Janus

Part I of Short Story: A Deception

It started as a 24-hour contest, became a Scribophile ‘desolate place’ contest, and then morphed into an entry for the L. Ron Hubbard Future Writers of America contest (where it won an Honorable Mention).

I do hope you enjoy Janus, the first of four installments in this short story about a god (or two), a siren, and an entrance to the Underworld.

📷Credit: Thank you, KELLEPICS 

Janus

“Come on, old friend,” said Hades, looking entirely out of place drinking a margarita at the Tiki Hut on a beach in the Florida Keys. He stroked his beard, pulled down his sunglasses, and met Janus’ gaze, “Look, man, you know I wouldn’t ask, but things up here are a bit out of control, and it’s radically affecting the systematic way I run things downstairs. I should have most of it sorted out in a month or two, but I only need you guys to guard the Entrance to the Underworld for six weeks. Tops. Plus, Naribelle,” he glanced at the voluptuous beauty sunning herself oceanside, “she’s a natural. Six weeks is all I need…promise…”

That had been six months ago. Janus pulled his lined trench tighter and exhaled a large puff of hot air as he looked down from the top of the dilapidated lighthouse.  Before him lay his temporary kingdom, half of which lay in ruin underwater and half lay in ruin on land.

Six bloody months ago. Now, Hades was MIA. The lines of meat-suits were longer and longer. The temperature dropped and the days shortened. The pain worsened every time. It was miserable. And never-ending.

His face twisted into a grimace. As far as he could see, there was nothing but sea and rock. Vast slabs of earth jutted from the waters, stabbing the air. The icy wind sliced through him, and he nestled into his coat and scarf, shoving his gloved hands deep into his pockets. He longed to flee this prison for the warmth of the sunny south.

And in truth, it wasn’t even the time Janus minded. Six months was a long weekend to an immortal god but spending any more time than necessary in this situation was pure dreadful hell. He stood at the top of one frozen, rocky, nowhere island in the middle of the Siberian Sea. Certainly, no Tiki Hut here.

But Janus understood the importance and his purpose here. To regular living creatures, this island was a chilling vision of haunted devastation, a tragic place of terror and conjecture. To the dying, this was an entrance to the Underworld, guarded by Janus, the Two-Faced God, and his Siren companion, Naribelle.

Hades had been right; the Upperworld was a mess. Even detached as he was, Janus had heard the rumors. And he understood Hydras were temperamental manic creatures, but Hades needed to get this under control. Six months here was taking its toll as Janus’ controlled face slipped.

A bit of heat sparked, right in his center, bringing him out of his misery. The silhouette of her long, lithe body swam in the distance with the brilliant orange sun setting behind her. Her magical song echoed everywhere in the desolate nothingness, and his mouth twisted into a sly smile. Janus endured this for her, and she was blissfully happy here.

A luminous gibbous moon cut through the darkening sky as the evening fleet of Underworlders rounded one of the protruding rocks. Three large ships sliced through the chunks of the frozen waters in the East Siberian Sea. A large influx of mortals, morning, noon, and night, was becoming the norm.

Naribelle would be pleased with this last feast of the day. From sunup to sundown, she sang. Sweet melodies and classical notes all strewn together guided the boats here. Then she voraciously tore all their flesh away before their souls entered their final resting place.  

ALL mortal dead entered the Underworld. Experiences there differed, depending on the weight of their souls when they arrived. The lighter ones floated to a continued existence of peace, tranquility, and luxury. The heaviest souls were dragged deep into the fiery pits for torture and a lot of pain. There was a hierarchy and a system to it all. However, speculations were rampant that it was all in peril.

As a younger Two-Faced God-in-Training, Janus had spent decades studying his own faces and those of others. There was no better way to observe the many facets of humans other than in the Underworld. Pure soulful truths scream in the world below. For decades he’d split his time between torturing souls in the depths of the hellish pits of Tartarus to enjoying peace in the luxury of the high rise. Once, he even had a cabin in the Elysium Fields. It had allowed him to learn to master his own faces. But at this moment in the 21st century, he was grappling to control this northern face.

 The brutal sting of wind burned through him. Yes, the cold was dreadful.  And yes, he hated the rigidity of the attire. Wingtips and ties paled in comparison to flip flops and trunks. But mostly, it was the internal pain that tore through him at every feeding.

Every time the dying entered their final destination, Janus felt it. The bleakness of the space around him allowed all of it to pour into him. Their lives flashed through his soul. The terror and agony of the damned ripped him apart. Sometimes the peace and comfort of the blessed balanced it all. But tonight, tonight’s load was a heavy burden. He hated this part, and it made this situation so much worse.

Janus silently cursed Hades for dodging his calls and returning messages with messages. Sure, the Lord of the Underworld was busy. The entire Upperworld was screaming toward hell in a flaming handbasket, but there had to be time to return a call, even briefly.

To Be Continued

Thank you so much for stopping by.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on the first segment of A Deception in the comments section.

 Stay tuned for Part II. Coming soon!

~Aspen ✌️