pantheon Publishing
Published: 2024-12-06T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

CHARON’S BOATHOUSE

As promised, the next day, Hades takes my arm and leads me back through the hallways. In this part of the palace, the walls are exquisitely carved with figures holding up the ceiling. Women with curvaceous bodies and draped cloth hold up the earth with their thin, sculpted arms like a thousand mothers, daughters, and sisters afflicted with the curse of Atlas, taking up his abandoned post.

“Are the myths about Atlas true?” I ask, eyeing the fantastic columns.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Did he hold up the earth?”

“Yes.”

“If… if you were the original Heracles…”

“Yes,” he sighed gruffly, “but I did not trick Atlas. And I felt so poorly about his fate that I freed him by later making the pillars of Heracles to uphold my end of the bargain. I, in a fashion, hold up the earth.”

“If the pillars of Heracles hold up the earth… why are these statues here?” I asked.

“They’re not statues, Corey.” Stifling my surprise, I stop moving as I gaze up at them. His hand descends on my lower back, but he doesn’t press to propel me forward; instead, I think it is intended as a comfort.

“A punishment?” I ask in a hushed voice, but when I look up at his face for my answer, he shakes his head.

“Not a punishment. They volunteered. They are not in pain here. They were the Hesperides. They wanted to aid their father in the weight of his objective, so they chose to pass on—to turn to stone with age. They sacrificed their immortality.” Mouth wide, I nod slowly, eyes roving over their perfection.

“Come,” Hades says. “I have much to show you.”

Slowly, the various hallways begin to make sense to me. “The throne room is just up ahead, right?” I ask, and he takes an audible breath slowly through his nose. “It’s starting to become familiar I think,” I mutter, and a reluctant smile takes hold of his face.

“It took me forty-two years to figure out how to get from one place to another confidently,” he says, shaking his head. I snort.

“Slow learner,” I say in jest. “How long have I been down here,” I ask mildly, and he shrugs.

“A week or two in human terms, but in our terms, 5 days. You’re on a 48-hour schedule. You sleep for about 12 hours, and you’re awake for about 36 with no sun to regulate you.”

“Do you sleep?” I ask, cocking my head in curiosity.

“Not really. It’s not strictly necessary for me. I sleep only in certain circumstances.”

“Do you miss it?”

“No.”

“What about food? Do you eat or drink?”

“I can eat and drink in the mortal sense, but I don’t have to. I don’t get many direct offerings as the Lord of the Underworld. I get my sustenance when funerary rites are observed though, and people are always dying, just as they are always being born.”

“What was your favourite food?” I ask, unable to help my onslaught of questions. To his credit, he answers my questions thoroughly and without reluctance or complaint.

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