So this was the entrance to Hades.

During the day, Lake Melissani would have been packed with tourists. Now, in the dead of night, the only sound was the oars dipping in and out of the underground lake as he rowed. A hole in the roof threw pale light onto them, and onto Chatoya Irkil's grim face as she sat opposite him.

 His back was aching from the motions of rowing, but they were almost at the island. It crouched in the centre of two lakes, a deceptively understated entrance to the world of the dead. A few trees grew on it, thick and sturdy with age.

 The Wood of Suicides, he thought, and a tingle shot through him. Where the ones who couldn't face Hades remained.

The boat ran aground with a bump, and he put the oars down with a sigh of relief.

"Where is it?" he asked.

 "This way," she said, her voice strained. He understood her tension; how could he not?

 His fear was superseded by his disbelief. He wasn't on this mad journey, he couldn't possibly be about to walk down into Hades of his own will, to stand guard over Chatoya while she washed her soul away in the rivers of hell. That was someone else's mad imitation of heroism, not his, surely. Jepar's, or Lisa's. He was supposed to be Cougar Redfern, who cared only about himself.

 Lately, that hadn't been working out too well for him.

Chatoya paused between two trees, and knelt down, running her hands over the ground, seeking something. When she spoke several soft words of a language he didn't know, there was a dreadful groan, like a giant stirring in sleep. He gawped as the ground before her began to drop away in rectangular blocks to form a grassy staircase.

 All the stories he'd ever heard about Hades and its monstrous ruler were pouring back, insidious and insistent. Cougar stared at the descent into darkness, and for a moment, he wanted to refuse.

 But she would go alone then, and he couldn't let her do that.

 She stood, dusting off her hands with such slowness that he knew she too was trying to delay their entrance.

 "Do you have to?" he asked, aware how young his voice sounded.

 "Yes," she said, the shadows slanting over her face to hide her expression. "But I wish I didn't."

~*~

 The light soon vanished behind them, and he concentrated on following her silhouette. Down the steps to a stone tunnel whose sides were smooth as glass, walking, walking, walking. Immersed within total darkness, even his night vision was no use; he was blind as she, following Hades' path with the cold faith of a pilgrim.

 He didn't know how long they walked for, but they turned a corner to find themselves before a pair of stone doors, torches flickering on either side with a ghostly white light that made patterns dance on the walls.

 "That wasn't so bad," he said tentatively, even that muted noise seemed sacrilege in this silence, unbroken for years.

 "We aren't there yet," she answered, but her voice had a distracted note; she reached up, and he saw inscriptions on the doors. At the top, someone had written in Greek, filling the carvings with what looked like silver.

 The thin light gave her face a sickly cast, and he saw that her hands shook.

 "What do they say?" he asked, trying not to be disheartened.

 She lifted one of the torches out and thrust it next to the carvings. Below the silvered words, in a dozen different languages, the Furies of the past had written translations. And there, between French and Spanish, were scratched four words.

 Know me, and despair.

 "The Acheron is through here." Her voice held awe, and the faintest of tremors.

 Blue came here, he thought. He stood here, he saw those words, but I'll bet it never entered his mind to obey. He probably looked right back and said, "No, know me, and despair."

 Did he come here alone? Or was he just human enough to need someone too?

 He shook off the disturbing thought. "Want me to open the doors?"

 The beginnings of a smile curved up her mouth. "No. They're just stone."

 Part of him still couldn't get used to the powers she had gained. In the moments where she was more than a witch, he found her frightening and couldn't help but wonder if the influx of older, darker magic had warped her personality with its coming. Did part of her mourn someone else's life, remember someone else's thirst for death?

 How much more will you change? I know you will: you work for the Furies now.

 She laid her hands where the door met, and a faint greenish glow swelled over her arms; it darkened as if polluted, and the doors swung open in silence. Air rushed into the gap, smelling of brackish water and dust.

 He couldn't stop the breath that escaped him. They had entered a massive cavern, the roof covered in phosphorescent lichen which threw off a blue glow that snagged on the river, where a thousand pinpoints of light glittered like miniature stars. The river stretched the width of the chamber, filled the air with bubbling, rustling noise.

 For the first time in his life, he felt awed, as if he should pay homage to whoever scooped the earth from this place and had the vision to leave it unadorned, magnificent in its simplicity.

 Awed and scared. The otherness of this place was to the fore, filling up his mind with the knowledge that he was really, truly in Hades.

 Well, he thought to himself. We ain't in Kansas anymore. And we ain't even in Oz, which is a shame, because I could use some courage right about now.

 Hesitant feet had worn a muddy track down to the river, and they followed it, him beside her. He glanced at her face, set and shocked, and knew she could give him no comfort. He would have to find that for himself.

 Someone had moored a small boatat the bank of the Acheron, which was only six feet or so across and couldn't have been deeper than a few inches; easy enough to ford, surely. Puzzled, he turned to her, but she was gazing at the waters, brow creased, indecision painted on every line of her face.

"Wait a moment," she said, then went to the very edge of the water. She paused, and he wanted to yank her back, but she only dipped her hands into the river and brought them up again, her hands forming a chalice brimful with water.

 "Isn't that dangerous?" he asked, readying himself to haul her back if anything unexpected happened.

 "Everything here is dangerous." Oh. Good. "But...I...I think I need to do this. I feel like I should."

 Had it been anyone else, he would have scoffed at their instincts. But she was a witch, used to staring down the unearthly and dragging truth from it. Nor could Cougar offer any sage advice; he too was reliant on intuition here.

She breathed out, and the vapour was tinged with magic, that fresh green essence that he always associated with her. It sank into the water, and she murmured so softly he almost didn't catch it, "Know me."

 And then she opened her hands, and droplets scattered back into the river. He thought for a moment the water took on a green tinge, but perhaps he was mistaken.

 Cougar helped her to her feet, and she didn't let go of his hand straight away, her grip tight and damp. In this place, the touch seemed more real than anything else, a reminder this wasn't just some weird dream.

 "Let's go," she said.

 "Do we need the boat? Can't we just wade across?"

"It's deeper than it looks," she answered, and he leaned over to peer into the river. It showed him nothing but fragmented pieces of his own reflection, carried away on the Acheron.

I don't know you, and I won't despair, he thought.

~*~

The path on the other side was less well-trodden, and he could make out distinct footprints in the mud. How long had they been here? Chatoya had told him it had been years since anyone had been on this side of the Acheron, yet the footprints were clear enough to have been made only minutes ago. Had Hades preserved them, a relic of victims past?

 She took his hand when they left the boat, and held on, her fingers knitting with his.

 They followed the trail to the other side of the cave and another tunnel. This one curved like a snake and they came several points where the path split, branching off into other tunnels. Curiosity persuaded him to glance down one; he saw only an absorptive gloom, but he thought he heard a distant rattle, like bones banging together.

 But they kept to the path, indicated by torches flanking the right way. He couldn't shake the sensation that they were watched all the way to the next gate, as if something had crawled from one of the passageways they had passed to slink behind them, waiting for its opportunity.

 If it's her you want, you're going through me, he thought to their invisible companion.

 But they reached the gate unmolested, if with fraying nerves.

 These gates were made of horns - hundreds of animals horns, wired together into two immense slabs which reflected the torchlight in a dull yellow sheen. Inscriptions laced the walls on either side, the topmost in Greek; in copper this time, green and mottled with age.

 Know me, he read, and burn.

"The Phlegethon," whispered Chatoya.

"Let's go," he said roughly. "I want this over with."

 Together, they opened the gates which clacked and chattered in ghoulish percussion, and stepped onto the delta of the Phlegethon.

 This place gave him the creeps. Well. Bigger creeps. It was a low-roofed vault, barely higher than his head, and stalactites dangled from the ceiling like the teeth of alligators. Several of them had grown right down to the floor, forming a maze of spindly pillars that they wove between, following those long ago feet.  

 Sporadic torches threw wavering light that illuminated the bumpy floor, and close by, the river gushed past, hissing like a thousand vipers. When they reached the Phlegethon, it wasn't the molten lava Cougar had half-expected, but a black, fast-moving mass that looked treacherous as Blue. Directly above it, the moonlight seared down through a thin gap, and where it struck, the water became silver, streaming by.

 "You need to stop here too?" he said tautly.

 "I need to pay my respects," she murmured, a dreaminess to her eyes he could not comprehend. This arcane territory was her place more truly than it would ever be his.

I'm losing you to the Furies, he thought, even though I'm here and they are not.

 Far off, his ears caught the sounds of rocks clattering together. Alert, he faced the way back, trusting that nothing would cross the river.

 He heard a low growl, rippling across the air as if whatever it was turned rumbling hunger to sound, impatient and close.

 "I don't want to spoil the moment, but hurry up," he muttered.

 He heard a ragged gasp behind him, and spun, fear spiking through his chest. "Toya-"

 Her face was contorted with pain, her arms quivering as she leaned over her cupped hands. "Know me," she managed, and blew a small puff of magic-laced air onto the waters. When she drew her hands apart, he saw that they were covered in blisters.

 The river burned her. And I thought it was just a metaphor.

 "Jesus! No, don't get up..." Before she could put her palms on the filthy ground, he dashed over, taking her by the wrists to lift her. Cougar dragged her to the nearest torch to examine her injuries.

 God. Her hands were a mess, red and white mashed into swirls of lurid colour. When he met her eyes, though there were tears at their corners, he knew the stubborn cast of her face. "You should go back-"

 "No!" There was pleading in her voice, as if she knew he was halfway to deciding to throw her over his shoulder and run as though Cereberus itself was at his heels. "If I leave...I'll never have the courage to come back. Not again."

 And can you find the courage to carry on? he wondered. For that matter, can I?

 "Please," she implored, and that one word, soft and desperate, persuaded him.

 "Okay. I guess it would be crazy to come this far and then go back."

 The Phelgethon had a thin bridge arching over it. It looked like it was made of nothing but mud, and if he hadn't known others had crossed before him, he would have been very dubious about setting foot on it.

"I'm going first," he announced, eyeing it suspiciously. Before she could conjure up any arguments, he planted one foot onto it. Gingerly, he shifted his weight onto it. It held.

 When he was halfway across, he chanced to look down - and halted, right there.

 "Toya..." he breathed, horror rolling up from his feet until he felt cold as ice. "Look."

 There, in the water - faces, aghast and stretched, floating under the current. They were a pallid luminous yellow, and they moved past so quickly his eyes had barely fixed on one before it was gone. A carnival of the screaming dead, circling Hades forever.

 "Oh my god." Next to him, she turned away, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. "Let's go. I don't want to watch this." He heard her silent words: I'm afraid of what I might see.

 Me too, babe.

 As they followed the track through the stalactite maze, by now reduced to just two or three pairs of feet, he thought he heard that growl once more, thick with rage.

 You keep away, he thought at it. We're not your prey, you hear? The dead are yours, not us.

~*~

 The third set of gates was made of bones; femurs formed the bars and where the doors met, dual lines of skulls framed the slit. Yellowed and shiny, as if someone had polished them, he half fancied something still sat in those empty sockets, regarding him with black delight.

 This time, his eyes went straight to the inscriptions on either side. The Greek writing was set with gold, glistening in the light.

 Know me, and hate.

"We're here," she said.

 "You're still sure?" he asked quietly.

 Her laugh was rueful. "I have to do this. It's about all I am sure of."

 Me, he wanted to say. You can be sure of me. I've come into hell with you, doesn't that mean anything?

 Instead, he pushed open the gates, trying not to think about their origins, and jumped when he felt air stir beside his ear as if someone had blown on it. Cougar turned his head to see a leering skull, and hoped that the red glint deep in the eye socket was only due to his panicking imagination.  

 I want to get out of here, he thought. There was some kind of malevolent presence in Hades, he was sure, and he wasn't keen to hang about and find out just what it was.

 The Styx was wide enough and slow enough to be mistaken for a lake at first glance; only the flow of the current identified it as a river, and its greyish waters moved sluggishly. It took up most of the cavern, which was strung with grinning skulls that held orange light between their teeth. Candles, or magic, either way unearthly. His stomach lurched.

 "Do you think someone's trying to make a point?" he whispered, trying to sound confident.

 But odd - the ground under their feet was soft, and when he looked down, he saw that flowers grew beneath the grisly light, a carpet that spread right down to the Styx.

 Chatoya bent to pick one, and when she held it to the light, he saw it was a thin yellow plant.

 "Asphodel," she told him. "The food of the dead."

 He eyed the covering of flowers. "They must be going hungry then."

 The moment he'd said it, he wished he hadn't. Lovely. Hundreds of restless, hungry dead just looking for something to chew on.

 The flattened flowers guided them to the banks. And here was where they must part ways, though neither of them would move. She would drink the murky waters, and learn whatever secrets she had come to find; and he, her guardian, would stand here with his mouth dry and his reflexes poised on a knife-edge, and wait for her to return.

 Still, he made one last attempt to stop her. "Chatoya..."

 Her face was almost serene, as if she had given herself over absolutely to whatever might come, and in that surrender, found a moment of peace and stillness. "Oh, Cougar. You already know what I'm going to say."

 Refusal after refusal. Sometimes it seems that's all you give me.

 And so she knelt in the yielding ground to worship in Hades, once more trapping the water between her palms. But this time, she did not breathe on it; she raised her hands to her mouth, and drank, her throat flexing, bared and pale.

 For a minute, he thought nothing had happened.

 And then she screamed. The sound was deafening, bouncing from the stony walls to tear through him a dozen times over. Her burnt hands were clenched, her eyes were wild and barely human, and she screamed.

 It was a split-second decision in his mind: if he tended to her, he couldn't watch for monsters.

 And what if the damn monster is in her head?

 He dragged her to her feet, and she seemed to see him, though she was limp in his grasp.

 "Why did I do it?" she asked him, her voice high and dreamy. "I didn't want Pursang. I've become a murderer. Everyone they kill, it was my decision, it was me who didn't stop it. How have I become this?" She stared up at him, and a shrill note entered her voice. "I hate it! I don't want to this person, I don't want to be his..."

 He didn't know what to say. "Then don't be."

 "And you hate me for that," she went on, her head lolling like she couldn't hold it up. "Because I can't love you, because I chose him even though he hurts me. And I let him...I let him...and I hurt him. If I wanted, I could have let him go, and I didn't, because part of me knew it would hurt him to keep him with me, to make him stay..."

 She sagged in his arms, and he struggled for footing in the slippery mud.

 "I don't hate you," he protested.

 "You do!" she shrieked, her voice splitting and fracturing as if a hundred other people screamed with her. "I feel it, your hate. It cuts me. You hate me, and you hate yourself, and you hate him, and you hate so much that...that..." She jolted out of his arms, doubling over, breath sawing the air.

 He crouched down, watching her. "Toya..."

 "Admit it!"

 "All right." He didn't want to speak the words, but if she needed to hear it, he would. "Maybe I do hate you a little, okay? But I love you a lot more."

 She didn't seem to hear him. "And Jepar...why didn't it work?" She raised a ghastly face to him. "And now I hardly see him. Cern hates me because I live, and I hate him because he won't, and, and..." Her voice mumbled things he couldn't hear. He caught the names of people he knew, but part of him didn't want to hear her words, embittered as they were.

 Maybe it'll work itself out, he thought, and grimly, exercising every bit of restraint he had, he stepped back. She spoke on and on, her voice rising and falling, words seething with emotions he hadn't known she possessed, sometimes shrieking with rage, sometimes deadly intense and slow. Her body twisted with it, forming grotesque shapes.

 How long was it? Minutes? Hours? Too long, a litany of hate and haters, words tumbling after one another.

 And then she started to walk towards the river. When she was ankle deep, he realised she wasn't going to stop - with a speed born of anguish, he caught her.

 She turned and hit him. The first blow caught him on the neck, but the second landed straight on his eye, launching pain through his skull. God, where had she learned to hit so damn hard?

 "Let me go!" she hissed, body arching like a snake's.

 "Don't be stupid. I'm not letting you drown yourself." He grappled with her, trying to find a secure hold, but she eased out of his grip time and again, struggling like a mad thing.

  "I can't stand it! It's all there is." To his dismay, her eyes filled with tears, sliding down her face one by one. "Everything we do is because of hate. There's only that behind it all. I don't want to be that, I don't want to stay..."

 She was making almost no sense. "Hello? What about love? We had a big conversation about it, oh, not so many weeks ago. You were pretty passionate about the whole thing."

 "I don't want to stay..." Her voice was a moan, a low dirge that shivered over the air. She twisted, and he grimly hung on, trying to drag her back to dry land. "The river will wash me clean."

 "Yeah, right, and I'll vomit kittens," he muttered, straining against her thrashing body. He could only assume this unforeseen strength was a result of drinking that poisonous bloody river. "Okay, if you don't hold still, I'm going to bite you."

 "Hate..." she said dreamily.

 "God." He talked to himself because it was the only way he was going to get sensible conversation. "This is almost as bad as that time Jepar decided he wanted to try pot."
 
 He was winning. Step by step, he was hauling her back towards dry - well, damp - land. Cougar gritted his teeth - and then she renewed her frantic attacks, kicking, clawing, even snapping her teeth at him.

 "I hate you!" she screamed.

 "No, you don't!" he shouted right back. "You're just smacked off your face!"

"All you know is hate!"

 This was getting old. He caught her arms and thrust them behind her back, holding her wrists steady.  "Now, you know that's a lie."

 And then he looked at her face and saw the terror there, stark and sharp, in the violent eyes and drawn mouth. What's she seeing? he wondered. Is it even me? Or am I just a monster to throw words at?

 "Hush," he said, very gently, and she shook her head. "You're safe."

 "Not here, not this world. The river will wash me clean."

"There's no hate here," he told her. "Everything here is dead. There's just you and me, and god knows I don't hate you."

 "You do."

 He didn't realise how sad his smile was. "Not enough. Not by a long way."

 And then he laid a gentle kiss on her mouth, and she kissed him back as if he were the last real thing in a collapsing world, and perhaps he was. He let her cling to him, let her make him real in her mind, with nothing but tenderness in the way he held her, nothing but love in that moment.

It figures, he thought sourly, that the only time I get to kiss Chatoya is in the middle of hell.

 And when he drew back, she was looking at him with a child's wonder.

 "You do love me," she said, as if only understanding it for the first time. And then she passed out.

~*~

 It was a long time before she woke up. He couldn't have said how long, but his boredom was reaching the point where he was starting to consider jumping into the river to try and find someone to kick when she stirred.

 "Why does my head hurt so much?" She squinted at him. "Where's it gone?"

 "Where's what gone?" he asked, examining her. Her face had regained its colour, and aside from a bit of puffiness about her eyes, every sign of the Styx's incursion had vanished.

 "The creature."

 "What creature?"

 Emotions cycled over her face, so fast he couldn't catch them. "There was no monster?"

 "There was me. Do I count?"

 "Not these days. What...happened? I can remember all this stuff, but...did we leave here?"

 He snorted. "You think we'd still be here? No. You took a drink, you started screaming your head off about how much you hated everyone and they hated you, and then you decided to throw yourself in the river-"

 "I did what?"

 "Yup. So I, of course, being the macho man that I am, waded in to stop you. I dragged you out, and then you passed out. Congratulations. You've survived the Styx."

 She frowned. "Is that...all of it?"

 "Every last bit," he lied cheerfully. He had no idea what her reaction would be if he told her just what had occurred before she keeled over, and he didn't think he could handle any more long emotional talks.

 But he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of smugness, directed towards Hades, and perhaps at Blue. I beat hate. You couldn't manage it.

 "Oh yeah," he added. "And all we have to do now is get out alive."

She groaned.