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“You mean what if Lucas comes to check up on you and finds Hector. You’re not really worried about Jason or Ariadne,” he clarified, frustration edging his tone.
“The twins are different. Even before Hector became an Outcast, he and Lucas used to fight a lot, and sometimes it got really bad,” she said in a shaky voice. “It’s like they’ve always been headed toward something violent, and I keep thinking maybe it’s another one of these Scion cycles that’s doomed to happen.”
“Lucas and Hector are practically brothers, and brothers always fight,” Orion said, like it was obvious. “Not everything in our lives is part of a cycle.”
“I know. But the Furies! They won’t be able to stop themselves.”
“That’s why we’re down here. We have all the time we need now, and hopefully, we’ll take care of the Furies tonight,” he said. He made her stop and brushed her wrist with the tips of his fingers. It was a slight touch, almost nonexistent, but it commanded her attention.
“If I can even find them,” Helen admitted with a pleading look. “Orion. I have no idea where the Furies are.”
Orion leaned away from Helen and adjusted his backpack, assessing her.
“You’re just about to panic, aren’t you? Don’t.” He was deadly serious. “This is where you need to be, right here in the Underworld, not back in the real world fighting a hysterical mob. Any member of the Delos family can do that, but you’re the only one who can do this. Let’s get the water first and take it from there.”
He was right. They had to do what they could here in the Underworld or nothing back in the real world would ever get any better.
“Okay. Let’s do this.” She reached out and put her arms around Orion’s neck, and felt him lay his heavy hands on her hips. “I want us to appear by the banks of the River of Joy in the Elysian Fields,” she said in a clear, commanding voice.
Soft, sun-streaked light filtered down through a canopy of gigantic weeping willow trees. A lawn of thick, green, living grass cushioned their feet, and Helen could hear the sibilant rush of water over rocks nearby. Not too far off in the distance, Helen could see a large, open field of knee-high grass and pastel-colored wildflowers that served as little stars to the orbiting bees and butterflies.
There was no sun directly overhead. Instead, the light seemed to radiate from the air itself, creating the feel of different times of day in each area. The light in the stand of willow trees that shaded Helen and Orion appeared to be the ripe, long light of late afternoon, but in the meadow it was the light of early morning, still innocent and dewy.
Orion let go of her hips, but took up one of her hands, keeping it loosely clasped in his as he turned and looked around. A breeze played across his face and brushed his loose curls back from his forehead. Helen saw him turn his face directly into the gentle gust, close his eyes, and breathe in deeply. She copied him and found that the air was crisp and energizing, like it was full of oxygen. Helen could not recall
anything so basic ever feeling so pleasurable.
When she opened her eyes, Orion was staring at her with a tender look on his face. He touched the edge of her costume, shaking his head.
“You planned the wings for this, didn’t you?” he said playfully. Helen burst out laughing.
“Sorry, but I’m not that clever.”
“Uh-huh. Come on, Tinker Bell. I think I hear our brook babbling.” Orion led her toward the sound.
“How will we know if it’s the River of Joy?” she asked. Before she was done speaking she realized she already knew.
When they reached the banks of the crystal-clear water, Helen felt a giddy bubbling in her chest. She had to fight the urge to start dancing, wondered why she was fighting it, and gave in. She put her arms out and began to twirl around; Orion put his backpack on the ground.
He knelt down and unzipped the top and then stopped suddenly. He put a hand over his own chest and pressed down hard, like he was trying to push his heart back in where it belonged. Glancing up at her, Orion laughed silently, but to Helen it looked more like he wanted to cry. She stopped dancing and joined him.
“I’ve never felt this before,” he said, almost apologizing. “I didn’t think I ever could.”
“You didn’t think you could ever feel joy?”
Helen knelt across from him, staring at his overwhelmed face. Orion shook his head and swallowed, and then suddenly reached out with both arms and hugged Helen tightly.
“I get it now,” he whispered, and then released her as quickly as he had gathered her up. She didn’t know what it was that he “got,” but he didn’t give her a chance to ask. Handing Helen an empty canteen, Orion went over to the riverbank and dipped the other two he had taken out of his backpack into the sparkling river.
As soon as his fingers touched the water, tears as big as raindrops spilled down his face and his chest shuddered with a startled sob. Joining him at the water’s edge, Helen lowered her canteen beneath the surface and touched joy. It wasn’t the first time for her like it was for Orion, but after so much sadness and loss over the past several weeks, she cried as if it were.
When they’d filled their canteens, they both sealed them up. She didn’t even consider drinking the water, and she could tell from the unwavering way he screwed the caps onto the tops of his two canteens that Orion wasn’t considering it, either. Helen knew, deep in her heart, that if she took even one sip she would never leave this place. As it was, she felt a deep longing beginning to build, knowing that this perfect moment had almost passed. She wished could stay like this forever, dipping her fingers in the River of Joy.
“You’ll be back someday.”
Startled out of her reverie, Helen looked up at Orion and saw him smiling at her, extending a hand to help her up. The filtered light shone down on him and made a halo out of his hair. His green eyes were bright and fringed with eyelashes that were spiky and dark from crying. She slipped her waterlogged hand into his and stood next to him, still sniffling a little after the storm of ecstasy had passed.
“So will you,” she told him through a teary hiccup. He dropped his gaze.
