Chapter XXXIII: Dionysus

CHAPTER XXXIII

DIONYSUS

Dionysus found himself walking up the fucking mountain again, and though he was faster without Ariadne, he’d have much rather had her slowing him down.

Gods fucking dammit.

He was angry, but worst of all, he was worried.

Dionysus did not know much about cyclopes beyond their role in ancient times. Then they’d been great craftsmen and had helped the Olympians in the battle against the Titans. While he knew some remained in their employ, they did not all appear to have evolved the same, as evident by this one, which roamed this island eating sheep. And if it ate sheep, it surely ate humans.

As Dionysus came to the top of the mountain, he looked out on the island, which was far vaster than he expected; the terrain varied from deep canyons to rolling hills. Despite how huge the cyclops was, Dionysus caught no sight or sound of the monster. It was as if it’d disappeared.

That only served to make his anxiety worse, and he felt a familiar and dreadful shuddering deep in his bones. He ground his teeth and fisted his hands against it, unwilling to let the madness take root. If it did, he would be useless, and it was likely that more than just the cyclops would die in his quest to rescue Ariadne.

He took deep breaths until the feeling subsided, though the fact that it had come about so quickly unnerved him. But for now, at least he was in control.

He tore down the mountain, retracing his steps to the cottage where he’d healed Ariadne, then to the shore where he’d met the old man.

“Hello!” he bellowed. “I need you, old man! The cyclops has taken her!”

He paced the shore, catching a glimpse of something in his periphery. He startled and turned to find the strange god standing on the rocks, the same as he had been before.

“Where the fuck do you come from?” Dionysus demanded.

“I saved your life once,” the old man said. “What more could you want from me?”

“The cyclops has taken my—” Dionysus hesitated, uncertain of what he intended to say. “The cyclops has taken Ariadne, and I do not know where. I have climbed that gods-forsaken mountain. I have looked across this fucking island. Where has he taken her?”

“To his lair, I imagine.”

Dionysus took a step, his hands shaking.

“Where?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Across the way,” replied the man. “On the other side of the strait.”

Dionysus turned to where the old man had nodded, and far in the distance, with an ocean between, was something that resembled a set of islands, but they were barely visible on the horizon.

Dionysus whirled. “Did you not think this information valuable enough to share when you asked me to kill him to begin with?”

“Nothing is as valuable as your life,” replied the man.

Dionysus took another seething step. “And I am this close to taking yours!” He turned toward the shore and started toward the sea.

“I would not do that if I were you,” the old man warned.

Dionysus glared. “How else am I supposed to get to the fucking island?”

“It would be better if you waited for the cyclops to return.”

“Did you miss the part where he has her?”

The old man stared, and then he looked off toward the island again. “There are only two ways to the island—through the wandering rocks between which the sea is violent, or through the strait where Charybdis and Scylla reside. Take either and you will surely die.”

Dionysus was more than familiar with the two sea monsters the old man had mentioned, given that he was in the habit of collecting them. Charybdis was a deadly whirlpool that could destroy ships in an instant. Scylla was a six-headed monster with three rows of deadly, sharp teeth. They lived opposite one another so that any who passed through their realm and attempted to avoid one hit the other.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Dionysus muttered as he waded into the ocean.

He tried in vain to run against the current until he could propel himself forward with his arms and legs. At first, he moved along at a steady pace, but the water felt heavy and his arms burned. It became harder to keep his head above water, and the salt stung his nose and the back of his throat. The more his arms and legs burned, the less certain he was that he was actually moving forward, though nothing was fast enough while Ariadne’s fate was unknown.

He gave a frustrated cry and rolled onto his back, floating atop the surface, and though the sun reddened every inch of his exposed skin, he remained there until he felt like he could move again.

As he neared the strait, he could feel the current of the ocean change and knew that Charybdis was active, churning the sea with all her might. He made a wider arc, hoping to avoid the pull, aware that doing so would bring him closer to Scylla, though if he was going to take on the two monsters, he’d prefer the one he could stab over the one that might drown him.

As he entered the strait, he remained close to the cliff wall, grasping the rocks to keep from slipping away into Charybdis’s whirling depth, which was visible on the surface, a stormy vortex of foaming water and ocean sand. As the water raged, it pulled roughly at his skin. If Charybdis did not take him, she might surely skin him alive.

He was so focused on avoiding the pull of the current, he forgot to look up until a pebble struck his face, and as he turned his gaze skyward, he came face-to-face with six heads racing toward him.

“Fuck!”

He moved at the last second, narrowly missing the teeth of one of the six heads. The heads plunged into the ocean below, and as they pulled back, five of them roared in a high-pitched wail, while one of them clutched a dolphin between its horrible teeth. Jealous, the two heads on either side hissed and nipped, and soon they were fighting, Pieces of dolphin flesh rained down on him as they engaged in combat, while the other three heads were trained on him.

Dionysus summoned his thyrsus just as the heads descended on him again. This time, he shoved the sharp tip of his staff through one head as its mouth came down around him. It reared back screaming and then fell into the water, limp. The other five heads shrieked and came for Dionysus at once.

“Fuck!”

He climbed onto the neck of the head that had gone limp and raced across it, chased by the others, teeth bared. He turned quickly, jumping atop the slippery head of another before quickly scrambling onto another when its whole head was bitten by its partner.

This thing is stupid, Dionysus thought as he shoved the end of his thyrsus into it, ducking when two other heads raced toward him and crashed into each other. The impact jarred him, and he slipped, falling into the ocean below where he was swept into Charybdis’s current, and though he paddled fiercely against it, it drew him under. Water filled his nose and mouth, and he grasped desperately at anything within reach, which was nothing save the solid weight of the water on him. But as Charybdis churned, he was brought closer to the other side of the strait, so close that his body rammed into the rocks, breaking skin.

Before he could try to dig his fingers into the rocks, he was whisked away again. The water fought him, taking him under, but he managed to position his arm so the next time he came closer to the wall, he rammed his thyrsus into it. With it lodged in place, he held on as the water raged around him. Opposite him, the remaining heads of Scylla screamed, though while Charybdis churned, he was safe.

Scylla retreated up the rock to her cave, dragging two of her limp heads behind.

Dionysus was not certain how long he clung to the end of his thyrsus, but he could sense when the current around him slowed, and soon Charybdis ceased her assault. When it was done, he felt weak, and swimming out of the strait felt impossible, though he made it. And when he saw the cyclops’s island ahead, he felt a sense of relief.

He propelled himself forward, thinking only of Ariadne—of the way she tasted and how she kissed, of the feel of her body, inside and out.

He had not had her long enough to lose her forever.

The thought kept him moving, and when he could touch the sea floor, he dug his feet in and tried to run. Staggering to the shore, he fell to his knees, landed facedown on the beach, and lost consciousness.

He rolled over and back onto his ass, summoning his thyrsus, only to come face-to-face with a sheep.

“Where did you come from?” he snapped.

The sheep bleated loudly, and Dionysus cringed at the sound.

His head hurt and the sun was making it worse. He squinted against it and then took in his surroundings. The cyclops’s island was vast and wooded, rising into high mountainous slopes.

If the cyclops was among them, he wouldn’t even be able to tell.

“Baa!” The sheep’s sudden cry made him jump.

“Gods, will you stop doing that?”

He glared at the sheep, but it continued to scream at him.

“What do you want?” he snapped, rising to his feet.

The sheep backed away and started to turn, bleating as it did.

“I’m not following you,” Dionysus said.

The sheep seemed to glare at him, which left him feeling uneasy. It reminded him of Ariadne’s frustration.

Fuck. What if she was turned into a sheep?

What if this sheepwas Ariadne?

You’re a fucking idiot, he scolded himself.

But he found himself taking a step toward the sheep, which offered another wavering cry and started toward the dense green forest ahead.

Dionysus followed, feeling ridiculous but also hoping the animal might lead him to others and eventually the cyclops.

The terrain was thick and varied, the ground covered in vines that tangled around his feet. After tripping once, he was over it and used his magic to untangle a clear path as he followed the sheep. It was not long before they came to a quiet river, which the sheep seemed to follow up and into the more mountainous part of the island.

At some point, the sheep stopped and turned to look at him. “Baa!” it yelled.

Gods, he hated that sound, but the creature was looking up at a towering cave where several sheep had been herded.

His heart raced. This had to be where the cyclops lived.

Dionysus scrambled across the river and scaled the steep incline to the cave where the cyclops’s flock was gathered. The ground was littered with bones, and his stomach churned as he fought the urge to call out to Ariadne, not knowing what lingered in the cave. Most of it seemed to be well lit, given that part of its roof had fallen away, allowing sunlight inside. The entrance sloped down, and at the base, there was a lake, green in color.

The sheep gathered near it, their bleating cries echoing inside the cave, making him cringe, though he hoped it was enough to drown out his footsteps as he crept through the shadowy parts of the cave, scanning the mossy rocks for any sign of Ariadne.

Suddenly, he spotted a hand sticking out from the darkness.

“Ari!”

Her name slipped from his mouth, a cry he could not contain. He raced to her, and his hand had barely touched hers when she was yanked away.

Dionysus’s eyes widened, and he looked up into a pair of red-tinged eyes.

“What the fuck?” he said and summoned his thyrsus. The weapon seemed to trigger the creature in the shadows, because its eyes flashed and then it bellowed, lurching toward him and out of the shadows.

Dionysus was face-to-face with the ophiotaurus. Its shoulders were hunched, neck curved, hoofs pawing at the ground.

He took a step back and it lurched forward, farther into the light. He noticed the rest of its body, which went from that of a bull to a serpent tail, curled protectively around Ariadne, who was not conscious.

“Ari,” Dionysus said again and started toward her, but the ophiotaurus roared, and he froze. “Easy,” Dionysus said, holding up his hands. “I came to rescue her.”

The ophiotaurus stared, still rigid.

“Were you protecting her?”

The creature huffed a few times, and Dionysus took the opportunity to inch toward her. The ophiotaurus kept its spotted and striped tail around her.

He didn’t take his eyes off the creature until he had knelt beside Ariadne. He wanted to take her into his arms, to make sure she was okay, but he knew if he moved too fast, the ophiotaurus would react.

Instead, he stroked her face and muttered her name, and her eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, she looked confused, but when she recognized him, relief flashed in her eyes, and she smiled, though it vanished quickly, and the ophiotaurus emitted a low, hollow sound as a shadow passed over him.

Something was wrong.

He stilled and turned in time to see the cyclops’s hand barreling toward him.

“Stranger,” said the cyclops. His voice was loud and made Dionysus’s ears ring. The cyclops’s fingers closed around him tightly, stealing his breath as he lifted him to his narrowed eye. “Have you come to steal my sheep?”

“No,” said Dionysus, struggling in his grasp. His hands were trapped too close to his body to summon his thyrsus. Even if he could, he’d have no room to use it. “I have not come to steal your sheep.”

“Then you have come to kill me,” the cyclops said, voice rising in rage.

“Are those your only visitors?” Dionysus asked. “Those who wish to steal your sheep and those who wish to kill you?”

“Visitor?” the cyclops asked. “I do not know that word. I know thief. I know murderer.”

“Then allow me to teach you a new one,” said Dionysus.

“I also know trick, stranger,” said the cyclops. “Is this one?”

“No,” said Dionysus. “But if it would please you, I will make an offering of good faith.”

“What sort of offering, stranger?”

“My very best wine,” he said.

“I do not know wine,” said the cyclops.

“Then you shall know today,” said Dionysus. “Let me down and I shall share my drink with you.”

“No tricks?” said the cyclops, wary but curious.

“None,” Dionysus promised.

The cyclops glared at him for a few moments, long enough to make Dionysus think he might choose to crush him instead, but then he set him on his feet.

Dionysus took the opportunity to glance in the direction of Ariadne and the ophiotaurus, but he could not see them, thoroughly hidden in the darkness of the cave.

He took a few careful steps toward the pool in the cave.

“Do you drink this water?”

“Drink, wash, bathe,” said the cyclops.

Dionysus tried not to look disgusted as he summoned his magic and turned the still water into a deep, red wine.

He turned toward the cyclops. “Drink, friend.”

The cyclops looked at him warily but eventually dipped his cupped hand into the wine and brought it to his lips. He paused a moment, as if testing the flavor on his tongue, and then he seemed to purr, pleased. “It is good,” he said, and then he shoved his face into the wine and drained the whole lake.

The cyclops sat amid his sheep as Dionysus waited for the wine to take root, trying his best not to glance too often at the darkness where Ariadne and the ophiotaurus still hid.

“What is your name, stranger?”

“Oh, I am no one,” said Dionysus, unwilling to offer up his name, though he was a god.

“No one?” the cyclops said. “I am Polyphemus.”

“A pleasure,” Dionysus said.

“How did you come to my island?” the cyclops asked.

“I was stranded here,” said Dionysus. “I am afraid I do not know where I am.”

“This is Thrinacia,” Polyphemus said. “You will have to know if you are ever to visit again.”

Dionysus smiled. At least he had some idea of where they were now.

“Would you like more wine?” Dionysus asked.

“But there is not water for you to turn into wine,” said Polyphemus.

“I do not need water to make wine,” said Dionysus, and suddenly, the lake was full again, and Polyphemus downed another batch.

This time, when it was gone, Dionysus refilled it without question.

“That is quite a trick,” said Polyphemus, blinking slow and swaying.

“I suppose it was a trick,” said Dionysus.

“I think…I think I have been poisoned,” said the cyclops, slurring, and then he swooned and crashed to the ground, unconscious.

As soon as he was down, Dionysus scrambled to his feet, and Ariadne darted from the shadows, throwing her arms around him.

“Dionysus,” she whispered, and his name had never sounded so good.

He kissed her, holding her face between his hands. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, holding his gaze. “You came for me.”

“Of course,” he said.

The ophiotaurus huffed, drawing their attention. Ariadne pulled Dionysus closer to the creature.

“This is Bully,” she said. “He’s a friend.”

“Bully?” Dionysus asked. A friend?

“That’s his name,” she said.

“You named the ophiotaurus?”

“Well, I had to call him something,” she said. “He kept me safe.”

He smiled at her and shook his head a little. “Fuck, Ari. I didn’t know what to think. I—”

“It’s all right, Dionysus,” she said, her eyes searching his, and then he kissed her again.

He was too relieved to think twice about it, too grateful she was okay to feel awkward or uncertain.

“How sweet,” said a voice, and then the ophiotaurus roared.

They whirled to find Theseus standing a few paces from them with two men, who had restrained the ophiotaurus. Bully was pushed onto his back so his soft belly was exposed.

Before Ariadne could scream, Theseus plunged his knife into the creature’s stomach to the hilt and then dragged it down.

“No!” Ariadne shrieked, jerking in his arms as Dionysus held her, unwilling to let her go.

The ophiotaurus’s bellow turned into a low and keen cry before it was silent.

With the creature slain, Theseus turned to them, blood spattered across his front, while the two men who accompanied him fished inside the ophiotaurus for its intestines.

“Fuck you!” Ariadne spat, tears tracking down her face.

Dionysus held her against him, his arms crossed over her chest.

“Now this I never expected,” Theseus said. “Bonding with a monster other than Dionysus.”

“You’re the monster!” she seethed.

Theseus placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, how you wound me, Ariadne, and after I have taken such care of your sister.”

“Don’t let him provoke you, Ari.”

“Is it Ari now?” Theseus asked, his eyes shifting to Dionysus. “Did you call her that before or after you fucked?”

Dionysus glared. He did not know if the demigod was only assuming, but his fixation on Ariadne was evident. This was more than jealousy. It was obsession.

Theseus’s men finished with the ophiotaurus, and they each approached and flanked him with handfuls of intestines.

“It is too bad, Ari, that you cannot see my potential even as I hold it in my hands.”

“You aren’t holding anything,” she said.

Dionysus chuckled, but Theseus glared, and his lip curled into a snarl, then he held up his bloodied knife.

“Oh, look. You were wrong.”

Theseus appeared in front of them and drove his knife toward Ariadne. Dionysus blocked the blow with his arm, though the blade lodged in his flesh. At the same time, he summoned his thyrsus and shoved it into the demigod’s stomach. Theseus’s eyes widened. Dionysus wrenched free from Theseus, who stumbled back, holding his hand to his stomach where he bled.

“If you hurt her, I will kill you,” said Dionysus.

“Get in line,” Theseus replied, and when he smiled, his teeth were bloody.

It seemed that Theseus was slow to heal. What a grave weakness. He was clearly very much aware of that fact too, because he decided against attacking again, and instead, he and his two men vanished, taking the ophiotaurus’s intestines with him.

When they were alone, Dionysus released Ariadne, who raced to the creature, lowering to her knees. A horrible cry tore from her throat as she extended a shaking hand to pet the creature, and the only thing Dionysus knew to do was hold her too.

“I hate him,” Ariadne said on a shuddering breath.

“I know.”

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but the sudden flare of Hermes’s magic straightened his spine. He knew it because it had haunted his dreams a time or two—and as it surrounded them, they were pulled from the cave and deposited on the hard and pristine floor of Hades’s office at Nevernight.

“I never thought I would see the day you knelt at my feet,” said Hades.

Dionysus ignored Hades’s comment while he stood and helped Ariadne up. She wiped at her face with her hands, trying to recover from the horror they’d experienced in the cave.

When he did look at the god, Hades’s expression was a strange mix of confused frustration.

“Perhaps you should try kneeling too,” Dionysus said. “You’ll have to get used to the pose. Theseus has slain the ophiotaurus.”