'Ness? You're bleeding!'
The will o' the wisps are moving, floating upwards like wayward souls before drifting towards the dark passageway. Instinctively, I know that I can't lose sight of them, and my chest pounds at the panic of being left behind. Without answering Hadrian, I pull him to his feet so that he can see the spirits drifting away.
'Will o' the wisp?' he says, astonished. Momentarily, he's distracted from my injuries. He lifts his hand, tentatively stretching towards one of the flickering orange lights. 'I have never seen anything like this...they're supposed to be legend.'
Legend or not, I follow them towards the edge of the bank, preparing to step into the boggy water. The lights from the wisps hover and dance over the dull moss surface, creating a ghostly, ethereal image. They circle one another, moving away as I approach, and trickling further down until I see them leading the way through a dark, boggy passageway about a human's width apart.
As I move to step in, Hadrian grabs my arm. 'Ness, what are you doing? How did you get rid of those things? And...Ness, you're injured! You're covered in blood!'
I flinch, casting a glance down my biohazard suit, which is splattered with blood and dirt, blending into a horrific shade. I can feel my face throbbing; I'm nearly three-hundred-percent sure that I look like one of the prisoners myself. 'I fought off the two of them. And then the wisps saved me.'
'You fought them off single-handedly? Bloody hell...' Hadrian stares at me, eyes wide. 'I knew you were strong but I didn't know you were that strong. I was caught by surprise by just one of those beasts!'
I smother a smirk; Hadrian had been "caught by surprise" and had lain like a damsel in distress whilst I fought my battle-to-the-death. 'Surprised? Hades, you were out cold.'
'Don't call me Hades...and that thing nearly stole my body! It was trying to escape by using me as a conduit!'
'Come on, Conduit. We need to follow those wisps, or we'll be meeting our friends again.' I laugh, but then stop. Smiling sends a shooting pain right up my jaw.
Hadrian sees my wince, and his face turns concerned once more. He insists on holding my arm, and walking in front of me as we step into the swampy liquid. The water reaches my thighs, and I'm thankful to the gods that this suit is water-tight. Squelching and a smell of stagnant marsh makes the both of us gag, and we both opt to move as quickly as possible. As we move, the wisps become quicker too, flashing into the distance so that we keep our pace.
To pass through the passageway, the two of us have to turn sideways, so that we perform a strange shimmy through the viscous mud, all the while unable to turn our heads to communicate. The contortion makes my muscles ache after several minutes of my arms raised against the wall, out of the green water, and my head fixed on Hadrian's.
When we climb out the embankment at the other end, Hadrian turns to help me up and gasps.
Holding his hand and with one foot on the stone flexed, ready to spring from the marsh, I turn my head with difficulty to look behind.
The passageway is filled with flowers.
Instead of stagnant water, tall grasses bloom and arch gracefully amid wild bluebells forming conical blue hats. Daisies as large as my hands loiter, towering high with the grasses, with flowering bushes trapped beneath. Ivy spreads up the damp, cold walls.
And continues to grow.
'What in hell's...' I begin, until I feel my arm give an almighty tug. I'm hurled unceremoniously out of the water-turned-grass, and I soon know why: Hadrian is staring in wonder at the impromptu garden growing. His hands have started to shake, and his eyes are wide and glassy. I open my mouth to say something sarcastic, but something twinges in my chest.
He's never looked at me like that, a voice in my head whispers bitterly.
And when I hear him whisper Persephone, my heart feels like it's shattered into a hundred pieces. It feels like one of the vines has grown around my chest and strangled it. Why a growing death trap of thorns reminds him of his long lost love, I don't ask. If hearing a name makes me want to rip off the heads of every rose, God knows how I would react to getting a history.
Temper flaring, I pull Hadrian away from his trance. 'Come on, we have to keep moving!'
But the stupid man was love-struck. 'She's here,' he whispers, 'she's alive...?'
Why does he look so confused? I want to head butt him to see if it jogs his memory quicker.
'It's just some sodding grass, Hadrian! Move!'
I push the dazed boy around until we face where we'd been aiming. The passageway is larger and less foreboding, but as we stand there, cracks begin to show on the flagstone floor. Shoots of green seep through, and I push harder on Hadrian.
'I think your girlfriend may be out to get us!' I cry, trying to keep ahead of the growing foliage. If it catches us up, reaching our destination might prove an impossible task.
'She's not my girlfriend.'
'Maybe that's the problem!' I snap.
'I haven't seen her in over four hundred years...how are we a problem?'
'Communication is key! Four hundred years is a good rounds number to hold a grudge for!'
'No wonder you failed that test on being nice,' Hadrian chuckles.
My foot catches on a vine, and I lurch forwards. Hadrian grabs my arm, saving me from falling. Instead of thanking him, I shrug his hand off and turn away, determined not to look him in the eye and see his expression as I behave like a coward.
The wall in front tapers to a close, where a rusted metal door beckons.
Without waiting, I slam my hand to the door and the frame nearly blows off the hinges. That's how old and worn it is. Hadrian jumps in fright before breathing a sigh of relief, whilst I stagger through the open doorway.
As soon as I set foot across the threshold, the plants begin to rush as the door, growing faster and forming new roots around the broken frame. Oddly, the plants don't encroach this new environment, as if the door, though old and broken, still keeps them out. Instead the vines grow longer, stretching across the gap, blocking the exit.
'Hadrian, hurry!' I scream, fearing that he's going to get trapped on the other side. I'm relieved when the handsome king ducks his head under the gap, giving me a thankful grin.
'Careful,' he says, dusting down his already-black biohazard suit and leaning in to lower his voice. 'Keep screaming like that and people are going to think you care.'
I roll my eyes. 'I do care, Hades...just not about you.'
Liar, I curse myself inwardly. You care too much!
Hadrian snorts. 'Hades is a terrible nickname, you know.'
'Would you prefer something more endearing, dear hubby? Kitten? Sweet cheeks...?'
I can see Hadrian suppressing a smile at the corner of his mouth as he reigns revulsion. 'God, no! Hades it is. Though only you can call me that, okay? I'm not going down in history as Hades...'
I stare at him then, wondering how I'd never noticed his dazzling smile before. After a few seconds I realise we're both staring at each other, and I cough, wondering if he'd been waiting me to say something.
Why does everything feel so much more awkward and self-conscious just because I've admitted that I'm attracted to him?
Curse Eros.
'So...' I gesture ahead of us, 'Garden behind us, shall we go all the way to the end?'
Hadrian simply smiles and nods, and then lets me lead the way.
The slim, torch-lit passage is circular, winding higher until we reach an open inlet-- a throne room. Domed walls of moss and stone sweep around a chamber the size of a large chapel. In opposition to a chapel, this room has no decoration, and no windows to let in light. The room is almost completely dark, save for the burning bracket of fire where the altar would be.
I reach for my mask, taking it off and flicking my hair out. Dark waves bounce against bright yellow and mud. Beside me, Hadrian takes his off too.
In the centre, a sweeping elegant throne made from what appears to be dented metal features the sole occupant of the room.
No, scrap that-- the sole three occupants of the room.
They are hunched together, heads touching, each one a seamless part of the other's body. A faint whirring noise, and the click-clack of hands and nails working, emanate throughout the silent room. They are swathed in black tunics, head to toe. At our footsteps, the group pause, bald heads flicking upwards towards us.
I stifle a gasp as their faces survey us. Or at least, where their faces would be, but are replaced by sewn shut eye sockets, an absent nose and a toothless mouth.
And all three, identical. Skin waxy. Heads cocked, staring-- but not staring from eyeballs-- at us.
As said, I manage to stifle my gasp, but Hadrian doesn't. I hear him gulp down a squeak, and try not to smile at this terrible moment. Because for all the hilarity of this chicken King of the Underworld, I think I know who these people are. And I did not want to piss them off.
'Moirai,' I say respectfully, sinking into a low bow and elbowing Hadrian to doing the same.
I see him give a short, disgruntled bow, clearing his throat. 'I'm sorry to intrude, but we were--'
'Attacked.'
'Ran.'
'Lead here.'
Hadrian looks shocked at the Moirai's ability to not only know what we had just been up to, but convey it to us in a timely manner.
'Yes,' he splutters, glancing my way. I give him a smug smirk. 'How did you know?'
'Ask her.'
'She knows.'
'She saved your ass earlier.'
I suppress a snort. Hadrian's head, following down the line as each one spoke, gave a double take at that last comment, but the Moirai in question had resumed its natural stance, staring.
'Did...they just say...?' Hadrian struggles to find a suitable "he" or "she" for the Moirai, and I roll my eyes. The Moirai don't have something so futile as gender.
'They're the Fates, Hadrian,' I say, knowing that he will at least understand their Common Name. It works. Hadrian turns from affronted King to shitting himself.
I swear I saw one of the Moirai wink at me-- if that's possible without eyelids not sewn together.
Hadrian turns back to looking at the throne, seeing the distaff, the spindle-- and working out what the three had been doing earlier. The one closest to us, on the left-- they spin the thread, passing it onto the second Moirai, who measures out the thread. The final Moirai cuts the thread, and just like that, a person's life is started, allotted and decided on its end from the three omnipotent beings.
Our life in their hands.
Including Hadrian's; no God could overturn a Moirai decision.
'You seek exit.'
'We will assist.'
'You could do better than him.'
Again, the last Moirai seems to have a sarcastic humour; Hadrian's face purples, and I see him opening his mouth and shutting it again, debating whether a snappy remark is worth dying early.
Before he can ruin anything, I say, 'Thank you. Could you kindly tell us the way...?'
There is a long pause as the three glance at one another, as if having a private conversation. Then, the third one grins, and I feel like it can't be good news.
'You have good purpose, to seek out the Darkness that is upsetting our threads,' the first Moirai says.
As the words sink in, my heart deflates. The necromancer can go against the Moirai? How...?
'They can reattach the broken thread,' the second says, 'but cannot alter their own.'
I nod, relieved. The necromancer may be able to bring others back, but he or she themselves can be killed.
'But you will be fodder for the necromancer, as you are now.'
The third Moirai's lesson makes me flinch.
My gut clenches in fear. All along, I'd known that I would probably die in my attempt to avenge Nate, but after seeing hell-- and hearing of Judgement-- I am fast realising that there are worse fates than death, and being brought back under the necromancer's control...
I would be assisting my brother's killer.
'But you can become the most powerful.'
'Little Saint Bride.'
'Daughter of Spring.'
Words that confuse me have a startling effect on Hadrian. He jumps, looking hard at me as if seeing things for the first time. And then he's shaking his head, his brow creased, his face shocked.
I can't stand it.
'What?' I whisper, unable to look at the man beside me. The Moirai chuckle in unison; an odd, rasping sound that makes me sad that they're enjoying this short, depressing entertainment.
'That can't be!'
I flinch for the second time at Hadrian's protest, feeling it burn within my throat. I know what the Moirai are trying to say-- they're saying, somehow, that I'm Persephone, the girl that was cursed, the girl Hadrian had once loved.
I'm Hadrian's long-lost love.
I'm his.
'There's no way its her!'
And he's supposed to be mine.
I shut my eyes, feeling tears prickle against my eyelids. I will not show Hadrian how much his words hurt, how much confinement I feel at not having a choice, how vulnerable I feel.
And my spinning thoughts are calculating-- the flowers, the vines-- that maybe it's not such an impossible idea.
'It's her,' the third Moirai grins, revealing a gaping black hole for a mouth. 'Check your arm.'
Her instruction is directed at Hadrian. I watch in slow motion as his head lowers to the arm closest to me, which is clear, and then to the other. He lifts it to inspect it, and we both get a clear view of something neither of us had noticed.
All along his arm, a lone vine had grown, starting from his fingers and curling fondly around loosely over his suit. The suit is probably why he hadn't felt it, but we should have noticed it, if things hadn't been so rushed.
Hadrian's eyes meet mine. Neither of us can deny where the vine had come from.
It's where he'd grabbed my arm earlier.