Hades Speaks! Read online

  HADES SPEAKS!

  SECRETS OF THE ANCIENT GODS

  HADES SPEAKS!

  A GUIDE TO THE

  UNDERWORLD BY THE

  GREEK GOD

  OF THE DEAD

  VICKY ALVEAR SHECTER

  ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. E. LARSON

  BOYDS MILLS PRESS

  AN IMPRINT OF HIGHLIGHTS

  Honesdale, Pennsylvania

  The author wishes to thank Dr. Jasper Gaunt, curator of the Greek and Roman Galleries at the Michael C. Carlos Museum of Antiquities at Emory University, and Christina Marinelli, M.A., for their valuable assistance in the preparation of this book.

  Text copyright © 2014 by Vicky Alvear Shecter

  Illustrations copyright © 2014 by J. E. Larson

  All rights reserved

  For information about permission to reproduce selections

  from this book, please contact [email protected].

  Boyds Mills Press, Inc.

  An Imprint of Highlights

  815 Church Street

  Honesdale, Pennsylvania 18431

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-62091-598-1

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014933622

  First edition

  ISBN 9781629792811 (e-book)

  The text of this book is set in Century Schoolbook

  and Gill Sans STD.

  The illustrations are done in pen and ink.

  Cover illustration copyright © 2014 by J. E. Larson

  Cover design by Robbin Gourley

  For Matthew and Aliya

  —VAS

  To Yvy, who can mend spirits

  —JEL

  CONTENTS

  CAUTION

  GREETINGS, MORTAL!

  DOWN, DOWN, DOWN

  WELCOME TO THE LAND OF THE DEAD

  INTO THE GATES OF DOOM

  THE BLACK PALACE

  THE HALL OF JUDGMENT

  OF MONSTERS AND CURSES

  ONWARD TO THE FIELDS OF ELYSIUM, THE “HAPPY” PLACE

  THE MYSTERIOUS MYSTERIES

  HADES’S GUIDE TO THE GODS AND HEROES OF ANCIENT GREECE

  GLOSSARY.

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  INDEX

  CAUTION

  HADES, THE ANCIENT GREEK GOD of the Dead, wants you to know that the stories included in this book represent the works of many Greek and Roman writers and poets over hundreds and hundreds of years. Beliefs about the Greek and Roman afterworld changed by era, location, poet, and philosopher. Hades chose the details that he thought best captured the essence of ancient Greek and Roman beliefs about the afterlife—and also the ones that had the highest chance of creeping you out.

  GREETINGS, MORTAL!

  ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF. I am Hades, king of the ancient Greek underworld, also known as “The God of the Dead,” “The Dark Lord,” and “Lord of the Place of Darkness.” The Romans also called me Pluto, which meant “wealth.” And not just because I was “rich” in good looks and charm, but because I had control of all the gold and silver under the earth.

  Both the Greeks and the Romans sometimes referred to me as “He Who Must Not Be Named.” Yes, that’s right. Way before Voldemort and Harry Potter, the ancients were afraid to call my name out loud. They feared that if I heard them, I’d be compelled to drag them down to the underworld.

  Honestly, I found this idea quite insulting. I was a king. A ruler. I did not bag and tag humans like some evil hunter whenever I heard my name. I let my monstrous minions do that.

  You will meet many of them on this tour of my home— monsters such as the multi-headed dog Cerberus and the goat-legged, flame-haired vampire demon Empusa, among many others.

  But do not be afraid. They will not touch you, as long as you stay near me. Oh, also, do not eat any of the luscious pomegranates that grow near my palace, because if you do, you will never return to the land of the living. Why rush things, right?

  Please, step right up onto my gleaming chariot, led by four giant dark horses. Hold on tight, because when my stallions start racing, we run straight down into a hole in the ground. The noise of the earth opening is spectacular, by the way—kind of like the worst tearing, ripping, crashing sound you can imagine.

  What? You’d rather not “fly” into the ground at top speed with me on my chariot? Fine, we’ll go the boring way. We’ll walk down through one of my many secret cave entrances. (There’s one right outside your bedroom.)

  Are you ready? I’ve been waiting for you to visit me for a very long time.…

  DOWN, DOWN, DOWN …

  I HOPE YOU’RE NOT AFRAID of the dark. If you are, you might consider shutting this book and running outside to play with bubbles in the sunshine. Seriously, my world is the complete absence of light—dark, dim, gloomy, sinister, you name it. No birds chirping in the sunlight around here. Instead, you might find some bloodthirsty bats and even an occasional winged Fury screeching at us.

  If you think you can handle it, follow me into this cave entrance. Ahhhh—cold, musty, moldy, wet darkness. The blackness embraces you like a thick cloak of slime, doesn’t it?

  I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes, too. It’s a long way down. My people—the ancient Greeks—were a strong, hardy lot and would not have been fazed by this long descent into darkness.

  The ancient Greeks lived more than 2,500 years ago and were responsible for many of the things you take for granted today, such as democracy, freedom of speech, theater, money, the Olympic Games, and crazy politicians.

  In fact, Greece is often called the “cradle of Western civilization.” In other words, without us, “you” wouldn’t be you. You may thank us for this gift later—preferably with a sacrifice of gold. In my name, if you please.

  Anyway, so impressive were my people, the Romans copied just about everything they could steal—er, I mean “borrow”—from us, including Greek architecture, art, philosophy, sculpture, theater, and most importantly, us Greek gods. The Romans renamed us, of course, but we’ll talk about those toga-wearing thieves later.

  My people lived on mainland Greece and its surrounding islands. Most of Greece is a rocky, mountainous place, which created tough, rugged, adventuresome people. The Greeks sailed into regions unknown (to them, anyway) and established cities in what is now Turkey and even Italy.

  While the ancient Greeks were brilliant, they were also a tad warlike. They battled among their many city-states like you and your friends fight for the last piece of candy in the bowl. Athens fought Sparta in a war that lasted decades and got just about every city-state involved in picking sides.

  They also fought off invasions from their dreaded enemies, the Persians. But don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining about all that death and destruction. It made my underworld a very busy place.

  Aside from their many innovations, however, it is my opinion that the Greek’s greatest achievement was—and I say this with all humility—the creation of us, the Greek gods.

  HOW IT ALL STARTED

  The Greeks believed that gods of earth (Gaia) and sky (Ouranos) gave birth to the first gods of the world, the Titans. Kronos, the Titan god of time and age, overthrew his father and took control of the cosmos. His angry parents foretold that one of Kronos’s own children would depose him, which is why we gods began as baby food.

  Kronos’s brilliant plan for getting around the prophecy was to eat his kids as soon as his wife Rhea bore them. See, because we were immortal, he couldn’t actually kill us. But he could keep us prisoners inside himself. He started by gobbling my sisters—Hestia, Demeter, and Hera. I came next—making me the firstborn son, I should point out— followed by Poseidon.

  Our mom, Rhea, was not happy about her husband’s baby-eat
ing habit, but she didn’t know how to stop him. Finally, by the time my little brother Zeus was born, she came up with a plan. (Really, Mom? Nothing occurred to you until the sixth child?)

  Rhea gave birth to Zeus in secret, sent him to a faraway cave, and gave Kronos a rock wrapped in a baby blanket to eat instead. Our father swallowed the rock and Zeus got to grow up with beautiful nymph nannies and dancing warriors for entertainment and protection. Talk about spoiled! Meanwhile, the rest us spent our time chillin’ in the belly of the beast.

  Finally, when Zeus grew up, he made Kronos vomit us out (ewwww, I know).Together, my siblings and I defeated dear ol’ dad and the other Titans, hurling them deep into the belly of the earth, the lowest level of Tartaros. I call it the pit of punishment.

  WHEN WINNING

  MEANT LOSING

  We won the world! But then we had to figure out how to manage it. As the eldest son, I demanded the lion’s share. But baby brother Zeus disagreed. Yeah, he rescued us, and I guess we all owed him one, but still.

  We compromised and decided to draw lots. And surprise, surprise—baby brother ended up with all the best bits. Zeus got the earth, the sky, thunder, justice, and all the nations. Poseidon got all the seas and fresh waters, horses, and earthquakes. And me—what did I get? The dead and the dark, dismal underworld. Seriously?

  I am convinced my little brother rigged the lottery. He claims that I’m just jealous, but he is completely and utterly wrong. Jealousy is beneath me.

  Still, it irks me that you know so little about me, yet you know so much about my younger brothers. I bet it’s hard for many of you to even conjure up an image of me. And why is that? Because statues and paintings of my brothers and sisters were everywhere in ancient Greece. But there were hardly any of me. This is an outrage that has bothered me for more than a millennium.

  My people built temples to my brothers, Zeus and Poseidon. They built temples to Athena, Artemis, Aphrodite, and many other godlings (minor gods). They even built temples and cult centers devoted to demigod heroes such as Herakles (you know him by his Roman name, Hercules). But they hardly had any temples or cult centers devoted to me.

  Excuse me, but how could there be more shrines devoted to a muscular meathead—Herakles—than temples devoted to the one god they’d hang out with for eternity? It wasn’t right!

  Herakles, by the way, is like homework—useless, boring, and stupid. Yet you will meet him down here many times for the simple reason that I cannot get rid of that club-carrying, lion cloak–wearing muscle man to save my life. He sneaks down here so often that he’s become a real pain in the backside. And I mean that literally, as you will see in chapter four.

  Also, that scrappy son of Zeus once actually shot me in the shoulder with an arrow, right outside my gates. I had to go all the way to Mount Olympus to be treated by the physician to the gods, Paeeon (pea-en). Zeus and his out-of-control kids will be the death of me, I swear.

  Zeus himself is no saint either, by the way. Not only did he take most of the “good stuff” on the planet, he’s constantly meddling in my world. Let me give you an example. Originally, the Olympic Games honored the dead. That’s right; they started out as funerary contests. The games were designed to appease me by honoring the recently fallen, especially during a war.

  Somehow, over the ages, the Olympic Games turned into a massive festival to honor Zeus! Now, no one remembers that they originally began as a way to honor the dead, which means honoring the king of the dead—me.

  Zeus is the little brother from hell, you guys. Seriously.

  HOMER’S BLIND SPOT

  The most famous Greek poet, Homer (no, not the cartoon character Homer Simpson—crack open a book, kid!) wrote that my realm was at the “end” of the earth on the western shore of the “river” Oceanus. He also said it was beyond the gates of the sun and the land of dreams.

  Could he have been any more vague? That unseeing bard had a blind spot about my world. Just sayin’.

  Eventually, almost all ancient Greeks and Romans came to believe that my realm was underground and that it was dark, dank, miserable, and smelly. Now, I ask you, does it stink down here? (Be careful how you answer, kid.) One Greek playwright even described my realm as a “mass of mire” filled with “everlasting dung.”

  Really? Every poop in the history of the world ends up in “my” house?

  I ask you—where’s the respect? I mean, this is my home, people. How would you like it if I told everyone that your house was filled with poop and stank like rotten eggs, and that no one ever—ever, ever, ever—wanted to come over?

  As we get closer to the heart of my world, you might want to memorize the map on the following pages and the path we will take. I highly recommend that you do not get lost. I am not responsible for the actions of my bloodthirsty minions. In case you do get separated from me, go directly to my palace. You’ll be safe there. Unless my wife, Persephone (per-seff-ah-nee), is in a bad mood, that is.

  WELCOME TO THE LAND OF THE DEAD

  EVER NOTICE HOW PEOPLE get my name and my realm confused? Yeah, it irritates me, too. My people called my underworld the “House of Hades,” which was fine by me. But over time, they shortened it to just “Hades,” and you had to figure out if they were referring to my realm or to me. Just another example of the disrespect I have suffered for oh-so-long.

  As we emerge from the cave tunnel opening, you will notice my wife’s small forest in front of us, which my people called the “Grove of Persephone.” Follow me through the trails among the skeleton-like black poplars and barren willow trees. I love how the air moving through the dead branches sounds like the moaning of tortured souls. I don’t know why people think this is a scary place. Personally, I find these dead trees quite cheerful—the ones that loom over you like monsters about to fall on your head and squish you until you burst like a juicy blister.

  That blur of light that just zoomed past us, by the way, is Hermes. I don’t like that boy—and not just because he is a son of Zeus. He’s the one who brings my wife to the upper world when it’s time for her to visit her mom, Demeter (deh-mee-ter). Because of that job, Hermes ended up escorting all the dead to my realm. Not like they needed an escort, but still. It gave the hyperactive, thieving godling something to do. (Yeah, he’s the god of thieves, so of course he’s Zeus’s son.) Plus, having a guide made the Greeks feel like entering my world would be a tad less scary.

  As I said, my wife’s mother is Demeter, the earth goddess of plants and grain. She is a Freak. Of. Nature. And I mean that literally, as you will soon see. Also, she suffers from Possessive Mother Syndrome.

  Demeter demands that Persephone live with her for most of the year, leaving me with only three months or so to spend with my wife. During the time that Persephone is with me, Demeter makes the upper world go cold, white, and dead, all because she misses her daughter. She figures, if the queen of nature is going to be sad, then everybody needs to suffer, too.

  Such a drama queen, am I right?

  When Persephone retur ns to mommy in the spring, Demeter makes everything bloom again in wild exuberance. As if I don’t notice the insult every single year.

  Also, the way she tells it, I “stole” her daughter. In truth, I asked Zeus—Persephone’s father—for his daughter’s hand in marriage first. He agreed. I followed the rules of my people and my era.

  What? You say the world has changed so much that women in your time can choose their own husbands? And that they can go to school, vote, work, own property, and live independently and freely?

  Aw, stop telling crazy stories.

  Wait, you’re not kidding?

  Wow. In ancient Greece, women couldn’t do any of those things. In fact, women were typically hidden away in the home. Don’t tell Persephone about this. She’d likely want to leave for your upper world early, which would cause a warm winter, and then everyone would panic about global warming.

  FIENDS ON THE PATH

  As we leave my wife’s grove, pay no attenti
on to the she-devils coming our way. No, seriously, do not make eye contact. You don’t want them showing their teeth or claws to you. These scaly, blood-thirsty spirits are Keres (kur-ess), the personifications of violent death and death by horrible disease. They tear the souls from the bodies of the fallen on the battlefield and in the sickroom. They are always on the lookout for the dying, so don’t lie down anywhere near them, okay?

  It suddenly got cooler, didn’t it? That means we have now entered the mist of death. It’s cold and wet and miserable. But don’t worry; the mist won’t harm you while you’re with me. Seriously, relax, or I’ll ask the mist to transform itself into its other form as the dark goddess Achlys (ack-liss). A primordial being (meaning she was here before any of us), Achlys represents the mist of death that comes over the dying. In her monster form, she is depicted as a pale, emaciated old hag with clacking teeth and stringy hair. She has gross, twisted nails, which she uses to gouge out her cheeks. Blood runs down the sides of her face. It’s a good look for her, but I ordered her to show herself to you as a mist today—mostly because I forgot to tell you to bring clean underwear.

  THE RIVERS OF MISERY

  Smell that brackish water? As we leave the mist of death, we can finally see the five rivers of the underworld. On the right there is Acheron (ack-uh-ron), the River of Woe. On the other side is the Cocytus (koh-kie-tus), the River of Lamentation. All those cries of misery and pain are like music to my ears.

  Around the other side is the Lethe (lee-thee), the River of Forgetfulness. One sip, and you lose all memory of your previous life—even your name. Near Tartaros (the pit in the belly of the earth where the Titans were imprisoned and evil souls are punished) is the Phlegethon (fleg-ahthon), the River of Fire—a special place of torture for evil souls. And finally, there is the Styx, sometimes called theRiver of Hate.