"Ek skotou es to phaos! Ek thanatou es to sden!"
The more he repeated the incantation, the stronger they became, the more alive they were. And suddenly all the despair, all the helplessness he had been feeling went away. The hatred for Philonecron was gone too-or at least it had moved aside, made way for something much more intoxicating. Because Zee was feeling something he had never felt before in his entire life: power.
Zee had power. It welled up inside of him, his heart sang with it, his chest filled with it. He had power, and he could use it. He did not have to kill himself He could still save everyone. He had power, he had a plan-a good plan. And he could do it, he could make it happen, because he was Zachary John Miller, enchanter of shadows.
"Ek skotou es to phaos! Ek thanatou es to sden!"
They were alive! They were rustling, rumbling, waiting. Fifty thousand spirits waiting to destroy a world.
"My boy! Zero! We did it!" Philonecron hooted. "We did it!" He clapped Zee on the back and then corrected himself. "No, no… you did it. My perfect, wonderful Zero."
Everything happened quickly after that. The Footmen lowered Zee to the ground, then picked up Philonecron, who started shouting commands to the shadows. They were an army now, erect and attentive, waiting for their orders.
"My army!" Philonecron shouted. "We are going to bring down Hades! We are going to march through the Underworld and tear his City to bits! And then we will bring down his Palace! We will conquer the Underworld!"
And then, as one, the shadows lowered themselves to the ground, their bottom halves disappearing into the earth. And, as one again, they stretched back up toward the sky, and when they rose from the ground, it was apparent they had given themselves long, strong legs.
Then they began to march. They marched in place at first, their footfalls eerily silent on the cold stone floor. Then, at a word from Philonecron, they started to move.
Oh, it was an army, all right. They stepped in perfect precision, moving in exact formation, regiment by regiment. They looked as if they'd been training for years. They kept coming and coming. Surely there didn't need to be so many. Surely a few thousand would have been enough. As the shadows marched by him out into the world, soundless and precise, eerie and intangible, Zee shook off the feeling that he was witnessing an army of Death.
In his head Zee saw images of every battle he had ever seen, every army marching through a city, every war march throughout history. He couldn't get a good breath; he couldn't calm his heart; he couldn't stop the sweat dripping from his brow.
It didn't matter, Zee was ready. As soon as they got to the Palace, he would act. He would need Hades to take care of Philonecron-and that Zee wanted to see.
But then Philonecron turned to Zee. "Now, you rest up! I'll be back soon!"
Zee's eyes widened. "I'm staying here?"
"Yes. Of course you are! I'll be back for you soon, fret not."
"No!" Zee said. "I want to come with you!"
"Oh, of course you do!" Philonecron chucked him under the chin. "My brave boy. But I fear some things are not meant to be seen by your eyes. You're so innocent, so pure. I don't want you to lose that. You've done your part, my boy. You rest now. You must be exhausted! You stay here and dream of the world we'll make."
Stay here, yes. Rest and dream.
"Don't worry, I'll bring you back something from the Palace!" Philonecron squeezed Zee's cheeks, gazed into his eyes for a moment, and then turned and left the cave.
Zee closed his eyes and exhaled, getting his mind back. It's okay, he told himself. He could follow behind them, no one would notice. It would be better this way; he could stay out of range of Philonecron's brain waves, or whatever they were. He would just wait a few minutes, then sneak over the bridge and follow them all the way to Hades.
"Oh, and Zero?" Philonecron's head popped back in. "If you need anything, I'll leave Beta and Theta to watch over you." He smiled. "They'll be right outside the cave!"
The two Footmen turned and stared at Zee ominously. Philonecron waved and left.
Zee kicked the dirt and put his head in his hands.
CHAPTER 22
AS SOON AS THEY LANDED ON THE OTHER BANK OF THE Styx, Charlotte hurried out of Charon's boat. To Charlotte, Charon seemed like the type who might change his mind, and she was out of Fruit Roll-Ups. She scurried up the bank without looking back-because Charlotte knew of two good rules for navigating the Underworld: 1. Don't Eat the Food and 2. Don't Look Back.
As she was crawling up the bank, Charon shouted after her in his grim, grizzly voice, "Give my love to Cerberus!"
Charlotte shuddered. She had forgotten entirely about Cerberus. The Hound of Hades, the three-headed watchdog of the Underworld, who permitted the Dead to enter but never let them leave.
So when she heard a very canine growling and bounding heading toward her, she panicked. Quickly she ran through everything she knew about Cerberus – Heracles kidnapped the dog after a great struggle, Orpheus sang him to sleep, and Aeneas drugged him. And Charlotte? What did Charlotte do?
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and pretended she was invisible. It wasn't the best plan, but it was the best she could do on short notice.
It did not work. The strange, feral noises moved closer, and she cringed, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes.
Before her was a cub-size three-headed dog with three pairs of sad brown eyes that were looking at her plaintively. He was brown, black, and white, with floppy ears and a mass of shiny fur. He cocked his heads. Charlotte cocked hers.
"Why, you're cute!" Charlotte said. "Even with the three heads!"
The dog tipped his heads the other way.
"You're a good doggy!"
The dog wagged his serpent-like tail.
"Good doggy!" she cooed, reaching over and rubbing him under one of his right ears.
Cerberus rolled over on his back, and Charlotte sat down and gave him a good, long scratch.
"Well," she whispered, "I'd like to stay here and scratch you, but I have to save the world." She stood up, and so did Cerberus. He gave her a fond bark, then headed off down the bank.
She sighed and turned to survey the world ahead of her. Before her was an endless, grim, rocky, reddish gray plain, punctuated with little lakes and small, steaming pits here and there. And of course, the Dead were everywhere, innumerable Dead, like stars in the sky, sand on the beach. They stretched off with the horizon, becoming specks of light, becoming fog. They were right next to her, phantoms of light, hovering, still and aimless, against the dark landscape.
It all seemed to stretch on forever. There were rocky hills on the very distant horizon that seemed to mirror the place she had just come from. In front of the hills she could see a great, black, prison-like wall. A permanent black cloud hung over it, and she could just make out winged beasts flying in and out of the smoke. Suddenly she took a step back-that was Tartarus, the place of punishment, an endless pit in the ground where history's greatest sinners met their fate. And where Philonecron wanted to send the Dead.
Charlotte looked quickly away.
To the right the view was much less ominous. On the other side of the horizon, rising out of the plain, was a great city. She saw a jumble of spires and buildings and towers, and in the center of it all, soaring up over the Kingdom, were the looming black domes of the Palace.
"Well," Charlotte muttered, stepping forward, "follow the yellow brick road."
Sensing the presence of Charlotte, the Dead began to stir. From the crowd around her distinct groupings began to form-little circles of Dead huddling together. It was as if they were whispering to one another, yet no sound came from them. Charlotte looked straight ahead and kept walking. Finally about a dozen broke off from the groups and floated up to Charlotte, resting right in front of her eyes. She stopped.