CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETY-ONE

The Resistance, Part 2

As they entered the cavernous chamber, all ghostly gazes turned to Sam and his friends. And, what began as hungry stares for the life they’d lost were quick to morph into curious expressions at their living guests which were also quick to be replaced by mild disinterest. It’s not that they thought little of the three heroes, but the shades inside this war room—for what else could it be—seemed far too busy with their maps and unfurled scrolls to give the livings more than a moment’s worth of interest.

“You’re wondering why they haven’t attacked you despite your Mark of Hector?” the Phylarch guessed.

Hearing the word ‘Mark of Hector’ sent a few more curious glances in Sam’s direction, although none of them seemed hostile, and they were also quick to look away.

“Um, yeah, I was wondering that,” Sam admitted.

“The dead of the Resistance have gone through enough trials to keep our hearts and minds strong from the influences of the underworld’s ruler,” the Phylarch stated with a hint of pride in his tone. “So, you won’t have to worry about any of us attacking you while you’re here.”

Sam was reminded of Mr. Marsday’s explanation, which sounded a lot similar to what the Phylarch meant about trials.

“Hades doesn’t control you?” he asked.

The Phylarch chuckled. “The Lord of the Dead doesn’t control much these days.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“I’ll let Macaria tell you.” The Phylarch pointed toward a familiar hooded figure who was standing at the end of a rectangular stone table that was the centerpiece of the chamber. “She’s been around a lot longer than me and can explain underworld geopolitics better than I could.”

On their way to Macaria’s table, Sam caught sight of a variety of maps adorning the walls. These looked like the old treasure maps he’d seen in museums, but with far more detail added in. Names like Persephone’s Gardens and the Hydra Boneyard were written over highly detailed sketches of otherworldly landscapes Sam imagined could only exist in Hades.

Triple-A… can you copy these maps for us to use later?

Already in progress.

Sweet.

The largest map was a kind of 3D model that one might see as a prop in a movie. It lay sprawled on the large table, a scale representation of what Sam assumed was the City of the Dead. The canyon walls that surrounded it and its lone entrance to the south were dead giveaways. Looming over this map, with her fingers moving carved stone figures along its surface like chess pieces, was the same scarlet-cloaked hooded figure that Sam had traded sword blows with. This time her hood was down, and Sam now had a good view of what she looked like underneath it.

Macaria sported that classic beauty that Sam often saw in ancient Greek paintings—A wide olive brow with long bushy eyebrows above almond-shaped pale blue eyes, a long aquiline nose, and wide puffy lips on a heart-shaped face framed by thick strands of dark hair.

“Serena?” Sam whispered in a surprised tone.

No, the shade wasn’t his sister. She couldn’t have been. But Macaria had features that would have been the twin of Serena if Sam’s sixteen-year-old sister was in her early twenties. The only difference was the hair. Serena’s hair was wavy like Sam’s. The eyes too. The Shepard children’s eyes were teal like their dad’s. The only member of Sam’s family with blue eyes was… “Mom…”

Macaria wasn’t Adele either, although they looked similar enough that Sam realized he must be related to this shade. Perhaps Macaria was a long-dead ancestor from his mother’s side of the family—a child of the Heracleidae like Sam was.

“What did you call her?” the Phylarch asked.

“Um, nothing,” Sam said, with a shake of his head. “I just… I thought your friend looked like someone I knew.”

The Phylarch continued to stare at him, and Sam, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, opted to move closer to the table, prompting Macaria to tear her gaze away from the diorama on the table to greet the new arrivals. He saw zero hint of recognition in her expression, which he guessed was due to his Mask of the Argonaut keeping his features incognito from prying eyes.

“Hello,” Sam said awkwardly. It wasn’t every day one got to converse with long-dead ancestors after all. “Um, I’m—”

“Herculean,” Macaria finished for him.

Sam raised an eyebrow at her. “How did you know?”

“That’s what she called you.” Macaria nodded her head at Raven Knight who was now standing beside Sam. Her gaze drifted back to Sam quickly enough though, and he could tell that she was appraising him now too. “It is a bold choice to have that moniker.”

“I didn’t choose it,” Sam said, his voice shrinking a little.

“I’d be surprised if you did.” Macaria offered him a smile. “There are not many who want to be burdened with that hero’s legacy… not even his own family.”

The melancholic look that passed over her was just more proof for Sam that they were related. Even more interesting, Macaria sounded like she knew Hercules, and not just in a long-dead ancestor kind of way too.

“Are you… a Hylian?” Sam asked.

Macaria frowned. “No… Hylian is the name given to the descendants of Hyllus, son of Heracles, and Iole, his wife… I have no name apart from Macaria…”

The sadness that flashed across her face made Sam regret his question. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s best not to pry into the circumstances of the dead while you’re here in the underworld.” As he said this, the Phylarch placed his hand on Macaria’s shoulder and then squeezed it lightly. It was a warm gesture that worked to wash away the sadness from Macaria’s face. The Phylarch kept his hand on her shoulder while his gaze drifted back to Sam’s. “How about we discuss something that might concern you three instead.”

At his prompting, Raven Knight was quick to shift the discussion back to the Phylarch’s earlier statement of corruption. For this, the Phylarch turned to Macaria who then explained what exactly was happening inside the City of the Dead.

“For thousands of years, and despite Hades’ temperament, those he’d charged with arbitrating the afterlives of the blessed and the damned worked tirelessly to ensure all was running smoothly in the underworld…” Macaria began. “All was as it should be, at least until a few months ago when a disturbance in the Pits of Tartarus caused the very foundations of the underworld to shake.”

“A giant’s shadow escaped the abyss and found its way into the mortal world,” the Phylarch chimed in.

Sam’s brow furrowed. “This was just a few months ago?”

Both Macaria and the Phylarch nodded, causing Sam to groan loudly. He recalled the battle at the hospital and the moment the Trickster summoned the giant’s shadow and its consciousness up to the mortal plane.

“It seems you know something about the circumstances of the giant’s escape,” Macaria noticed.

Feeling like he shouldn’t lie about it, Sam explained the events briefly to the people gathered around the table while leaving out key details such as who he was because he wasn’t sure how Macaria or the Phylarch would react if they discovered that he was a descendant of Hercules too. Sam didn’t need more enemies in the underworld after all.

“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not your fault,” the Phylarch assured Sam. “That Trickster sounds like bad news… he’d have summoned the giant regardless of whom he was facing off with.”

Interestingly, the Phylarch’s words lifted Sam’s spirits, although he wasn’t sure why this man’s opinion mattered to him.

“Why would a giant’s shadow appearing in the mortal world affect the land of the dead?” Raven Knight asked.

“Power as great as an elder giant’s does not just escape its confines without consequences,” Macaria answered. “It would have created fractures in the fabric of Tartarus—fractures that would allow other things to seep out of the pit… wicked things.”

“Over the last few months, something wicked has begun to corrupt the fabric of Hades,” the Phylarch chimed in. “It’s a corruption that’s twisted the hearts and minds of those charged with leading and arbitrating the lives of the dead.”

“You mean the judges of the underworld?” Raven Knight guessed.

Like all gifted children who served the Olympians, Sam had learned about the system of judgment that stabilized the underworld, ensuring that immigration to the various locales of Hades was seamless for the newly dead who arrived here. This system was operated by three kings made famous for their deeds in ancient times.

“Are we talking about all three of them or one in particular?” Raven Knight pressed.

“They’ve each gone the deep end, but only one of them controls the City of the Dead…” Macaria revealed, to which the Phylarch added, “And he’s the worst bastard of the trio too… that damned King Minos.”