Suddenly he stopped.

The ferryman neither shrank from his approach, nor responded.

His face was hidden by the hood he wore. Yet his eyes shone from beneath that hood.

The look from those eyes froze Dionysius in midstep.

"No! No! It is a bedtime story to frighten children. What are you telling me . . . ."

His gaze shifted from stream to boat, from boat to ferryman, from ferryman to stream.

"It is a fairy tale, nothing else. Take me to the sh.o.r.e!" His voice was once more threatening.

Suddenly he sat down, held his head between his two hands, sobbed quietly.

"It's true, isn't it? This river - Styx is its name. You are the ferryman. This gloom is not the dark of night. It's all true!"

Suddenly a thought came to mind.

"Then you are . . . You are Charon. And I must have - yes, here it is. Your toll. Take me then to the Elysian Fields. Quickly, take me away from this dreadful place."

He extended Charon's toll.

The figure made no move to accept.

Rather, a deep and melancholy voice responded. "Your stop is not the Elysian sh.o.r.e."

Dionysius gazed at the dark figure, at the coin. Reluctantly he let the coin fall, watched it disappear into the depths of the murky water.

He was silent.

What more was there to say!

20. The Demon's Lair

There are dark grottoes in the high mountains. And tarns, deep and cold, bottomless pits of murky water. And in some few favored spots, dark grottoes and murky tarns together.

Such was the site at which Demo stood.

Here dwelt one whom even Olympians fear. This was the Demon's Lair.

The village folk had long remembered legends. h.o.a.ry legends, whispered around campfires during winter storm. Used to frighten children to mind their manners. But only legends. Or so Demo had long believed.

Something - no one spoke a name - there was. Or something there had been. Something that preceded even the t.i.tans, that ancient race from whom the Olympians were descended.

The t.i.tans, so the tales went, had not conquered it. Rather, they had duped it, deceived it, and encaged it in bars not of this world. Bars that, until now, had held. Bars that, perchance, were weakening with the pa.s.sage of eons.

Whispered conversations on earth, whispered conversations on the pristine streets of Olympus, told of an ominous presence.

Not seen, nor heard - still dread of this unknown creature stalked the night as might stalk even the creature itself.

Idle chatter of fearful children? Old wives tales from the back woods? Or something else, something evil. Something so powerful that even the gates of Olympus stood not against it.

No one knew.

And that was why Demo stood at the gate to the demon's lair.

Zeus would know what manner of creature was there imprisoned.

Zeus would know what manner of prison held such a creature in throe.

Who better to send than Demo? If he succeeded, another task marked off. If he failed, one less concern as Athena chose another.

Demo gazed into the still water of the tarn, touched its surface with his hand. He gasped at the chilling cold that seized his entire arm.

Was this then the tarn of which he had been forewarned? Would here the strange tie between himself and the unseen companion be severed - or brought to its inevitable conclusion?

It seemed fitting!

No drearier spot had he seen. No gloomier grotto existed in these mountains. If doom hung over his head, it could not choose a place more suitable than this!

He resigned himself to the inevitable!

The sun slipped swiftly behind the western peaks, and cool night breezes stirred the leaves. Swallows swooped in the darkening sky, and night creatures called one to another as day ended.

Come morning and he would search further. For now, a fire, food, and a night's rest.

The flames reflected from the precipice's base, their warmth welcomed as cool night crept in. Beyond the fire light nightsounds rose and fell, now near, now far.

He added wood to the fire, wrapped himself in his Eddie Bauer mummy bag. Ah, how pleasant to sleep after a long day's journey.

It was a sleep beleaguered by dreams. Dreams of he who dwelled in the deep tarn. In the dreams the creature came forth, looked down on the sleeping youth. It's eyes were cold, held deadly enmity.

Yet, it did not strike. Motionless it observed him, turned, and descended once more into the frigid waters.

Morning came early. Demo sat up, wide-eyed. From the tarn's brink to his resting place he saw footprints. A great weight had pressed them, even into the dryer ground. They turned back, led once more to the tarn.

Demo closed his eyes, breathed deeply. What manner of creature, and why had it turned away, doing him no harm? The footprints, though huge, seemed hardly those of some monstrous being capable of frightening even the Lords of Olympus.

Demo stirred the ashes to reveal hot colds beneath, fed twigs and breathed gently on them to kindle a fire. As he placed larger branches on the flames he heard behind him the sound of measured footsteps.

With a start he turned.

The man looking down at him loomed tall and ominous. He showed no emotion. Rather, his face was calm, nor did his demeanor suggest threat. Slowly Demo rose, glanced toward his bow and quiver.

The man smiled.

"It would avail thee not. Rest easy. I mean you no harm. You, in turn, may be of aid to me. Why am I here, summoned from an age yet to be, a world far removed? Did you summon me? I think not. You are only a child! What can you tell me of this place, and of that one who stole from the cold waters in the dark of night?"

"Who are you? You were summoned? How so? From an age yet to be, a world far removed? I understand not your words. Still, if you were summoned I can think only that it was the work of Zeus. No, perhaps not. Athena may have brought you here to provide succor for me on this strange sojourn."