Odor of dying algae, of rotting plants, of stagnant waters -
all drift above the long, dark stretches of the river Styx. No
beauty here.
And in these waters lived creatures not of this world, but of
Hades, round which the river flowed, and flows forever. Doomed
through eternity to these putrid stream, they had yet one
recompense.
Who dared wade the River Styx, he was their prey.
"My boy, take this package over to the guardshack just across
the Styx. They are expecting it; by the way, be sure to get a
receipt. They hate to sign receipts. Still, it messes up our
accounts if we don't have them. The boat is anchored right by
the pier, and the oars are stowed beneath the seat."
Zeus started to turn away, then hesitated. "Oh, well! Boy,
don't drag your hands in the water. And don't even think about
taking a dip. You'd be dreadfully sorry!"
An extremely simple chore, this. Why all the fuss?
Each river has its peculiarities. The Nile, known for its
annual flooding. The Lethe, notorious for the effect on those
who drink its waters.
And then there is the river Styx.
It has a well-deserved reputation. The environmentalists have
been picketing since time immemorial. They complain,
legitimately, about the odor, the sludge, the inhabitants - all
the little things that help make the Styx unique.
They picket Pluto.
Pluto suggests they picket Zeus, instead. To emphasize his
point he releases Cerberus.
Hurriedly they scatter, not taking time to even look back.
They picket Zeus.
Zeus takes it all with gentle and tolerant attitude. His is a
measured reaction. He assigns to each picket a little black
cloud, from which rain continuously falls. Umbrellas are
discouraged by random gusts of wind.
The pickets persist.
Zeus smiles.
The clouds grow larger, the winds gust more strongly.
The temperature begins to fall. The continuous rain ends, is
replaced by snow showers. The winds now blow steadily from the
cold north.
The pickets persist.
Zeus' smile broadens.
The clouds merge. The winds now reach blizzard force, and the
snow changes from soft flakes to frozen pellets. The temperature
drops, then drops again.
The pickets assemble, discuss, and rapidly disperse.
Zeus smirks, makes a snowball, which he then playfully tosses
into the air. He then builds a snowman. He gives it a picket
sign to carry.
Humming, Zeus returns to his throne.
There is no snow by the river Styx. Nor rain. Nor cooling
breeze.
The air is stagnant, hot, thick with the odor of rotted plants,
the breath of Hades' denizens.
Demo, with the back of his hand, wipes the sweat from his brow.
Ah, how delightful it would be to splash even this putrid water
on his forehead. Or even to swim in its cooling depths! What was
it Zeus had said? Something about being dreadfully sorry?
He rows slowly, moving the oar against water with the
consistency of mud. To lift the oar for the next stroke is
nearly as difficult as to row.
Then he cannot lift it at all!
Frowning Demo yanked at the oar. It gave slightly, then slipped
back into the dank water. With an effort he used the side of the
boat as a point of leverage, once more brought up the oar.
Covered with slime, strange plant growth, it broke the surface
of the water. But there is something else, a red long and sinewy
coil wrapped tightly around the oar. Grimacing, Demo tried to
scrape the enwrapping red plant from its hold.
The red plant suddenly uncoiled, extended upward, and quickly
enwrapped his forearm. Wide-eyed Demo attempted to pull free.
The hold on his arm tightened!
He was being pulled to the side of the boat!
Slowly the boat began to tip. He lost his footing, fell against
the gunwale. The boat began to rock, and with each rock the
putrid water of the river Styx splashed in.
As Demo pulled hard more and more of the red plant became
exposed.
With a start Demo stared into enormous green eyes!
This was no plant!
Rather, a denizen of the weird waters! A denizen with an
appetite for Demo!
A grin appeared on its face. Rather, a smirk. It licked its
lips in anticipation.
With one arm held captive by the creature, Demo was unable to
use his bow and arrows. Nevertheless, he was not completely
helpless.
With his free hand he pulled an arrow from its pouch, stabbed
at the entwining red tentacle. Surprised and in pain, the
creature uncoiled its hold, slid back into the dark stream.
Demo sat down in the boat, sweat appearing on his forehead. For
a moment he sat still. Then he noticed that the boat was
drifting away from the shore.
With a start he once more manned his oars!
It was useless. The slow flowing waters of the Styx had now
branched off. This was a different river entirely!
He recognized it! Fearfully his eyes opened wide!
The Meander! A river that went on forever. Purposeless,
endless, going on forever!
He looked back.
No trace of the Styx was to be seen!
From the far shore he heard unearthly laughter!
An object he knew too well blended with the shadows there. The
unseen companion!
Night fell, the air cooled. Birds flew low in pursuit of
mosquito swarms. From the swampy shores growls and moans,
strange shrieks and lonesome howls disturbed the darkness. The
water lapped intermittently against the boat's side. Fish, or
creatures adapted to the Meander, leaped above the water,
splashed back to the surface. Nightbirds winged closed to the
boat, dived toward Demo, then veered away.
Finally, lulled by the boat's rocking, he fell asleep.
The frigid night air woke him. The vast waste of the river was
coated by a low-lying white fog. Above, a cold and desolate moon
shone full on the quiet scene below. At times white fluffy
clouds blocked its rays, then drifted on.
As morning approached a light breeze began to blow. The surface
fog, like disturbed ghosts, scattered, drifted, faded away.
False morning lit the sky, only to fade.
A red and angry sun rose on the horizon. Twisted, bent, huge
trees brooded along the river bank. The sun's rays hardly
penetrated into the depth of the forest. Birds flew high,
dashing wildly away as a hawk fell into their midst. A large
fish leaped from the waters' surface, splashed back and
disappeared.
His empty stomach growled in anger over lack of breakfast. The
thought of meat and eggs cooking on his mother's fire would not
leave his mind.
He searched his pouch, found only day old remnants of bread,
which he quickly devoured. Still, visions of venison roasting,
of warm loaves of bread from the oven - enough! He must quit
this foolish dreaming, must find a way to return!
Listlessly the young man let his hand dip into the water. Only
were he able to catch a fish, anything to provide sustenance.
With a start he felt an object brush against his fingers.
Quickly he grasped it, pulled it to the surface. Perhaps a fish,
careless of predators.
"No!"
He thrust it from him! The headless body of a man! Shuddering
he watched it slip away. In his mind he recalled the story of
one so killed, doomed to the endless wandering of the Meander.
The broad river seemed to wind endlessly, going nowhere. Along
its low banks huge trees dipped their limbs in the muddy water.
A turtle swam by near the shore, then dived below. In the tree
limbs above birds sang their mating calls. Serenely the placid
river flowed. A lifeless stretch of jungle bordered it.
But was it lifeless!
Something moved among the brush and tree trunks. At first he
thought of the unseen companion. No, this was different.
He watched carefully.
Farther along, more movement! Something, or someone, was
following his boat!
They stayed well back from the shore. Still, from time to time
he saw again the movement, glimpsed once more a stern visage.
He tensed as the current moved him closer still to that shore
and its unknown inhabitants.
The boat ground to a stop, its lower hull lodged on the
shallow bottom.
Demo took a deep breath, using the oar tried to pry the boat
from its anchorage.
A small stream flowed into the river within feet of his
position.
The bushes along the stream were moving! The motion came ever
closer!
He climbed into the water, attempted to free the boat again.
It was to no avail!
He turned to the shore. They stood silently, stoic, watching.
Waiting!
The Sileni!
A distant cousin of the centaurs, with much the same
appearance. Their lower haunches were horselike, while torso and
head were that of man. Their history was dim, their homeland
unknown.
There was no escape! The boat was lodged tightly. He stood,
waded slowly to the shore.
"We rarely see visitors from the outside." This Sileni stood
tall above his companions. "And on the river Meander some come
and go, never to be seen again. What seek you on this river?"
"Ill fate sent me to this stream. I merely wished to cross the
river Styx, carrying a missive sent by Zeus. Strange forces
diverted my passage, and I floated unwillingly here."
"Tarry with us a bit. To follow the Meander is useless. It
never ends, never repeats a passage. An eternity is too short to
follow all its windings. Perhaps we can aid you, help you return
to the river Styx. Though it, too, is a river of ill repute."
The hospitality of the Sileni pleased him. They fed him well,
gave him cot on which to sleep. During his sleep they dragged
the boat to shore.
"Your coming has been foretold. One waits now to talk with you,
for there is much you do not know. Egeria, the last of the
Caminae, would speak with you. There is the matter of the Tarn."
With a start Demo regarded the speaker. "Egeria! I do not
understand. The Caminae are long gone, long departed!"
The conversation with Egeria confused him. She told him of
things to come, but in words that were mystic and full of
cryptic allusions. Yet she spoke of the tarn, where he must
inevitably meet a foreordained fate.
"The tasks shall lie behind you, yet will there be another
task. By your kindness to a stranger shall you be led to danger
never faced by man. Though you be brave, follow the dictates of
your heart. Heed my words. For this were you brought to me. It
was foretold before your birth." The ancient woman stared at him
through blinkless eyes.
Although he had listened he knew well that he did not
understand. "Heed the dictates of your heart." What dictates of
his heart? And if all had been foretold why should he not be
informed of those inevitable results? He gazed at her, started
to ask questions, then reconsidered.
"The Sileni shall return you to your craft. Lie down, in the
bottom. Do not take oar in hand. When darkness descends you
shall once more be on the river Styx. Your mission shall be
quickly done. Tell Zeus that Egeria has opened your eyes."
It transpired as she explained. Zeus, when he delivered her
message, bowed his head. "The Moira draws maps on sandy beaches,
and man and Gods dare not deviate. My boy, believe that I wish
you well. You understand, I cannot intervene in what will be."
Perhaps for the first time Demo felt real fear!