“And he shall not,” Hera replied. “He must stay in the Underworld, for that is where he draws his strength. Being exposed for too long in the mortal world will weaken him and steal his divine gifts.”
Maiden gazed lovingly at the tiny bundle in her arms, her beautiful boy. “My warrior child. How am I to raise him for this task?”
Her sisters appeared, gently taking the child from her arms. While Crone laid the child in his bassinet to let Maiden rest, Mother soothed her troubled spirit. “You shall not do it alone, sister. We shall have help.”
One
Twenty-Three Years Later
“Do you think he is ready?” Maiden’s worry reverberated off of the barren cave walls. Their luster had faded long ago, replaced by a lifeless chalky gray.
“He has spent enough days training in the Mortal Realm. It is time he proves himself worthy of the title of warrior.” Mother turned the corner to the innermost chamber. Her sisters hustled to keep up with her rushed pace as the once smooth floors flaked under their feet.
“I do not want to see him hurt because he has not been well enough prepared,” Maiden whined.
“The last of the pools in the Hall of Echoes has begun to dry up, and with it our ability to see our enemies in the Mortal Realm. There is no way of knowing when they will overtake the mortals and if they are gathering together to destroy us. He must be prepared, and now,” Mother said.
Maiden pleaded, “He has only been tested against lowly tricksters. You know they are nothing in comparison to the great evil that escaped from our walls. They did not even have an effect on the curse when he sent their bodies down to us.”
Crone paused and laid a bony hand on Maiden’s arm. She caught her breath and said, “Mother is correct. Our son is our only remaining defense, and we cannot wait any longer. The fate of more than just Tartarus is at stake.”
“I understand.” Maiden was silenced, but only momentarily. “But if they are plotting against us, it will do no good to thrust an unprepared boy in their path.”
“Boy?” Mother stopped at the entry to the large dark chamber. Frustration controlled her voice, and she shouted back her retort. “Your judgment is clouded. You cannot see him for what he is. He is a young man.”
“Sisters!” Crone hissed. “This is not the time to bicker. We must have faith in our teachings and in our son. When we summon him, there will be no more talk of doubts.” Her blue eyes lingered on Maiden.
Mother’s hand slid to her hip. “Then you believe he will succeed, wise sister?”
“I do not pretend to know what his future holds,” Crone said and proceeded into the chamber.
“I suppose now our only hope is to trust in him and everything he has learned during his time in the Mortal Realm,” Maiden said, following her eldest sister into the hollow space.
“Like Tartarus, this plan is cursed,” Mother muttered.
“Enough!” Crone’s voice surrounded the women. “He will never succeed while you are in possession of such negative thoughts. This discussion ends now. We have no choice. No more time can be spent debating. Tartarus will not bow to the evil it once jailed, and the Mortal Realm will not fall to its wickedness. We must act now. Come together, sisters.”
Maiden, Mother, and Crone joined hands and spoke as one. “Alek, we summon thee.” From their cave twisted deep within the Underworld, the Furies, daughters of night, beckoned their son home.
Swirls of brilliant energy spun together as Alek appeared. The air around him shimmered in waves from the heat of his skin. The trip home stunned him for only a moment. He straightened to his full height, tucked a blond curl behind his ear, and opened his arms, flashing a gallant smile. “It is good to see you, Mothers!”
“And you, Alek.” Maiden pulled him close, enveloping him in the refreshing scents of honey and citrus as her head pressed into his chest. “It is wonderful that you are home and safe. It seems an eternity since you last were here.”
“It has only been a matter of days,” Alek protested.
“We know, Son. Time ticks by slowly below.” Crone spoke softly. Her smooth silver hair glistened in the lifeless tomb their home had become.
“True, but the days are too long,” Alek said, rolling his neck and stretching his thick shoulder muscles. “I feel like shit. I am weak and achy and tired.”
Crone caressed his cheek. Her savory smells of sage and wet earth washed over him, soothing his restless body. “We are…pleased…that your speech has adapted so well to the Mortal Realm. Well enough to blend as one of them, but you must not forget that your home is a different land.” She gave his cheek a light slap. “Watch your tongue while you are in the presence of your mothers.”
He sighed deeply.