Callsign: King II- Underworld

Callsign: King II- Underworld

Jeremy Robinson



PROLOGUE


An unknown land — c. 400 BCE



The man paused at the mouth of cave and peered into its shadowy depths. A foul odor wafted up from hole in the world, riding on wisps of gray steam. He knew the common people living nearby believed the steam to be the mephitic vapors, rising from the decaying corpse of Typhoeus, the dragon slain by Zeus in his war with the Titans and buried in the heart of the Earth. They were the same vapors that supposedly gave the sibylline oracles the gift of prophecy. But he knew better. The gods, the stories surrounding them and the tales of his own heroic quests were primarily fictions created to misdirect the populace from the truth.

Granted, there were many strange things in the world, but with the proper amount of study, the secrets of nature could be revealed, and used to boost physical strength, extend life, heal the body and he believed, travel great distances in the blink of an eye. To the undisciplined mind, these secrets were magical. Godlike even. Which led to his current status as the bastard son of Zeus. The title afforded him access to every possible resource he needed, including a long voyage he took with the crew of the Argo around the world and back.

But the real benefit of his demigod status was that every strange encounter or event was quickly reported to him. Man’s fear of the unknown sent them racing to the man-god so that he might continue his “labors” and expunge the evil, which frequently turned out to be a harmless, previously unknown animal species or atmospheric event. But everywhere he went, people came to him with pleas for help. His height, muscular body and curly brown hair made him easily identifiable and would eventually become a problem. His need for secrecy meant he’d eventually have to disappear and let future generations believe him a myth, but for now he would use his position to find the answers he sought.

He rooted in his pack for a torch. The oil soaked brand took the spark from his flint, and he waved it over the mouth of the cave experimentally. Sometimes, vapors like these had a way of igniting so that the air itself burned; this time, it did not. Satisfied with the precaution, he began his descent into the pit.

This most recent “labor” had been brought to his attention just days ago. He’d nearly ignored the story, but curiosity got the better of him. His own imagination was the source for many of the current religious beliefs, spread dutifully by his band of followers who knew only half the truth. He’d conjured stories of the Underworld, driving a fear of the subterranean world into the hearts of men, because that’s where he conducted his work and hid his secrets. But if the story of missing children and cave dwelling creatures was to be believed, his fictions had stumbled upon a grain of truth.

He hefted his club onto one shoulder and patted the wineskin tied to his waist. The fluid it contained would give him the strength to overcome any obstacle he came across. Satisfied that he was prepared, he moved onward.

How far down he went into the eternal darkness, he could not say. To his tired feet, which rolled and slipped as his sandals trod the irregular surface, it felt as if he had walked perhaps three or four schoinos—a journey that might take an ordinary man a full day. But he had only burned through two of his torches, which meant that he had been in the cave perhaps only an hour or two. In that time, he saw no other living creatures, but he sensed their presence often, and he knew that they had seen him. Further on, he found their spoor—not only their excrement, but also castoff bits of wood and metal, even scraps of cloth, which had somehow found their way down from the surface. It was not long before he began to recognize the detritus for what it was: the trappings of a funeral. This was indeed, the land of the dead.

He soon came to an underground river. One of the three children who wandered into this cave had managed to escape. He told a story of a river and of horrible monsters that had taken his two sisters.

The child’s story proved accurate. One of the denizens of the Underworld, which did not flee at the first glimmer of torchlight, stood before him. The creature he now beheld looked like nothing like nothing he’d encountered before.